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THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,  BART 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


WITH   ALL   HIS   INTRODUCTIONS   AND   NOTES 


VARIOUS  READINGS,  AND  THE  EDITOR'S  NOTES. 


ELEGANTLY  ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS,    SAMPSON,    AND    COMPANY, 

1858. 


$0* 


CONTENTS 


%*  THE  PIECES  MARKED  WITH  AN  asterisk  (*)  HAVE  NOT  BEEN  INCLUDED  IN  ANT  FORMER  EDITION 
OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


PAGE 

The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  9 

Advertisement  to  edition  1833 ib. 

Introduction  to  edition  1830 ib. 

Dedication  16 

Preface  to  the  first  edition  1805  ib. 

Introduction ib. 

Canto  1 17 

Canto  II. 23 

Canto  III 28 

Canto  IV 33 

Canto  V 40 

Canto  VI. 46 

Appendix  to  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel .  54 

Marmion 80 

Notice  to  edition  1833 ib. 

Introduction  to  edition  1830 ib. 

Dedication  83 

Advertisement  to  the  first  edition  ib. 

Introduction  to  Canto  I. — To  William 

Stewart  Rose,  Esq ib. 

Canto  I.— The  Castle 87 

Introduction  to  Canto  II. — To  the  Rev. 

John  Marriott,  A.  M 94 

Canto  IL— The  Convent 97 

Introduction  to  Canto  III. — To  William 

Erskine,  Esq 104 

Canto  III.— The  Hostel,  or  Inn 107 

Introduction  to  Canto  IV. — To  James 

Skene,  Esq 113 

Canto  IV.— The  Camp 116 

Introduction  to  Canto  V. — To  George 

Ellis,  Esq 124 

Canto  V.— The  Court 126 

Introduction  to  Canto  VI. — To  Richard 

Heber,  Esq 137 

Canto  VI— The  Battle 140 

Appendix  to  Marmion 154 

The  Lady  of  the  Lake 180 

Introduction  to  edition  1830 ib. 

Dedication 183 

Argument ib. 

Canto  I.— The  Chase 184 

Canto  IL— The  Island  193 

Canto  III.— The  Gathering  202 

Fac-Simile  of  the  MS.,  Stanza  I., ib. 

(Placed  after  the  Contents.) 

Canto  TV.-— The  Prophecy 210 

Canto  V.— The  Combat 219 


The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

Canto  VI.— The  Guard-Room  229 

Appendix  to  the  Lady  of  the  Lake 240 

The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick 269 

Preface ib. 

Dedication 270 

Introduction ib. 

The  Vision 272 

Conclusion 281 

Appendix  to  Vision  of  Don  Roderick 285 

Rokeby 292 

Notice  to  edition  1833 ib. 

Introduction  to  edition  1830 ib. 

Dedication 296 

Advertisement ib. 

Canto  I ib. 

Canto  II 306 

Canto  III 314 

Canto  IV 323 

Canto  V 332 

Canto  VI. 343 

Appendix  to  Rokeby 356 

The  Bridal  of  Triermain 379 

Preface  to  the  first  edition ib. 

Introduction 382 

Canto  I. 3S3 

Canto  II 388 

Canto  III 396 

Conclusion 407 

Appendix  to  the  Bridal  of  Triermain 410 

The  Lord  of  the  Isles 412 

Notice  to  edition  1833 ib. 

Introduction  to  edition  1830 ib. 

Advertisement  to  the  first  edition  414 

Canto  I. 415 

Canto  II. 422 

Canto  III 430 

Canto  IV. 437 

Canto  V : 446 

Canto  VL 455 

Conclusion 466 

Appendix  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles. 469 

The  Field  of  Waterloo 602 

Conclusion 509 

Appendix 511 


438840 


:    CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Harold  the  Dauntless 512 

Introduction ib. 

Canto  1 513 

Canto  II. 617 

Canto  III. 521 

Canto  IV. 524 

Canto  V , 528 

Canto  VL 532 

Conclusion 535 

Contributions  to  the  Border  Minstrelsy. 
Introductory  Remarks  on  Popular  Poetry.   537 

Appendix 553 

Essay  on  Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad  555 

Appendix. 571 

Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad. 

Thomas  the  Rhymer,  Part  1 574 

Part  II 577 

Part  IIL 584 

Appendix 586 

Glenfinlas;  or,  Lord  Ronald's  Coronach...  589 

Appendix 593 

The  Eve  of  St.  John 594 

Appendix 597 

Cadyow  Castle 598 

Appendix 602 

The  Gray  Brother 604 

Appendix 606 

War-Song  of  the  Royal  Edinburgh  Light 
Dragoons 607 

Ballads  Translated  or  Imitated  from  the 

German,  <fcc 609 

William  and  Helen ib. 

The  Wild  Huntsman 613 

The  Fire-King 616 

Frederick  and  Alice 618 

The  Battle  of  Sempach 619 

The  Noble  Moringer. 621 

♦The  Erl-King C26 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES, 
In  the  order  of  their  composition  or  publi- 
cation   627 

*  Juvenile  Lines.    From  Virgil.     1782....   ib. 

*  On  a  Thunder  Storm ib. 

*  On  the  Setting  Sun ib. 

The  Violet ib. 

To  a  Lady,  with  Flowers  from  a  Roman 

Wall 628 

♦  Bothwell  Castle ib. 

♦The  Shepherd's  Tale ib. 

♦  Cheviot 681 

♦  The  Reiver's  Wedding ib. 

The  Bard's  Incantation 632 

Hellvellyn  633 


PACJH 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

The  Dying  Bard 634 

The  Norman  Horse-Shoe ib. 

The  Maid  of  Toro 635 

The  Palmer %m   ib, 

The  Maid  of  Neidpath 686 

Wandering  Willie  ib. 

♦Health  to  Lord  Melville,  1806 637 

Hunting  Song  638 

The  Resolve 639 

Epitaph,  designed  for  a  Monument  in 

Lichfield  Cathedral,  at  the  Burial-place 

of  the  family  of  Miss  Seward ib. 

Prologue  to  Miss  Baillie's  Play  of  the 

Family  Legend ib. 

The  Poacher 640 

Song — "  Oh,  say  not,  my  love,  with  that 

mortified  air"  , 642 

The    Bold   Dragoon;    or,  the    Plain   of 

Badajos ib. 

On  the  Massacre  of  Glencoe ib. 

"  For  a'  that  an'  a'  that." — A  new  song  to 

an  old  tune 644 

Song,  for  the  Anniversary  Meeting  of  the 

Pitt  Club  of  Scotland ib. 

Pharos  Loquitur  645 

Lines,  addressed  to  Ranald  Macdonald, 

Esq.,  of  StafFa ib 

♦  Letter  in  Verse,  on  the  Voyage  with  the 

Commissioners  of  Northern  Lights. — 
To  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch, 
1814 & 

Verses  from  Waverlet. 

♦Bridal  Song 647 

♦  Waverley 648 

♦Davie  Gellatley's  Song ib. 

♦  Scene  in  Luckie  Macleary's  Tavern....  649 

♦  Hie  away,  Hte  away ib. 

♦  St.  Swithin's%iair ib. 

♦Davie  Gellatley's  Song 650 

♦  Janet  Gellatley's  alleged  Witchcraft.. .    ib. 

♦  Flora  Macivor's  Song ib. 

♦  Lines  on  Captain  Wogan  651 

♦  Follow  me,  Follow  me  652 

♦  The  Author  of  Waverley ib. 

Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of 

Kintail — From  the  Gaelic  ib. 

Imitation  of  the  preceding  Song 658 

War-Song  of  Lachlan,  High  Chief  of  Mac- 
lean.— From  the  Gaelic 653 

Saint  Cloud 654 

The  Dance  of  Death  ib. 

Romarce  of  Dunois 656 

The  .roubadour to. 

From  the  French 657 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I  FRTCAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 
Song,  on  the  lifting  of  the  Banner  of  the 
House  of  Buccleuch,  at  a  great  Foot- 
Ball  Match  on  Carterhaugh  657 

Lullaby  of  an  Infant  Chief. 658 

From  Gut  Mannering. 
Songs  of  Meg  Merrilies — 

*  Nativity  of  Harry  Bertram 658 

*  Twist  ye,  Twine  ye 658 

*  The  Dying  Gipsey  Smuggler ib. 

*  The  Prophecy 659 

*  Songs  of  Dirk  Hatteraick  and  Glossin  ib. 

The  Return  to  Ulster ib. 

Jock  of  Hazeldean 660 

Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu ib. 

Norah's  Vow 661 

Macgregor's  Gathering ib. 

Verses  composed  for  the  occasion,  and 
sung  by  a  select1  band,  after  the  Dinner 
given  by  the  Lord  Provost  of  Edinburgh 
to  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas  of  Russia 
and  his  Suite,  19th  December,  1816  ...  662 

From  the  Antiquary. 

*Time ib. 

♦  Epitaph  on  Jon  o'  ye  Girnell 663 

♦Elspeth's  Ballad ib. 

♦  Mottoes  in  the  Antiquary,  1-20 ib. 

From  the  Black  Dwarf. 

*  Mottoes,  1,  2 665 

From  Old  Mortality. 

*  Major  Bellenden's  Song 666 

*  Verses   found   in  BothwelPs   Pocket- 

Book ib. 

♦  Epitaph  on  Balfour  of  Burley ib. 

♦  Mottoes,  1,  2,  3 ib. 

The  Search  after  Happiness;  or,  The 
Quest  of  Sultaun  Solimaun  667 

Mr.  Kemble's  Farewell  Address  on  taking 
leave  of  the  Edinburgh  Stage  671 

Lines  written  for  Miss  Smith ib. 

The  Sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hill 672 

The  Monks  of  Bangor's  March ib. 

♦  Letter  to  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch  673 

From  Rob  Roy. 

*  To  the  Memory  of  Edward  the  Black 

Prince 673 

♦Translation  from  Ariosto 674 

♦Mottoes,  1-5 ib. 

Epilogue  to  The  Appeal 675 


PAUK 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Mackrimmon's  Lament 675 

Donald  Caird  's  come  again 676 

From  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian. 

♦Madge  Wildfire's  Songs 677 

♦Mottoes,  1-7 678 

From  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor. 

♦  Lucy  Ashton's  Song ib. 

♦  Norman,  the  Forester's  Song ib. 

♦The  Prophecy 679 

♦Mottoes,  1-6 ib. 

From  the  Legend  of  Montrose. 

♦Ancient  Gaelic  Melody ib. 

♦  The  Orphan  Maid 680 

♦Mottoes,  1,  2,  3 ib. 

From  Ivanhoe. 

*The  Crusader's  Return 681 

♦The  Barefooted  Friar ib. 

♦  Saxon  War-Song 682 

♦  Rebecca's  Hymn ib. 

♦  The  Black  Knight's  Song  683 

♦  Song — The  Black  Knight  and  Wamba    ib. 

♦  Funeral  Hymn ib. 

♦Mottoes,  1-9 684 

Epitaph  on  Mrs.  Erskine 685 

From  the  Monastery. 

Songs  of  the  White  Lady  of  Avenel — 

♦  On  Tweed  River ib. 

♦To  the  Sub-Prior ib. 

♦ToHalbert 686 

♦  Halbert's  Second  Interview 687 

♦  To  Mary  Avenel 688 

♦  To  Edward  Gleudinning ib. 

♦  The  White  Lady's  Farewell ib. 

♦  Border  Ballad 689 

♦Mottoes,  1-20 ib. 

From  the  Abbot. 

♦The  Pardoner's  Advertisement 691 

♦Mottoes,  1-17 ib. 

From  Kenilworth. 

♦Goldthred's  Song 692 

♦  Speech  of  the  Porter  at  Kenilworth 

Castle 693 

♦Mottoes,  1-13 ib 

From  the  Pirate. 

♦  The  Song  of  the  Tempest 694 

♦Claud  Halcro's  Song 695 

♦  Harold  Harfager's  Song »& 


CONTENTS. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 
From  the  Pirate. 

*  Song  of  the  Mermaids  and  Mermen  ...  695 

*  Noma's  Song  696 

*  Claud  Halcro  and  Noma ib. 

*  Song  of  the  Zetland  Fishermen 697 

*  Cleveland's  Songs  698 

*  Claud  Halcro's  Verses ib. 

*  Noma's  Incantations ib.. 

♦Bryce  Snailsfoot's  Advertisement 700 

♦Mottoes,  1-12 ib. 


On  Ettrick  Forest's  Mountains  dun 701 

Farewell  to  the  Muse 102 

The  Maid  of  Isla ib. 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come :  being  new 

words  to  an  auld  spring ib. 

Part  Second  703 

From  the  Fortunes  op  Nigel. 

*  Mottoes,  1-24 705 


From  Peveril  of  the  Peak. 
*  Mottoes,  1-19 


707 


From  Quentin  Durward. 

*  Song— County  Guy 709 

*  Mottoes,  1-10 ib. 

From  St.  Ronan's  Well. 

*  Mottoes,  1-9 710 


The  Bannatyne  Club ib. 

*  Letter  in  Verse  to  J.  G-.  Lockhart,  Esq., 

on  the  composition  of  Maida's  Epitaph  112 
Lines,  addressed  to  Monsieur  Alexandre, 

the  celebrated  Ventriloquist 713 

Epilogue  to  the  Drama  founded  on  "  St. 

Ronan's  Well" ib. 

Epilogue — (Queen  Mary) 714 

From  Redgauntlet. 

*  "As  Lords  their  Laborers'  hire  delay"  115 

From  The  Betrothed. 

♦Song — Soldier,  Wake ib. 

♦ The  Truth  of  Woman ib. 

♦ I  asked  of  my  Harp ib. 

*  Mottoes,  1-6 116 

From  the  Talisman. 

*  Ahriman 116 

*  Song  of  Blondel— The  Bloody  Vest  ...  Ill 

The  Bloody  Vest— Fytte  Second  ...  118 

*  Mottoes,  1-10 ib. 


PAOI 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

♦  Lines — u  When  with  Poetry  dealing" 719 

From  Woodstock. 

*  An  hour  with  thee 120 

*  Mottoes,  1-8 ib. 

*  Lines  to  Sir  Cuthbert  Sharp 121 

*  Mottoes  from  Chronicles  of  the  Canon- 
gate ib. 

From  the  Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 

*  The  Lay  of  Poor  Louise ib. 

*Death  Chant 122 

*  Song  of  the  Glee-Maiden ib. 

*  Mottoes,  1-5 123 

♦The  Death  of  Keeldar ib. 

From  Anne  of  Geierstein. 

♦The  Secret  Tribunal 124 

♦Mottoes,  1-12. ib. 

The  Foray 126 

Inscription  for  the  Monument  of  the  Rev. 

George  Scott 726 

♦Lines  on  Fortune ib. 

♦  Mottoes  from  Count  Robert  of  Paris, 

1-13 ib. 

♦  Mottoes  from  Castle  Dangerous,  1-5 ....  728 


DRAMATIC  PIECES. 
Halidon  Hill;  a  Dramatic  Sketch  from 

Scottish  History 729 

Preface ib. 

Act  L— Scene  L 731 

Macduff's  Cross.; 748 

Dedication ib. 

Introduction ib. 

Scene  I ib. 

The  Doom  of  Devorgoil 753 

Preface ib. 

Act  I— Scene  L 754 

AUCHINDRANE  J   OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY   784 

Preface ib. 

Act  I.— Scene  L 790 

The  House  of  Aspen. 812 

Advertisement ib. 

Act  I.— Scene  I 81* 


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THE 


POETICAL    WORKS 


SIE  WALTER  SCOTT,  BAET. 


©f)£  £as  of  tt)e  Ca0t  JHtn0trd 

A   POEM,  IN    SIX    CANTOS. 


Dnm  relego,  scripsisse  pudet ;   quia  plurima  cerno, 
Me  quoque,  qui  feci,  judice,  digna  lini. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  EDITION  1833. 

The  Introduction  to  the  Lay  of  The  Last  Min- 
strel, written  in  April,  1830,  was  revised  by  the 
Author  in  the  autumn  of  183*1,  when  he  also  made 
some  corrections  in  the  text  of  the  Poem,  and  sev- 
eral additions  to  the  notes.  The  work  is  now 
printed  from  his  interleaved  copy. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  the  original  MS. 
of  this  Poem  has  not  been  preserved.  We  are 
thus  denied  the  advantage  of  comparing  through- 
out the  Author's  various  readings,  which,  in  the 
case  of  Marmion,  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  the  Lord 
of  the  Isles,  &c,  are  often  highly  curious  and  in- 
structive.— Ed. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

A  poem  of  nearly  thirty  years'  standing1  may  be 
supposed  hardly  to  need  an  Introduction,  since, 
without  one,  it  has  been  able  to  keep  itself  afloat 
through  the  best  part  of  a  generation.  Neverthe- 
less, as,  in  the  edition  of  the  "Waverley  Novels  now 
in  course  of  publication  [1830],  I  have  imposed  on 
myself  the  task  of  saying  something  concerning  the 
purpose  and  history  of  each,  in  their  turn,  I  am 
desirous  that  the  Poems  for  which  I  first  received 
Borne  marks  of  the  public  favor,  should  also  be  ac- 
companied with  such  scraps  of  their  literary  his- 

i  Published  in  4to  (£1  5s.),  January,  1805. 
2 


tory  as  may  be  supposed  to  carry  interest  along 
with  them.  Even  if  I  should  be  mistaken  in  think- 
ing that  the  secret  history  of  what  was  once  so 
popular,  may  still  attract  public  attention  and  cu 
riosity,  it  seems  to  me  not  without  its  use  to  record 
the  manner  and  circumstances  under  which  the 
present,  and  other  Poems  on  the  same  plan,  at- 
tained for  a  season  an  extensive  reputation. 

I  must  resume  the  story  of  my  literary  labors  at 
the  period  at  which  I  broke  off  in  the  Essay  on  the 
Imitation  of  Popular  Poetry  [see  post],  when  I  had 
enjoyed  the  first  gleam  of  public  favor,  by  the  suc- 
cess of  the  first  edition  of  the  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border.  The  second  edition  of  that  work, 
published  in  1803,  proved,  in  the  language  of  the 
trade,  rather  a  heavy  concern.  The  demand  in 
Scotland  had  been  supplied  by  the  first  edition,  and 
the  curiosity  of  the  English  was  not  much  awaken- 
ed by  poems  in  the  rude  garb  of  antiquity,  accom- 
panied with  notes  referring  to  the  obscure  feuds  of 
barbarous  clans,  of  whose  very  names  civilized  his- 
tory was  ignorant.  It  was,  on  the  whole,  one  of 
those  books  which  are  more  praised  than  tbey  are 
read.9 

At  this  time  I  stood  personally  in  a  different  po- 
sition from  that  which  I  occupied  when  I  first  dipt 
my  desperate  pen  in  ink  for  other  purposes  than 
those  of  my  profession.     In  1796,  when  I  first  pub- 

*  "  The  '  Lay'  is  the  best  of  all  possible  comments  on  th« 
Border  Minstrelsy.  "—British  Critic,  August,  1805 


10 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOKKS. 


lished  the  translations  from  Burger,  I  was  an  insu- 
lated individual,  with  only  my  own  wants  to  pro- 
vide for,  and  having,  in  a  great  measure,  my  own 
inclinations  alone  to  consult.  In  1803,  when  the 
second  edition  of  the  Minstrelsy  appeared,  I  had 
arrived  at  a  period  of  life  when  men,  however 
thoughtless,  encounter  duties  and  circun^tances 
which  press  consideration  and  plans  of  life  upon 
the  most  careless  minds.  I  had  been  for  some  time 
married — was  the  father  of  a  rising  family,  and, 
though  fully  enabled  to  meet  the  consequent  de- 
mands upon  me,  it  was  my  duty  and  desire  to  place 
myself  in  a  situation  which  would  enable  me  to 
make  honorable  provision  against  the  various  con- 
tingencies of  life. 

It  may  be  readily  supposed  that  the  attempts 
which  I  had  made  in  literature  had  been  unfavor- 
able to  my  success  at  the  bar.  The  goddess  The- 
mis is,  at  Edinburgh,  and  I  suppose  everywhere 
else,  of  a  peculiarly  jealous  disposition.  She  will 
not  readily  consent  to  share  her  authority,  and 
sternly  demands  from  her  votaries,  not  only  that 
real  duty  be  carefully  attended  to  and  discharged, 
but  that  a  certain  air  of  business  shall  be  observed 
even  in  the  midst  of  total  idleness.  It  is  prudent, 
if  not  absolutely  necessary,  in  a  young  barrister, 
to  appear  completely  engrossed  by  his  profession ; 
however  destitute  of  employment  he  may  in  real- 
ity be,  he  ought  to  preserve,  if  possible,  the  ap- 
pearance of  full  occupation.  He  should,  therefore, 
seem  perpetually  engaged  among  his  law-papers, 
dusting  them,  as  it  were  ;  and,  as  Ovid  advises 
the  fair, 

"  Si  nullus  ent  pulvis,  tamen  excute  nullum."! 

Perhaps  such  extremity  of  attention  is  more  espe- 
cially required,  considering  the  great  number  of 
counsellors  who  are  called  to  the  bar,  and  how  very 
small  a  proportion  of  them  are  finally  disposed,  or 
find  encouragement,  to  follow  the  law  as  a  profes- 
sion. Hence  the  number  of  deserters  is  so  great, 
that  the  least  lingering  look  behind  occasions  a 
young  novice  to  be  set  down  as  one  of  the  intend- 
ing fugitives.  Certain  it  is,  that  the  Scottish  The- 
mis was  at  this  time  peculiarly  jealous  of  any  flirt- 
ation with  the  Muses,  on  the  part  of  those  who  had 
ranged  themselves  under  her  banners.  Tliis  was 
probably  owing  to  her  consciousness  of  the  superior 
attractions  of  her  rivals.  Of  late,  however,  she  has 
relaxed  in  some  instances  in  this  particular,  an  em- 
inent example  of  which  has  been  shown  in  the  case 
of  my  friend,  Mr.  Jeffrey,  who,  after  long  conduct- 
ing one  of  the  most  influential  literary  periodicals 
of  the  age,  with  unquestionable  ability,  has  been, 

1  If  dust  be  none,  yet  brush  that  none  away. 

8  Mr.  Jeffrey,  after  conducting  the  Edinburgh  Review  for 
twenty-seven  years,  withdrew  from  that  office  in  1829,  on  being 


by  the  general  consent  of  his  brethren,  recently 
elected  to  be  their  Dean  of  Faculty,  or  President, 
— being  the  highest  acknowledgment  of  his  pro- 
fessional talents  which  they  had  it  in  their  power 
to  offer.2  But  this  is  an  incident  much  beyond  the 
ideas  of  a  period  of  tliirty  years'  distance,  when  a 
barrister  who  really  possessed  any  turn  for  lighter 
literature,  was  at  as  much  pains  to  conceal  it,  as  if 
it  had  in  reality  been  something  to  be  ashamed  of; 
and  I  could  mention  more  than  one  instance  in 
which  literature  and  society  have  suffered  much 
loss,  that  jurisprudence  might  be  enriched. 

Such,  however,  was  not  my  case ;  for  the  reader 
will  not  wonder  that  my  open  interference  with 
matters  of  light  literature  diminished  my  employ- 
ment in  the  weightier  matters  of  the  law.  Nor 
did  the  solicitors,  tipon  whose  choice  the  counsel 
takes  rank  in  his  profession,  do  me  less  than  jus- 
tice, by  regarding  others  among  my  contempora- 
ries as  fitter  to  discharge  the  duty  due  to  their 
clients,  than  a  young  man  who  was  taken  up  with 
running  after  ballads,  whether  Teutonic  or  national. 
My  profession  and  I,  therefore,  came  to  stand  near- 
ly upon  the  footing  which  honest  Slender  consoled 
himself  on  having  established  with  Mistress  Anne 
Page  :  "  There  was  no  great  love  between  us  at 
the  beginning,  and  it  pleased  Heaven  to  decrease 
it  on  farther  acquaintance."  I  became  sensible  that 
the  time  was  come  when  I  must  either  buckle  my- 
self resolutely  to  the  "  toil  by  day,  the  lamp  by 
night,"  renouncing  all  the  Delilahs  of  my  imagina- 
tion, or  bid  adieu  to  the  profession  of  the  law, 
and  hold  another  course. 

I  confess  my  own  inclination  revolted  from  the 
more  severe  choice,  which  might  have  been  deemed 
by  many  the  wiser  alternative.  As  my  transgres- 
sions had  been  numerous,  my  repentance  must  have 
been  signalized  by  unusual  sacrifices.  I  ought  to 
have  mentioned,  that  since  my  fourteenth  or  fif- 
teenth year,  my  health,  originally  delicate,  had 
become  extremely  robust.  From  infancy  I  had 
labored  under  the  infirmity  of  a  severe  lameness, 
but,  as  I  believe  is  usually  the  case  with  men  of 
spirit  who  suffer  under  personal  inconveniences  of 
this  nature,  I  had,  since  the  improvement  of  my 
health,  in  defiance  of  this  incapacitating  circum- 
stance, distinguished  myself  by  the  endurance  of 
toil  on  foot  or  horseback,  having  often  walked  thirty 
miles  a  day,  and  rode  upwards  of  a  hundred  without 
resting.  In  this  manner  I  made  many  pleasant  jour- 
neys through  parts  of  the  country  then  not  very  ac- 
cessible, gaining  more  amusement  and  instruction 
than  I  have  been  able  to  acquire  since  I  have  travel- 
led hi  a  more  commodious  manner.  I  practised  most 

elected  Dean  of  the  Faculty  of  Advocates.  In  1830,  under 
Earl  Grey's  Ministry,  he  was  appointed  Lord  Advocate  ol 
Scotland,  and,  in  1834,  a  Senator  of  the  College  of  Justice  by 
the  title  of  Lord  Jeffrey. — Ed. 


THE  LAY  0E  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


I  i 


silvan  sports  also,  with  some  success,  and  with  great 
delight.  But  these  pleasures  must  have  been  all 
resigned,  or  used  with  great  moderation,  had  I  de- 
termined to  regain  my  station  at  the  bar.  It  vis 
even  doubtful  whether  I  could,  with  perfect  char- 
acter as  a  jurisconsult,  retain  a  situation  in  a  vol- 
unteer corps  of  cavalry,  wliich  I  then  held.  The 
threats  of  invasion  were  at  this  tune  instant  and 
menacing ;  the  call  by  Britain  on  her  cliildren  was 
uriversal,  and  was  answered  by  some,  who,  like 
myself,  consulted  rather  their  desire  than  their 
ability  to  bear  arms.  My  services,  however,  were 
found  useful  in  assisting  to  maintain  the  discipline 
of  the  corps,  being  the  point  on  wliich  their  consti- 
tution rendered  them  most  amenable  to  military 
criticism.  In  other  respects,  the  squadron  was  a 
fine  one,  consisting  chiefly  of  handsome  men,  well 
mounted,  and  armed  at  their  own  expense.  My 
attention  to  the  corps  took  up  a  good  deal  of  time ; 
and  while  it  occupied  many  of  the  happiest  hours 
of  my  life,  it  furnished  an  additional  reason  for  my 
reluctance  again  to  encounter  the  severe  course  of 
study  indispensable  to  success  in  the  juridical  pro- 
fession. 

On  the  other  hand,  my  father,  whose  feelings 
might  have  been  hurt  by  my  quitting  the  bar,  had 
been  for  two  or  three  years  dead,  so  that  I  had  no 
control  to  thwart  my  own  inclination  ;  and  my  in- 
come being  equal  to  all  the  comforts,  and  some  of 
the  elegancies,  of  life,  I  was  not  pressed  to  an  irk- 
some labor  by  necessity,  that  most  powerful  of  mo- 
tives ;  consequently,  I  was  the  more  easily  seduced 
to  choose  the  employment  which  was  most  agree- , 
able  to  me.  This  was  yet  the  easier,  that  in  1800 
I  had  obtained  the  preferment  of  Sheriff  of  Sel- 
kirkshire, about  £300  a  year  in  value,  and  winch 
was  the  more  agreeable  to  me,  as  in  that  county 
I  had  several  friends  and  relations.  But  I  did 
not  abandon  the  profession  to  which  I  had  been 
educated,  without  certain  prudential  resolutions, 
wliich,  at  the  risk  of  some  egotism,  I  will  here 
mention  ;  not  without  the  hope  that  they  may  be 
useful  to  young  persons  who  may  stand  in  circum- 
stances  similar  to  those  in  which  I  then  stood. 

In  the  first  place,  upon  considering  the  lives  and 
fortunes  of  persons  who  had  given  themselves  up 
to  literature,  or  to  the  task  of  pleasing  the  public, 
it  seemed  to  me  that  the  circumstances  winch 
chiefly  affected  their  happiness  and  character,  were 
those  from  which  Horace  has  bestowed  upon  au- 
thors the  epithet  of  the  Irritable  Race.  It  re- 
quires no  depth  of  philosophic  reflection  to  per- 
ceive, that  the  petty  warfare  of  Pope  with  the 
Dunces  of  his  period  could  not  have  been  carried 
-jn  without  his  suffering  the  most  acute  torture, 
euch  as  a  man  must  endure  from  musquitoes,  by 
whose  stings  he  suffers  agony,  although  he  can 
rrush  them  in  his  grasp  by  myriads.    Nor  is  it  ne- 


cessary to  call  to  memory  the  many  humiliating 
instances  in  wliich  men  of  the  greatest  genius  have, 
to  avenge  some  pitiful  quarrel,  made  themselves 
ridiculous  during  their  fives,  to  become  the  still 
more  degraded  objects  of  pity  to  future  times. 

Upon  the  whole,  as  I  had  no  pretension  to  the 
genius  of  the  distinguished  persons  who  had  fallen 
into  such  errors,  I  concluded  there  could  be  no  oc- 
casion for  imitating  them  in  their  mistakes,  or  what 
I  considered  as  such  ;  and  in  adopting  literary  pur- 
suits as  the  principal  occupation  of  my  future  life, 
I  resolved,  if  possible,  to  avoid  those  weaknesses 
of  temper  which  seemed  to  have  most  easily  beset 
my  more  celebrated  predecessors. 

With  this  view,  it  was  my  first  resolution  to 
keep  as  far  as  was  in  my  power  abreast  of  society, 
continuing  to  maintain  my  place  in  general  com- 
pany, without  yielding  to  the  very  natural  temp- 
tation of  narrowing  myself  to  what  is  called  liter- 
ary society.  By  doing  so,  I  imagined  I  should  es- 
cape the  besetting  sin  of  listening  to  language, 
wliich,  from  one  motive  or  other,  is  apt  to  ascribe 
a  very  undue  degree  of  consequence  to  literary 
pursuits,  as  if  they  were,  indeed,  the  business, 
rather  than  the  amusement,  of  lifev  The  opposite 
course  can  only  be  compared  to  the  injudicious  con- 
duct of  one  who  pampers  liimself  with  cordial  and 
luscious  draughts,  until  he  is  unable  to  endure 
wholesome  bitters.  Like  Gil  Bias,  therefore,  I  re- 
solved to  stick  by  the  society  of  my  commis,  in- 
stead of  seeking  that  of  a  more  literary  cast,  and 
to  maintain  my  general  interest  in  what  was  going 
on  around  me,  reserving  the  man  of  letters  for  the 
desk  and  the  library. 

My  second  resolution  was  a  corollary  from  the 
first.  I  determined  that,  without  shutting  my 
ears  to  the  voice  of  true  criticism,  I  would  pay  no 
regard  to  that  which  assumes  the  form  of  satire. 
I  therefore  resolved  to  arm  myself  with  that  triple 
brass  of  Horace,  of  wliich  those  of  my  profession 
are  seldom  held  deficient,  against  all  the  roving 
warfare  of  satire,  parody,  and  sarcasm ;  to  laugh 
if  the  jest  was  a  good  one,  or,  if  otherwise,  to  let 
it  hum  and  buzz  itself  to  sleep. 

It  is  to  the  observance  of  these  rules  (according 
to  my  best  belief),  that,  after  a  fife  of  thirty  years 
engaged  in  literary  labors  of  various  kinds,  I  at- 
tribute my  never  having  been  entangled  in  any 
literary  quarrel  or  controversy  ;  and,  wliich  is  a 
still  more  pleasing  result,  that  [  have  been  distin 
guished  by  the  personal  friendship  of  my  most  ap 
proved  contemporaries  of  all  parties. 

I  adopted,  at  the  same  time,  another  resolution, 
on  which  it  may  doubtless  be  remarked,  that  it 
was  well  for  me  that  I  had  it  in  my  power  to  do 
so,  and  that,  therefore,  it  is  a  line  of  conduct  which, 
depending  upon  accident,  can  be  less  generally  ap- 
plicable in  other  cases.     Yet  I  fail  not  to  recorrt 


12 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


this  part  of  my  plan,  convinced  that,  though  it 
may  not  be  in  every  one's  power  to  adopt  exactly 
the  same  resolution,  he  may  nevertheless,  by  his 
own  exertions,  in  some  shape  or  other,  attain  the 
object  on  winch  it  was  founded,  namely,  to  secure 
the  means  of  subsistence,  without  relying  exclu- 
sively on  literary  talents.  In  this  respect,  I  de- 
termined that  literature  should  be  my  staff,  but 
not  my  crutch,  and  that  the  profits  of  my  literary 
labor,  however  convenient  otherwise,  should  not, 
if  I  could  help  it,  become  necessary  to  my  ordi- 
nary expenses.  "With  this  purpose  I  resolved,  if 
the  interest  of  my  friend?  could  so  far  favor  me, 
to  retire  upon  any  of  the  respectable  offices  of  the 
law,  in  which  persons  of  that  profession  are  glad 
to  take  refuge,  when  they  feel  themselves,  or  are 
judged  by  others,  incompetent  to  aspire  to  its 
higher  honors.  Upon  such  a  post  an  author  might 
hope  to  retreat,  without  any  perceptible  alteration 
of  circumstances,  whenever  the  time  should  arrive 
that  the  public  grew  weary  of  Ins  endeavors  to 
please,  or  he  himself  should  tire  of  the  pen.  At 
tins  period  of  my  life,  I  possessed  so  many  friends 
capable  of  assisting  me  in  this  object  of  ambition, 
that  I  could  hardly  overrate  my  own  prospects 
of  obtaining  the  preferment  to  wliich  I  limited  my 
wishes ;  and,  in  fact,  I  obtained  in  no  long  period 
the  reversion  of  a  situation  winch  completely  met 
them. 

Thus  far  all  was  well,  and  the  Author  had  been 
guilty,  perhaps,  of  no  great  imprudence,  when  he 
relinquished  his  forensic  practice  with  the  hope  of 
making  some  figure  in  the  field  of  literature.  But 
an  established  character  with  the  public,  in  my  new 
capacity,  still  remained  to  be  acquired.  I  have 
noticed,  that  the  translations  from  Burger  had  been 
unsuccessful,  nor  had  the  original  poetry  wliich  ap- 
peared under  the  auspices  of  Mr.  Lewis,  hi  the 
"Tales  of  Wonder,"  in  any  great  degree  raised 
my  reputation.  It  is  true,  I  had  private  friends 
disposed  to  second  me  in  my  efforts  to  obtain  pop- 
ularity. But  I  was  sportsman  enough  to  know, 
that  if  the  greyhound  does  not  run  well,  the  hal- 
loos  of  his  patrons  will  not  obtain  the  prize  for  him. 

^Neither  was  I  ignorant  that  the  practice  of  bal- 
lad-writing was  for  the  present  out  of  fashion,  and 
that  any  attempt  to  revive  it,  or  to  found  a  poeti- 
cal :haracter  upon  it,  would  certainly  fail  of  suc- 
cess. The  ballad  measure  itself,  which  was  once 
listened  to  as  to  an  enchanting  melody,  had  be- 
come hackneyed  and  sickening,  from  its  being  the 
accompaniment  of  every  grinding  hand-organ ;  and 

1  Thus  it  has  been  often  remarked,  that,  in  the  opening 
couplets  of  Pope's  translation  of  the  Iliad,  there  are  two  syl- 
lables forming  a  superfluous  word  in  each  line,  as  may  be  ob- 
ierve'1  by  attending  to  such  words  as  are  printed  in  Italics. 
"  Achilles'  wrath  to  Greece  the  direful  spring 
Of  woes  unnumber'd,  heavenly  goddess,  sing  ; 


besides,  a  long  work  in  quatrains,  whether  those 
of  the  common  ballad,  or  such  as  are  termed  ele- 
giac, has  an  effect  upon  the  mind  like  that  of  the 
bed  of  Procrustes  upon  the  human  body ;  for,  as  it 
must  be  both  awkward  and  difficult  to  carry  on  a 
long  sentence  from  one  stanza  to  another,  it  fol- 
lows, that  the  meaning  of  each  period  must  be 
comprehended  within  four  lines,  and  equally  so 
that  it  must  be  extended  so  as  to  fill  that  space. 
The  alternate  dilation  and  contraction  thus  ren- 
dered necessary  is  singularly  unfavorable  to  nar- 
rative composition ;  and  the  "  Gondibert"  of  Sir 
"William  D'Avenant,  though  containing  many  strik- 
ing passages,  has  never  become  popular,  owing 
chiefly  to  its  being  told  in  this  species  of  elegiac 
verse. 

In  the  dilemma  occasioned  by  this  objection,  the 
idea  occurred  to  the  Author  of  using  the  measured 
short  line,  which  forms  the  structure  of  so  much 
minstrel  poetry,  that  it  may  be  properly  termed 
the  Romantic  stanza,  by  way  of  distinction ;  and 
which  appears  so  natural  to  our  language,  that  the 
very  best  of  our  poets  have  not  been  able  to  pro- 
tract it  into  the  verse  properly  called  Heroic,  with- 
out the  use  of  epithets  which  are,  to  say  the  least, 
unnecessary.1  But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  extreme 
facility  of  the  short  couplet,  wliich  seems  conge- 
nial to  our  language,  and  was,  doubtless  for  that 
reason,  so  popular  with  our  old  minstrels,  is,  for 
the  same  reason,  apt  to  prove  a  snare  to  the  com- 
poser who  uses  it  in  more  modern  days,  by  en- 
couraging him  in  a  habit  of  slovenly  composition. 
The  necessity  of  occasional  pauses  often  forced  the 
young  poet  to  pay  more  attention  to  sense,  as  the 
boy's  kite  rises  highest  when  the  train  is  loaded  by 
a  due  counterpoise.  The  Author  was  therefore 
intimidated  by  what  Byron  calls  the  "  fatal  facil- 
ity" of  the  octosyllabic  verse,  which  was  otherwise 
better  adapted  to  his  purpose  of  imitating  the  more 
ancient  poetry. 

I  was  not  less  at  a  loss  for  a  subject  which  might 
admit  of  being  treated  with  the  simplicity  and 
wildness  of  the  ancient  ballad.  But  accident  dic- 
tated both  a  theme  and  measure,  wliich  decided 
the  subject,  as  well  as  the  structure  of  the  poem. 

The  lovely  young  Countess  of  Dalkeith,  after- 
wards Harriet  Duchess  of  Buccleuch,  had  come  tc 
the  land  of  her  husband  with  the  desire  of*making 
herself  acquainted  with  its  traditions  and  customs, 
as  well  as  its  manners  and  history.  All  who  re- 
member this  lady  will  agree,  that  the  intellectual 
character  of  her  extreme  beauty,  the  amenity  and 

That  wrath  which  sent  to  Pluto's  gloomy  reign, 
The  souls  of  mighty  chiefs  in  battle  slain, 
Whose  bones,  unburied  on  the  desert  shore, 
Devouring  dogs  and  hungry  vultures  tore." 


THE  LAY  OF  TbE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


13 


rourtesy  of  her  manners,  the  soundness  of  h  ir  un- 
derstanding, and  her  unbounded  benevolerce,  gave 
more  the  idea  of  an  angelic  visitant,  th>*  q  of  a  be- 
ing belonging  to  this  nether  world ;  md  such  a 
thought  was  but  too  consistent  with  y^ie  short  space 
she  was  permitted  to  tarry  among  as.1  Of  course, 
where  all  made  it  a  pride  and  pleasure  to  gratify 
her  wishes,  she  soon  heard  enough  of  Border  lore ; 
among  others,  an  aged  gentleman  of  property," 
near  Langholm,  communicated  to  her  ladyship  the 
story  of  Gilpin  Horner  a  tradition  in  which  the 
narrator,  and  many  rr>ore  of  that  country,  were 
firm  believers.  Tb<.  young  Countess,  much  de- 
lighted with  the  legend,  and  the  gravity  and  full 
confidence  with  t  hich  it  was  told,  enjoined  on  me 
as  a  task  to  compose  a  ballad  on  the  subject.  Of 
couroe,  to  hea-  was  to  obey;  and  thus  the  goblin 
story,  ob;e'it'}d  to  by  several  critics  as  an  excres- 
cence upon  the  poem,  was,  in  fact,  the  occasion  of 
ito  be;ng  written. 

A  chance  similar  to  that  which  dictated  the  sub- 
ject, gave  me  also  the  hint  of  a  new  mode  of  treat- 
ing it.  We  had  at  that  time  the  lease  of  a  pleas- 
ant cottage,  near  Lasswade,  on  the  romantic  banks 
of  the  Esk,  to  which  we  escaped  when  the  vaca- 
tions of  the  Court  permitted  me  so  much  leisure. 
Here  I  had  the  pleasure  to  receive  a  visit  from 
Mr.  Stoddart  (now  Sir  John  Stoddart,  Judge-Ad- 
vocate at  Malta),  who  was  at  that  time  collecting 
the  particulars  which  he  afterwards  embodied  in 
his  Remarks  on  Local  Scenery  in  Scotland.3  I  was 
of  some  use  to  him  in  procuring  the  information 
which  he  desired,  and  guiding  him  to  the  scenes 
which  he  wished  to  see.  In  return,  he  made  me 
better  acquainted  than  I  had  hitherto  been  with 
the  poetic  effusions  which  have  since  made  the 
Lakes  of  Westmoreland,  aDd  the  authors  by  whom 
they  have  been  sung,  so  famous  wherever  the  En- 
glish tongue  is  spoken. 

I  was  already  acquainted  with  the  "Joan  of 
Arc,"  the  "Thalaba,"  and  the  "Metrical  Ballads" 
of  Mr.  Southey,  which  had  found  their  way  to 
Scotland,  and  were  generally  admired.  But  Mr. 
Stoddart,  who  had  the  advantage  of  personal 
friendship  with  the  authors,  and  who  possessed  a 
strong  memory  with  an  excellent  taste,  was  able 


i  The  Duchess  died  in  August,  1814.  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
lines  on  her  death  will  be  found  in  a  subsequent  page  of  this 
collection. — Ed. 

2  This  was  Mr.  Beattie  of  Mickledale,  a  man  then  consider- 
ably upwards  of  eighty,  of  a  shrewd  and  sarcastic  temper, 
which  he  did  not  at  all  times  suppress,  as  the  following  anec- 
dote will  show : — A  worthy  clergyman,  now  deceased,  with 
better  good-will  than  tact,  was  endeavoring  to  push  the  senior 
forward  in  his  recollection  of  Border  ballads  and  legends,  by 
wpressing  reiterated  surprise  at  his  wonderful  memory.  "  No, 
sir,"  said  old  Mickledale  ;  "  my  memory  is  good  for  little,  for 
It  cannot  retain  what  ought  to  be  preserved.  I  can  remember 
\11  these  sta  ies  about  the  auld  riding  days,  which  are  of  no 


to  repeat  to  me  many  long  specimens  of  their  poet- 
ry, which  had  not  yet  appeared  in  print.  Amongst 
others,  was  the  striking  fragment  called  Christabel, 
by  Mr.  Coleridge,  winch,  from  the  singularly  irreg- 
ular structure  of  the  stanzas,  and  the  liberty  which 
it  allowed  the  author,  to  adapt  the  sound  to  the 
sense,  seemed  to  be  exactly  suited  to  such  an  ex- 
travaganza as  .1  meditated  on  the  subject  of  Gilpio 
Horner.  As  applied  to  comic  and  humorous  po- 
etry, this  mescolanza  of  measures  had  been  already 
used  by  Anthony  Hall,  Anstey,  Dr.  Wolcott,  and 
others ;  but  it  was  in  Christabel  that  I  first  found 
it  used  in  serious  poetry,  and  it  is  to  Mr.  Coleridge 
that  I  am  bound  to  make  the  acknowledgment  due 
from  the  pupil  to  his  master.  I  observe  that  Lord 
Byron,  in  noticing  my  obligations  to  Mr.  Coleridge, 
which  I  have  been  always  most  ready  to  acknowl- 
edge, expressed,  or  was  understood  to  express,  a 
hope,  that  I  did  not  write  an  unfriendly  review  on 
Mr.  Coleridge's  productions.4  On  tins  subject  I 
have  only  to  say,  that  I  do  not  even  know  the  re- 
view which  is  alluded  to ;  and  were  I  ever  to  take 
the  unbecoming  freedom  of  censuring  a  man  of  Mr. 
Coleridge's  extraordinary  talents,  it  would  be  on 
account  of  the  caprice  and  indolence  with  which  he 
has  tin-own  from  him,  as  if  in  mere  wantonness, 
those  unfinished  scraps  of  poetry,  which,  like  the 
Torso  of  antiquity,  defy  the  skill  of  his  poetical 
brethren  to  complete  them.5  The  charming  frag- 
ments which  the  author  abandons  to  their  fate, 
are  surely  too  valuable  to  be  treated  like  the 
proofs  of  careless  engravers,  the  sweepings  of 
whose  studios  often  make  the  fortune  of  some 
painstaking  collector. 

I  did  not  immediately  proceed  upon  my  pro- 
jected labor,  though  I  was  now  furnished  with  a 
subject,  and  with  a  structure  of  verse  which  might 
have  the  effect  of  novelty  to  the  public  ear,  and 
afford  the  author  an  opportunity  of  varying  Ins 
measure  with  the  variations  of  a  romantic  theme. 
On  the  contrary,  it  was,  to  the  best  of  my  recol- 
lection, more  than  a  year  after  Mr.  Stoddart's  visit, 
that,  by  way  of  experiment.  I  composed  the  first 
two  or  three  stanzas  of  "The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel."  I  was  shortly  afterwards  visited  by 
two  intimate  friends,  one  of  whom  still  survives. 


earthly  importance  ;  but  were  you,  reverend  sir,  to  repeat  yom 
best  sermon  in  this  drawing-room,  I  could  not  tell  you  half  an 
hour  afterwards  what  you  had  been  speaking  about." 

3  Two  volumes,  royal  octavo.  1801. 

*  Medwin's  Conversations  of  Lord  Byron,  p.  309. 

6  Sir  Walter,  elsewhere,  in  allusion  to  "  Coleridge's  beauti- 
ful and  tantalizing  fragment  of  Christabel,"  says,  "  Has  not 
our  own  imaginative  poet  cause  to  fear  that  future  ages  will 
desire  to  summon  him  from  his  place  of  rest,  as  Milton  longed 

'  To  call  up  him  who  left  half  told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold  V  " 

Notes  to  the  Mbot.—Ev. 


14 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


They  were  men  whose  talents  might  have  raised 
them  to  the  highest  station  in  literature,  had  they 
not  preferred  exerting  them  in  their  own  profes- 
sion of  the  law,  in  wliich  they  attained  equal  pre- 
ferment. I  was  in  the  habit  of  consulting  them  on 
my  attempts  at  composition,  having  equal  confi- 
dence in  their  sound  taste  and  friendly  sincerity.1 
In  this  specimen  I  had,  in  the  phrase  of  the  High- 
land servant,  packed  all  that  was  my  own  at  least, 
for  I  had  also  included  a  line  of  invocation,  a 
little  softened,  from  Coleridge — 

"Mary,  mother,  shield  us  well." 

As  neither  of  my  friends  said  much  to  me  on  the 
subject  of  the  stanzas  I  showed  them  before  then- 
departure,  I  had  no  doubt  that  their  disgust  had 
been  greater  than  their  good-nature  chose  to  ex- 
press. Looking  upon  them,  therefore,  as  a  failure, 
I  threw  the  manuscript  into  the  fire,  and  thought 
as  little  more  as  I  could  of  the  matter.  Some 
time  afterwards,  I  met  one  of  my  two  counsellors, 
who  inquired,  with  considerable  appearance  of  in- 
terest, about  the  progress  of  the  romance  I  had 
commenced,  and  was  greatly  surprised  at  learning 
its  fate.  He  confessed  that  neither  he  nor  our 
mutual  friend  had  been  at  first  able  to  give  a 
precise  opinion  on  a  poem  so  much  out  of  the 
common  road ;  but  that  as  they  walked  home  to- 
gether to  the  city,  they  had  talked  much  on  the 
subject,  and  the  result  was  an  earnest  desire  that 
I  would  proceed  with  the  composition.  He  also 
added,  that  some  sort  of  prologue  might  be  neces- 
sary, to  place  the  mind  of  the  hearers  in  the  situa- 
tion to  understand  and  enjoy  the  poem,  and  recom- 
mended the  adoption  of  such  quaint  mottoes  as 
Spenser  has  used  to  announce  the  contents  of  the 
chapters  of  the  Faery  Queen,  such  as — 

"  Babe's  bloody  hands  may  not  be  cleansed. 
The  face  of  golden  Mean  : 
Her  sisters  two,  Extremities, 
Strive  her  to  banish  clean."  a 

I  entirely  agreed  with  my  friendly  critic  in  the 
necessity  of  having  some  sort  of  pitch-pipe,  which 
might  make  readers  aware  of  the  object,  or  rather 
the  tone,  of  the  publication.  But  I  doubted  wheth- 
er, in  assuming  the  oracular  style  of  Spenser's 
mottoes,  the  interpreter  might  not  be  censured  as 
the  harder  to  be  understood  of  the  two.  I  there- 
fore introduced  the  Old  Minstrel,  as  an  appropri- 
ate prolocutor,  by  whom  the  lay  might  be  sung,  or 
spoken,  and  the  introduction  of  whom  betwixt  the 

1  One  of  these,  William  Erskine,  Esq.  (Lord  Kinnedder),  I 
have  often  had  occasion  to  mention  ;  and  though  I  may  hardly 
be  thanked  for  disclosing  the  name  of  the  other,  yet  I  cannot 
but  state  that  the  second  is  George  Cranstoun,  Esq.,  now  a 
Senator  of  the  College  of  Justice,  by  the  title  of  Lord  Core- 
nouse.  1831. — [Mr.  Cranstoun  resigned  is  seat  on  the  Bench 
a  1839.1 


cantos,  might  remind  the  reader,  at  intei  vals,  of 
the  time,  place,  and  circumstances  of  the  recita- 
tion. This  species  of  cadre,  or  frame,  afterwards 
afforded  the  poem  its  name  of  "  The  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel." 

The  work  was  subsequently  shown  to  othel 
friends  during  its  progress,  and  received  the  im- 
primatur of  Mr.  Francis  Jeffrey,  who  had  beeu 
already  for  some  time  distinguished  by  his  critical 
talent. 

The  poem,  being  once  licensed  by  the  critics  as 
fit  for  the  market,  was  soon  finished,  proceeding  at 
about  the  rate  of  a  canto  per  week.  There  was, 
indeed,  little  occasion  for  pause  or  hesitation,  when 
a  troublesome  rhyme  might  be  accommodated  by 
an  alteration  of  the  stanza,  or  where  an  incorrect 
measure  might  be  remedied  by  a  variation  of  the 
rhyme.  It  was  finally  published  in  1805,  and  may 
be  regarded  as  the  first  work  in  which  the  writer, 
who  has  been  since  so  voluminous,  laid  his  claim 
to  be  considered  as  an  original  author. 

The  book  was  published  by  Longman  and  Com- 
pany, and  Archibald  Constable  and  Company.  The 
principal  of  the  latter  firm  was  then  commencing 
that  course  of  bold  and  liberal  industry  which  was 
of  so  much  advantage  to  his  country,  and  might 
have  been  so  to  himself,  but  for  causes  which  it  is 
needless  to  enter  into  here.  The  work,  brought 
out  on  the  usual  terms  of  division  of  profits  bp 
tween  the  author  and  publishers,  was  not  lung 
after  purchased  by  them  for  £500,  to  which 
Messrs.  Longman  and  Company  afterwards  added 
£100,  in  their  own  unsolicited  kindness,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  uncommon  success  of  the  work.  It 
was  handsomely  given  to  supply  the  loss  of  a  fine 
horse,  which  broke  down  suddenly  wliile  the  au- 
thor was  riding  with  one  of  the  worthy  publish- 
ers.3 

It  would  be  great  affectation  not  to  own 
frankly,  that  the  author  expected  some  success 
from  "The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel."  The  at- 
tempt to  return  to  a  more  simple  and  natural 
style  of  poetry  was  likely  to  be  welcomed,  at  a 
time  when  the  public  had  become  tired  of  heroic 
hexameters,  with  all  the  buckram  and  binding 
which  belong  to  them  of  later  days.  But  what- 
ever might  have  been  his  expectations,  whether 
moderate  or  unreasonable,  the  result  left  them  far 
behind,  for  among  those  who  smiled  for  the  adven- 
turous Minstrel,  were  numbered  the  great  names 
of  William  Pitt  and  Charles  Fox.4     Neither  was 

2  Book  II.  Canto  II. 

3  Mr.  Owen  Rees,  here  alluded  to,  retired  from  the  house  o( 
Longman  &  Co.  at  Midsummer,  1837,  and  died  5th  September 
following,  in  his  67th  year. — Ed. 

4  "  Through  what  channel  or  in  what  terms  Fox  made  known 
his  opinion  of  the  Lay,  I  have  failed  to  ascertain.  Pitt's  piaise, 
as  expressed  to  his  niece,  Lady  Hester  Stanhope,  within  a  few 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


M 


the  extent  of  the  uale  inferior  to  the  character  of 
the  judges  who  received  the  poem  with  approba- 
tion. Upwards  of  thirty  thousand  copies  of  the 
Lay  were  disposed  of  by  the  trade ;  and  the  au- 
thor had  to  perform  a  task  difficult  to  human 
vanity,  when  called  upon  to  make  the  necessary 

weeks  after  the  poem  appeared,  was  repeated  by  her  to  Mr. 
William  Stewart  Rose,  who,  of  course,  communicated  it  forth- 
with to  the  author ;  and  not  long  after,  the  Minister,  in  con- 
versation with  Scott's  early  friend,  the  Right  Hon.  William 
Dundas,  signified  that  it  would  give  him  pleasure  to  find  some 
opportunity  of  advancing  the  fortunes  of  such  a  writer.  "  I 
remember,"  writes  this  gentleman,  "at  Mr.  Pitt's  table  in 
1805,  the  Chancellor  asked  me  about  you  and  your  then  situa- 
tion, and  after  I  had  answered  him,  Mr.  Pitt  observed — '  He 
can't  remain  as  he  is,'  and  desired  me  to  '  look  to  it.'  " — 
Lockhart.     Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  226. 

i  "  The  poet  has  under-estimated  even  the  patent  and  tangi- 
ble evidence  of  his  success.  The  first  edition  of  the  Lay  was 
l  magnificent  quarto,  750  copies  ;  but  this  was  soon  exhaust- 


deductions  from  his  own  merits,  in  a  calm  attempt 
to  account  for  his  popularity.1 

A  few  additional  remarks  on  the  author's  liter 
ary  attempts  after  this  period,  will  be  found  in 
the  Introduction  to  the  Poem  of  Marmion, 
Abbotsfoed,  April,  1830. 

ed,  and  there  followed  an  octavo  impression  of  1500  ;  in  1806, 
two  more,  one  of  2000  copies,  another  of  2250  ;  in  1807,  a  fifth 
edition  of  2000,  and  a  sixth  of  3000  ;  in  1808,  3550  ;  in  1809, 
3000 — a  small  edition  in  quarto  (the  ballads  and  lyrical  pieces 
being  then  annexed  to  it) — and  another  octavo  edition  of 
3250;  in  1811,  3000;  in  1812,  3000;  in  1816,  3000;  in  1823 
1000.  A  fourteenth  impression  of  2000  foolscap  appeared  in 
1825;  and  besides  all  this,  before  the  end  of  1836,  11,000 
copies  had  gone  forth  in  the  collected  editions  of  his  poetica 
works.  Thus,  nearly  forty-four  thousand  copies  had  been  dis- 
posed of  in  this  country,  and  by  the  legitimate  trade  alone, 
before  he  superintended  the  edition  of  1830,  to  which  his  bio 
graphical  introductions  were  prefixed.  In  flie  history  of  Brit- 
ish Poetry  nothing  had  ever  equalled  the  demand  for  the  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel."— Life,  vol.  ii.  p.  226. 


16 


$h*  Caa  of  tljc  Ca0t  illinstrd. 


TO    THE 
RIGHT     HONORABLE 

CHARLES   EARL   OF   DALKEITH, 

THIS    POEM    IS    INSCRIBED    BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

The  Poem  now  offered  to  the  Public,  is  intended  to  illustrate  the  customs  and  manners  which  anciently 
prevailed  on  the  Borders  of  England  and  Scotland.  The  inhabitants  living  in  a  state  partly  pastoral 
and  partly  warlike,  and  combining  habits  of  constant  depredation  with  the  influence  of  a  rude  spirit  of 
chivalry,  were  often  engaged  in  scenes  highly  susceptible  of  poetical  ornament.  As  the  description  of 
scenery  and  manners  was  more  the  object  of  the  Author  than  a  combined  and  regular  narrative,  the  plan 
of  the  Ancient  Metrical  Romance  was  adopted,  which  allows  greater  latitude,  in  this  respect,  than  would 
be  consistent  with  the  dignity  of  a  regular  Poem.1  The  same  model  offered  other  facilities,  as  it  permits 
an  occasional  alteration  of  measure,  which,  in  some  degree,  authorizes  the  change  of  rhythm  in  the  text? 
The  machinery,  also,  adopted  from  popular  belief,  would  have  seemed  puerile  in  a  Poem  which  did  not 
partake  of  the  rudeness  of  the  old  Ballad,  or  Metrical  Romance. 

For  these  reasons,  the  Poem  was  put  into  the  mouth  of  an  ancient  Minstrel,  the  last  of  the  race,  who, 
as  he  is  supposed  to  have  survived  the  Revolution,  might  have  caught  somewhat  of  the  refinement  of 
modern  poetry,  without  losing  the  simplicity  of  his  original  model.  The  date  of  the  Tale  itself  is  about 
the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  wlien  most  of  the  personages  actually  fourislied.  The  time  occupied 
by  the  action  is  Three  Nights  and  Three  Days? 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  way  was  long,  the  wind  was  cold, 
The  Minstrel  was  infirm  and  old ; 

i  "  The  chief  excellence  of  the  Lay  consists  in  the  beauty 
of  the  descriptions  of  local  scenery,  and  the  accurate  picture 
of  customs  and  manners  among  the  Scottish  Borderers  at  the 
time  it  refers  to.  The  various  exploits  and  adventures  which 
occur  in  those  half-civilized  times,  when  the  bands  of  govern- 
ment were  so  loosely  twisted,  that  every  man  depended  for 
safety  more  on  his  own  arm,  or  the  prowess  of  his  chief,  than 
on  the  civil  power,  may  be  said  to  hold  a  middle  rank  between 
nistory  and  private  anecdote.  War  is  always  most  picturesque 
where  it  is  least  formed  into  a  science  ;  it  has  most  variety  and 
interest  where  the  prowess  and  activity  of  individuals  has  most 
play  ;  and  the  nocturnal  expedition  of  Diomed  and  Ulysses  to 
»eize  the  chariot  and  horses  of  Rhesus,  or  a  raid  of  the  Scotts 
or  the  Kerrs  to  drive  cattle,  will  make  a  better  figure  in  verse, 
than  all  the  battles  of  the  great  King  of  Prussia.  The  sleuth- 
dog,  the  beacon-fires,  the  Jedwood-axes ,  the  moss-troopers, 
the  yell  of  the  slogan,  and  all  the  irregular  warfare  of  preda- 
tory expeditions,  or  feuds  of  hereditary  vengeance,  are  far  more 
captivating  to  the  imagination  than  a  park  of  artillery  and  bat- 
talions of  well-drilled  soldiers." — Annual  Review,  1804. 

2  "  It  must  be  observed,  that  there  is  this  difference  between 
the  license  of  the  old  romancer,  and  that  assumed  by  Mr. 
Scott :  the  aberrations  of  the  first  are  usually  casual  and 
slight ;  those  of  the  other,  premeditated  and  systematic.  The 
«ld  romancer  may  be  compared  to  a  man  who  trusts  his  reins 
to  his  horse ;  his  palfrey  often  blunders,  and  occasionally 
Wreaks  his  pace,  sometimes  from  vivacity,  oftener  through  in- 


His  wither'd  cheek,  and  tresses  gray, 
Seem'd  to  have  known  a  better  day ; 
The  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy, 
Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy. 

dolence.  Mr.  Scott  sets  out  with  the  intention  of  diversifyhy 
his  journey  by  every  variety  of  motion.  He  is  now  at  a  trot 
now  at  a  gallop  ;  nay,  he  sometimes  stops,  as  if  to 

*  Make  graceful  caprioles,  and  prance 
Between  the  pillars.' 

A  main  objection  to  this  plan  is  to  be  found  in  the  shock  whicl 
the  ear  receives  from  violent  and  abrupt  transitions.  On  tin 
other  hand,  it  must  be  allowed,  that  as  different  species  o* 
verse  are  individually  better  suited  to  the  expression  of  the 
different  ideas,  sentiments,  and  passions,  which  it  is  the  object 
of  poetry  to  convey,  the  happiest  efforts  may  be  produced  by 
adapting  to  the  subject  its  most  congenial  structure  of  verse." 
— Critical  Review,  1805. 

"  From  the  novelty  of  its  style  and  subject,  and  from  the 
spirit  of  its  execution,  Mr.  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel 
kindled  a  sort  of  enthusiasm  among  all  classes  of  readers  ;  and 
the  concurrent  voice  of  the  public  assigned  to  it  a  very  exalted 
rank,  which,  on  more  cool  and  dispassionate  examination,  its 
numerous  essential  beauties  will  enable  it  to  maintain.  For 
vivid  richness  of  coloring  and  truth  of  cost?  me,  rrany  of  its 
descriptive  pictures  stand  almost  unrivalled  ;  it  carries  us  back 
in  imagination  to  the  time  of  action  ;  and  we  wander  with  the 
poet  along  Tweedside,  or  among  the  wild  glades  of  Ettrick 
Forest." — Monthly  Review,  May,  1808. 

s  "  We  consider  this  poem  as  an  attempt  to  transfer  the  re- 
finemen  ts  of  modem  poetry  to  the  matter  and  the  manner  of 


(,'AN'IO  I. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MHS'iSTKEL. 


i< 


The  last  of  all  the  Bards  -was  he, 

Who  sung  of  Border  chivalry ; 

For,  welladay !  their  date  was  fled, 

His  tuneful  brethren  all  were  dead ; 

And  he,  neglected  and  oppress'd, 

Wish'd  to  be  with  them,  and  at  rest.1 

"No  more  on  prancing  palfrey  borne, 

He  caroll'd,  light  as  lark  at  morn ; 

No  longer  courted  and  caress'd, 

High  placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest, 

He  pour'd,  to  lord  and  lady  gay, 

The  unpremeditated  lay: 

Old  times  were  changed,  old  manners  gone  ; 

A  stranger  fill'd  the  Stuarts'  throne ; 

The  bigots  of  the  iron  time 

Had  call'd  Ins  harmless  art  a  crime. 

A  wandering  Harper,  scorn'd  and  poor, 

He  begg'd  his  bread  from  door  to  door, 

.And  tuned,  to  please  a  peasant's  ear, 

The  harp,  a  king  had  loved  to  hear. 

He  pass'd  where  Newark's2  stately  tower 

trie  ancient  metrical  romance.  The  author,  enamored  of  the 
.ofty  visions  of  chivalry,  and  partial  to  the  strains  in  which 
they  were  formerly  embodied,  seems  to  have  employed  all  the 
resources  of  his  genius  in  endeavoring  to  recall  them  to  the 
avor  and  admiration  of  the  public,  and  in  adapting  to  the 
taste  of  modern  readers  a  species  of  poetry  which  was  once  the 
delight  of  the  courtly,  but  has  long  ceased  to  gladden  any  other 
eyes  than  those  of  the  scholar  and  the  antiquary.  This  is  a 
romance,  therefore,  composed  by  a  minstrel  of  the  present  day  ; 
or  such  a  romance  as  we  may  suppose  would  have  been  writ- 
ten in  modern  times,  if  that  style  of  composition  had  continued 
to  be  cultivated,  and  partakes  consequently  of  the  improve- 
ments which  every  branch  of  literature  has  received  since  the 
time  of  its  desertion." — Jeffrey,  April,  1805. 

i  "  Turning  to  the  northward,  Scott  showed  us  the  crags 
and  tower  of  Smailholme,  and  behind  it  the  shattered  frag- 
ment of  Erceldoune,  and  repeated  some  pretty  stanzas  as- 
cribed to  the  last  of  the  real  wandering  minstrels  of  this  dis- 
trict, by  name  Burn : 

'  Sing  Erceldoune,  and  Cowdenknowes, 

Where  Homes  had  ance  commanding, 
And  Drygrange.  wi'  the  milk-white  ewes, 

'Twixt  Tweed  and  Leader  standing. 
The  bird  that  flees  through  Redpath  trees 

And  Gledswood  banks  each  morrow, 
May  chaunt  and  sing — Sweet  Leader's  haughs 

And  Bonny  howms  of  Yarrow. 
'  But  Minstrel  Burn  cannot  assuage 

His  grief  while  life  endureth, 
To  see  the  changes  of  this  age 

Which  fleeting  time  procureth  ; 
For  mony  a  place  stands  in  hard  case, 

Where  blythe  folks  kent  nae  sorrow, 
With  Homes  that  dwelt  on  Leader  side, 

And  Scotts  that  dwelt  on  Yarrow.'  " 

Life,  vol.  vi.  p.  78. 

a  "  This  is  a  massive  square  tower,  now  unroofed  and 
ruinous,  surrounded  by  an  outward  wall,  defended  by  round 
flanking  turrets.  It  is  most  beautifully  situated,  about  three 
miles  from  Selkirk,  upon  the  banks  of  the  Yarrow,  a  fierce 
and  precipitous  stream,  which  unites  with  the  Ettricke  about 
a  mile  beneath  the  castle  <« 

3 


Looks  out  from  Yarrow's  birchen  bower : 
The  Minstrel  gazed  with  wishful  eye — 
No  humbler  resting-place  was  nigh, 
With  hesitating  step  at  last, 
The  embattled  portal  arch  he  pass'd, 
Whose  ponderous  grate  and  massy  bar 
Had  oft  roll'd  back  the  tide  of  war, 
But  never  closed  the  iron  door 
Against  the  desolate  and  poor. 
The  Duchess3  mark'd  his  weary  pace, 
His  timid  mien,  and  reverend  face, 
And  bade  her  page  the  menials  tell, 
That  they  should  tend  the  old  man  well : 
For  she  had  known  adversity, 
Though  born  in  such  a  high  degree ; 
In  pride  of  power,  in  beauty's  bloom, 
Had  wept  o'er  Monmouth's  bloody  tomb ! 

When  kindness  had  his  wants  supplied, 
And  the  old  man  was  gratified, 
Began  to  rise  his  minstrel  pride  : 
And  he  began  to  talk  anon, 

"  Newark  Castle  was  built  by  James  II.  The  royal  arms, 
with  the  unicorn,  are  engraved  on  a  stone  in  the  western  side 
of  the  tower.  There  was  a  much  more  ancient  castle  in  its 
immediate  vicinity,  called  Auldwark,  founded,  it  is  said,  by 
Alexander  III.  Both  were  designed  for  the  royal  residence 
when  the  king  was  disposed  to  take  his  pleasure  inithe  exten- 
sive forest  of  Ettricke.  Various  grants  occur  in  the  records 
of  the  Privy  Seal,  bestowing  the  keeping  of  the  Castle  ol 
Newark  upon  different  barons.  There  is  a  popular  trad/tion 
that  it  was  once  seized,  and  held  out  by  the  outlaw  Murray, 
a  noted  character  in  song,  who  only  surrendered  Newark  upon 
condition  of  being  made  hereditary  sheriff  of  the  forest.  A 
long  ballad,  containing  an  account  of  this  transaction,  is  pre- 
served in  the  Border  Minstrelsy  (vol.  i.  p.  3G9).  Upon  the 
marriage  of  James  IV.  with  Margaret,  sister  of  Henry  VIII., 
the  Castle  of  Newark,  with  the  whole  forest  of  Ettricke,  was 
assigned  to  her  as  a  part  of  her  jointure  lands.  But  of  this  she 
could  make  little  advantage  ;  for,  after  the  death  of  her  hus 
band,  she  is  found  complaining  heavily,  that  Buccleuch  had 
seized  upon  these  lands.  Indeed,  the  office  of  keeper  was  lat- 
terly held  by  the  family  of  Buccleuch,  and  with  so  firm  a 
,grasp,  that  when  the  Forest  of  Ettricke  was  disparked,  they 
obtained  a  grant  of  the  Castle  of  Newark  in  property.  It  was 
within  the  courtyard  of  this  castle  that  General  Lesly  did  mili- 
tary execution  upon  the  prisoners  whom  he  had  taken  at  the 
battle  of  Philiphaugh.  The  castle  continued  to  be  an  occa- 
sional seat  of  the  Buccleuch  family  for  more  than  a  century  ; 
and  here,  it  is  said,  the  Duchess  of  Monmouth  and  Buccleuch 
was  brought  up.  For  this  reason,  probably,  Mr.  Scott  ha» 
chosen  to  make  it  the  scene  in  which  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Min- 
strel is  recited  in  her  presence,  and  for  her  amusement.'  — 
Schetky's  Illustrations  of  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

It  may  be  added  that  Bowhill  was  the  favorite  residence 
of  Lord  and  Lady  Dalkeith  (afterwards  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Buccleuch),  at  the  time  when  the  poem  was  composed  ;  the 
ruins  of  Newark  are  all  but  included  in  the  park  attached  to 
that  modern  seat  of  the  family  ;  and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  no 
doubt,  was-  influenced  in  his  choice  of  the  locality,  by  the 
predilection  of  the  charming  lady  who  suggested  the  subject 
of  his  Lay  for  the  scenery  of  the  Yarrow — a  beautiful  walk  on 
whose  banks,  leading  from  the  house  to  the  old  castle,  is  called, 
in  memory  of  her,  the  Duchess's  Walk. — En. 

8  Anne,  Duchess  of  Buccleuch  and  Monmouth,  representa* 


18 


SCOlTiS  i^Ei'i'JAL   YVORKiS. 


CANTO  I. 


Of  good  Earl  Francis,1  dead  and  gone, 

And  of  Earl  Walter,2  rest  him,  God ! 

A  braver  ne'er  to  battle  rode ; 

And  how  full  many  a  tale  he  knew, 

Of  the  old  warriors  of  Buccleuch : 

And,  would  the  noble  Duchess  deign 

To  listen  to  an  old  man's  strain, 

Though  stiff  his  hana,  his  voice  though  weak, 

He  thought  even  yet,  the  sooth  to  speak, 

That,  if  she  loved  the  harp  to  hear, 

He  could  make  music  to  her  ear. 

The  humble  boon  was  soon  obtain'd ; 
Ihe  Aged  Minstrel  audience  gain'd. 
But,  when  he  reach'd  the  room  of  state, 
Where  she,  with  all  her  ladies,  sate, 
Perchance  he  wish'd  his  boon  denied : 
For,  when  to  tune  his  harp  he  tried, 
His  trembling  hand  had  lost  the  ease, 
Which  marks  security  to  please ; 
And  scenes,  long  past,  of  joy  and  pain, 
Came  wildering  o'er  Ins  aged  brain — 
He  tried  to  tune  his  harp  in  vain  !8 
The  pivymg  Duchess  praised  its  plume, 
And  gave  him  heart,  and  gave  him  time, 
Till  every  string's  according  glee 
Was  blended  into.harmony. 
And  then,  he  said,  he  would  full  fain 
He  could  recall  an  ancient  strain, 
He  never  thought  to  sing  again. 
It  was  not  framed  for  village  churls, 
But  for  high  dames  and  mighty  earls ; 
He  had  play'd  it  to  King  Charles  the  Good, 
When  he  kept  court  in  Holyrood ; 
And  much  he  wish'd,  yet  fear'd,  to  try 
The  long-forgotten  melody. 
Amid  the  strings  his  fingers  stray' d, 
And  an  uncertain  warbling  made, 
And  oft  he  shook  Ms  hoary  head. 
But  when  he  caught  the  measure  wild, 
The  old  man  raised  his  face,  and  smiled ; 

live  of  the  ancient  Lords  of  Buccleuch,  and  widow  of  the  un- 
fortunate James,  Duke  of  Monmouth,  who  was  beheaded  in 
16S5. 

1  Francis  Scott,  Earl  of  Buccleuch,  father  of  the  Duchess. 

2  Walter,  Earl  of  Buccleuch,  grandfather  of  the  Duchess, 
fcrd  a  celebrated  warrior. 

I  Mr.  W.  Dundas  (see  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  226),  says, 
Jns  Pitt  repeated  the  lines,  deseribir,0  the  old  harper's  embar- 
rassment when  asked  to  play,  and  said, — '  This  is  a  sort  of  thing 
which  I  might  have  expected  in  painting,  but  could  never  have 
fancied  capable  of  being  given  in  poetry.'  " 

4  "In  the  very  first  rank  of  poetical  excellence,  we  are  in- 
clined to  place  the  introductory  and  concluding  lines  of  every 
canto,  in  which  the  ancient  strain  is  suspended,  and  the  feel- 
ings and  situation  of  the  minstrel  himself  described  in  the  words 
of  the  author.  The  elegance  and  the  beauty  of  this  setting; 
if  we  may  so  call  it,  though  entirely  of  modern  workmanship, 
appears  to  us  to  be  fully  more  worthy  of  admiration  than  the 
bolder  reliefof  the  antiques  which  it  encloses,  and  leads  us  to 
regret  that  the  author  should  have  wasted,  in  imitation  and 


And  lighten'd  up  his  faded  eye, 
With  all  a  poet's  ecstasy  ! 
In  varying  cadence,  soft  or  strong, 
He  swept  the  sounding  chords  along; 
The  present  scene,  the  future  lot, 
His  toils,  his  wants,  were  all  forgot : 
Cold  diffidence,  and  age's  frost, 
In  the  full  tide  of  song  were  lost ; 
Each  blank,  in  faithless  memory  void, 
The  poet's  glowing  thought  supplied ; 
And,  wlfile  his  harp  responsive  rung, 
'Twas  thus  the  Latest  Minstrel  suns:.4 


%  £a£  of  tlje  Cast  Minstrel. 


CANTO  FIRST. 


The  feast  was  over  in  Branksome  tower,6  , 

And  the  Ladye  had  gone  to  her  secret  bower . 
Her  bower  that  was  guarded  by  word  and  by 

spell, 
Deadly  to  hear  and  deadly  to  toll — 
Jesu  Maria,  shield  us  well ! 
No  living  wight,  save  the  Ladye  alone, 
Had  dared  to  cross  the  threshold  stone. 

II. 
The  tables  were  drawn,  it  was  idlesse  all ; 

Knight,  and  page,  and  household  squire, 
Loiter'd  through  the  lofty  hall, 

Or  crowded  round  the  ample  fire ; 
The  stag-hounds,  weary  with  the  chase, 

Lay  stretch'd  upon  the  rushy  floor, 
And  urged,  in  dreams,  the  forest  race, 

From  Teviot-stone  to  Eskdale-moor.8 

antiquarian  researches,  so  much  of  those  powers  which  seem 
fully  equal  to  the  task  of  raising-  him  an  independent  repw 
tation." — Jeffrey. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

e  "  The  ancient  romance  owes  much  of  its  interest  to  the 
lively  picture  which  it  affords  of  the  times  of  chivalry,  and  of 
those  usages,  manners,  and  institutions,  which  we  have  been 
accustomed  to  associate  in  our  minds,  with  a  certain  combina- 
tion  of  magnificence  with  simplicity,  and  ferocity  with  roman- 
tic honor.  The  representations  contained  in  those  perform- 
ances, however,  are,  for  the  most  part,  too  rude  and  naked  to  give 
complete  satisfaction.  The  execution  is  always  extremely  un- 
equal ;  and  though  the  writer  sometimes  touches  upon  the  ap- 
propriate feeling  with  great  effect  and  felicity,  still  this  appears 
to  be  done  more  by  accident  than  design  ;  and  he  wanders  away 
immediately  into  all  sorts  of  ridiculous  or  uninteresting  details, 
without  any  apparent  consciousness  of  incongruity.  These 
defects  Mr.  Scott  has  corrected  with  admirable  address  and 
judgment  in  the  greater  part  of  the  work  now  before  us  ;  and 
while  he  has  exhibited  a  very  striking  and  impressive  picture 


CA.NTO  1. 


TliL  LAi    O*    THL  LAST  MLNSTRKL. 


19 


III. 

Nlne-and-twenty  knights  of  fame 

Hung  their  sliields  in  Branksome-Hall  ;* 
Nine-and-twenty  squires  of  name 

Brought  them  their  steeds  to  bower  from  stall ; 
Nine-and-twenty  yeomen  tall 
Waited,  duteous,  on  them  all : 
They  were  all  knights  of  mettle  true, 
Kinsmen  to  the  bold  Buccleuch. 

IV. 

Ten  of  them  were  sheathed  in  steel, 
With  belted  sword,  and  spur  on  heel : 
They  quitted  not  their  harness  bright, 
Neither  by  day,  nor  yet  by  night : 

They  lay  down  to  rest, 

With  corslet  laced, 
Pillow'd  on  buckler  cold  and  hard ; 

They  carved  at  the  meal 

With  gloves  of  steel, 
And  they  drank  the  red  wine  through  the  helmet 
barr'd. 


Ten  squires,  ten  yeomen,  mail-clad  men, 
Waited  the  beck  of  the  warders  ten ; 
Thirty  steeds,  both  fleet  and  wight, 
Stood  saddled  in  stable  day  and  night, 
Barbed  with  frontlet  of  steel,  I  trow, 
And  with  Jedwood-axe  at  saddlebow  ;a 
A  hundred  more  fed  free  in  stall : — 
Such  was  the  custom  of  Branksome-Hall. 

VI. 

Why  do  these  steeds  stand  ready  dight  ? 
Why  watch  these  warriors,  arm'd,  by  night  ? — 
They  watch,  to  hear  the  blood-hound  baying : 
They  watch  to  hear  the  war -horn  bray  ing ; 
To  see  St.  George's  red  cross  streaming, 
To  see  the  midnight  beacon  gleaming : 
They  watch,  against  Southern  force  and  guile, 

bf  the  old  feudal  usages  and  institutions,  he  has  shown  still 
freater  talent  in  engrafting  upon  those  descriptions  all  the  ten- 
der or  magnanimous  emotions  to  which  the  circumstances  of 
the  story  naturally  give  rise.  Without  impairing  the  antique 
air  of  the  whole  piece,  or  violating  the  simplicity  of  the  bal- 
kd  style,  he  has  contrived,  in  this  way,  to  impart  a  much 
greater  dignity  and  more  powerful  interest  to  his  production, 
than  could  ever  be  obtained  by  the  unskilful  and  unsteady 
delineations  of  the  old  romancers.  Nothing,  we  think,  can 
afford  a  finer  illustration  of  this  remark,  than  the  opening 
stanzas  of  the  whole  poem  ;  they  transport  us  at  once  into  the 
days  of  knightly  daring  and  feudal  hostility,  at  the  same  time 
that  they  suggest,  in  a  very  interesting  way,  all  those  softer 
sentiments  which  arise  out  of  some  parts  of  the  description." 
— Jeffrey. 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 
2  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  D,  and  compare  these   stanzas  with 
<he  description  of  Jamie  Telfer's  appearance  at  Branksome. 


Lest  Scroop,  or  Howard,  or  Percy's  powers, 
Threaten  Branksome's  lordly  towers, 
From  Warkworth,  or  ISawortk,  or  merry  Carlisle.1 

VII. 

Such  is  the  custom  of  Branksome-Hall. — 4 

Many  a  valiant  knight  is  here ;  t 

But  he,  the  chieftain  of  them  all, 
His  sword  hangs  rusting  on  the  wall, 
Beside  his  broken  spear 
Bards  long  shall  tell 
How  Lord  Walter  fell  !5 
When  startled  burghers  fled,  afar, 
The  furies  of  the  Border  waf ; 
When  the  streets  of  high  Dunedin* 
Saw  lances  gleam,  and  falchions  redden, 
And  heard  the  slogan's7  deadly  yell- 
Then  the  Chief  of  Branksome  fell, 

VIII. 

Can  piety  the  discord  heal, 

Or  stanch  the  death-feud's  enmity  ? 
Can  Christian  lore,  can  patriot  zeal, 

Can  love  $f  blessed  charity  ? 
No !  vainly  to  each  holy  shrine, 

In  mutual  pilgrimage,  they  drew ; 
Implored,  in  vain,  the  grace  divine 

For  chiefs,  their  own  red  falchions  slew ; 
While  Cessford  owns  the  rule  of  Carr, 

While  Ettrick  boasts  the  line  of  Scott, 
The  slaughter'd  chiefs,  the  mortal  jar, 
The  havoc  of  the  feudal  war, 

Shall  never,  never  be  forgot  ?8 

IX. 

In  sorrow  o'er  Lord  Walter's  bier 

The  warlike  foresters  had  bent ; 
And  many  a  flower,  and  many  a  tear, 

Old  Teviot's  maids  and  matrons  lent ; 
But  o'er  her  warrior's  bloody  bier 
The  Ladye  dropp'd  nor  flower  nor  tear  !' 

Hall  (Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  5),  to  claim  the  protection 
of  "  Auld  Buccleuch" — and  the  ensuing  scene  (page  9). 

"  The  Scotts  they  rade,  the  Scotts  they  ran, 
Sae  starkly  and  sae  steadilie  ! 
And  aye  the  ower-word  o'  the  tlirang 

Was — '  Rise  for  Branksome  readilie,'  "  &c. 
Compare  also  the  Ballad  of  Kinmont  Willie  (vol,  ii.  p.  53). 

"  Now  word  is  gane  to  the  bauld  keeper, 
In  Branksome  ha'  where  that  he  lay,"  &c. — Ed. 
4  There  are  not  many  passages  in  English  poetry  more  im 
pressive  than  some  parts  of  Stanzas  vii.  viii.  be. — Jeffrey. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

6  Edinburgh. 

7  The  war-cry,  or  gathering- word,  of  a  Border  clan. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

9  Orig.  (1st  Edition,)  "The  Ladye  dropp'd  nor  sigh  no* 
tear." 


20 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Canto  1. 


Vengeance,  deep-brooding  o'er  the  slain, 

Had  lock'd  the  source  of  softer  woe ; 
And  burning  pride,  and  high  disdain, 

Forbade  the  rising  tear  to  flow ; 
Until,  amid  his  sorrowing  clan, 

Her  son  lisp'd  from  the  nurse's  knee — 
•  And  if  I  live  to  be  a  man, 

My  father's  death  revenged  shall  be  !" 
Then  fast  the  mother's  tears  did  seek 
To  dew  the  infant's  kindling  cheek. 

X. 

All  loose  her  negligent  attire, 

All  loose  her  golden  hair, 
Hung  Margaret  o'er  her  slaughter'd  sire, 

And  wept  in  wild  despair  : 
But  not  alone  the  bitter  tear 

Had  filial  grief  supplied ; 
For  hopeless  love,  and  anxious  fear, 

Had  lent  their  mingled  tide : 
Nor  in  her  mother's  alter'd  eye  * 
Dared  she  to  look  for  sympathy. 
Her  lover,  'gainst  her  father's  clan, 

With  Carr  in  arms  had  stood* 
When  Mathouse-burn  to  Melrose  ran 

All  purple  with  their  blood ; 
And  well  she  knew,  her  mother  dread, 
Before  Lord  Cranstoun  she  should  wed,' 
"Would  see  her  on  her  dying  bed. 

XL 

Of  noble  race  the  Ladye  came, 
Her  father  was  a  clerk  of  fame, 

Of  Bethune's  line  of  Picardie  ;* 
He  learn'd  the  art  that  none  may  name, 

In  Padua,  far  beyond  the  sea.4 
Men  said,  he  changed  his  mortal  frame 

By  feat  of  magic  mystery ; 
For  when,  in  studious  mood,  he  paced 

St.  Andrew's  cloister'd  hall,8 
His  form  no  darkening  shadow  traced 

Upon  the  sunny  wall  !6 

xa 

And  of  his  skill,  as  bards  avow, 

He  taught  that  Ladye  fair, 
Till  to  her  bidding  she  could  bow 

The  viewless  forms  of  air.7 
And  now  she  sits  in  secret  bower, 
In  old  Lord  David's  western  tower, 
And  listens  to  a  heavy  sound, 
That  moans  the  mossy  turrets  round. 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  G.  (The  name  is  spelt  differently  by 
the  various  families  who  bear  it.  Carr  is  selected,  not  as  the 
mo.°t  correct,  but  as  the  most  poetical  reading.) 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  H.  ' 

See  Appendix,  Note  I. 


Is  it  the  roar  of  Teviot's  tide, 

That  chafes  against  the  scaur's8  red  side  ? 

Is  it  the  wind  that  swings  the  oaks  { 

Is  it  the  echo  from  the  rocks  ? 

What  may  it  be,  the  heavy  sound, 

That  moans  old  Branksome's  turrets  round  ? 

XIII. 

At  the  sullen,  moaning  sound, 

The  ban-dogs  bay  and  howl ; 
And,  from  the  turrets  round, 

Loud  whoops  the  startled  owl. 
In  the  hall,  both  squire  and  knight 

Swore  that  a  storm  was  near, 
And  looked  forth  to  view  the  night ; 

But  the  night  was  still  and  clear  I 

XIV. 
From  the  sound  of  Teviot's  tide, 
Chafing  with  the  mountain's  side, 
From  the  groan  of  the  wind-swung  oak, 
From  the  sullen  echo  of  the  rock, 
From  the  voice  of  the  coming  storm, 

The  Ladye  knew  it  well ! 
It  was  the  Spirit  of  the  Flood  that  spoke, 

And  he  called  on  the  Spirit  of  the  FelL 

XV. 

RIVER  SPIRIT. 

"  Sleep' st  thou,  brother  V — 

MOUNTAIN  SPIRIT. 

— "  Brother,  nay — 
On  my  hills  the  moonbeams  play. 
From  Craik-cross  to  Skelfliill-pen, 
By  every  rill,  in  every  glen, 

Merry  elves  their  morris  pacing, 

To  aerial  minstrelsy, 
Emerald  rings  on  brown  heath  tracing, 

Trip  it  deft  and  merrily. 
Up,  and  mark  their  nimble  feet ! 
Up,  and  list  their  music  sweet !" — 

XVI. 

RIVER  SPIRIT. 

**  Tears  of  an  imprison'd  maiden 
Mix  with  my  polluted  stream ; 

Margaret  of  Branksome,  sorrow -laden, 
Mourns  beneath  the  moon's  pale  beam. 

Tell  me,  thou,  who  view'st  the  stars, 

When  shall  cease  these  feudal  jars  ? 

What  shall  be  the  maiden's  fate  ? 

Who  shall  be  the  maiden's  mate  ?" — 


*  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 

6  First  Edition — "St.  Kentigerne's  hall."—  St.  Mungo  of 
Kentigerne,  is  the  patron  saint  of  Glasgow. 
«  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 
t  See  Appendix,  Note  M. 
8  Scaur,  a  precipitous  bank  of  earth. 


JANTO  I. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


21 


XVII. 

MOUNTAIN  SPIRIT. 

*  Arthur's  slow  wain  his  course  doth  roll 

In  utter  darkness  round  the  pole ; 

The  Nothern  Bear  lowers  black  and  grim ; 

Orion's  studded  belt  is  dim  ; 

Twinkling  faint,  and  distant  far, 

Shimmers  through  mist  each  planet  star ; 

111  may  I  read  their  high  decree ! 
But  no  kind  influence  deign  they  shower 
On  Teviot's  tide,  and  Branksome's  tower, 

Till  pride  be  quell' d,  and  love  be  free." 

XVIII. 
The  unearthly  voices  ceast, 

And  the  heavy  sound  was  still ; 
It  died  on  the  river's  breast, 

It  died  on  the  side  of  the  hilL 
But  round  Lord  David's  tower 

The  sound  still  floated  near ; 
•For  it  rung  in  the  Ladye's  bower, 

And  it  rung  in  the  Ladye's  ear. 
She  raised  her  stately  head, 

And  her  heart  throbb'd  high  with  pride : — 
"  Your  mountains  shall  bend, 
And  your  streams  ascend, 

Ere  Margaret  be  our  foeman's  bride !" 

XIX. 

The  Ladye  sought  the  lofty  hall, 

Where  many  a  bold  retainer  lay, 
And,  with  jocund  din,  among  them  all 

Her  son  pursued  his  infant  play. 
A  fancied  moss-trooper,1  the  boy 

The  truncheon  of  a  spear  bestrode, 
And  round  the  hall,  right  merrily, 

In  mimic  foray2  rode. 
Even  bearded  knights,  in  arms  grown  old, 

Share  in  his  frolic  gambols  bore, 
Albeit  their  hearts,  of  rugged  mould, 

Were  stubborn  as  the  steel  they  wore. 
For  the  gray  warriors  prophesied, 

How  the  brave  boy,  in  future  war, 
Should  tame  the  Unicorn's  pride,3 

Exalt  the  Crescent  and  the  Star.4 

XX. 

The  Ladye  forgot  her  purpose  high, 

One  moment,  and  no  more ; 
One  moment  gazed  with  a  mother's  eye, 

As  she  paused  at  the  arched  door : 
Then,  from  amid  the  armed  train, 
She  call'd  to  her  William  of  Deloraine.5 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

*  Foray,  a  predatory  inroad. 

s  This  line,  of  which  the  metre  appears  defective,  would 
nave  its  full  complement  of  feet  according  to  the  pronunciation 
of  the  poet  himself— as  all  who  were  familiar  with  his  ntter- 
»nje  of  the  letter  r  will  bear  testimony. — En. 


XXI. 

A  stark  moss-trooping  Scott  was  he, 
As  e'er  couch'd  Border  lance  by  knee  t 
Through   Solway   sands,   through   Tarras 


Blindfold,  he  knew  the  paths  to  cross 
By  wily  turns,  by  desperate  bounds, 
Had  baffled  Percy's  best  blood-hounds  f 
In  Eske  or  Liddel,  fords  were  none, 
But  he  would  ride  them,  one  by  one  • 
Alike  to  him  was  time  or  tide, 
December's  snow,  or  July's  pride : 
Alike  to  him  was  tide  or  time, 
Moonless  midnight,  or  matin  prime : 
Steady  of  heart,  and  stout  of  hand, 
As  ever  drove  prey  from  Cumberland ; 
Five  times  outlawed  had  he  been, 
By  England's  King  and  Scotland's  Queen. 

XXII. 

"  Sir  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need, 
Mount  thee  on  the  wightest  steed ; 
Spare  not  to  spur,  nor  stint  to  ride, 
Until  thou  come  to  fair  Tweedside ; 
And  in  Melrose's  holy  pile 
Seek  thou  the  Monk  of  St  Mary's  aisle. 

Greet  the  Father  well  from  me ; 
Say  that  the  fated  hour  is  come, 

And  to-night  he  shall  watch  with  thee, 
To  win  the  treasure  of  the  tomb : 
For  this  will  be  St.  Michael's  night, 
And,  though  stars  be  dim,  the  moon  is  bright ; 
And  the  Cross,  of  bloody  red, 
Will  point  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead. 

XXIII. 

"  What  he  gives  thee,  see  thou  keep ; 
Stay  not  thou  for  food  or  sleep  : 
Be  it  scroll,  or  be  it  book, 
Into  it,  Knight,  thou  must  not  look ; 
If  thou  readest,  thou  art  lorn ! 
Better  hadst  thou  ne'er  been  born." — 

XXIV. 
"  0  swiftly  can  speed  my  dapple-gray  steed 

Which  drinks  of  the  Teviot  clear ; 
Ere  break  of  day,"  the  Warrior  'gan  say, 

"  Again  will  I  be  here  : 
And  safer  by  none  may  thy  errand  be  dona 

Than,  noble  dame,  by  me ; 
Letter  nor  line  know  I  never  a  one, 

Wer't  my  neck-verse  at  Hairibee."7 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  O.  5  ibid.  Note  P. 

«  Ibid.  Note  a. 

7  Hairibee,  the  place  of  executing  the  Border  marauders  at 
Carlisle.  The  neck-verse,  is  the  beginning  of  the  51st  Psalm, 
Miserere  met,  &c,  anciently  read  by  criminals  claiming  the 
benefit  of  clergy.     ["In  the  rough  but  spirited  sketch  of  tho 


22 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I. 


XXV. 

Down  from  the  lakes  did  raving  come ; 

Soon  in  his  saddle  sate  he  fast, 

Each  wave  was  crested  with  tawny  foam, 

And  soon  the  steep  descent  he  past, 

Like  the  mane  of  a  chestnut  steed. 

Soon  cross'd  the  sounding  barbican,1 

In  vain !  no  torrent,  deep  or  broad, 

And  soon  the  Teviot  side  he  won. 

Might  bar  the  bold  moss-trooper's  road. 

Eastward  the  wooded  path  he  rode, 

Green  hazels  o'er  his  basnet  nod; 

XXIX. 

He  pass'd  the  PeeP  of  Goldiland, 

At  the  first  plunge  the  horse  sunk  low, 

And  cross'd  old  Borthwick's  roaring  strand ; 

And  the  water  broke  o'er  the  saddlebow : 

Dimly  he  view'd  the  Moat-hill's  mound, 

Above  the  foaming  tide.  I  ween, 

Where  Druid  shades  still  flitted  round  ;3 

Scarce  half  the  charger's  neck  was  seen ; 

In  Hawick  twinkled  many  a  light ; 

For  he  was  barded"  from  counter  to  tail, 

Behind  him  soon  they  set  in  night ; 

And  the  rider  was  armed  complete  in  mail ; 

And  soon  he  spurr'd  h»s  courser  keen 

Never  heavier  man  and  horse 

Beneath  the  tower  of  Hazeldean* 

Stemm'd  a  midnight  torrent's  force. 

The  warrior's  very  plume,  I  say 

XXVI. 

Was  daggled  by  the  daslring  spray ; 

The  clattering  hoofs  the  watchmen  mark  ; — 

Yet  through  good  heart,  and  Our  Ladye's  grace 

"  Stand,  ho  !  thou  courier  of  the  dark." — 

At  length  he  gain'd  the  landing  place. 

"  For  Branksome,  ho !"  the  knight  rejoin'd, 

And  left  the  friendly  tower  behind. 

XXX. 

He  turn'd  him  now  from  Teviotside, 

Now  Bowden  Moor  the  march-man  won, 

And,  guided  by  the  tinkling  rill, 

And  sternly  shook  his  plumed  head, 

Northward  the  dark  ascent  did  ride, 

As  glanced  his  eye  o'er  Halidon  ;9 

And  gain'd  the  moor  at  Horslieliill ; 

For  on  his  soul  the  slaughter  red 

Broad  on  the  left  before  him  lay, 

Of  that  unhallow'd  morn  arose, 

For  many  a  mile,  the  Roman  way.6 

When  first  the  Scott  and  Carr  were  foes ; 

When  royal  James  beheld  the  fray, 

XXVII. 

Prize  to  the  victor  of  the  day ; 

A  moment  now  he  slack'd  his  speed, 
1  moment  breathed  his  panting  steed  ; 
Drew  saddle-girth  and  corslet-band, 
And  loosen'd  in  the  sheath  his  brand. 
On  Minto-crags  the  moonbeams  glint,6 
Where  Barnhill  hew'd  Ins  bed  of  flint ; 
Who  flung  Ins  outlaw'd  limbs  to  rest, 
Where  falcons  hang  their  giddy  nest, 
Mid  cliffs,  from  whence  Ids  eagle  eye 
For  many  a  league  Ins  prey  could  spy ; 
Cliffs,  doubling,  on  their  echoes  borne, 
The  terrors  of  the  robber's  horn  ? 
Cliffs,  which,  for  many  a  later  year, 
The  warbling  Doric  reed  shall  hear, 
When  some  sad  swain  shall  teach  the  grove, 
Ambition  is  no  cure  for  love  ! 

XXVIII. 

Unchallenged,  thence  pass'd  Deloraine, 
To  ancient  Riddel's  fair  domain,7 
Where  Aill,  from  mountains  freed, 

marauding  Borderer,  and  in  the  naivete  of  his  last  declaration, 
the  reader  will  recognize  some  of  the  most  striking  features  of 
the  ancient  ballad." — Critical  Review.'] 

1  Barbican,  the  defence  of  the  outer  gate  of  a  feudal  castle. 

2  Peel,  a  Border-tower. 

8   See  Appendix,  Note  R. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  S. 

5  An  ancient  Roman  road,  crossing  through  part  of  Rox- 
purghshire. 


When  Home  and  Douglas,  in  the  van, 
Bore  down  Buccleuch's  retiring  clan, 
Till  gallant  Cessford's  heart-blood  dear 
Reek'd  on  dark  Elliot's  Border  spear. 

XXXI. 

In  bitter  mood  he  spurred  fast, 

And  soon  the  hated  heath  was  past ; 

And  far  beneath,  in  lustre  wan, 

Old  Melros'  rose,  and  fair  Tweed  ran : 

Like  some  tall  rock  with  lichens  gray, 

Seem'd  dimly  huge,  the  dark  Abbaye. 

When  Hawick  he  pass'd,  had  curfew  rung, 

Now  midnight  lauds10  were  in  Melrose  sung 

The  sound,  upon  the  fitful  gale, 

In  solemn  wise  did  rise  and  fail, 

Like  that  wild  harp,  whose  magic  tone 

Is  waken'd  by  the  winds  alone. 

But  when  Melrose  he  reach'd,  'twas  silence  all  \ 

He  meetly  stabled  his  steed  in  stall, 

And  sought  the  convent's  lonely  wall.11 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  T.  7  Ibid.  Note  U 

8  Barded,  or  barbed, — applied  to  a  horse  accoutred  with  do 
fensive  armor. 

9  Halidon  was  an  ancient  seat  of  the  Kerrs  of  Cessford  now- 
demolished.  About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  northward  lay 
the  field  of  battle  betwixt  Buccleuch  and  Angus,  which  if 
called  to  this  day  the  Skirmish  Field. — See  Appendix,  Note  D 

10  Lauds,  the  midnight  service  of  the  Catholic  church, 
ii  See  Appendix.  Note  V. 


CANTO  II. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


25 


Here  paused  the  harp ;  and  with  its  swell 

The  Master's  fire  and  courage  fell ; 

Dejectedly,  and  low,  he  bow'd, 

And,  gazing  timid  on  the  crowd, 

Ho  seem'd  to  seek,  in  every  eye, 

If  they  approved  his  minstrelsy ; 

And,  diffident  of  present  praise, 

Somewhat  he  spoke  of  former  days, 

And  how  old  age,  and  wand'ring  long, 

Had  done  his  hand  and  harp  some  wrong. 

The  Duchess,  and  her  daughters  fair, 

And  every  gentle  lady  there, 

Each  after  each,  in  due  degree, 

Gave  praises  to  his  melody  ; 

His  hand  was  true,  liis  voice  was  clear, 

And  much  they  long'd  the  rest  to  hear. 

Encouraged  thus,  the  Aged  Man, 

After  meet  rest,  again  began. 


&!)£  £<xq  of  tlje  £a3t  iHinstrd. 


CANTO  SECOND. 


1*  thou  wouldst  view  fair  Melrose  aright,1 

Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight ; 

For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day 

Gild,  but  to  flout,  the  ruins  gray. 

When  the  broken  arches  are  black  in  night, 

And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white; 

When  the  cold  light's  uncertain  shower 

Streams  on  the  ruin'd  central  tower ; 

When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 

Seem  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory  ; 

When  silver  edges  the  imagery, 

And  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  live  and  die ;' 

When  distant  Tweed  is  heard  to  rave, 

And  the  owlet  to  hoot  o'er  the  dead  man's  grave, 

Then  go — but  go  alone  the  while — 

Then  view  St.  David's  ruin'd  pile  ;* 

And,  home  returning,  soothly  swear, 

Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair ! 

II. 

Short  halt  did  Deloraine  make  there ; 
Little  reck'd  he  of  the  scene  so  fair : 
With  dagger's  hilt,  on  the  wicket  strong, 
Rj  struck  full  loud,  and  struck  full  long. 

i  "  In  .he  description  of  Melrose,  .which  introduces  the  Sec- 
ond Canto,  the  reader  will  observe  how  skilfully  the  Author 
calls  in  the  aid  of  sentimental  associations  to  heighten  the  effect 
of  the  picture  which  he  presents  to  the  eye." — Jeffrey. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 

'  David  I.  of  Scotland,  purchased  the  reputation  of  sanctity, 
by  lounding,  and  liberally  endowing,  not  only  the  monastery 
•>f  Melrose,  but  tho«»  of  Kelso,  Jedburgh,  and  many  others  ; 


The  porter  hurried  to  the  gate — 
"  Who  knocks  so  loud,  and  knocks  so  late  ?" 
"  From  Branksome,  I,"  the  warrior  cried ; 
And  straight  the  wicket  open'd  wide : 
For  Branksome's  Clriefs  had  in  battle  stood, 

To  fence  the  rights  of  fair  Melrose ; 
And  lands  and  livings,  many  a  rood, 

Had  gifted  the  slirine  for  their  souls1  repose, 

III. 
Bold  Deloraine  his  errand  said ; 
The  porter  bent  his  humble  head ; 
With  torch  in  hand,  and  feet  unshod, 
And  noiseless  step,  the  path  he  trod : 
The  arched  cloister,  far  and  wide, 
Rang  to  the  warrior's  clanking  stride, 
Till,  stooping  low  his  lofty  crest, 
He  enter'd  the  cell  of  the  ancient  priest, 
And  lifted  his  barred  aventayle,5 
To  hail  the  Monk  of  St.  Mary's  aisle. 

IV. 

"  The  Ladye  of  Branksome  greets  thee  by  me ; 

Says,  that  the  fated  hour  is  come, 
And  that  to-night  I  shall  watch  with  thee, 

To  win  the  treasure  of  the  tomb." 
From  sackcloth  couch  the  monk  arose, 

With  toil  his  stiffen'd  limbs  he  rear'd  ; 
A  hundred  years  had  flung  their  snows 

On  his  thin  locks  and  floating  beard. 


And  strangely  on  the  Knight  look'd  he, 

And  his  blue  eyes  gleam'd  wild  and  wide  ; 
"  And,  darest  thou,  Warrior !  seek  to  see 

What  heaven  and  hell  alike  would  hide  ? 
My  breast,  in  belt  of  iron  pent, 

With  shirt  of  hair  and  scourge  of  thorn ; 
For  threescore  years,  in  penance  spent, 

My  knees  those  flinty  stones  have  worn ; 
Yet  all  too  little  to  atone 
For  knowing  what  should  ne'er  be  known. 

Wouldst  thou  thy  every  future  year 
In  ceaseless  prayer  and  penance  drie, 

Yet  wait  thy  latter  end  with  fear — 
Then,  daring  Warrior,  follow  me  !" — 

VL 
"  Penance,  father,  will  I  none ; 
Prayer  know  I  hardly  one ; 

which  led  to  the  well-known  observation  of  his  successor,  that 
he  was  a  sore  saint  for  the  crown. 

4  The  Buccleuch  family  were  great  benefactors  to  the  Abbey 
of  Melrose.  As  early  as  the  reign  of  Robert  II.,  Robert  Scott, 
Baron  of  Murdieston  and  Rankleburn  (now  Buccleuch),  gav« 
to  the  monks  the  lands  of  Hinkery,  in  Ettrick  Forest,  pro  sn 
lute  anim<B  sum. — Chartulary  of  Melrose,  28lh  May,  1415. 

6  Aventayle,  visor  of  the  helmet. 


24 


SUOTT'iS  POETICAL   WORKS. 


CANTO  Ii; 


For  mass  or  prayer  can  I  rarely  tarry, 

Save  to  patter  an  Ave  Mary, 

When  I  ride  on  a  Border  foray.1 

Other  prayer  can  I  none ; 

So  speed  me  my  errand,  and  let  me  be  gone." — 

VIL 

Again  on  the  Knight  look'd  the  Churchman  old, 

And  again  he  sighed  heavily ; 
For  he  had  himself  been  a  warrior  bold, 

And  fought  in  Spain  and  Italy. 
And  he  thought  on  the  days  that  were  long 

since  by 
When  his  limbs  were  strong,  and  his  courage  was 

high:- 
Now,  slow  and  faint,  he  led  the  way, 
Where,  cloister'd  round,  the  garden  lay ; 
The  pillar'd  arches  were  over  their  head, 
And  beneath  their  feet  were  the  bones  of  the 

dead.2 

VIII. 

Spreading  herbs,  and  flowerets  bright, 
Glisten'd  with  the  dew  of  night ; 
Nor  herb,  nor  floweret,  glisten'd  there, 
But  was  carved  in  the  cloister-arches  as  fair. 
The  Monk  gazed  long  on  the  lovely  moon, 

Then  into  the  night  he  looked  forth ; 
And  red  and  bright  the  streamers  light 

Were  dancing  in  the  glowing  north. 
So  had  he  seen,  in  fair  Castile, 

The  youth  in  glittering  squadrons  start  ;8 
Sudden  the  flying  jennet  wheel, 
And  hurl  the  unexpected  dart. 
He  knew,  by  the  streamers  that  shot  so  bright, 
That  spirits  were  riding  the  northern  light. 

IX. 

By  a  steel-clenched  postern  door, 
They  enter  d  now  the  chancel  tall ; 

The  darken'd  roof  rose  high  aloof 
On  pillars  lofty  and  light  and  small : 

The  key-stone,  that  lock'd  each  ribbed  aisle, 

Was  a  fleur-de-lys,  or  a  quatre-feuille  ; 

The  corbells4  were  carved  grotesque  and  grim ; 

And  the  pillars,  with  cluster'd  shafts  so  trim, 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 

*  The  cloisters  were  frequently  used  as  places  of  sepulture. 
An  instance  occurs  in  Dryburgh  Abbey,  where  the  cloister  has 
in  inscription,  bearing,  Hie  jacet  f rater  Archibaldus. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 

*  Corbells,  the  projections  from  which  the  arches  spring, 
ttsually  cut  in  a  fantastic  face,  or  mask. 

*  "  With  plinth  and  with  capital  flourished  around." 

First  Edition. 
6  See  Appendix.  Note  Z.  *  Ibid.  Note  2  A.  K  Ibid.  Note  2  B. 

9  "  Bombay,  September 25.  1805. — 1  began  last  night  to  read 
Walter  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  as  part  of  my  even- 
ing readings  to  my  children.  I  was  extremely  delighted  by  the 
poetical   beauty  of  some  passages,  the  Abbey  of  Melrose  for 


With  base  and  with  capital  flourish'd  around,6 
Seem'd  bundles  of  lances  which  garlands   had 
bound. 


Full  many  a  scutcheon  and  fxinner  men, 
Shook  to  the  cold  night-wind  of  heaven, 

Around  the  screened  altar's  pale  ; 
And  there  the  dying  lamps  did  burn, 
Before  thy  low  and  lonely  urn, 
O  gallant  Chief  of  Otterburne  !8 

And  thine,  dark  Knight  of  Liddesdale  I7 
0  fading  honors  of  the  dead ! 
0  high  ambition,  lowly  laid  ! 

XL 

The  moon  on  the  east  oriel  shone9 
Through  slender  shafts  of  shapely  stone, 

By  foliaged  tracery  combined  ; 
Thou  wouldst  have  thought  some  fairy's  hand 
'Twixt  poplars  straight  the  ozier  wand, 

In  many  a  freakish  knot,  had  twined ; 
Then  framed  a  spell,  when  the  work  was  done, 
And  changed  the  willow-wreaths  to  stone. 
The  silver  light,  so  pale  and  faint, 
Show'd  many  a  prophet,  and  many  a  saint, 

Whose  image  on  the  glass  was  dyed ; 
Full  in  the  midst,  his  Cross  of  Red 
Triumphant  Michael  brandished, 

And  trampled  the  Apostate's  pride. 
The  moonbeam  kiss'd  the  holy  pane, 
And  threw  on  the  pavement  a  bloody  stain.9 

XII. 
They  sate  them  down  on  a  marble  stone,10 — 

(A  Scottish  monarch  slept  below) ; 
Thus  spoke  the  Monk,  in  solemn  tone : — 

"  I  was  not  always  a  man  of  woe  ; 
For  Paynim  countries  I  have  trod, 
And  fought  beneath  the  Cross  of  God  : 
Now,  strange  to  my  eyes  thine  arms  appear, 
And  their  iron  clang  sounds  strange  to  my  ear- 

XIII. 

"  In  these  far  climes  it  was  my  lot 

To  meet  the  wondrous  Michael  Scott ;" 

example,  and  most  of  the  prologues  to  the  cantos.  The  cos 
tume,  too,  is  admirable.  The  tone  is  antique  ;  and  it  might 
be  read  for  instruction  as  a  picture  of  the  manners  of  the  mid 
die  ages."  "  November  2,  1805. — We  are  perfectly  enchanted 
with  Walter  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.  He  is  surely 
the  man  born  at  last  to  translate  the  Iliad.  Are  not  the  good 
parts  of  his  poem  the  most  Homeric  of  any  thing  in  our  lan- 
guage? There  are  tedious  passages,  and  so  are  there  in  Ho- 
mer."— Sir  James  Mackintosh,  Life,  vol.  i.  pp.  254,  2C2. 

io  A  large  marble  stone,  in  the  chancel  of  M&lrose,  is  pointed 
out  as  the  monument  of  Alexander  II.,  one  of  the  greatest  of 
our  early  kings  ;  others  say,  it  is  the  resting-place  of  Waldeve, 
one  of  the  early  abbots,  who  died  in  the  odor  of  sanctity. 

"  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 


nAiSio  n.                      THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL.                                 25 

A  wizard,  of  such  dreaded  fame, 

XVII. 

That  when,  in  Salamanca's  cave,1 

"  Lo,  Warrior !  now,  the  Cross  of  Red 

Elim  listed  his  magic  wand  to  wave, 

Points  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead ; 

The  bells  would  ring  in  Notre  Dame  !a 

Within  it  burns  a  wondrous  light, 

Some  of  his  skill  he  taught  to  me ; 

To  chase  the  spirits  that  love  the  night : 

And,  Warrior,  I  could  say  to  thee 

That  lamp  shall  burn  unquenchably, 

The  words  that  cleft  Eildon  hills  in  three,* 

Until  the  eternal  doom  shall  be."4 — 

And   bridled   the   Tweed   with   a   curb    of 

Slow  moved  the  Monk  to  the  broad  flag-stone, 

stone : 

Which  the  bloody  Cross  was  traced  upon : 

But  to  speak  them  were  a  deadly  sin ; 

He  pointed  to  a  secret  nook ; 

And  for  having  but  thought  them  my  heart 

An  iron  bar  the  Warrior  took  ;5 

within, 

And  the  Monk  made  a  sign  with  his  wither'd  hand, 

A  treble  penance  must  bb  done. 

The  grave's  huge  portal  to  expand. 

XIV. 

XVIII. 

u  When  Michael  lay  on  his  dying  bed, 

With  beating  heart  to  the  task  he  went ; 

His  conscience  was  awakened  : 

His  sinewy  frame  o'er  the  grave-stone  bent ; 

He  bethought  him  of  his  sinful  deed, 

With  bar  of  iron  heaved  amain, 

And  he  gave  me  a  sign  to  come  with  speed : 

Till  the  toil-drops  fell  from  his  brows,  like  rain. 

I  was  in  Spain  when  the  morning  rose, 

It  was  by  dint  of  passing  strength, 

But  I  stood  by  his  bed  ere  evening  close. 

That  he  moved  the  massy  stone  at  length. 

The  word3  may  not  again  be  said, 

I  would  you  had  been  there,  to  see 

That  he  spoke  to  me,  on  death-bed  laid ; 

How  the  light  broke  forth  so  gloriously. 

They  would  rend  tliis  Abbaye's  massy  nave, 

Stream'd  upward  to  the  chancel  roof, 

And  pile  it  in  heaps  above  his  grave. 

And  through  the  galleries  far  aloof ! 

No  earthly  flame  blazed  e'er  so  bright : 

XV. 

It  shone  like  heaven's  own  blessed  light, 

*  I  swore  to  bury  his  Mighty  Book, 

And,  issuing  from  the  tomb, 

That  never  mortal  might  therein  look  ; 

Show'd  the  Monk's  cowl,  and  visage  pale, 

And  never  to  tell  where  it  was  hid, 

Danced  on  the  dark-brow'd  Warrior's  maiL 

Save  at  his  Chief  of  Branksome's  need  : 

And  kiss'd  his  waving  plume. 

And  when  that  need  was  past  and  o'er, 

Again  the  volume  to  restore. 

XIX. 

I  buried  him  on  St.  Michael's  night, 

Before  their  eyes  the  Wizard  lay, 

When  the  bell  toll'd  one,  and  the  moon  was 

As  if  he  had  not  been  dead  a  day. 

bright, 

His  hoary  beard  in  silver  roll'd, 

And  I  dug  his  chamber  among  the  dead, 

He  seem'd  some  seventy  winters  old  ; 

When  the  floor  of  the  chancel  was  stained  red, 

A  palmer's  amice  wrapp'd  him  round, 

That  his  patron's  cross  might  over  him  wave, 

With  a  wrought  Spanish  baldric  bound, 

And  scare  the  fiends  from  the  Wizard's  grave. 

Like  a  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  sea : 

His  left  hand  held  Ins  Book  of  Might ; 

XVI. 

A  silver  cross  was  in  his  right ; 

*  It  was  a  night  of  wo  and  dread, 

The  lamp  was  placed  beside  bis  knee , 

When  Michael  in  the  tomb  I  laid ! 

High  and  majestic  was  his  look, 

Strange  sounds  along  the  chancel  pass'd, 

At  which  the  fellest  fiends  had  shook, 

The  banners  waved  without  a  blast" — 

And  all  unruffled  was  his  face  : 

— Still  spoke  the  Monk,  when  the  bell  toll'd 

They  trusted  his  soul  had  gotten  grace.6 

one  !— — 
I  tell  you,  that  a  braver  man 

XX. 

Than  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need, 

Often  bad  William  of  Deloraine 

Against  a  foe  ne'er  spurr'd  a  steed  ; 

Rode  through  the  battle's  bloody  plain, 

Yet  somewhat  was  he  chill'd  with  dread, 

And  trampled  down  the  warriors  slain, 

And  his  hah-  did  bristle  upon  Ms  head. 

And  neither  known  remorse  nor  awe  ; 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  D.                 2  Ibid.  Note  2  E. 

he  had  loved  with  brotherly  affection — the  horror  of  Deloraine, 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  2  F.                 *  Ibid.  Note  2  G. 

and  his  belief  that  the  corpse  frowned,  as  he  withdrew  the 

magic  volume  from  its  grasp,  are,  in  a  succeeding  part  of  the 

*  Orig. — A  bar  from  thence  the  warrior  took. 

narrative,  circumstances  not  more  happily  conceived  than  ex- 

■ "  The  agitation  of  the  monk  at  the  sight  of  the  man  whom 
4 

quisitely  wrought." — Critical  Review 

26 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO   II. 


Yet  now  remorse  and  awe  he  own'd ; 

His  breath  came  thick,  his  head  swam  round, 

When  this  strange  scene  of  death  he  saw. 
Bewilder'd  and  unnerved  he  stood, 
And  the  priest  pray'd  fervently  and  loud : 
With  n.yes  averted  prayed  he  ; 
He  might  not  endure  the  sight  to  see, 
Of  the  man  he  had  loved  so  brotherly. 

XXL 

And  when  the  priest  his  death-prayer  had  pray'd, 

Thus  unto  Deloraine  he  said : — 

"  Now,  speed  thee  what  thou  hast  to  do, 

Or,  Warrior,  we  may  dearly  rue  ; 

For  those,  thou  mayst  not  look  upon, 

Are  gathering  fast  round  the  yawning  stone !" 

Then  Deloraine,  in  terror,  took 

From  the  cold  hand  the  Mighty  Book, 

With  iron  clasp'd,  and  with  iron  bound  : 

He  thought,  as  he  took  it,  the  dead  man  frown'd  -,1 

But  the  glare  of  the  sepulchral  light, 

Perchance,  had  dazzled  the  warrior's  sight. 

XXII. 

When  the  huge  stone  sunk  o'er  the  tomb, 

The  night  return'd  in  double  gloom  ; 

For  the  moon  had  gone  down,  and  the  stars  were 

few; 
And,  as  the  Knight  and  Priest  withdrew, 
With  wavering  steps  and  dizzy  brain, 
They  hardly  might  the  postern  gain. 
'Tis  said,  as  through  the  aisles  they  pass'd, 
They  heard  strange  noises  on  the  blast ; 
And  through  the  cloister-galleries  small, 
Which  at  mid-height  thread  the  chancel  wall, 
Loud  sobs,  and  laughter  louder,  ran, 
And  voices  unlike  the  voice  of  man ; 
As  if  the  fiends  kept  holiday, 
Because  these  spells  were  brought  to  day. 
I  cannot  tell  how  the  truth  may  be  ; 
I  say  the  tale  as  'twas  said  to  me. 

XXIII. 

*  Now,  hie  thee  hence,"  the  Father  said, 
"And  when  we  fere  on  death-bed  laid, 
0  may  our  dear  Ladye,  and  sweet  St.  John, 
Forgive  our  souls  for  the  deed  we  have  done !" — 
The  Monk  return'd  liim  to  his  cell, 

And  many  a  prayer  and  penance  sped ; 
When  the  convent  met  at  the  noontide  bell — 

The  Monk  of  St.  Mary's  aisle  was  dead  ! 
Before  the  cross  was  the  body  laid, 
With  hand*  clasp'd  fast,  as  if  still  he  pray'd. 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 

a  A  mountain  on  the  Border  of  England,  above  Jedburgh. 

3  "  How  lovely  and  exhilarating  is  the  fresh,  cool  morning 
•andscape  which  relieves  the  mind  after  the  horrors  of  the  spell- 
fua  ded  tomb  !" — Anna  Seward. 


XXIV. 

The  Knight  breathed   free   in  the   morning 

wind, 
And  strove  Ins  hardihood  to  find  : 
He  was  glad  when  he  pass'd  the  tombstones 

gray, 
Which  girdle  round  the  fair  Abbaye ; 
For  the  mystic  Book,  to  his  bosom  prest,    < 
Felt  like  a  load  upon  his  breast ; 
And  his  joints,  with  nerves  of  iron  twined. 
Shook,  like  the  aspen  leaves  in  wind. 
Full  fain  was  he  when  the  dawn  of  day 
Began  to  brighten  Cheviot  gray ; 
He  joy'd  to  see  the  cheerful  light, 
And  he  said  Ave  Mary,  as  well  he  might. 

XXV. 

The  sun  had  brighten'd  Cheviot  gray, 

The  sun  had  brighten'd  the  Carter's2  side ; 
And  soon  beneath  the  rising  day 

Smiled  Branksome  Towers  and  Teviot's  tide. 
The  wild  birds  told  their  warbling  tale, 

And  waken'd  every  flower  that  blows ; 
And  peeped  forth  the  violet  pale, 

And  spread  her  breast  the  mountain  rose. 
And  lovelier  than  the  rose  so  red, 

Yet  paler  than  the  violet  pale, 
She  early  left  her  sleepless  bed, 

The  fairest  maid  of  Teviotdale. 

XXVI. 

Why  does  fair  Margaret  so  early  awake,4 

And  don  her  kirtle  so  hastilie ; 
And  the  silken  knots,  which  hi  hurry  she  would 
make, 

Why  tremble  her  slender  fingers  to  tie ; 
Why  does  she  stop,  and  look  often  around, 

As  she  glides  down  the  secret  stair ; 
And  why  does  she  pat  the  shaggy  blood-homid, 

As  he  rouses  him  up  from  his  lair ; 
And,  though  she  passes  the  postern  alone, 
Why  is  not  the  watchman's  bugle  blown  ? 

XXVII. 
The  ladye  steps  in  doubt  and  dread, 
Lest  her  watchful  mother  hear  her  tread 
The  lady  caresses  the  rough  blood-hound, 
Lest  his  voice  should  waken  the  castle  round ; 
The  watchman's  bugle  is  not  blown, 
For  he  was  her  foster-father's  son ; 
And  she  glides  through  greenwood  at  dawn  of 

light 
To  meet  Baron  Henry,  her  own  tl  tie  knight. 

*  "  How  true,  sweet,  and  original  is  this  description  of 
Margaret  —  the  trembling  haste  with  which  she  attires  her 
self,   descends,    and   speeds   to    the    bower!"  — Anna    Sk- 

WARD. 


CANTO  II. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


XXVIII. 

The  Knight  and  ladye  fair  are  met, 

And  under  the  hawthorn's  boughs  are  set. 

A  fairer  pair  were  never  seen 

To  meet  beneath  the  hawthorn  green. 

He  was  stately,  and  young,  and  tall ; 

Dreaded  in  battle,  and  loved  In  hall : 

And  she,  when  love,  scarce  told,  scarce  hid, 

Lent  to  her  cheek  a  livelier  red ; 

When  the  half  sigh  her  swelling  breast 

Against  the  silken  ribbon  prest ; 

When  her  blue  eyes  their  secret  told, 

Though  shaded  by  her  locks  of  gold — 

Where  would  you  find  the  peerless  fair, 

With  Margaret  of  Branksome  might  compare  ! 

XXIX. 

And  now,  fair  dames,  methinks  I  see 

iou  listen  to  my  minstrelsy ; 

Your  waving  locks  ye  backward  throw, 

And  sidelong  bend  your  necks  of  snow ; 

Ye  ween  to  hear  a  melting  tale, 

Of  two  true  lovers  in  a  dale  ; 

And  how  the  Knight,  with  tender  fire, 
To  paint  his  faithful  passion  strove ; 

Swore  he  might  at  her  feet  expire, 
But  never,  never  cease  to  love ; 
And  how  she  blush'd,  and  how  she  sigh'd, 
And,  half  consenting,  half  denied, 
And  said  that  she  would  die  a  maid ; — 
Yet,  might  the  bloody  feud  be  stay'd, 
Henry  of  Cranstoun,  and  only  he, 
Margaret  of  Branksome's  choice  should  be. 

XXX. 

Alas !  fair  dames,  your  hopes  are  vain ! 
My  harp  has  lost  the  enchanting  strain  ; 

Its  lightness  would  my  age  reprove : 
My  hairs  are  gray,  my  limbs  are  old, 
My  heart  is  dead,  my  veins  are  cold : 

I  may  not,  must  not,  sing  of  love. 

XXXI. 
Beneath  an  oak,  moss'd  o'er  by  eld, 
The  Baron's  Dwarf  his  courser  held,1 
And  held  his  crested  helm  and  spear : 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  L. 

2  The  idea  of  the  imp  domesticating  himself  with  the  first 
person  he  met,  and  subjecting  himself  ',o  that  one's  authority, 
Is  perfectly  consonant  to  old  opinions.  Ben  Jonson,  in  his  play 
of  "  The  Devil  is  an  J}ss,"  has  founded  the  leading  incident 
of  that  comedy  upon  this  article  of  the  popular  creed.  A 
fiend,  styled  Pug,  is  ambitious  for  figuring  in  the  world,  and 
petitions  his  superior  for  permission  to  exhibit  himself  upon 
earth.  The  devil  grants  him  a  day-rule,  but  clogs  it  with  this 
condition,— 

"  Satttn — Only  thus  more,  1  hind  you 

To  serve  the  first  man  that  vou  meet :  and  him 


That  Dwarf  was  scarce  an  earthly  man, 
If  the  tales  were  true  that  of  him  ran 

Through  all  the  Border,  far  and  near. 
'Twas  said,  when  the  Baron  a-hunting  rode 
Through  Reedsdale's  glens,  but  rarely  trod, 

He  heard  a  voice  cry,  "  Lost !  lost !  lost !" 

And,  like  tennis-ball  by  racket  toss'd, 
A  leap,  of  thirty  feet  and  three, 

Made  from  the  gorse  this  elfin  shape, 

Distorted  like  some  dwarfish  ape, 

And  lighted  at  Lord  Cranstoun's  knee. 

Lord  Cranstoun  was  some  whit  dismay'd ; 

'Tis  said  that  five  good  miles  he  rade, 
To  rid  him  of  liis  company ; 
But  where  he  rode  one  mile,  the  Dwarf  ran  foui 
And  the  Dwarf  was  first  at  the  castle  door. 

XXXII. 

Use  lessens  marvel,  it  is  said : 
Tins  elvish  Dwarf  with  the  Baron  staid ; 
Little  he  ate,  and  less  he  spoke, 
Nor  mingled  with  the  menial  flock : 
And  oft  apart  his  arms  he  toss'd, 
And  often  mutter'd  "  Lost !  lost !  lost !" 
He  was  waspish,  arch,  and  litherlie,2 
But  well  Lord  Cranstoun  served  he : 
And  he  of  his  service  was  full  fain ; 
For  once  he  had  been  ta'en  or  slain, 

An  it  had  not  been  for  liis  ministry. 
All  between  Home  and  Hermitage, 
Talk'd  of  Lord  Cranstoun's  Goblin-Page. 

XXXIII. 

For  the  Baron  went  on  pilgrimage, 
And  took  with  him  tliis  elvish  Page, 

To  Mary's  Chapel  of  the  Lowes ; 
For  there,  beside  our  Ladye's  lake, 
An  offering  he  had  sworn  to  make, 

And  he  would  pay  liis  vows. 
But  the  Ladye  of  Branksome  gather' d  a  band 
Of  the  best  that  would  ride  at  her  command :' 

The  trysting  place  was  Xewark  lee. 
Wat  of  Harden  came  thither  amain, 
And  tliither  came  John  of  Tliirlestane, 
And  tliither  came  William  of  Deloraine ; 

They  were  three  hundred  spears  and  three, 

I'll  show  you  now  ;  observe  him,  follow  him  ; 
But,  once  engaged,  there  you  must  stay  and  fix." 

It  is  observable  that  in  the  same  play,  Pug  alludes  to  th? 
spareness  of  his  diet.  Mr.  Scott's  goblin,  though  "  waspish, 
arch,  and  litherlie,"  proves  a  faithful  and  honest  retainer  U 
the  lord,  into  whose  service  he  had  introduced  himself.  Thif 
sort  of  inconsistency  seems  also  to  form  a  prominent  part,  of  the 
diabolic  cnaracter.  Thus,  in  the  romances  of  the  Round 
Table,  we  find  Merlin,  the  son  of  a  devil,  exerting  himsel? 
most  zealously  in  the  cause  of  virtue  and  religion,  the  friend 
and  counsellor  of  King  Arthur,  the  chastiser  of  wronjjs,  and 
the  scourge  of  the  infidel9. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  K. 


28                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  hi. 

Through  Douglas-burn,  up  Yarrow  stream,1 

And  that  I  might  not  sing  of  love  ? — 

Their  horses  prance,  their  lances  gleam. 

How  could  I  to  the  dearest  theme, 

They  came  to  St.  Mary's  lake  ere  day ; 

That  ever  warm'd  a  minstrel's  dream, 

But  the  chapel  was  void,  and  the  Baron  away. 

So  foul,  so  false  a  recreant  prove  ! 

They  burn'd  the  chapel  for  very  rage, 

How  could  I  name  love's  very  name, 

And  cursed  Lord  Cranstoun's  Goblin-Page. 

Nor  wake  my  heart  to  notes  of  flame  ! 

XXXIV. 

II. 

A.nd  now,  in  Branksome's  good  green  wood, 

In  peace,  Love  tunes  the  shepherd's  reed , 

As  under  the  aged  oak  he  stood, 

In  war,  he  mounts  the  warrior's  steed ; 

The  Baran's  courser  pricks  his  ears, 

In  halls,  in  gay  attire  is  seen ; 

As  if  a  distant  noise  he  hears. 

Li  hamlets,  dances  on  the  green. 

The  Dwarf  waves  his  long  lean  arm  on  high, 

Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove, 

And  signs  to  the  lovers  to  part  and  fly ; 

And  men  below,  and  saints  above  ; 

No  time  was  then  to  vow  or  sigh. 

For  love  is  heaven,  and  heaven  is  love. 

Fair  Margaret  tlirough  the  hazel  grove, 

Flew  like  the  startled  cushat-dove  :2 

III. 

The  Dwarf  the  stirrup  held  and  rem ; 

So  thought  Lord  Cranstoun,  as  I  ween, 

Vaulted  the  Knight  on  his  steed  amain, 

"While,  pondering  deep  the  tender  scene, 

And,  pondering  deep  that  morning's  scene, 

He  rode  through  Branksome's  hawthorn  green. 

Rode  eastward  tlirough  the  hawthorns  green. 

But  the  page  shouted  wild  and  shrill, 

And  scarce  his  helmet  could  he  don, 
When  downward  from  the  shady  liill 

"WniLE  thus  he  pour'd  the  lengthen' d  tale, 

The  Minstrel's  voice  began  to  fail : 

A  stately  knight  came  pricking  on. 

Full  slyly  smiled  the  observant  page, 

That  warrior's  steed,  so  dapple-gray, 

And  gave  the  wither'd  hand  of  age 

Was  dark  with  sweat,  and  splashed  with  clay , 

A  goblet,  crown'd  with  mighty  wine, 

His  armor  red  with  many  a  stain : 

The  blood  of  Velez'  scorched  vine. 

He  seem'd  in  such  a  weary  plight, 

He  raised  the  silver  cup  on  high, 

As  if  he  had  ridden  the  live-long  night ; 

And,  while  the  big  drop  fill'd  his  eye, 

For  it  was  William  of  Deloraine. 

Pray'd  God  to  bless  the  Duchess  long, 

And  all  who  cheer'd  a  son  of  song. 

IV. 

The  attending  maidens  smil'd  to  see 

But  no  whit  weary  did  he  seem, 

How  long,  how  deep,  how  zealously, 

When,  dancing  in  the  sunny  beam, 

The  precious  juice  the  Minstrel  quaff' d ; 

He  mark'd  the  crane  on  the  Baron's  crest  ;8 

And  he,  embolden'd  by  the  draught, 

For  liis  ready  spear  was  in  his  rest. 

Look'd  gayly  back  to  them,  and  laugh' A 

Few  were  the  words,  and  stern  and  high, 

The  cordial  nectar  of  the  bowl 

That  mark'd  the  foemen's  feudal  hate ; 

Swell'd  his  old  veins,  and  cheer'd  his  soul ; 

For  question  fierce,  and  proud  reply, 

A  livelier,  lighter  prelude  ran, 

Gave  signal  soon  of  dire  debate. 

Ere  thus  his  tale  again  began. 

Their  very  coursers  seem'd  to  know 

That  each  was  other's  mortal  foe, 

.And  snort  gq  fire  wlicn  wiiggI  q  itroiind 

To  give  each  knight  his  vantage-ground. 

SHje  fag  of  tlje  last  Minstrel. 

V. 

In  rapid  round  the  Baron  bent ; 

CANTO  THIRD. 

He  sigh'd  a  sigh,  and  pray'd  a  prayer ; 
The  prayer  was  to  liis  patron  saint, 

I. 

The  sigh  was  to  his  ladye  fair. 

A.ND  said  I  that  my  limbs  were  old, 

Stout  Deloraine  nor  sigh'd  nor  pray'd, 

And  said  I  that  my  blood  was  cold, 

Nor  saint,  nor  ladye,  call'd  to  aid ; 

And  that  my  kindly  fire  was  fled, 

But  he  stoop'd  liis  head,  and  couch'd  his  spear, 

And  my  poor  wither'd  heart  was  dead, 

And  spurr'd  his  steed  to  full  career. 

»  See  notes  on  The  Douglas  Tragedy  in   the   Minstrelsy, 

3  The  crest  of  the  Cranstouns,  in  allusion  *o  their  name,  is  a 

*ol.  iii.  p.  3. — Ed. 

crane  dormant,  holding  a  stone  in  his  foot,  with  an  emphatic 

a  Wo«xl-pigeon. 

border  motto,   Thou  shall  want  ere  I  ra*. 

danto  in                    THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL.                                29 

The  meeting  of  these  champions  proud 

Would  not  yield  to  uncliristen'd  hand, 

Seem'd  like  the  bursting  thunder-cloud. 

Till  he  smear'd  the  cover  o'er 

With  the  Borderer's  curdled  gore ; 

VI. 

A  moment  then  the  volume  spread, 

Stern  was  the  dint  the  Borderer  lent  1 

And  one  short  spell  therein  he  read : 

The  stately  Baron  backwards  bent ; 

It  had  much  of  glamour2  might, 

Bent  backwards  to  his  horse's  tail, 

Could  make  a  ladye  seem  a  knight ; 

And  Ins  plumes  went  scattering  on  the  gale ; 

The  cobwebs  on  a  dungeon  wall 

The  tough  ash  spear,  so  stout  and  true, 

Seem  tapestry  in  lordly  hall ; 

Into  a  thousand  flinders  flew. 

A  nutshell  seem  a  gilded  barge, 

But  Cranstoun's  lance,  of  more  avail, 

A  sheeling3  seem  a  palace  large, 

Pierced  through,  like  silk,  the  Borderer's  mail ; 

And  youth  seem  age,  and  age  seem  youth — 

Through  shield,  and  jack,  and  acton,  past, 

All  was  delusion,  nought  was  truth.4 

Deep  in  his  bosom  broke  at  last. — 

Still  sate  the  warrior  saddle-fast, 

X. 

Till,  stumbling  in  the  mortal  shock, 

He  had  not  read  another  spell, 

Down  went  the  steed,  the  girthing  broke, 

When  on  his  cheek  a  buffet  fell, 

Hurl'd  on  a  heap  lay  man  and  horse. 

So  fierce,  it  stretch'd  him  on  the  plain, 

The  Baron  onward  pass'd  his  course ; 

Beside  the  wounded  Deloraine. 

Nor  knew — so  giddy  roll'd  his  brain — 

From  the  ground  he  rose  dismay'd, 

His  foe  lay  stretch'd  upon  the  plain. 

And  shook  his  huge  and  matted  head ; 

One  word  he  mutter'd,  and  no  more, 

VII. 

"  Man  of  age,  thou  smitest  sore  1" — 

But  when  he  rein'd  his  courser  round, 

No  more  the  Elfin  Page  durst  try 

And  saw  his  foeman  on  the  ground 

Into  the  wondrous  Book  to  pry ; 

Lie  senseless  as  the  bloody  clay, 

The  clasps,  though  smeared  with  Christian  gor« 

He  bade  Ms  page  to  stanch  the  wound 

Shut  faster  than  they  were  before. 

And  there  beside  the  warrior  stay, 

He  hid  it  underneath  his  cloak. — 

And  tend  Mm  in  his  doubtful  state, 

Now,  if  you  ask  who  gave  the  stroke, 

And  lead  him  to  Branksome  castle-gate : 

I  cannot  tell,  so  mot  I  tlirive ; 

His  noble  mind  was  inly  moved 

It  was  not  given  by  man  alive.6 

For  the  kinsman  of  the  maid  he  loved. 

"  This  shalt  thou  do  without  delay : 

XL 

No  longer  here  myself  may  stay ; 

Unwillingly  himself  he  address'd, 

Unless  the  swifter  I  speed  away, 

To  do  Ms  master's  high  behest : 

Short  slrrift  will  be  at  my  dying  day." 

He  lifted  up  the  living  corse, 

And  laid  it  on  the  weary  horse ; 

VIII. 

He  led  him  into  Branksome  Hall, 

Away  in  speed  Lord  Cranstoun  rode ; 

Before  the  beards  of  the  warders  all ; 

The  Goblin  Page  behind  abode ; 

And  each  did  after  swear  and  say, 

His  lord's  command  he  ne'er  withstood, 

There  only  pass'd  a  wain  of  hay. 

Though  small  Ms  pleasure  to  do  good. 

He  took  him  to  Lord  David's  tower, 

As  the  corslet  off  he  took, 

Even  to  the  Ladye's  secret  bower ; 

The  dwarf  espied  the  Mighty  Book ! 

And,  but  that  stronger  spells  were  spread, 

Much  he  marvell'd  a  knight  of  pride, 

And  the  door  might  not  be  opened, 

Like  a  book-bosom'd  priest  should  ride  :' 

He  had  laid  him  on  her  very  bed. 

He  thought  not  to  search  or  stanch  the  wound, 

Whate'er  he  did  of  gramarye,6 

Until  the  secret  he  had  found. 

Was  always  done  maliciously ; 

He  flung  the  warrior  on  the  ground, 

IX. 

And  the  blood  well'd  freshly  from  the  wound 

The  iron  band,  the  iron  clasp, 

Resisted  long  the  elfin  grasp : 

XII. 

For  when  the  first  he  had  undone, 

As  he  repass'd  the  outer  court, 

It  closed  as  he  the  next  begun. 

He  spied  the  fair  young  child  at  sport : 

Those  iron  clasps,  that  iron  band, 

He  thought  to  train  liim  to  the  wood ; 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  L. 

s  A  shepherd's  hut.              *  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 

a  Magical  delusion 

e  Ibid.  Note  2  N.                  •  Magic 

SO                                          SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  hi. 

For,  at  a  word,  be  it  understood, 

At  cautious  distance  hoarsely  bay'd, 

He  was  always  for  ill,  and  never  for  good. 

But  still  in  act  to  spring  ; 

Seem'd  to  the  boy,  some  comrade  gay 

When  dash'd  an  archer  through  the  glade, 

Led  him  forth  to  the  woods  to  play ; 

And  when  he  saw  the  hound  was  stay'd, 

On  the  drawbridge  the  warders  stout 

He  drew  his  tough  bow-string  ; 

Saw  a  terrier  and  lurcher  passing  out. 

But  a  rough  voice  cried,  "  Shoot  not,  hoy  1 

Ho !  shoot  not,  Edward — 'Tis  a  boy !" 

XIII. 

lie  led  the  boy  o'er  bank  and  fell, 

XVI. 

Until  they  came  to  a  woodland  brook ; 

The  speaker  issued  from  the  wood, 

The  running  stream  dissolved  the  spell,1 

And  check'd  his  fellow's  surly  mood, 

And  his  own  elvish  shape  he  took. 

And  quell'd  the  ban-dog's  ire  : 

Could  he  have  had  his  pleasxire  vilde, 

He  was  an  English  yeoman  good, 

He  had  crippled  the  joints  of  the  noble  child ; 

And  born  in  Lancashire. 

Or,  with  his  fingers  long  and  lean, 

Well  could  he  hit  a  fallow-deer 

Had  strangled  him  in  fiendish  spleen : 

Five  hundred  feet  him  fro ; 

But  his  awful  mother  he  had  in  dread, 

With  hand  more  true,  and  eye  more  clear, 

And  also  his  power  was  limited  ; 

No  archer  bended  bow. 

So  he  but  scowl'd  on  the  startled  child, 

His  coal-black  hair,  shorn  round  and  close, 

And  darted  through  the  forest  wild ; 

Set  off  liis  sun-burn'd  face : 

The  woodland  brook  he  bounding  cross'd, 

Old  England's  sign,  St.  George's  cross, 

And  laugh' d,  and  shouted,  "  Lost !  lost !  lost !" 

His  barret-cap  did  grace ; 

His  bugle-horn  hung  by  his  side, 

XIV. 

All  in  a  wolf-skin  baldric  tied ; 

Full  sore  amazed  at  the  wondrous  change, 

And  his  short  falchion,  sharp  and  clear, 

And  frighten' d  as  a  child  might  be, 

Had  pierced  the  throat  of  many  a  deer. 

At  the  wild  yell  and  visage  strange, 

And  the  dark  words  of  gramarye, 

XVII. 

The  child,  amidst  the  forest  bower, 

His  kirtle,  made  of  forest  green, 

Stood  rooted  like  a  lily  flower ; 

Reach'd  scantly  to  his  knee ; 

And  when  at  length,  with  trembling  pace, 

And,  at  his  belt,  of  arrows  keen 

He  sought  to  find  where*Branksome  lay, 

A  furbish"  d  sheaf  bore  he  ; 

He  fear'd  to  see  that  grisly  face, 

His  buckler,  scarce  in  breadth  a  span. 

Glare  from  some  thicket  on  his  way. 

No  larger  fence  had  he  ; 

Thus,  starting  oft,  he  journey'd  on, 

He  never  counted  him  a  man, 

And  deeper  in  the  wood  is  gone, — 

Would  strike  below  the  knee  :Q 

For  aye  the  more  he  sought  his  way, 

His  slacken'd  bow  was  in  his  hand, 

The  farther  still  he  went  astray, — 

And  the  leash,  that  was  his  blood-hound's  band 

L'ntil  he  heard  the  mountains  round 

Ring  to  the  baying  of  a  hound. 

XVIII. 

He  would  not  do  the  fair  child  harm, 

XV. 

But  held  him  with  his  powerful  arm. 

And  hark !  and  hark !  the  deep-mouthed  bark 

That  he  might  neither  fight  nor  flee , 

Comes  nigher  still,  and  nigher : 

For  the  Red-Cross  spied  he, 

Bursts  on  the  path  a  dark  blood-hound, 

The  boy  strove  long  and  violently. 

His  tawny  muzzle  track' d  the  ground, 

"  Now,  by  St.  George,"  the  archer  cries, 

And  his  red  eye  shot  fire. 

"  Edward,  methinks  we  have  a  prize  ! 

Soon  as  the  wilder'd  child  saw  he, 

This  boy's  fair  face,  and  courage  free, 

He  flew  at  him  right  furiouslie. 

Show  he  is  come  of  high  degree." 

I  ween  you  would  have  seen  with  joy 

The  bearing  of  the  gallant  boy, 

XIX. 

When,  worthy  of  his  noble  sire, 

•  Yes !  I  am  come  of  high  degree, 

His  wet  cheek  glow'd  'twixt  fear  and  ire  ! 

For  I  am  the  heir  of  bold  Buccleuch ; 

He  faced  the  blood-hound  manfully, 

And  if  thou  dost  not  set  me  free, 

And  held  his  little  bat  on  high  ; 

False  Southron,  thoxi  shaft  dearly  rue ! 

So  fierce  he  struck,  the  dog,  afraid, 

For  Walter  of  Harden  shall  come  with  speed, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  0. 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P 

canto  in.                    THE  LAY  OF  THE 

LAST  MINSPREL.                                   31 

And  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need, 

XXIIL 

And  every  Scott  from  Esk  to  Tweed ; 

She  drew  the  splinter  from  the  wound, 

And  if  thou  dost  not  let  me  go, 

And  with  a  charm  she  stanch  d  the  blocd  •* 

Despite  thy  arrows,  and  thy  bow, 

She  bade  the  gash  be  cleansed  and  bound : 

*U  haye  thee  hang'd  to  feed  the  crow !" — 

No  longer  by  his  couch  she  stood ; 

But  she  lias  ta'en  the  broken  lance, 

XX. 

And  wash'd  it  from  the  clotted  gore, 

"  Gramercy,  for  thy  good-will,  fair  boy  1 

And  salved  the  splinter  o'er  and  o'er.4 

My  mind  was  never  set  so  high  ; 

William  of  Deloraine,  in  trance, 

But  if  thou  art  chief  of  such  a  clan, 

Whene'er  she  turn'd  it  round  and  round, 

And  art  the  son  of  such  a  man, 

Twisted  as  if  she  gall'd  his  wound. 

And  ever  comest  to  thy  command, 

Then  to  her  maidens  she  did  say, 

Our  wardens  had  need  to  keep  good  or- 

That he  should  be  whole  man  and  sound, 

der  ; 

Within  the  course  of  a  night  and  day. 

My  bow  of  yew  to  a  hazel  wand, 

Full  long  she  toil'd ;  for  she  did  rue 

Thoult  make  them  work  upon  the  Border. 

Mishap  to  friend  so  stout  and  true. 

Meantime  be  pleased  to  come  with  me, 

For  good  Lord  Dacre  shalt  thou  see  ; 

XXIV.6 

I  think  our  work  is  well  begun, 

So  pass'd  the  day — the  evening  fell, 

When  we  have  taken  thy  father's  son." 

'Twas  near  the  time  of  curfew  bell ; 

The  air  was  mild,  the  wind  was  calm, 

XXI. 

The  stream  was  smootli,  the  dew  was  balm ; 

Although  the  child  was  led  away, 

E'en  the  rude  watchman,  on  the  tower, 

In  Branksome  still  he  seem'd  to  stay, 

Enjoy'd  and  bless'd  the  lovely  hour. 

For  so  the  Dwarf  his  part  did  play ; 

Far  more  fair  Margaret  loved  and  bless'd 

And,  in  the  shape  of  that  young  boy, 

The  hour  of  silence  and  of  rest. 

He  wrought  the  castle  much  annoy. 

On  the  high  turret  sitting  lone. 

The  comrades  of  the  young  Buccleuch 

She  waked  at  times  the  lute's  soft  tone ; 

He  pinch'd,  and  beat,  and  overthrew ; 

Touch'd  a  wild  note,  and  all  between 

Nay,  some  of  them  he  wellnigh  slew. 

Thought  of  the  bower  of  hawthorns  green. 

He  tore  Dame  Maudlin's  silken  tire, 

Her  golden  hair  stream' d  free  from  band, 

And,  as  Sym  Hall  stood  by  the  fire, 

Her  fair  cheek  rested  on  her  hand, 

He  lighted  the  match  of  his  bandelier,1 

Her  blue  eyes  sought  the  west  afar, 

And  wofully  scorch'd  the  hackbuteer.3 

For  lovers  love  the  western  star. 

It  may  be  hardly  thought  or  said, 

The  mischief  that  the  urchin  made, 

XXV. 

Till  many  of  the  castle  guess'd, 

Is  yon  the  star,  o'er  Penchryst  Pen, 

That  the  young  Baron  was  possess'd  ! 

That  rises  slowly  to  her  ken, 

And,  spreading  broad  its  wavering  light, 

XXII. 

Shakes  its  loose  tresses  on  the  night  ? 

Well  I  ween  the  charm  he  held 

Is  yon  red  glare  the  western  star  \ — 

The  noble  Ladye  had  soon  dispell'd ; 

0,  'tis  the  beacon-blaze  of  war  1 

But  she  was  deeply  busied  then 

Scarce  could  she  draw  her  tighten'd  breath, 

To  tend  the  wounded  Deloraine. 

For  well  she  knew  the  fire  of  death ! 

Much  she  wonder'd  to  find  him  lie, 

On  the  stone  threshold  stretch'd  along ; 

XXVI. 

She  thought  some  spirit  of  the  sky 

The  Warder  view'd  it  blazing  strong, 

Had  done  the  bold  moss-trooper  wrong ; 

And  blew  his  war-note  loud  and  long, 

Because,  despite  her  precept  dread, 

Till,  at  the  high  and  haughty  sound, 

Perchance  he  in  the  Book  had  read ; 

Rock,  wood,  and  river  rung  around 

But  the  broken  lance  in  his  bosom  stood, 

The  blast  alarm' d  the  festal  hall, 

And  it  was  earthly  steel  and  wood. 

And  startled  forth  the  warriors  all ; 

i  Bandelier,  belt  for  carrying  ammunition. 

8  "  As  another  illustration  of  the  prodigious  improvement 

8  Hackbuteer }  musketeer. 

which  the  style  of  the  old  romance  is  capable  of  receiving  from 
a  more   liberal  admixture  of  pathetic  sentiments   and   gentle 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q,. 

affections,  we  insert  the  following  passage  [Slanzas  xxiv.  to 

xxvii.],  wherp  the  effect  of  the  picture  is  finely  assisted  by  the 

«  Ibid.  Note  2  R. 

contrast  of  its  two  co'»iuajrraie.nts."—  Jeffrey. 

32                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  in 

Far  downward,  in  the  castle-yard, 

Each  from  each  the  signal  caught ; 

Full  many  a  torch  and  cresset  glared ; 

Each  after  each  they  glanced  to  sight, 

And  helms  and  plumes,  confusedly  toss'd, 

As  stars  arise  upon  the  night. 

Were  in  the  blaze  half-seen,  half-lost ; 

They  gleam'd  on  many  a  dusky  tarn,0           > 

And  spears  in  wild  disorder  shook, 

Haunted  by  thf*  lonely  earn  ;7 

Like  reeds  beside  a  frozen  brook. 

On  many  a  cairn's8  gray  pyramid, 

Where  urns  of  mighty  cliiefs  he  hid  ; 

XXVII. 

Till  high  Dunedin  the  blazes  saw, 

The  Seneschal,  whose  silver  hair 

From  Soltra  and  Dumpender  Law ; 

Was  redden'd  by  the  torches'  glare, 

And  Lothian  heard  the  Regent's  order, 

Stood  in  the  midst,  with  gesture  proud, 

That  all  should  bowne9  them  for  the  Border. 

And  issued  forth  his  mandates  loud  : — 

"  On  Penchryst  glows  a  bale1  of  fire, 

XXX. 

And  three  are  kindling  on  Priesthaughswire ; 

The  livelong  night  in  Branksome  rang 

Ride  out,  ride  out, 

The  ceaseless  sound  of  steel ; 

The  foe  to  scout ! 

The  castle-bell,  with  backward  clang, 

Mount,  mount  for  Branksome,2  every  man ! 

Sent  forth  the  larum  peal ; 

Thou,  Todrig,  warn  the  Johnstone  clan, 

Was  frequent  heard  the  heavy  jar, 

That  ever  are  true  and  stout — 

Where  massy  stone  and  iron  bar 

Ye  need  not  send  to  Liddesdale  ; 

Were  piled  on  echoing  keep  and  tower, 

For  when  they  see  the  blazing  bale, 

To  whelm  the  foe  with  deadly  shower ; 

Elliots  and  Armstrongs  never  fail. — 

Was  frequent  heard  the  changing  guard, 

Ride,  Alton,  ride,  for  death  and  life ! 

And  watchword  from  the  sleepless  ward ; 

And  warn  the  Warder  of  the  strife. 

While,  wearied  by  the  endless  din, 

Young  Gilbert,  let  our  beacon  blaze, 

Blood-hound  and  ban-dog  yell'd  within. 

Our  kin,  and  clan,  and  friends  to  raise."8 

XXXI. 

XXVIII. 

The  noble  Dame,  amid  the  broil, 

Fair  Margaret,  from  the  turret  head, 

Shared  the  gray  Seneschal's  high  toil, 

Heard,  far  below,  the  coursers'  tread, 

And  spoke  of  danger  with  a  smile ; 

While  loud  the  harness  rung, 

Cheer'd  the  young  knights,  and  council  sage 

As  to  their  seats,  with  clamor  dread, 

Held  with  the  chiefs  of  riper  age. 

The  ready  horsemen  sprung : 

No  tidings  of  the  foe  were  brought, 

And  trampling  hoofs,  and  iron  coats, 

Nor  of  his  numbers  knew  they  aught, 

And  leaders'  voices,  mingled  notes, 

Nor  what  in  time  of  truce  he  sought. 

And  out !  and  out ! 

Some  said,  that  there  were  thousands  ten ; 

In  hasty  route, 

And  others  ween'd  that  it  was  naught 

The  horsemen  gallop'd  forth ; 

But  Leven  clans,  or  Tynedale  men, 

Dispersing  to  the  south  to  scout, 

Who  came  to  gather  in  black-mail  ;10 

And  east,  and  west,  and  north, 

And  Liddesdale,  with  small  avail, 

To  view  their  coming  enemies, 

Might  drive  them  lightly  back  agen. 

And  warn  their  vassals  and  allies. 

So  pass'd  the  anxious  night  away, 

And  welcome  was  the  peep  of  day. 

XXIX. 

The  ready  page,  with  hurried  hand,4 
Awaked  the  need-fire's6  slumbering  brand, 

And  ruddy  blush'd  the  heaven : 

For  a  sheet  of  flame,  from  the  turret  high, 

Ceased  the  high  sound — the  listening  throng 

Waved  like  a  blood-flag  on  the  sky, 

Applaud  the  Master  of  the  Song ; 

All  flaring  and  uneven ; 

And  marvel  much,  in  helpless  age, 

And  soon  a  score  of  fires,  I  ween, 

So  hard  should  be  his  pilgrimage. 

From  height,  and  hill,  and  cliff  were  seen ; 

Had  he  no  friend — no  daughter  dear, 

Each  with  warlike  tidings  fraught ; 

His  wandering  toil  to  share  and  cheer  ; 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  8. 

5  Need-fire,  beacon. 

2  Mount  for  Branksome  was  the  gathering  word  of  the  Scotts. 

6  Tarn,  a  mountain  lake. 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 

'  Earn,  a  Scottish  eagle.        8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U. 

*  "  We  absolutely  see  the  fires  kindling,  one  after  another,  in 

9  Bowne,  make  ready. 

the  following  animated  description." — Annual  Review,  1804. 

10  Protection  money  exacted  by  freebooters. 

CANTO  IV. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


No  son  to  be  his  father's  stay, 
And  guide  him  on  the  rugged  -way  ? 
w  Ay,  once  he  had — but  he  was  dead  !"— 
Upon  the  harp  he  stoop'd  liis  head, 
And  busied  himself  the  strings  withal, 
To  hide  the  tear  that  fain  would  fall 
In  solemn  measure,  soft  and  slow, 
Arose  a  father's  notes  of  woe.1 


STije  Ccta  of  %  Caat  JHinBtrel. 


CANTO    FOURTH. 


Sweet  Teviot !  on  thy  silver  tide 

The  glaring  bale-fires  blaze  no  more , 
ISTo  longer  steel-clad  warriors  ride 

Along  thy  wild  and  willow'd  shore  ;a 
Where'er  thou  wind'st,  by  dale  or  hill, 
All,  all  is  peaceful,  all  is  still 

As  if  thy  waves,  since  Time  was  born, 
Since  first  they  roll'd  upon  the  Tweed,8 
Had  only  heard  the  shepherd's  reed, 

Nor  started  at  the  bugle-horn. 

II. 

Unlike  the  tide  of  human  time, 

Which,  though  it  change  in  ceaseless  flow, 
Retains  each  grief,  retains  each  crime 

Its  earliest  course  was  doom'd  to  know ; 
And,  darker  as  it  downward  bears, 
Is  stain'd  with  past  and  present  tears. 

Low  as  that  tide  has  ebb'd  with  me, 
It  still  reflects  to  Memory's  eye 
The  hour  my  brave,  my  only  boy, 

Fell  by  the  side  of  great  Dundee.4 

i  "  Nothing  can  excel  the  simple  concise  pathos  of  the 
close  of  this  Canto — nor  the  touching  picture  of  the  Bard  when, 
with  assumed  business,  he  tries  to  conceal  real  sorrow.  How 
well  the  poet  understands  the  art  of  contrast — and  how  judi- 
ciously it  is  exerted  in  the  exordium  of  the  next  Canto,  where 
our  mourning  sympathy  is  exchanged  for  the  thrill  of  pleas- 
ure!"— Anna  Seward. 

«  "  What  luxury  of  sound  in  this  line  !"-  Anna  Seward. 

s  Oriff. — "  Since  first  they  rolled  their  way  to  Tweed." 

*  The  Viscount  of  Dundee,  slain  in  the  battle  of  Killicrankie. 

6  "  Some  of  the  most  interesting  passages  of  the  poem  are 
those  in  which  the  author  drops  the  business  of  his  story  to 
moralize,  and  apply  to  his  own  situation  the  images  and  reflec- 
tions it  has  suggested.  After  concluding  one  Canto  with  an 
account  of  the  warlike  array  which  was  prepared  for  the  re- 
ception of  the  English  invaders,  he  opens  the  succeeding  one 
with  the  following  beautiful  verses,  (Stanzas  i.  and  ii.) 

"  There  are  several  other  detached  passages  of  equal  beanty,6 

6  No  one  will  dissent  from  this,  who  reads,  in  particular,  the  first  two 
»nd  h«<trt-sflowing  stanias  of  Caiuo  VI.— note,  by  association  of  the  past, 
'"•.ndereu  the  more  affecting    -Ed 


Why,  when  the  volleying  musket  play'd 
Against  the  bloody  Highland  blade, 
Why  was  not  I  beside  Jhim  laid  ! — 
Enough — he  died  the  death  of  fame ; 
Enough — he  died  with  conquering  Graeme,* 

III. 

Now  over  Border,  dale  and  fell, 

Full  wide  and  far  was  terror  spread ; 
For  pathless  marsh,  and  mountain  cell, 

The  peasant  left  his  lowly  shed.7 
The  frighten'd  flocks  and  herds  were  pent 
Beneath  the  peel's  rude  battlement ; 
And  maids  and  matrons  dropp'd  the  tear, 
While  ready  warriors  seized  the  spear. 
From  Branksome's  towers,  the  watchman's  eye 
Dun  wreaths  of  distant  smoke  can  spy, 
Which,  curling  in  the  rising  sun, 
Show'd  southern  ravage  was  begun.8 

IV. 

Now  loud  the  heedful  gate-ward  cried— 
"  Prepare  ye  all  for  blows  and  blood ; 
Watt  Tinlinn,9  from  the  Liddel-side, 
Comes  wading  through  the  flood.1" 
Full  oft  the  Tynedale  snatchers  knock 
At  his  lone  gate,  and  prove  the  lock ; 
It  was  but  last  St.  Barnabright 
They  sieged  him  a  whole  summer  night, 
But  fled  at  morning :  well  they  knew, 
In  vain  he  never  twang'd  the  yew. 
Right  sharp  has  been  the  evening  shower, 
That  drove  him  from  his  Liddel  tower ; 
And,  by  my  faith,"  the  gate-ward  said, 
"  I  think  'twill  prove  a  Warden-Raid."11 

V. 

While  thus  he  spoke,  the  bold  yeoman  * 
Enter'd  the  echoing  barbican. 

which  might  be  quoted  in  proof  of  the  effect  which  is  produced 
by  this  dramatic  interference  of  the  narrator." — Jeffrey. 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  2  V. 

8  Ibid.  Note  2  W.  »  Ibid.  Note  2  X. 

io  "  And  when  they  cam  to  Branksome  ha', 

They  shouted  a'  baith  loud  and  hie, 

Till  up  and  spak  him  auld  Buccleuch, 

Said — '  Whae's  this  brings  the  fraye  to  me  V — 
'  It's  I,  Jamie  Telfer,  o'  the  fair  Dodhead, 
And  a  harried  man  I  think  I  be,'  "  &c. 

Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  8. 

"  An  inroad  commanded  by  the  Warden  in  person. 

12  "  The  dawn  displays  the  smoke  of  ravaged  field  3,  and  shep- 
herds, with  their  flocks,  flying  before  the  storm.  Tidings 
brought  by  a  tenant  of  the  family,  not  used  to  seek  a  shelter 
on  light  occasions  of  alarm,  disclose  the  strength  and  object 
of  the  invaders.  This  man  is  a  character  of  a  lower  and  of  a 
rougher  cast  than  Deloraine.  The  portrait  of  the  rude  re- 
tainer is  sketched  with  the  same  masterly  hand.  Here,  again, 
Mr.  Scott  has  trod  in  the  footsteps  of  the  old  romancers,  wh« 


84 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV. 


He  led  a  small  and  shaggy  nag, 

That  through  a  bog,  from  hag  to  hag,1 

Could  bound  like  any  Billhope  stag.2 

It  bore  his  wife  and  children  twain ; 

A  half-clothed  serfs  was  all  their  train; 

His  wife,  stout,  ruddy,  and  dark-brow'd, 

Of  silver  brooch  and  bracelet  proud,4 

Laugh'd  to  her  friends  among  the  crowd. 

He  was  of  stature  passing  tall, 

But  sparely  form'd,  and  lean  withal ; 

A  batter'd  morion  on  his  brow ; 

A  leather  jack,  as  fence  enow, 

On  lus  broad  shoulders  loosely  hung ; 

A  border  axe  behind  was  slung ; 

His  spear,  six  Scottish  ells  in  length, 
Seem'd  newly  dyed  with  gore ; 

His  shafts  and  bow,  of  wondrous  strength, 
His  hardy  partner  bore. 

VI. 

Thus  to  the  Ladye  did  Tinlinn  show 

The  tidings  of  the  English  foe : — 

"  Belted  Will  Howard 5  is  marching  here, 

And  hot  Lord  Dacre,6  with  many  a  spear, 

And  all  the  German  hackbut-men,7 

Who  have  long  lain  at  Askerten : 

They  cross'd  the  Liddel  at  curfew  hour, 

And  burn'd  my  little  lonely  tower : 

The  fiend  receive  their  souls  therefor ! 

It  had  not  been  burnt  this  year  and  more. 

Barn-yard  and  dwelling,  blazing  bright, 

Served  to  guide  me  on  my  flight ; 

But  I  was  chased  the  livelong  night. 

Black  John  of  Akeshaw,  and  Fergus  Graeme, 

Fast  upon  my  traces  came, 

Until  I  turn'd  at  Priesthaugh  Scrogg, 

And  shot  their  horses  in  the  bog, 

Slew  Fergus  with  my  lance  outright — 

I  had  him  long  at  high  despite : 

He  drove  my  cows  last  Fastern's  night." 

VII. 

Sow  weary  scouts  from  Liddesdale, 
.Fast  hurrying  in,  confirm'd  the  tale ; 

confine  not  themselves  to  the  display  of  a  few  personages  who 
■talk  over  the  stage  on  stately  stilts,  but  usually  reflect  all 
the  varieties  of  character  that  marked  the  era  to  which  they 
belong.  The  interesting  example  of  manners  thus  preserved 
to  »s  is  not  the  only  advantage  which  results  from  this  pecu- 
liar structure  of  their  plan.  It  is  this,  amongst  other  circum- 
g  s.nces,  wti  sh  enables  them  to  carry  us  along  with  them, 
nnler  I  know  not  what  species  of  fascination,  and  to  make 
us,  ms  it  were,  credulous  spectators  of  their  most  extravagant 
scene3.  In  this  they  seem  to  resemble  the  painter,  who,  in 
the  delineation  of  a  battle,  while  he  places  the  adverse  heroes 
of  the  day  combating  in  the  front,  takes  care  to  fill  his  back- 
ground with  subordinate  figures,  whose  appearance  adds  at 
once  both  spirit  and  an  air  of  probability  to  the  scene." — 
Critical  Review  1805. 
1  The  broken  ground  in  a  bog. 


As  far  as  they  could  judge  by  ken, 

Three  hours  would  bring  to  Teviot's  strand 
Three  thousand  armed  Englishmen — 
Meanwhile,  full  many  a  warlike  band 
From  Teviot,  Aill,  and  Ettrick  shade, 
Came  in,  their  Chief 's  defence  to  aid. 

There  was  saddling  and  mounting  in  haste, 

There  was  pricking  o'er  moor  and  lea ; 
He  that  was  last  at  the  trysting-place 
Was  but  lightly  held  of  lus  gave  ladye.8 

VIII. 

From  fair  St.  Mary's  silver  wave, 

From  dreary  Gamescleugh's  dusky  height 
His  ready  lances  Thirlestane  brave 

Array'd  bteneath  a  banner  bright. 
The  tressured  fleur-de-luce  he  claims, 
To  wreath  his  shield,  since  royal  James, 
Encamp'd  by  Fala's  mossy  wave, 
The  proud  distinction  grateful  gave, 

For  faith  'mid  feudal  jars ; 
What  tune,  save  Thirlestane  alone, 
Of  Scotland's  stubborn  barons  none 

Would  march  to  southern  wars  ; 
And  hence,  in  fair  remembrance  worn, 
Yon  sheaf  of  spears  his  crest  has  borne ; 
Hence  his  liigh  motto  slrines  reveal'd — 
"  Ready,  aye  ready,"  for  the^field.9 

IX. 

An  aged  Knight,  to  danger  steel' d, 

With  many  a  moss-trooper,  came  on ; 
And  azure  in  a  golden  field, 
The  stars  and  crescent  graced  his  shield, 

Without  the  bend  of  Murdieston.10 
Wide  lay  his  lands  round  Oakwood  tower, 
And  wide  round  haunted  Castle-Ower : 
High  over  Borthwick's  mountain  flood, 
His  wood-embosom' d  mansion  stood ; 
In  the  dark  glen,  so  deep  below, 
The  herds  of  plunder'd  England  low ; 
His  bold  retainers'  daily  food, 
And  bought  with  danger,  blows,  and  blood. 
Marauding  chief !  his  sole  delight 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 

s  Bondsman. 

*  As  the  Borderers  were  indifferent  about  the  furniture  of 
their  habitations,  so  much  exposed  to  be  burned  and  plun- 
dered, they  were  proportionally  anxious  to  display  splendor  in 
decorating  and  ornamenting  their  females. — See  Lesley  de 
Moribus  Limitaneorum. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 

6  Ibid.  Note  3  A. 

7  Musketeers.     See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 

8  The  four  last  lines  of  stanza  vii.  are  not  in  the  1st  Editiou 
—Ed. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C 
io  Ibid.  Note  3  D. 


CAViO  IV. 


THE  LAY   OE  THE  LAST  MiiNJSlKELi. 


2*4 


The  moonlight  raid,  th^  morning  fight ; 
Not  even  tlie  Flower  of  Yarrow's  charms, 
In  youth,  might  tame  his  rage  for  arms ; 
And  still,  in  age,  he  spurn'd  at  rest, 
And  still  his  brows  the  helmet  press'd, 
Albeit  the  blanched  locks  below 
W*re  white  as  Dinlay's  spotless  snow; 

Five  stately  warriors  drew  the  sword 
Before  their  father's  band ; 

A  braver  knight  than  Harden's  lord 
Ne'er  belted  on  a  brand.1 


Scotts  of  Eskdale,  a  stalwart  band,3 

Came  trooping  down  the  Todshawhill ; 
By  the  sword  they  won  their  land, 

And  by  the  sword  they  hold  it  still. 
Hearken,  Ladye,  to  the  tale, 
How  thy  sires  won  fair  Eskdale. — 
Earl  Morton  was  lord  of  that  valley  fair, 
The  Beattisons  were  his  vassals  there. 
The  Earl  was  gentle,  and  mild  of  mood, 
The  vassals  were  warlike,  and  fierce,  and  rude ; 
High  of  heart,  and  haughty  of  word, 
Little  they  reck'd  of  a  tame  liege  lord. 
The  Earl  into  fair  Eskdale  came, 
Homage  and  seignory  to  claim : 
Of  Gilbert  the  Galliard  a  heriot4  he  sought, 
Saying,  "  Give  thy  best  steed,  as  a  vassal  ought." 
— "  Dear  to  me  is  my  bonny  white  steed, 
Oft  has  he  help'd  me  at  pinch  of  need ; 
Lord  and  Earl  though  thou  be,  I  trow, 
I  can  rein  Bucksfoot  better  than  thou." — 
Word  on  word  gave  fuel  to  fire, 
fill  so  highly  blazed  the  Beattison's  ire, 
But  that  the  Earl  the  flight  had  ta'en, 
The  vassals  there  their  lord  had  slain. 
Sore  he  plied  both  whip  and  spur, 
As  he  urged  his  steed  through  Eskdale  ruiur ; 
And  it  fell  down  a  weary  wight, 
Just  on  the  threshold  of  Branksome  gate. 

XI. 

The  Earl  was  a  wrathful  man  to  see, 
Full  fain  avenged  would  he  be. 
In  haste  to  Branksome's  Lord  he  spoke, 
Saying — "  Take  these  traitors  to  thy  yoke ; 
For  a  cast  of  hawks,  and  a  purse  of  gold, 
All  Eskdale  I'll  sell  thee,  to  have  and  hold : 
Beslirew  thy  heart,  of  the  Beattisons'  clan 
If  thou  leavest  on  Eske  a  landed  man ; 

i  See,  besides  the  note  on  this  stanza,  one  in  the  Border 
Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  10,  respecting  Wat  of  Harden,  the  Au- 
thor's ancestor. 

A  satirical  piece,  entitled  "The  Town  Eclogue,"  which 
taade  much  noise  in  Edinburgh  shortly  after  the  appearance  of 
the  Minstrelsy,  has  these  lines  : — 

"  A  modern  author  spends  a  hundred  leaves, 
To  prove  his  ancestors  notorious  thieves  "—Ed. 


But  spare  Woodkerrick's  lands  alone, 

For  he  lent  me  his  horse  to  escape  upon." 

A  glad  man  then  was  Branksome  bold, 

Down  he  flung  him  the  purse  of  gold  ; 

To  Eskdale  soon  he  spurr'd  amain, 

And  with  him  five  hundred  riders  has  ta'en. 

He  left  his  merrymen  in  the  midst  of  the  hill, 

And  bade  them  hold  them  close  and  still ; 

And  alone  he  wended  to  the  plain, 

To  meet  with  the  Galliard  and  all  his  train. 

To  Gilbert  the  Galliard  thus  he  said : — 

"  Know  thou  me  for  thy  liege-lord  and  head  ■ 

Deal  not  with  me  as  with  Morton  tame, 

For  Scotts  play  best  at  the  roughest  game. 

Give  me  in  peace  my  heriot  due, 

Thy  bonny  white  steed,  or  thou  shalt  rue. 

If  my  horn  I  three  times  wind, 

Eskdale  shall  long  have  the  sound  in  mind." 

XII. 
Loudly  the  Beattison  laughed  in  scorn ; 
"  Little  care  we  for  thy  winded  horn. 
Ne'er  shall  it  be  the  Galliard's  lot, 
To  yield  his  steed  to  a  haughty  Scott. 
Wend  thou  to  Branksome  back  on  foot, 
With  rusty  spur  and  miry  boot." — ■ 
He  blew  his  bugle  so  loud  and  hoarse, 
That  the  dun  deer  started  at  fair  Craikcross ; 
He  blew  again  so  loud  and  clear, 
Through  the  gray  mountain-mist  there  did  lancei 

appear ; 
And  the  third  blast  rang  with  such  a  din, 
That  the  echoes  answer'd  from  Pentoun-linn, 
And  all  liis  riders  came  lightly  in. 
Then  had  you  seen  a  gallant  shock, 
When  saddles  were  emptied,  and  lances  broke 
For  each  scornful  word  the  Galliard  had  said, 
A  Beattison  on  the  field  was  laid. 
His  own  good  sword  the  chieftain  drew, 
And  he  bore  the  Galliard  through  and  through ; 
Where  the  Beattisons'  blood  mix'd  with  the  rill, 
The  Galliard's-Haugh  men  call  it  still. 
The  Scotts  have  scatter'd  the  Beattison  clan, 
In  Eskdale  they  left  but  one  landed  man. 
The  valley  of  Eske,  from  the  mouth  to  the  source., 
Was  lost  and  won  for  that  bonny  white  horse. 

XIII. 
Whitslade  the  Hawk,  and  Headshaw  came, 
And  warriors  more  than  I  may  name ; 
From  Yarrow-cleugh  to  Hindhaugh-swair,8 

2  Stanzas  x.  xi.  xii.  were  not  in  the  first  Edition. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  E. 

4  The  feudal  superior,  in  certain  cases,  was  entitled  to  th« 
best  horse  of  the  vassal,  in  name  of  Heriot,  or  Herezeld. 

6  This  and  the  three  following  lines  are  not  in  She  first  edi 
tion. — Ed. 


so                              scorns  poetical  yvokks.                     canto  w. 

From  Woodhouselie  to  Chester-glen. 

And  though  the  wound  soon  heal'd  again, 

Troop'd  man  and  horse,  and  bow  and  spear ; 

Yet,  as  he  ran,  he  y ell'd  for  pain ; . 

Their  gathering  word  was  Bellenden.1 

And  "Watt  of  Tinlinn,  much  aghast, 

And  better  hearts  o'er  Border  sod 

Rode  back  to  Branksome  fiery  fast. 

To  siege  or  rescue  never  rode. 

The  Ladye  mark'd  the  aids  come  in, 

XVI. 

And  high  her  heart  of  pride  arose : 

Soon  on  the  hill's  steep  verge  he  stood, 

She  bade  her  youthful  son  attend, 

That  looks  o'er  Branksome's  towers  and  wood 

That  he  might  know  his  father's  friend, 

And  martial  murmurs,  from  below, 

And  learn  to  face  his  foes. 

Proclaim'd  the  approaching  southern  foe. 

•  Tha  boy  is  ripe  to  look  on  war ; 

Through  the  dark  wood,  in  mingled  tone, 

I  saw  him  draw  a  cross-bow  stiff, 

"Were  Border  pipes  and  bugles  blown ; 

And  his  true  arrow  struck  afar 

The  coursers'  neighing  he  could  ken, 

The  raven's  nest  upon  the  cliff; 

A  measured  tread  of  marching  men ; 

The  red-cross,  on  a  southern  breast, 

"While  broke  at  times  the  solemn  hum, 

Is  broader  than  the  raven's  nest : 

The  Almayn's  sullen  kettle-drum ; 

Thou,  Whitslwde,  shalt  teach  him  his  weapon  to 

And  banners  tall,  of  crimson  sheen, 

wield, 

Above  the  copse  appear; 

And  o'er  him  hold  his  father's  shield." 

And,   glistening   through  the   hawthorns 

green, 

XIV. 

Shine  helm,  and  shield,  and  spear. 

"Well  may  you  think,  the  wily  page 

Cared  not  to  face  the  Ladye  sage. 

XVII. 

He  counterfeited  childish  fear, 

Light  forayers,  first,  to  view  the  ground, 

And  shriek'd,  and  shed  full  many  a  tear, 

Spurr'd  their  fleet  coursers  loosely  round ; 

And  moan' d  and  plain'd  in  manner  wild. 

Behind,  in  close  array,  and  fast, 

The  attendants  to  the  Ladye  told, 

The  Kendal  archers,  all  in  green, 

Some  fairy,  sure,  had  changed  the  cliild, 

Obedient  to  the  bugle  blast, 

That  wont  to  be  so  free  and  bold. 

Advancing  from  the  wood  were  seen. 

Then  wrathful  was  the  noble  dame  ; 

To  back  and  guard  the  archer  band, 

She  blush'd  blood-red  for  very  shame : — 

Lord  Dacre's  bill-men  were  at  hand : 

"  Hence  1  ere  the  clan  Ins  faintness  view ; 

A  hardy  race,  on  Irthing  bred, 

Hence  with  the  weakling  to  Buccleuch! — 

With  kirtles  white  and  crosses  red, 

Watt  Tinlinn,  thou  shalt  be  his  guide 

Array'd  beneath  the  banner  tall 

To  Rangleburn's  lonely  side. — 

That  stream'd  o'er  Acre's  conquer'd  wall ; 

Sure  some  fell  fiend  has  cursed  our  line, 

And  minstrels,  as  they  march'd  in  order, 

That  coward  should  e'er  be  son  of  mine  P 

Play'd,  "  Noble  Lord  Dacre,  he  dwells  on  th« 

Border." 

XV. 

A  heavy  task  "Watt  Tinlinn  had, 

XVIII. 

To  guide  the  counterfeited  lad. 

Behind  the  English  bill  and  bow, 

Soon  as  the  palfrey  felt  the  weight 

The  mercenaries,  firm  and  slow, 

Of  that  ill-omen'd  elfish  freight, 

Moved  on  to  fight,  in  dark  array, 

He  bolted,  sprung,  and  rear'd  amain, 

By  Conrad  led  of  Wolfenstein, 

Nor  heeded  bit,  nor  curb,  nor  rein. 

Who  brought  the  band  from  distant  Rhine, 

It  cost  Watt  Tinlinn  mickle  toil 

And  sold  their  blood  for  foreign  pay. 

To  drive  him  but  a  Scottish  mile ; 

The  camp  their  home,  their  law  the  sword, 

But  as  a  shallow  brook  they  cross'd, 

They  knew  no  country,  own'd  no  lord  :a 

The  elf,  amid  the  running  stream, 

They  were  not  arm'd  like  England's  sons, 

His  figure  changed,  like  form  in  dream, 

But  bore  the  levin-darting  guns ; 

And  fled,  and  shouted,  "  Lost !  lost  1  lost  1" 

Buff  coats,  all  frounced  and  'broider'd  o'er, 

Full  fast  the  urchin  ran  and  laugh'd, 

And  morsing-horns3  and  scarfs  they  wore ; 

But  faster  still  a  cloth-yard  shaft 

Each  better  knee  was  bared,  to  aid 

"Whistled  from  startled  Tinlinn's  yew, 

The  warriors  in  the  escalade ; 

And  pierced  his  shoulder  tlirough  and  through 

All,  as  they  march'd,  in  rugged  tongue, 

Although  the  imp  might  not  be  slain, 

Songs  of  Teutonic  feuds  they  sung. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  F. 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G.                     »  Powder-flask* 

canto  iv.                     THE  LAY  O*   THE  LAST  MINSTREL.                                  3'J 

XIX. 

Why,  'gainst  the  truce  of  Border  tide, 

But  louder  still  the  clamor  grew, 

In  hostile  guise  ye  dare  to  ride, 

And  louder  still  the  minstrels  blew, 

With  Kendal  bow,  and  Gilsland  brand, 

When,  from  beneath  the  greenwood  tree> 

And  all  yon  mercenary  band, 

Rode  forth  Lord  Howard's  chivalry ; 

Upon  the  bounds  of  fair  Scotland  ? 

His  men-at-arms,  with  glaive  and  spear, 

My  Ladye  reads  you  swith  return ; 

Brought  up  the  battle's  glittering  rear : 

And,  if  but  one  poor  straw  you  burn, 

There  many  a  youthful  knight,  full  keen 

Or  do  our  towers  so  much  molest, 

To  gain  his  spurs,  in  arms  was  seen ; 

As  scare  one  swallow  from  her  nest, 

With  favor  in  his  crest,  or  glove, 

St.  Mary !  but  we'll  light  a  brand 

Memorial  of  his  ladye-love. 

Shall  warm  your  hearths  in  Cumberland."-— 

So  rode  they  forth  in  fair  array, 

Till  full  their  lengthen'd  lines  display ; 

XXIIL 

Then  call'd  a  halt,  and  made  a  stand, 

A  wrathful  man  was  Dacre's  lord, 

And  cried,  "  St.  George,  for  merry  England  l"1 

But  calmer  Howard  took  the  word : 

"  May't  please  thy  Dame,  Sir  Seneschal, 

XX. 

To  seek  the  castle's  outward  wall, 

Now  every  English  eye,  intent 

Our  pursuivant-at-arms  shall  show 

On  Branksome's  armed  towers  was  bent ; 

Both  why  we  came,  and  when  we  go." — 

So  near  they  were,  that  they  might  know 

The  message  sped,  the  noble  Dame 

The  straining  harsh  of  each  cross-bow ; 

To  the  wall's  outward  circle  came ; 

On  battlement  and  bartizan 

Each  chief  around  lean'd  on  his  spear, 

Gleam' d  axe,  and  spear,  and  partisan ; 

To  see  the  pursuivant  appear. 

Falcon  and  culver,3  on  each  tower, 

All  in  Lord  Howard's  livery  dress'd, 

Stood  prompt  their  deadly  hail  to  shower ; 

The  Hon  argent  deck'd  his  breast ; 

And  flashing  armor  frequent  broke 

He  led  a  boy  of  blooming  hue — 

From  eddying  whirls  of  sable  smoke, 

0  sight  to  meet  a  mother's  view ! 

Where  upon  tower  and  turret  head, 

It  was  the  heir  of  great  Buccleuch. 

The  seething  pitch  and  molten  lead 

Obeisance  meet  the  herald  made, 

Reek'd  like  a  witch's  caldron  red. 

And  thus  his  master's  will  he  said : — 

While  yet  they  gaze,  the  bridges  fall 

The  wicket  opes,  and  from  the  wall  , 

XXIV. 

Rides  forth  the  hoary  Seneschal. 

"  It  irks,  high  Dame,  my  noble  Lords, 

'Gainst  ladye  fair  to  draw  their  swords ; 

XXI. 

But  yet  they  may  not  tamely  see, 

Armed  he  rode,  all  save  the  head, 

All  through  the  Western  Wardenry, 

His  white  beard  o'er  his  breast-plate  spread ; 

Your  law-contemning  kinsmen  ride, 

Unbroke  by  age,  erect  his  seat, 

And  burn  and  spoil  the  Border  side ; 

He  ruled  his  eager  courser's  gait ; 

And  ill  beseems  your  rank  and  birth 

Forced  him,  with  chasten'd  fire,  to  prance, 

To  make  your  towers  a  flemens-firth* 

And,  high  curvetting,  slow  advance : 

We  claim  from  thee  William  of  Deloraine, 

In  sign  of  truce,  his  better  hand 

That  he  may  suffer  march-treason6  pain. 

Display'd  a  peeled  willow  wand ; 

It  was  but  last  St.  Cuthbert's  even 

His  squire,  attending  in  the  rear, 

He  prick'd  to  Stapleton  on  Leven, 

Bore  high  a  gauntlet  on  a  spear.8 
When  they  espied  him  ruling  out, 

Harried8  the  lands  of  Richard  Musgrave, 

And  slew  his  brother  by  dint  of  glaive. 

Lord  Howard  and  Lord  Dacre  stout 

Then,  since  a  lone  and  widow'd  Dame 

Sped  to  the  front  of  their  array, 

These  restless  riders  may  not  tame, 

To  hear  what  tins  old  knight  should  say. 

Either  receive  within  thy  towers 

XXII. 

Two  hundred  of  my  master's  powers, 

"  Ye  English  warden  lords,  of  you 

Or  straight  they  sound  their  warrison,* 

Demands  the  Ladye  of  Buccleuch, 

And  storm  and  spoil  thy  garrison : 

i  "  The  stanzas,  describing  the  march  of  the  English  forces, 

ancient  Borderers,  who  were  wont,  when  any  one  broke  hii 

and  the  investiture  of  the  castle  of  Branxholm,  display  a  great 

word,  to  expose  this  emblem,  and  proclaim   him  a  faithles* 

knowledge  of  ancient  costume,  as  well  as  a  most  picturesque 

villain  at  the  first  Border  meeting.     This  ceremony  was  much 

and  lively  picture  of  feudal  warfare." — Critical  Review. 

dreaded.     See  Lesley. 

t  Ancient  pieces  of  artillery. 

*  An  asylum  for  outlaws.           8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  H. 

*  A  glove  upon  a  lance  was  the  emblem  of  faith  among  the 

e  Plundered.                                 7  Note  of  assault. 

88                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  n 

And  this  fair  boy,  to  London  led, 

XXVIII. 

Shall  good  King  Edward's  page  be  bred." 

"  Ah !  noble  Lords !"  he  breathless  said, 

*  What  treason  has  your  march  betray'd  ? 

XXV. 

What  make  you  here,  from  aid  so  far, 

He  ceased — and  loud  the  boy  did  cry, 

Before  you  walls,  around  you  war  ? 

And  stretch'd  his  little  arms  on  high ; 

Your  foemen  triumph  in  the  thought, 

Implored  for  aid  each  well-known  face, 

That  in  the  toils  the  lion's  caught. 

And  strove  to  seek  the  Dame's  embrace. 

Already  on  dark  Ruberslaw 

A  moment  changed  that  Ladye's  cheer, 

The  Douglas  holds  his  weapon-schaw  ,6 

Gush'd  to  her  eye  the  unbidden  tear  • 

The  lances,  waving  in  his  train, 

She  gazed  upon  the  leaders  round, 

Clothe  the  dun  heath  like  autumn  grain ; 

And  dark  and  sad  each  warrior  frown'd ; 

And  on  the  Liddel's  northern  strand, 

Then,  deep  within  her  sobbing  breast 

To  bar  retreat  to  Cumberland, 

She  lock'd  the  struggling  sigh  to  rest ; 

Lord  Maxwell  ranks  his  merry-men  good, 

Unalter'd  and  collected  stood, 

Beneath  the  eagle  and  the  rood ; 

And  thus  replied,  in  dauntless  mood : — 

And  Jedwood,  Eske,  and  Teviotdale, 

Have  to  proud  Angus  come ; 

XXVI. 

And  all  the  Merse  and  Lauderdale 

"  Say  to  your  Lords  of  high  emprize,1 

Have  risen  with  haughty  Home. 

Who  war  on  women  and  on  boys, 

An  exile  from  Northumberland, 

That  either  William  of  Deloraine 

In  Liddesdale  I've  wander'd  long ; 

Will  cleanse  him,  by  oath,  of  march-treason  stain,8 

But  still  my  heart  was  with  merry  Eng- 

Or else  he  will  the  combat  take 

land, 

'Gainst  Musgrave,  for  his  honor's  sake. 

And  cannot  brook  my  country's  wrong ; 

No  knight  in  Cumberland  so  good, 

And  hard  I've  spurr'd  all  night,  to  show 

But  William  may  count  with  him  kin  and  blood. 

The  mustering  of  the  coming  foe." 

Knighthood  he  took  of  Douglas'  sword,' 

When  English  blood  swell'd  Ancram's  ford  ;* 

XXIX. 

And  but  Lord  Dacre's  steed  was  wight, 

"  And  let  them  come !"  fierce  Dacre  cried ; 

And  bare  him  ably  in  the  flight, 

"  For  soon  yon  crest,  my  father's  pride, 

Himself  had  seen  him  dubb'd  a  knight. 

That  swept  the  shores  of  Judah's  sea, 

For  the  young  heir  of  Branksome's  line, 

And  waved  in  gales  of  Galilee, 

God  be  his  aid,  and  God  be  mine ; 

From  Branksome's  highest  towers  display'd, 

Through  me  no  friend  shall  meet  Ins  doom ; 

Shall  mock  the  rescue's  lingering  aid! — 

Here,  while  I  live,  no  foe  finds  room. 

Level  each  harquebuss  on  row ; 

Then,  if  thy  Lords  their  purpose  urge, 

Draw,  merry  archers,  draw  the  bow ; 

Take  our  defiance  loud  and  high ; 

Up,  bill-men,  to  the  walls,  and  cry, 

Our  slogan  is  their  lyke-wake5  dirge, 

Dacre  for  England,  win  or  die  1" — 

Our  moat,  the  grave  where  they  shall  lie." 

XXX. 

XXVII. 

"  Yet  hear,"  quoth  Howard,  "  calmly  hear, 

Proud  she  look'd  round,  applause  to  claim — 

Nor  deem  my  words  the  words  of  fear : 

Then  lighten'd  Thirlestane's  eye  of  flame ; 

For  who,  in  field  or  foray  slack, 

His  bugle  Wat  of  Harden  blew ; 

Saw  the  blanche  lion  e'er  fall  back !' 

Pensils  and  pennons  wide  were  flung, 

But  thus  to  risk  our  Border  flower 
In  strife  against  a  kingdom's  power, 

To  heaven  the  Border  slogan  rung 

"  St.  Mary  for  the  young  Buccleuch !" 

Ten  thousand  Scots  'gainst  thousands  three, 

The  English  war-cry  answer'd  wide, 

Certes,  were  desperate  policy. 

And  forward  bent  each  southern  spear ; 

Nay,  take  the  terms  the  Ladye  madt, 

Each  Kendal  archer  made  a  stride, 

Ere  conscious  of  the  advancing  aid : 

And  drew  the  bowstring  to  his  ear ; 

Let  Musgrave  meet  fierce  Deloraine8 

Each  minstrel's  war-note  loud  was  blown ; — 

In  single  fight,  and,  if  he  gain, 

But,  ere  a  gray -goose  shaft  had  flown, 

He  gains  for  us ;  but  if  he's  cross'd, 

A  horseman  gallop'd  from  the  rear. 

'Tis  but  a  single  warrior  lost : 

*  Orig. — "  Say  to  thy  Lords  of  high  emprize." 

5  Lyke-wake,  the  watching  a  corpse  previous  to  intennant 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  I.                    3  Ibid.  Note  3  K. 

«  Weapon-schaw,  the  military  array  of  a  county. 

4  Ibid   Note  3  L. 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  3  M.        8  ibid.  Note  3  N. 

;... 

canto  iv.                     THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL.                                39 

The  rest,  retreating  as  they  came, 

XXXIV. 

Avoid  defeat,  and  death,  and  shame." 

I  know  right  well  that,  in  their  lay, 

Full  many  minstrels  sing  and  say, 

XXXI. 

Such  combat  should  be  made  on  horse, 

Ill  could  tin  haughty  Dacre  brook 

On  foaming  steed,  in  full  career, 

His  brother  Warden's  sage  rebuke ; 

With  brand  to  aid,  when  as  the  spear 

And  yet  his  forward  step  he  staid, 

Should  shiver  in  the  course : 

And  slow  and  sullenly  obey'd. 

But  he,  the  jovial  Harper,1  taught 

Bufc  ne'er  again  the  Border  side 

Me,  yet  a  youth,  how  it  was  fought, 

Did  these  two  lords  in  friendsliip  ride ; 

In  guise  which  now  I  say ; 

And  this  slight  discontent,  men  say, 

He  knew  each  ordinance  and  clause 

Cost  blood  upon  another  day. 

Of  Black  Lord  Archibald's  battle-laws,* 

In  the  old  Douglas'  day. 

XXXII. 

He  brook'd  not,  he,  that  scoffing  tongue 

The  pursuivant-at-arms  again 

Should  tax  his  minstrelsy  with  wrong, 

Before  the  castle  took  his  stand ; 

Or  call  his  song  untrue : 

His  trumpet  call'd,  with  parleying  strain, 

For  this,  when  they  the  goblet  plied, 

The  leaders  of  the  Scottish  band ; 

And  such  rude  taunt  had  chafed  his  pride. 

And  he  defied,  in  Musgrave's  right, 

The  Bard  of  Reull  he  slew. 

Stout  Deloraine  to  single  fight ; 

On  Teviot's  side,  in  fight  they  stood, 

A  gauntlet  at  their  feet  he  laid, 

And  tuneful  hands  were  stain'd  with  blood ; 

And  thus  the  terms  of  fight  he  said  : — 

Where  still  the  thorn's  white  branches  wave 

"  If  in  the  lists  good  Musgrave's  sword 

Memorial  o'er  his  rival's  grave. 

Vanquish  the  knight  of  Deloraine, 

Your   youthful   chieftain,   Branksome's 

XXXV. 

Lord, 

Why  should  I  tell  the  rigid  doom, 

Shall  hostage  for  his  clan  remain : 

That  dragg'd  my  master  to  his  tomb ; 

If  Deloraine  foil  good  Musgrave, 

How  Ousenam's  maidens  tore  their  hair, 

The  boy  his  liberty  shall  have. 

Wept  till  their  eyes  were  dead  and  dim, 

Howe'er  it  falls,  the  English  band, 

And  wrung  their  hands  for  love  of  him, 

Unharming  Scots,  by  Scots  unharm'd, 

Who  died  at  Jedwood  Air  ? 

In  peaceful  march,  like  men  unarm' d, 

He  died  ! — his  scholars,  one  by  one, 

Shall  straight  retreat  to  Cumberland." 

To  the  cold  silent  grave  are  gone  ; 

And  I,  alas  !  survive  alone, 

XXXIII. 

To  muse  o'er  rivalries  of  yore, 

Unconscious  of  the  near  relief, 

And  grieve  that  I  shall  hear  no  more 

The  proffer  pleased  each  Scottish  chief, 

The  strains,  with  envy  heard  before ; 

Though  much  the  Ladye  sage  gainsay'd ; 

For,  with  my  minstrel  brethren  fled, 

For   though  their   hearts   were   brave   and 

true, 
From  Jedwood's  recent  sack  they  knew 

My  jealousy  of  song  is  dead. 

How  tardy  was  the  Regent's  aid : 

He  paused :  the  listening  dames  again 

And  you  may  guess  the  noble  Dame 

Applaud  the  hoary  Minstrel's  strain. 

Durst  not  the  secret  prescience  own, 

With  many  a  word  of  kindly  cheer, — 

Sprung  from  the  art  she  might  not  name, 

In  pity  half,  and  half  sincere, — 

By  which  the  coming  help  was  known. 

Marvell'd  the  Duchess  how  so  well 

Closed  was  the  compact,  and  agreed 

His  legendary  song  could  tell — 

That  lists  should  be  enclosed  with  speed, 

Of  ancient  deeds,  so  long  forgot ; 

Beneath  the  castle,  on  a  lawn : 

Of  feuds,  whose  memory  was  not ; 

They  fix'd  the  morrow  for  the  strife, 

Of  forests,  now  laid  waste  and  bare ; 

On  foot,  with  Scottish  axe  and  knife, 

Of  towers,  which  harbor  now  the  hare ; 

At  the  fourth  hour  from  peep  of  dawn ; 

Of  maimers,  long  since  changed  and  gone , 

When  Deloraine,  from  sickness  freed, 

Of  cliiefs,  who  under  their  gray  stone 

Or  else  a  champion  in  his  stead, 

So  long  have  slept,  that  fickle  Fame 

Should  for  himself  and  chieftain  stand, 

Had  blotted  from  her  rolls  their  name, 

Agaii3t  stout  Musgrave,  hand  to  hand. 

And  twined  round  some  new  minion's  head 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  O. 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P. 

40                                          SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  > 

The  fading  -wreath  for  which  they  bled ; 

Mourns  o'er  the  field  he  heap'd  with  dead ; 

In  sooth,  'twas  strange,  this  old  man's  verse 

Mounts  the  wild  blast  that  sweeps  amain, 

Could  call  them  from  their  marble  hearse. 

And  shrieks  along  the  battle-plain. 

The  Chief,  whose  antique  crownlet  long 

The  Harper  smiled,  well-pleased ;  for  ne'er 

Still  sparkled  in  the  feudal  song, 

Was  flattery  lost  on  poet's  ear : 

Now,  from  the  mountain's  misty  tl-rone, 

A  simple  race !  they  waste  their  toil 

Sees,  in  the  thanedom  once  his  own, 

For  the  vain  tribute  of  a  smile  ; 

His  ashes  undistinguish'd  he, 

E'en  when  in  age  their  flame  expires. 

His  place,  his  power,  his  memory  cfie : 

Hei  dulcet  breath  can  fan  its  fires : 

His  groans  the  lonely  caverns  fill, 

Their  drooping  fancy  wakes  at  praise, 

His  tears  of  rage  impel  the  rill : 

And  strives  to  trim  the  short-lived  blaze. 

All  mourn  the  Minstrel's  harp  unstrung, 

Their  name  unknown,  their  praise  unsung. 

Smiled  then,  well-pleased,  the  Aged  Man, 

And  thus  Ms  tale  continued  ran. 

III. 

Scarcely  the  hot  assault  was  staid, 

The  terms  of  truce  were  scarcely  made, 
When  they  could  spy,  from  Branksome's  towers;, 

Slje  £as  of  t!je  Cast  JHuiBtrd. 

The  advancing  march  of  martial  powers. 
Thick  clouds  of  dust  afar  appear'd, 

A           1     ±                       1*                   J.             3                                 i*     *      ±1          1                   1 

And  trampling  steeds  were  faintly  heard ; 

CANTO    FIFTH. 

Bright  spears,1  above  the  columns  dun, 
Glanced  momentary  to  the  sun ; 

I. 

And  feudal  banners  fair  display'd 

Call  it  not  vain : — they  do  not  err, 

The  bands  that  moved  to  Branksome's  aid. 

Who  say,  that  when  the  Poet  dies, 

Mute  Nature  mourns  her  worshipper, 

IV. 

And  celebrates  his  obsequies : 

Vails  not  to  tell  each  hardy  clan, 

Who  say,  tall  cliff,  and  cavern  lone, 

From  the  fair  Middle  Marches  came ; 

For  the  departed  Bard  make  moan ; 

The  Bloody  Heart  blazed  in  the  van, 

That  mountains  weep  in  crystal  rill ; 

Announcing  Douglas,  dreaded  name  !2 

That  flowers  in  tears  of  balm  distil ; 

Vails  not  to  tell  what  steeds  did  spurn,8 

Through  his  loved  groves  that  breezes  sigh, 

Where  the  Seven  Spears  of  Wedderbume4 

And  oaks,  in  deeper  groan,  reply ; 

Their  men  in  battle-order  set ; 

And  rivers  teach  their  ruslung  wave 

And  Swinton  laid  the  lance  in  rest, 

To  murmur  dirges  round  his  grave. 

That  tamed  of  yore  the  sparkling  crest 

Of  Clarence's  Plantagenet.6 

II. 

Nor  list  I  say  what  hundreds  more, 

Not  that,  in  sooth,  o'er  mortal  urn 

From  the  rich  Morse  and  Lammermore, 

Those  things  inanimate  car  mourn ; 

And  Tweed's  fair  borders,  to  the  war, 

But  that  the  stream,  the  wood,  the  gale, 

Beneath  the  crest  of  Old  Dunbar, 

Is  vocal  with  the  plaintive  wail 

And  Hepburn's  mingled  banners  come, 

Of  those,  who,  else  forgotten  long, 

Down  the  steep  mountain  glittering  far, 

Lived  in  the  poet's  faithful  song, 

And  shouting  still,  "  A  Home !  a  Home  !"• 

And,  with  the  poet's  parting  breath, 

Whose  memory  feels  a  second  death. 

V. 

The  Maid's  pale  shade,  who  wails  her  lot, 

Now  squire  and  knight,  from  Branksome  sent, 

That  love,  true  love,  should  be  forgot, 

On  many  a  courteous  message  went ; 

From  rose  and  hawthorn  shakes  the  tear 

To  every  chief  and  lord  they  paid 

Upon  the  gentle  Minstrel's  bier : 

Meet  thanks  for  prompt  and  powerful  aid ; 

The  phantom  Knight,  his  glory  fled, 

And  told  them, — how  a  trace  was  made, 

1  (rig. — "  Spear-heads  above  the  columns  dun." — Ed. 

*  Sir  David  Home  of  Wedderbume,  who  was  slain  in  the 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  3  li. 

fatal  battle  of  Flodden,  left  seren  sons  by  his  wife,  Isabel, 

»  In  the  first  edition  we  read — 

daughter  of  Hoppringle  of  Gaiashie's  (now  Pringle  of  White- 

"  Vails  not  to  tell  what  hundreds  more 

bank).      They   were    called    the    Seven   Spears  of  Weddei» 

From  the  rich  Mcrse  and  Lammermore,"  &c. 

burne. 

The  lines  on  Wedderbume   and  Swinton  were  inserted  in 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R. 

he  second  edition. — Ed. 
» 

6  Ibid.  Note  3  f» 

canto  v.                       THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL.                                 41 

And  how  a  day  of  fight  was  ta'en 

Had  found  a  bloody  sheath. 

'Twixt  Musgrave  and  stout  Deloraine  ; 

'Twixt  truce  and  war,  such  sudden  change 

And  how  the  Ladye  pray'd  them  dear, 

Was  not  infrequent,  nor  held  strange, 

That  all  would  stay  the  light  to  see, 

In  the  old  Border-day  :3 

And  deign,  in  love  and  courtesy, 

But  yet  on  Branksome's  towers  and  town, 

To  taste  of  Branksome  cheer. 

In  peaceful  merriment  sunk  down 

Nor,  while  they  bade  to  feast  each  Scot, 

The  sun's  declining  ray. 

"Were  England's  noble  Lords  forgot. 

Himself,  the  hoary  Seneschal 

VIIL 

Rode  forth,  in  seemly  terms  to  call 

The  blithsome  signs  of  wassel  gay 

Those  gallant  foes  to  Branksome  Hall. 

Decay'd  not  with  the  dying  day  ; 

Accepted  Howard,  than  whom  knight 

Soon  through  the  latticed  windows  tall 

Was  never  dubb'd,  more  bold  in  fight ; 

Of  lofty  Branksome's  lordly  hall, 

Nor,  when  from  war  and  armor  free, 

Divided  square  by  shafts  of  stone, 

More  famed  for  stately  courtesy : 

Huge  flakes  of  ruddy  lustre  shone ; 

But  angry  Dacre  rather  chose 

Nor  less  the  gilded  rafters  rang 

In  his  pavilion  to  repose. 

With  merry  harp  and  beakers'  clang : 

And  frequent,  on  the  darkening  plain, 

VI. 

Loud  hollo,  whoop,  or  whistle  ran, 

Now,  noble  Dame,  perchance  you  ask, 

As  bands,  their  stragglers  to  regain, 

How  these  two  hostile  armies  met  ? 

Give  the  shrill  watchword  of  their  clan ; 

Deeming  it  were  no  easy  task 

And  revellers,  o'er  their  bowls,  proclaim 

To  keep  the  truce  wliich  here  was  set ; 

Douglas  or  Dacre's  conquering  name. 

Where  martial  spirits,  all  on  fire, 

Breathed  only  blood  and  mortal  ire. — 

IX. 

By  mutual  inroads,  mutual  blows, 

Less  frequent  heard,  and  fainter  still, 

By  habit,  and  by  nation,  foes, 

At  length  the  various  clamors  died : 

They  met  on  Teviot's  strand ; 

And  you  might  hear,  from  Branksome  hilL 

They  met  and  sate  them  mingled  down, 

No  sound  but  Teviot's  rushing  tide ; 

Without  a  threat,  without  a  frown, 

Save  when  the  changing  sentinel 

As  brothers  meet  in  foreign  land : 

The  challenge  of  liis  watch  could  tell ; 

The  hands,  the  spear  that  lately  grasp'd, 

And  save,  where,  through  the  dark  profound, 

Still  in  the  mailed  gauntlet  clasp'd, 

-      The  clanging  axe  and  hammer's  sound 

Were  interchanged  in  greeting  dear ; 

Rung  from  the  nether  lawn ; 

Visors  were  raised,  and  faces  shown, 

For  many  a  busy  hand  toil'd  there, 

And  many  a  friend,  to  friend  made  known, 

Strong  pales  to  shape,  and  beams  to  square,' 

Partook  of  social  cheer. 

The  lists'  dread  barriers  to  prepare 

Some  drove  the  jolly  bowl  about ; 

Against  the  morrow's  dawn. 

With  dice   and   draughts   some   chased  the 

day; 

X. 

And  some,  with  many  a  merry  shout, 

Margaret  from  hall  did  soon  retreat, 

In  riot,  revelry,  and  rout, 

Despite  the  Dame's  reproving  eye ; 

Pursued  the  foot-ball  play.1 

Nor  mark'd  she,  as  she  left  her  seat, 

Full  many  a  stifled  sigh ; 

VII. 

For  many  a  noble  warrior  strove 

Yet,  be  it  known,  had  bugles  blown, 

To  win  the  Flower  of  Teviot's  love, 

Or  sign  of  war  been  seen, 

And  many  a  bold  ally. — 

Those  bands,  so  fair  together  ranged, 

With  throbbing  head  and  anxious  h^art, 

T"b;se  hands,  so  frankly  interchanged, 

All  in  her  lonely  bower  apart, 

Had  dyed  with  gore  the  green : 

In  broken  sleep  she  lay : 

The  merry  shout  by  Teviot-side 

By  times,  from  silken  couch  she  rose ; 

Had  sunk  in  war-cries  wild  and  wide, 

While  yet  the  banner'd  hosts  repose, 

And  in  the  groan  of  death  ; 

She  view'd  the  dawning  day : 

And  whingers,2  now  in  friendship  bare, 

Of  all  the  hundreds  sunk  to  rest, 

The  social  meal  to  part  and  share, 

First  woke  the  loveliest  and  the  best. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  T. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  17.                      *  Ibid.  Note  3  V 

8  A  sort  of  knife  or  poniard. 
6                                                                            l 

6  This  line  is  not  in  the  first  edition. 

42                                          SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               cantu  ▼ 

XL 

The  heart  of  them  that  loved  so  well 

She  gazed  upon  the  inner  court, 

True  love's  the  gift  which  God  has  given 

Which  in  the  tower's  tall  shadow  lay ; 

To  man  alone  beneath  the  heaven : 

Where  courser's  clang,  and  stamp,  and  snort, 

|It  is  not  fantasy's  hot  fire, 

Had  rung  the  livelong  yesterday ; 

Whose  wishes,  soon  as  granted,  fly ; 

Now  still  as  death  ;  till  stalking  slow, — 

It  liveth  not  in  fierce  desire, 

The  jingling  spurs  announced  his  tread, — 

With  dead  desire  it  doth  not  die ; 

A  stately  warrior  pass'd  below ; 

It  is  the  secret  sympathy, 

But  when  he  raised  his  plumed  head — 

The  silver  link,1  the  silken  tie, 

Blessed  Mary !  can  it  be  ? — 

Which  heart  to  heart,  and  mind  to  mind, 

Secure,  as  if  in  Ousenam  bowers 

In  body  and  in  soul  can  bind.— | 

Now  leave  we  Margaret  and  her  Knight, 

He  walks  through  Branksomes  hostile  towers, 

With  fearless  step  and  free. 

To  tell  you  of  the  approaching  fight. 

She  dared  not  sign,  she  dared  not  speak — 

Oh  !  if  one  page's  slumbers  break, 

XIV. 

His  blood  the  price  must  pay  ! 

Their  warning  blasts  the  bugles  blew, 

Not  all  the  pearls  Queen  Mary  wears, 

The  pipe's  shrill  port2  aroused  each  clan ; 

Not  Margaret's  yet  more  precious  tears, 

In  haste,  the  deadly  strife  to  view, 

Shall  buy  his  life  a  day. 

The  trooping  warriors  eager  ran : 

Thick  round  the  lists  their  lances  stood, 

XII. 

Like  blasted  pines  in  Ettrick  wood ; 

Yet  was  his  hazard  small ;  for  well 

To  Branksome  many  a  look  they  threw, 

You  may  bethink  you  of  the  spell 

The  combatants  approach  to  view, 

Of  that  sly  urchin  page  ; 

And  bandied  many  a  word  of  boast, 

This  to  his  lord  he  did  impart, 

About  the  knight  each  favor'd  most. 

And  made  him  seem,  by  glamour  art, 

A  knight  from  Hermitage. 

XV. 

Unchallenged  thus,  the  warder's  post, 

Meantime  full  anxious  was  the  Dame ; 

The  court,  unchallenged,  thus  he  cross'd, 

For  now  arose  disputed  claim, 

For  all  the  vassalage  : 

Of  who  should  fight  for  Deloraine, 

But  0  !  what  magic's  quaint  disguise 

'Twixt  Harden  and  'twixt  Thirlestaine  :3 

Could  blind  fair  Margaret's  azure  eyes ! 

They  'gan  to  reckon  kin  and  rent, 

She  started  from  her  seat ; 

And  frowning  brow  on  brow  was  bent ; 

While  with  surprise  and  fear  she  strove, 

But  yet  not  long  the  strife — for,  lo ! 

And  both  could  scarcely  master  love — 

Himself,  the  Knight  of  Deloraine, 

Lord  Henry's  at  her  feet. 

Strong,  as  it  seem'd,  and  free  from  pain, 

In  armor  sheath'd  from  top  to  toe, 

XIII. 

Appear'd,  and  craved  the  combat  due. 

Oft  have  I  mused,  what  purpose  bad 

The  Dame  her  charm  successful  knew,4 

That  foul  malicious  urchin  had 

And  the  fierce  chiefs  their  claims  withdrew. 

To  bring  tliis  meeting  round ; 

For  happy  love's  a  heavenly  sight, 

XVI. 

And  by  a  vile  malignant  sprite 

When  for  the  lists  they  sought  the  plain, 

In  such  no  joy  is  found; 

The  stately  Ladye's  silken  rein 

And  oft  I've  deem'd,  perchance  he  thought 

Did  noble  Howard  hold ; 

Then  erring  passion  might  have  wrought 

Unarmed  by  her  side  he  walk'd, 

Sorrow,  and  sin,  and  shame ; 

And  much,  in  courteous  phrase,  they  talk'd 

And  death  to  Cranstoun's  gallant  Knight, 

Of  feats  of  arms  of  old. 

And  to  the  gentle  ladye  bright, 

Costly  his  garb — his  Flemish  ruff 

Disgrace,  and  loss  of  fame. 

Fell  o'er  his  doublet,  shaped  of  buff, 

But  earthly  spirit  could  not  tell 

With  satin  slash'd  and  lined ; 

J  In  the  first  edition,  "  the  silver  cord ;" — 

3  It  may  be  noticed  that  the  late  Lord  Napier,  the  represeu 

"  Yes,  love,  indeed,  is  light  from  heaven ; 

tative  of  the  Scotts  of  Thirlestane,  was  Lord  Lieutenant  oi 

A  spark  of  that  immortal  fire 

Selkirkshire  (of  which  the  author  was  sheriff-depute)  at  the 

With  angels  shared,  by  Alia  given, 

time  when  the  poem  was  written  ;  the  competitor  for  the  hon- 

To lift  from  earth  our  low  desire,"  &c. 

or  of  supplying  Deloraine's  place  was  the  poet's  own  ances- 

The Giaour. 

tor. — Ed. 

*  A  martial  piece  of  music,  adapted  to  the  bagpipes. 

4  See  Canto  III.  Stanza  xxiii. 

0ANTO  V. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MiNSTKEL. 


4a 


Tawny  his  boot,  and  gold  liis  spur, 
His  cloak  was  all  of  Poland  fur, 
His  hose  with  silver  twined ; 
His  Bilboa  blade,  by  Marchmen  felt. 
Hung  in  a  broad  and  studded  belt ; 
Hence,  in  rude  phrase,  the  Borderers  still 
CaU'd  noble  Howard,  Belted  Will. 

XVII. 
Behind  Lord  Howard  and  the  Dame, 
Fair  Margaret  on  her  palfrey  came, 

Whose  foot-cloth  swept  the  ground : 
White  was  her  wimple,  and  her  veil, 
And  her  loose  locks  a  chaplet  pale 

Of  whitest  roses  bound  ; 
The  lordly  Angus,  by  her  side, 
In  courtesy  to  cheer  her  tried ; 
Without  his  aid,  her^hand  in  vain 
Had  strove  to  guide  her  broider'd  rein. 
He  deem'd,  she  shudder'd  at  the  sight 
Of  warriors  met  for  mortal  fight ; 
But  cause  of  terror  all  unguess'd, 
Was  fluttering  in  her  gentle  breast, 
When,  in  their  chairs  of  crimson  placed, 
The  Dame  and  she  the  barriers  graced. 

XVIII. 
Prize  of  the  field,  the  young  Buccleuch, 
An  English  knight  led  forth  to  view ; 
Scarce  rued  the  boy  his  present  plight, 
So  much  he  long'd  to  see  the  fight. 
Within  the  lists,  in  knightly  pride, 
High  Home  and  haughty  Dacre  ride ; 
Their  leading  staffs  of  steel  they  wield, 
As  marshals  of  the  mortal  field  ; 
While  to  each  knight  their  care  assign'd 
Like  vantage  of  the  sun  and  wind.1 
Then  heralds  hoarse  did  loud  proclaim, 
In  King  and  Queen,  and  Warden's  name, 

That  none,  while  lasts  the  strife, 
Should  dare,  by  look,  or  sign,  or  word, 
Aid  to  a  champion  to  afford, 

On  peril  of  liis  life  ; 
And  not  a  breath  the  silence  broke, 
Till  thus  the  alternate  Heralds  spoke : — 

XIX. 

ENGLISH  HERALD. 

*  Here  standeth  Richard  of  Musgrave, 
Good  knight  and  true,  and  freely  born, 

Amends  from  Deloraine  to  crave, 
For  foul  despiteous  scathe  and  scorn. 

This  couplet  was  added  in  the  second  edition. 
After  this,  in  the  first  edition,  we  read  only, 

"  At  the  last  words,  with  deadly  blows, 
The  ready  warriors  fiercely  close." — Ed. 

*  The  whole  scene  of  the  duel,  or  judicial  combat,  is  con- 


He  sayeth,  that  William  of  Deloraine 

Is  traitor  false  by  Border  laws ;  . 
Tliis  with  liis  sword  he  will  maintain, 

So  help  liim  God,  and  liis  good  cause  1" 

XX. 

SCOTTISH  HERALD. 

"  Here  standeth  William  of  Deloraine, 
Good  knight  and  true,  of  noble  strain, 
Who  sayeth,  that  foul  treason's  stain, 
Since  he  bore  arms,  ne'er  soil'd  his  coat ; 
And  that,  so  help  him  God  above  ! 
He  will  on  Musgrave's  body  prove, 
He  lies  most  foully  in  his  throat." 

LORD  DACRE. 

"  Forward,  brave  champions,  to  the  fight ! 
Sound  trumpets !" 

LORD  HOME. 

— "  God  defend  the  right  l"9- 
Then,  Teviot  1  how  thine  echoes  rang, 
When  bugle-sound  and  trumpet -clang 

Let  loose  the  martial  foes. 
And  in  mid  list,  with  shield  poised  high, 
And  measured  step  and  wary  eye, 

The  combatants  did  close. 

XXI. 

LI  would  it  suit  your  gentle  ton, 

Ye  lovely  listeners,  to  hear 

How  to  the  axe  the  helms  did  sound, 

And  blood  pour'd  down  from  many  a  wound , 

For  desperate  was  the  strife  and  long, 

And  either  warrior  fierce  and  strong. 

But,  were  each  dame  a  listening  knight, 

I  well  could  tell  how  warriors  fight ! 

For  I  have  seen  war's  hghtning  flashing, 

Seen  the  claymore  with  bayonet  clashing, 

Seen  through  red  blood  the  war-horse  dashing 

And  scorn'd  amid  the  reeling  strife, 

To  yield  a  step  for  death  or  life. — 

XXII. 
'Tis  done,  'tis  done  !  that  fatal  blow8 

Has  stretch'd  liim  on  the  bloody  plain ; 
He  strives  to  rise — Brave  Musgrave,  no  I 

Thence  never  shalt  thou  rise  again  1 
He  chokes  in  blood — some  friendly  hand 
Undo  the  visor's  barred  band, 
Unfix  the  gorget's  iron  clasp, 
And  give  liim  room  for  life  to  gasp ! — 
O,  bootless  aid ! — haste,  holy  Friar,4 
Haste,  ere  the  sinner  shall  expire  I 

ducted  according  to  the  strictest  ordinances  of  chivalry,  and 
delineated  with  all  the  minuteness  of  an  ancient  romancer 
The  modern  reader  will  probably  find  it  rather  tedious  ;  all 
out  the  concluding  stanzas,  which  are  in  a  loftier  measure — 
'  'Tis  done  !  'tis  done  !'  "  &c. — Jeffrey. 
4  First  Edition,  "  In  vain — In  vain!  haste,  holy  Fria*  " 


44                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  v, 

Of  all  his  guilt  let  him  be  sliriven, 

Yet  not  Lord  Cranstoun  deign'd  she  greet, 

And  smooth  his  path  from  earth  to  heaven ! 

Though  low  he  kneeled  at  her  feet. 

Me  lists  not  tell  what  words  were  made, 

XXIII. 

What  Douglas,  Home,  and  Howard  said— 

In  haste  the  holy  Friar  sped ; — 

— For  Howard  was  a  generous  foe — 

His  naked  foot  was  dyed  with  red, 

And  how  the  clan  united  pray'd 

As  through  the  lists  he  ran ; 

The  Ladye  would  the  feud  forego, 

Unmindful  of  the  shouts  on  high, 

And  deign  to  bless  the  nuptial  hour 

That  hail'd  the  conqueror's  victory. 

Of  Cranstoun's  Lord  and  Teviot's  Flower, 

He  raised  the  dying  man  ; 

Loose  waved  his  silver  beard  and  hair, 

XXVI. 

As  o'er  him  he  kneel'd  down  in  prayer ; 

She  look'd  to  river,  look'd  to  hill, 

And  still  the  crucifix  on  high 

Thought  on  the  Spirit's  prophecy, 

He  holds  before  his  darkening  eye ; 

Then  broke  her  silence  stern  and  still, — 

And  still  he  bends  an  anxious  ear, 

"  Not  you,  but  Fate,  has  vanquished  me  ; 

His  faltering  penitence  to  hear ; 

Their  influence  kindly  stars  may  shower 

Still  props  him  from  the  bloody  sod, 

On  Teviot's  tide  and  Branksome's  tower, 

Still,  even  when  soul  and  body  part, 

For  pride  is  quell'd,  and  love  is  free." — 

Pours  ghostly  comfort  on  his  heart, 

She  took  fair  Margaret  by  the  hand, 

And  bids  him  trust  in  God ! 

Who,  breathless,  trembling,  scarce  might  stand 

Unheard  he  prays ; — the  death -pang's  o'er  I1 

That  hand  to  Cranstoun's  lord  gave  she : — 

Richard  of  Musgrave  breathes  no  more. 

"  As  I  am  true  to  thee  and  thine, 

Do  thou  be  true  to  me  and  mine  ! 

XXIV. 

This  clasp  of  love  our  bond  shall  be ; 

As  if  exhausted  in  the  fight, 

For  tins  is  your  betrothing  day, 

Or  musing  o'er  the  piteous  sight, 

And  all  these  noble  lords  shall  stay, 

The  silent  victor  stands ; 

To  grace  it  with  their  company." 

His  beaver  did  he  not  unclasp, 

Mark'd  not  the  shouts,  felt  not  the  grasp 

XXVII. 

Of  gratulating  hands. 

All  as  they  left  the  listed  plain, 

When  lo !  strange  cries  of  wild  surprise, 

Much  of  the  story  she  did  gain ; 

Mingled  with  seeming  terror,  rise 

How  Cranstoun  fought  with  Deloraine, 

Among  the  Scottish  bands  ; 

And  of  his  page,  and  of  the  Book 

And  all,  amid  the  throng'd  array, 

Which  from  the  wounded  knight  he  took ; 

In  panic  haste  gave  open  way 

And  how  he  sought  her  castle  Ixigh, 

To  a  half-naked  ghastly  man, 

That  morn,  by  help  of  gramarye  ; 

"Who  downward  from  the  castle  ran : 

How,  in  Sir  William's  armor  dight, 

He  cross'd  the  barriers  at  a  bound, 

Stolen  by  his  page,  while  slept  the  knight, 

And  wild  and  haggard  look'd  around, 

He  took  on  him  the  single  fight. 

As  dizzy,  and  in  pain  ; 

But  half  his  tale  he  left  unsaid, 

And  all,  upon  the  armed  ground, 

And  linger'd  till  he  join'd  the  maid. — 

Knew  William  of  Deloraine ! 

Cared  not  the  Ladye  to  betray 

Each  ladye  sprung  from  seat  with  speed  ; 

Her  mystic  arts  in  view  of  day ; 

Vaulted  each  marshal  from  Ins  steed  ; 

But  well  she  thought,  ere  midnight  came, 

"  And  who  art  thou,"  they  cried. 

Of  that  strange  page  the  pride  to  tame, 

"  Who  hast  this  battle  fought  and  won  ?" 

From  liis  foul  hands  the  Book  to  save, 

His  plumed  helm  was  soon  undone — 

And  send  it  back  to  Michael's  grave. — 

"  Cranstoun  of  Teviot-side ! 

Needs  not  to  tell  each  tender  word 

For  this  fair  prize  I've  fought  and  won," — 

'Twixt  Margaret  and  'twixt  Cranstoun's  lord  , 

And  to  the  Ladye  led  her  son. 

Nor  how  she  told  of  former  woes, 

And  how  her  bosom  fell  and  rose, 

XXV 

While  he  and  Musgrave  bandied  blows. — 

Full  oft  the  rescued  boy  she  kiss  d, 

Needs  not  these  lovers'  joys  to  tell : 

And  often  press'd  him  to  her  breast ; 

One  day,  fair  maids,  you'll  know  them  welL 

For,  under  all  her  dauntless  show, 

Her  heart  had  throbb'd  at  every  blow ; 

XXVIII. 

William  of  Deloraine,  some  chance 

i  Orig. — "  Unheard  he  prays  ; — 'tis  o'er!  'tis  e'er!  " 

Had  waken'd  from  his  deathlike  trance  ; 

canto  v.                      THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL.                                 45 

And  taught  that,  in  the  listed  plain, 

I'd  give  the  lands  of  Deloraine, 

Another,  in  his  arms  and  shield, 

Dark  Musgrave  were  alive  again."* — 

Against  fierce  Musgrave  axe  did  wield, 

Under  the  name  of  Deloraine. 

XXX. 

Hence,  to  the  field,  unarm'd,  he  ran, 

So  mourn'd  he,  till  Lord  Dacre's  band 

And  hence  his  presence  scared  the  clan, 

Were  bowning  back  to  Cumberland. 

Who  held  him  for  some  fleeting  wraith,1 

They  raised  brave  Musgrave  from  the  field,. 

And  not  a  man  of  blood  and  breath. 

And  laid  him  on  his  bloody  shield ; 

Not  much  this  new  ally  he  loved, 

On  levell'd  lances,  four  and  four, 

Yet,  when  he  saw  what  hap  had  proved, 

By  turns,  the  noble  burden  bore. 

He  greeted  him  right  heartilie : 

Before,  at  times,  upon  the  gale, 

He  would  not  waken  old  debate, 

Was  heard  the  Minstrel's  plaintive  wail ; 

For  he  was  void  of  rancorous  hate, 

Behind,  four  priests,  in  sable  stole, 

Though  rude,  and  scant  of  courtesy ; 

Sung  requiem  for  the  warrior's  soul : 

In  raids  he  spilt  but  seldom  blood, 

Around,  the  horsemen  slowly  rode ; 

Unless  when  men-at-arms  withstood, 

With  trailing  pikes  the  spearmen  trode ; 

Or,  as  was  meet,  for  deadly  feud. 

And  thus  the  gallant  knight  they  bore, 

He  ne'er  bore  grudge  for  stalwart  blow, 

Through  Liddesdale.  to  Leven's  shore  ; 

Ta'en  in  fair  fight  from  gallant  foe  : 

Thence  to  Holme  Coltrame's  lofty  nave. 

And  so  'twas  seen  of  him,  e'en  now, 

And  laid  him  in  his  father's  grave 

When  on  dead  Musgrave  he  look'd  down , 
Grief  darken'd  on  his  rugged  brow, 

Though  half  disguised  with  a  frown ; 

The  harp's  wild  notes,  though  hush'd  the  song, 

And  thus,  while  sorrow  bent  his  head, 

The  mimic  march  of  death  prolong ; 

His  foeman's  epitaph  he  made. 

Now  seems  it  far,  and  now  a-near, 

Now  meets,  and  now  eludes  the  ear ; 

XXIX. 

Now  seems  some  mountain  side  to  sweep, 

"  Now,  Richard  Musgrave,  liest  thou  here  1 

Now  faintly  dies  in  valley  deep ; 

I  ween,  my  deadly  enemy ; 

Seems  now  as  if  the  Minstrel's  wail, 

For,  if  1  slew  thy  brother  dear, 

Now  the  sad  requiem,  loads  the  gale ; 

Thou  slew'st  a  sister's  son  to  me 

Last,  o'er  the  warrior's  closing  grave, 

And  when  I  lay  in  dungeon  dark, 

Rung  the  full  choir  hi  choral  stave. 

Of  Naworth  Castle,  long  months  three, 

Till  ransom'd  for  a  thousand  mark, 

After  due  pause,  they  bade  him  tell, 

Dark  Musgrave,  it  was  long  of  thee. 

Why  he,  who  touch'd  the  harp  so  well, 

And,  Musgrave,  could  our  fight  be  tried, 

Should  thus,  with  ill-rewarded  toil, 

And  thou  were  now  alive,  as  I, 

Wander  a  poor  and  thankless  soil, 

No  mortal  man  should  us  divide, 

When  the  more  generous  Southern  Land 

Till  one,  or  both  of  us  did  die : 

Would  well  requite  his  skilful  hand. 

Yet  rest  thee  God !  for  well  I  know 

I  ne'er  shall  find  a  nobler  foe. 

The  Aged  Harper,  howsoe  er 

In  all  the  northern  counties  here, 

His  only  friend,  his  harp,  was  dear, 

Whose  word  is  Snaffle,  spur,  and  spear,3 

Liked  not  to  hear  it  rank'd  so  high 

Thou  wert  the  best  to  follow  gear  ! 

Above  his  flowing  poesy : 

'Twas  pleasure,  as  we  look'd  behind, 

Less  liked  he  still,  that  scornful  jeer 

To  see  how  thou  the  chase  couldst  wind, 

Misprised  the  land  he  loved  so  dear ; 

Cheer  the  dark  blood-hound  on  his  way, 

High  was  the  sound,  as  thus  again 

And  with  the  bugle  rouse  the  fray  !3 

The  Bard  resumed  his  minstrel  strain. 

The  spectral  apparition  of  a  living  person. 

fully  imitated  in  the  whole  of  this  scene  ;  and  the  speech  of 

"  The  lands  that  over  Ouse  to  Berwick  forth  do  bear, 

Deloraine,  who,  roused  from  his  bed  of  sickness  rushes  into 

Have  for  their  blazon  had,  the  snaffle,  spur,  and  spear." 

the  lists,  and  apostrophizes  his  fallen  enemy,  brought  to  our 

•                                                      Poly-Albion,  Song  13. 

recollection,   as  well  from  the  peculiar  turn  of  expression  in 

its  commencement,  as  in  the  tone  of  sentiments  which  it  con- 

» See  Appendix,  Note  3  W. 

veys,  some  of  the  funebres  orationes  of  the  Mort  Arthur."— 

'  "  The  style  of  the  old  romancers  has  been  very  success-  j 

Critical  Review 

0 

40 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI 


&!)£  £a$  of  tije  Cast  JHinstrel. 


CANTO  SIXTH. 


\  Breathes  there  the  man  with  soul  so  dead,    *■ 
*Vho  never  to  himself  hath  said,  - 

This  is  my  own,  my  native  land ! 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burn'd, 
As  home  his  foosteps  he  hath  turn'd, 
From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand ! 
If  such  there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well ; 
For  him  no  Minstrel  raptures  swell ; 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim ; 
Despite  those  titles,  power,  and  pelf, 
The  wretch,  concentred  all  in  self, 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust,  from  whence  he  sprung, 
Unwept,  unhonor'd,  and  unsung.  ^ 

II. 
0  Caledonia !  stern  and  wild,1 
Meet  nurse  for  a  poetic  child ! 
_iand  of  brown  heath  and  shaggy  wood, 
Land  of  the  mountain  and  the  flood, 
Land  of  my  sires !  what  mortal  hand 
Can  e'er  untie  the  filial  band, 
That  knits  me  to  thy  rugged  strand ! 
Still,  as  I  view  each  well-known  scene, 
Think  what  is  now,  and  what  hath  been, 
Seems  as,  to  me,  of  all  bereft, 
Sole  friends  thy  woods  and  streams  were  left ; 
And  thus  I  love  them  better  still, 
Even  in  extremity  of  ill. 
By  Yarrow's  streams  still  let  me  stray, 
Though  none  should  guide  my  feeble  way ; 
Still  feel  the  breeze  down  Ettrick  break, 
Although  it  chill  my  wither' d  cheek  f 
Still  lay  my  head  by  Teviot  Stone,8 
Though  there,  forgotten  and  alone, 
The  Bard  may  draw  his  parting  groaa 

III. 

Not  scorn' d  like  me !  to  Branksome  Hall 
The  Minstrels  came,  at  festive  call ; 
Trooping  they  came,  from  near  and  far, 
The  jovial  priests  of  mirth  and  war ; 
Alike  for  feast  and  fight  prepared, 
Battle  and  banquet  both  they  shared. 

i  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  has  nothing  so  good  as  the  ad- 
dress to  Scotland." — McIntosh. 

2  The  preceding  four  lines  now  form  the  inscription  on  the 
monument  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  the  market-place  of  Sel- 
kirk.—See  Life,  vol  x  ').  257. 


Of  late,  Ibefore  each  martial  clan, 

They  blew  their  death-note  in  the  van, 

But  now,  for  every  merry  mate, 

Rose  the  portcullis'  iron  grate; 

They  sound  the  pipe,  they  strike  the  string, 

They  dance,  they  revel,  and  they  sing, 

Till  the  rude  turrets  shake  and  ring. 

IV. 

Me  lists  not  at  this  tide  declare 

The  splendor  of  the  spousal  rite, 
How  muster'd  in  the  chapel  fair 

Both  maid  and  matron,  squire  and  knight ; 
Me  lists  not  tell  of  owches  rare, 
Of  mantles  green,  and  braided  hair, 
And  kirtles  furr'd  with  miniver ; 
What  plumage  waved  the  altar  round, 
How  spurs  and  ringing  chainlets  sound ; 
And  hard  it  were  for  bard  to  speak 
The  changeful  hue  of  Margaret's  cheek ; 
That  lovely  hue  winch  comes  and  flies, 
As  awe  and  shame  alternate  rise  ! 

V. 

Some  bards  have  sung,  the  Ladye  high 
Chapel  or  altar  came  not  nigh ; 
Nor  durst  the  rites  of  spousal  grace, 
So  much  she  fear'd  each  holy  place. 
False  slanders  these : — I  trust  right  well 
She  wrought  not  by  forbidden  spell  * 
For  mighty  words  and  signs  have  power 
O'er  sprites  in  planetary  hour : 
Yet  scarce  I  praise  their  venturous  part, 
Who  tamper  with  such  dangerous  art. 

But  tins  for  faithful  truth  I  say, 
The  Ladye  by  the  altar  stood, 

Of  sable  velvet  her  array, 

And  on  her  head  a  crimson  hood, 
With  pearls  embroider'd  and  entwined, 
Guarded  with  gold,  with  ermine  lined ; 
A  merlin  sat  upon  her  wrist5 
Held  by  a  leash  of  .silken  twist. 

VI. 
The  spousal  rites  were  ended  soon : 
'Twas  now  the  merry  hour  of  noon, 
And  in  the  lofty  arched  hall 
Was  spread  the  gorgeous  festival. 
Steward  and  squire,  with  heedful  haste 
Marshall'd  the  rank  of  every  guest ; 
Pages,  with  ready  blade,  were  there, 
The  mighty  meal  to  carve  and  share : 
O'er  capon,  heron-shew,  and  crane, 


3  The  line  "  Still  lay  my  head, 
edition. — Ed. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 
6  Ibid.  Note  3  Y. 


&c,  was  not  in  the 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


47 


And  princely  peacock's  gilded  train,1 

And  o'er  the  boar-head,  garnish'd  brave, 

And  cygnet  from  St.  Mary's  wave  ;a 

O'er  ptarmigan  and  venison, 

The  priest  had  spoke  Ins  benison. 

Then  rose  the  riot  and  the  din, 

Above,  beneath,  without,  witlrin ! 

For,  from  the  lofty  balcony, 

Rung  trumpet,  shalm,  and  psaltery : 

Their  clanging  bowls  old  warriors  quaff' d, 

Loudly  they  spoke,  and  loudly  laugh'd ; 

Whisper'd  young  knights,  in  tone  more  mild, 

To  ladies  fair,  and  ladies  smiled. 

The  hooded  hawks,  high  perch'd  on  beam, 

The  clamor  join'd  with  whistling  scream, 

And  flapp'd  their  wings,  and  shook  1  heir  bells, 

In  concert  with  the  stag-hounds'  yells. 

Round  go  the  flasks  of  ruddy  wine, 

From  Bordeaux,  Orleans,  or  the  Rhine ; 

Their  tasks  the  busy  sewers  ply, 

And  all  is  mirth  and  revelry. 

VII. 

The  Goblin  Page,  omitting  still 

No  opportunity  of  ill, 

Strove  now,  while  blood  ran  hot  and  high, 

To  rouse  debate  and  jealousy ; 

Till  Conrad,  Lord  of  "Wolfenstein, 

By  nature  fierce,  and  warm  with  wine, 

And  now  in  humor  highly  cross'd, 

About  some  steeds  his  band  had  lost, 

High  words  to  words  succeeding  still, 

Smote,  with  his  gauntlet,  stout  Hunthill  ;8 

A  hot  and  hardy  Rutherford, 

Whom  men  call  Dickon  Draw-the-sword. 

Be  took  it  on  the  page's  saye, 

Hunthill  had  driven  these  steeds  away. 

Then  Howard,  Home,  and  Douglas  rose, 

The  kindling  discord  to  compose : 

Stern  Rutherford  right  little  said, 

But  bit  his  glove,4  and  shook  his  head. — 

A  fortnight  thence,  in  Inglewood, 

Stout  Conrade,  cold,  and  drench'd  in  blood, 

His  bosom  gored  with  many  a  wound, 

"Was  by  a  woodman's  lyme-dog  found ; 

Unknown  the  manner  of  his  death, 


i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Z. 

2  There  are  often  flights  of  wild  swans  upon  St.  Mary's 
■^fike,  at  the  head  of  the  river  Yarrow.  See  Wordsworth's 
Yarrow  Visited. 

"  The  swan  on  still  St.  Mary's  Lake 
Floats  double,  swan  and  shadow." — Ed. 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  A. 

*  Ibid.  Note  4  B. 

6  The  person  bearing  this  redoutable  now,  de  g\  erre  was  an 
Elliot,  and  resided  at  Thorleshope,  in  Liddesdale  He  occurs 
ta  the  list  of  Border  riders,  in  1597. 

*  See  Appsndix,  Note  4  C. 

'TJe  appearance  and  dress  of  the  coinpanj  assembled  in 


Gone  was  Ins  brand,  both  sword  and  sheath , 
But  ever  from  that  time,  'twas  said, 
That  Dickon  wore  a  Cologne  blade. 

VIII. 

The  dwarf,  who  fear'd  his  master's  eye 
Might  his  foul  treachery  espie, 
Now  sought  the  castle  buttery, 
Where  many  a  yeoman,  bold  and  free, 
Revell'd  as  merrily  and  well 
As  those  that  sat  in  lordly  selle. 
Watt  Tinlinn,  there,  did  frankly  raise 
The  pledge  to  Arsthur  Fire-the-Braes  ;6 
And  he,  as  by  his  breeding  bound, 
To  Howard's  merry-men  sent  it  round. 
To  quit  them,  on  the  English  side, 
Red  Roland  Forster  loudly  cried, 
"  A  deep  carouse  to  yon  fair  bride  !" 
At  every  pledge,  from  vat  and  pail, 
Foam'd  forth  in  floods  the  nut-brown  ale ; 
While  shout  the  riders  every  one : 
Such  day  of  mirth  ne'er  cheer'd  their  clan, 
Since  old  Buccleuch  the  name  did  gain, 
When  in  the  cleuch  the  buck  was  ta'en  • 

IX. 

The  wily  page,  with  vengeful  thought, 

Remember'd  him  of  Tallinn's  yew, 
And  swore,  it  should  be  dearly  bought 

That  ever  he  the  arrow  drew. 
First,  he  the  yeoman  did  molest, 
With  bitter  gibe  and  taunting  jest ; 
Told,  how  he  fled  at  Solway  strife, 
And  how  Hob  Armstrong  cheer'd  his  wife ; 
Then,  shunning  still  Ins  powerful  arm, 
At  unawares  he  wrought  him  harm ; 
From  trencher  stole  his  choicest  cheer, 
Dash'd  from  his  lips  his  can  of  beer ; 
Then,  to  his  knee  sly  creeping  on, 
With  bodkin  pierced  him  to  the  bone : 
The  venom'd  wound,  and  festering  joint, 
Long  after  rued  that  bodkin's  point. 
The  startled  yeoman  swore  and  spurn' d, 
And  board  and  flagon?  overturn'd.7 
Riot  and  clamor  wild  began ; 
Back  to  the  hall  the  Urchin  ran ; 


the  chapel,  and  the  description  of  the  subsequent  feast,  in 
which  the  hounds  and  hawks  are  not  the  least  important  per- 
sonages of  the  drama,  are  again  happy  imitations  of  those  au- 
thors from  whose  rich  but  unpolished  ore  Mr.  Scott  has  wrought 
much  of  his  most  exquisite  imagery  and  description.  A  so- 
ciety, such  as  that  assembled  in  Branxliolm  Castle,  inflamed 
with  national  prejudices,  and  heated  with  wine,  seems  to  have 
contained  la  itself  sufficient  seeds  of  spontaneous  disorder;  but 
the  goblin  page  is  well  introduced,  as  applying  a  torch  to  this 
mass  of  combustibles.  Quarrels,  highly  characteristic  of  Bor- 
der manners,  both  in  their  cause  and  the  manner  in  which  thet 
are  supported,  ensue,  as  well  among  the  lordly  guests,  as  tht 
yeomen  assembled  in  the  buttery." — Critical  Rcviexo   1805 


48                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  vi. 

Took  in  a  darkling  nook  liis  post, 

And  died  for  her  sake  in  Palestine, 

And  grinn'd  and  mutter'd,  "  Lost !  lost !  lost  1" 

So  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all. 

X. 

Now  all  ye  lovers,  that  faithful  prove, 

By  this,  the  Dame,  lest  farther  fray 

(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 

Should  mar  the  concord  of  the  day, 

Pray  for  their  souls  who  died  for  love, 

Had  bid  the  Minstrels  tune  their  lay. 

For  Love  shall  still  be  lord  of  all ! 

And  first  stepp'd  forth  old  Albert  Graeme, 

The  Minstrel  of  that  ancient  name  :* 

XIII.                     * 

Was  none  who  struck  the  harp  so  well, 

As  ended  Albert's  simple  lay, 

Within  the  Land  Debateable  ; 

Arose  a  bard  of  loftier  port ; 

Well  friended,  too,  Ms  hardy  kin, 

For  somiet,  rhyme,  and  roundelay, 

Whoever  lost,  were  sure  to  win ; 

Renown' d  in  haughty  Henry's  court : 

They  sought  the  beeves  that  made  their  broth, 

There  rung  thy  harp,  unrivall'd  long, 

In  Scotland  and  in  England  both. 

Fitztraver  of  the  silver  song ! 

In  homely  guise,  as  nature  bade, 

The  gentle  Surrey  loved  his  lyre — 

His  simple  song  the  Borderer  said. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  Surrey's  fame  ?• 

His  was  the  hero's  soul  of  fire, 

XL 

And  his  the  bard's  immortal  name, 

ALBERT  GRAEME." 

And  his  was  love,  exalted  high 

It  was  an  English  ladye  bright, 

By  all  the  glow  of  chivalry. 

(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,)8 

And  she  would  marry  a  Scottish  knight, 

XIV. 

For  Love  will  still  be  lord  of  all. 

They  sought,  together,  climes  afar, 

And  oft,  within  some  olive  grove, 

Blithely  they  saw  the  rising  sun, 

When  even  came  with  twinkling  star, 

When  he  shone  fair  on  Carlisle  wall ; 

They  sung  of  Surrey's  absent  love. 

But  they  were  sad  ere  day  was  done, 

His  step  the  Italian  peasant  stay'd, 

Though  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all. 

And  deem'd,  that  spirits  from  on  high, 

Round  where  some  hermit  saint  was  laid, 

Her  sire  gave  brooch  and  jewel  fine, 

Were  breathing  heavenly  melody ; 

When  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall; 

So  sweet  did  harp  and  voice  combine,6 

Her  brother  gave  but  a  flask  of  wine, 

To  praise  the  name  of  Geraldine. 

For  ire  that  Love  was  lord  of  all. 

XV. 

For  she  had  lands,  both  meadow  and  lea, 

Fitztraver  !  0  what  tongue  may  say 

Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall, 

The  pangs  thy  faithful  bosom  knew, 

And  he  swore  her  death,  ere  he  would  see 

When  Surrey,  of  the  deathless  lay, 

A  Scottish  knight  the  lord  of  all ! 

Ungrateful  Tudor's  sentence  slew  ? 

Regardless  of  the  tyrant's  frown, 

XII. 

His  harp  call'd  wrath  and  vengeance  down. 

That  wine  she  had  not  tasted  well, 

He  left,  for  Naworth's  iron  towers, 

(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 

Windsor's  green  glades,  and  courtly  bowers, 

When  dead,  in  her  true  love's  arms,  she  fell, 

And  faithful  to  his  patron's  name, 

For  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all ! 

With  Howard  still  Fitztraver  came ; 

Lord  William's  foremost  favorite  he, 

He  pierced  her  brother  to  the  heart, 

And  chief  of  all  his  minstrelsy. 

Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall : 

XVI. 

So  perish  all  would  true  love  part, 

That  Love  may  still  be  lord  of  all ! 

FITZTRAVER.6 

'Twas  All-soul's  eve,  and  Surrey's  heart  be?t 

And  then  he  took  the  cross  divine, 

high; 

(Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 

He  heard  the  midnight  bell  with  anxious  start, 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  4  D. 

direct  and  concise  narrative  of  a  tragical  occurrence." — Jef- 

3 "  It  is  the  author's  object,  in  these  songs,  to  exemplify  the 

frey. 

liflerent  styles  of  ballad  narrative  which  prevailed  in  this  isl- 

s See  Appendix,  Note  4  E. 

and  at  different  periods,  or  in  different  conditions  of  society. 

4  Ibid.  Note  4  F. 

The  first  (Albert's)  is  conducted  upon  the  rude  and  simple 

5  First  Edit. — "  So  sweet  their  harp  and  voices  join." 

nr/f.x  of  the  old  Border  ditties,  and  produces  its  effect  by  the 

6  "  The  second  song,  that  of  Fitztraver,  the  bard  of  the  ao 

04NTO  VI. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


49 


Which  told  the  mystic  hour,  approaching  nigh, 

When  wise  Cornelius  promised,  by  his  art, 
To  show  to  him  the  ladye  of  his  heart, 

Albeit  betwixt  them  roar'd  the  ocean  grim ; 
Yet  so  the  sage  had  hight  to  play  his  part, 
That  he  should  see  her  form  in  life  and  limb, 
And  mark,  if  still  she  loved,  and  still  she  thought 
of  him. 

XVII. 
Dark  was  the  vaulted  room  of  gramarye, 

To  which  the  wizard  led  the  gallant  Knight, 
Save  that  before  a  mirror,  huge  and  high, 

A  hallow'd  taper  shed  a  glimmering  light 
On  mystic  implements  of  magic  might ; 
On  cross,  and  character,  and  talisman, 
And  almagest,  and  altar,  nothing  bright : 
For  fitful  was  the  lustre,  pale  and  wan, 
As  watchlight   by  the   bed    of   some   departing 
man. 

XVIII. 

But  soon,  within  that  mirror  huge  and  high, 

Was  seen  a  self-emitted  light  to  gleam ; 
And  forms  upon  its  breast  the  Earl  'gan  spy, 

Cloudy  and  indistinct,  as  feverish  dream; 
Till,  slow  arranging,  and  defined,  they  seem 

To  form  a  lordly  and  a  lofty  room, 
Fart  lighted  by  a  lamp  with  silver  beam, 

Placed  by  a  couch  of  Agra's  silken  loom, 
And  part  by  moonshine  pale,  and  part  was  hid  in 
gloom.  * 

XIX. 

Fair  all  the  pageant — but  how  passing  fair 

The  slender  foym,  which  lay  on  couch  of  Ind  ! 
O'er  her  white  bosom  stray'd  her  hazel  hair, 

Pale  her  dear  cheek,  as  if  for  love  she  pined  ; 
All  in  her  night-robe  loose  she  lay  reclined, 

And,  pensive,  read  from  tablet  eburnine, 
Some  strain  that  seem'd  her  inmost  soul  to  find ; — 

That  favor'd  strain  was  Surrey's  raptured  line, 
That  fair  and  lovely  form,  the  Lady  Geraldine. 

XX. 

Slow  roll'd  the  clouds  upon  the  lovely  form, 
And  swept  the  goodly  vision  all  away — 

So  royal  envy  roll'd  the  murky  storm 
O'er  my  beloved  Master's  glorious  day. 

Thou  jealous,  ruthless  tyrant !  Heaven  repay 
On  thee,  and  on  thy  children's  latest  line, 

The  wild  caprice  of  thy  despotic  sway, 


eomplished  Surrey,  has  more  of  the  richness  and  polish  of  the 
Italian  poetry,  and  is  very  beautifully  written  in  a  stanza  re- 
lembling  that  of  Spenser.'' — Jeffrey. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  4  G.  2  Ibid.  Note  4  H. 

*  The  chiefs  of  the  Vakingr,  or  Scandinavian  pirates,  as- 


The  gory  bridal  bed,  the  plundered  shrine, 
The  murder'd  Surrey's  blood,  the  tears  of  Geral- 
dine 1 

XXI 

Both  Scots,  and  Southern  chiefs,  prolong 
Applauses  of  Fitztraver's  song  ; 
These  hated  Henry's  name  as  death, 
And  those  still  held  the  ancient  faith. — 
Then,  from  his  seat,  with  lofty  air, 
Rose  Harold,  bard  of  brave  St.  Clair ; 
St.  Clair,  who,  feasting  high  at  Home, 
Had  with  that  lord  to  battle  come. 
Harold  was  born  where  restless  seas 
Howl  round  the  storm-swept  Orcades  -,1 
Where  erst  St.  Clairs  held  princely  sway 
O'er  isle  and  islet,  strait  and  bay ; — 
Still  nods  their  palace  to  its  fall, 
Thy  pride  and  sorrow,  fair  Kirkwall ! — 
Thence  oft  he  mark'd  fierce  Pentland  rave. 
As  if  grim  Odin  rode  her  wave ; 
And  watch' d,  the  whilst,  with  visage  pale, 
And  tlirobbing  heart,  the  struggling  sail ; 
For  all  of  wonderful  and  wild 
Had  rapture  for  the  lonely  child. 

XXII. 
And  much  of  wild  and  wonderful 
In  these  rude  isles  might  fancy  cull ; 
For  thither  came,  in  times  afar, 
Stern  Lochlin's  sons  of  roving  war, 
The  Norsemen,  train'd  to  spoil  and  blooa. 
Skill'd  to  prepare  the  raven's  food ; 
Kings  of  the  main  their  leaders  brave, 
Their  barks  the  dragons  of  the  wave.3 
And  there,  in  many  a  stormy  vale, 
The  Scald  had  told  his  wondrous  tale  ; 
And  many  a  Runic  column  high 
Had  witness'd  grim  idolatry. 
And  thus  had  Harold,  in  his  youth, 
Learn'd  many  a  Saga's  rhyme  uncouth,-  - 
Of  that  Sea-Snake,  tremendous  curl'd, 
Whose  monstrous  circle  girds  the  world  ;4 
Of  those  dread  Maids,9  whose  hideous  yell 
Maddens  the  battle's  bloody  swell ; 
Of  Chiefs,  who,  guided  through  the  gloom 
By  the  pale  death-lights  of  the  tomb, 
Ransack' d  the  graves  of  warriors  old, 
Their  falchions  wrench'd  from  corpses'  hold  • 
Waked  the  deaf  tomb  with  war's  alarms, 
And  bade  the  dead  arise  to  arms ! 
With  war  and  wonder  all  on  flame, 


sumed  the  title  of  Smkonungr  or  Sea-kings.  Ships,  in  the  in- 
flated language  of  the  Scalds,  are  often  termed  the  serpents  of 
the  ocean. 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  4  1.  «  Ibid.  Note  4  K. 

e  Ibid.  Note  4  1-. 


50 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CA.^TO   VI 


To  Roslin's  bowers  young  Harold  came, 
Where,  by  "sweet  glen  and  greenwood  tree, 
He  learn'd  a  milder  minstrelsy ; 
Yet  something  of  the  Northern  spell 
Mix'd  with  the  softer  numbers  well. 

XXIII. 

HAKOLD.1 

O  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay ! 

Xo  haughty  feat  of  arms  I  tell ; 
Soft  is  the  note,  and  sad  the  lay, 

That  mourns  the  lovely  Rosabelle.8 

— "  Moor,  moor  the  barge,  ye  gallant  crew ! 

And,  gentle  ladye,  deign  to  stay ! 
Rest  thee  in  Castle  Ravensheuch,3 

Xor  tempt  the  stormy  firth  to-day. 

"  The  blackening  wave  is  edged  with  white  : 
To  inch4  and  rock  the  sea-mews  fly ; 

The  fishers  have  heard  the  Water-Sprite, 
Whose  screams  forbode  that  wreck  is  nigh, 

"  Last  night  the  gifted  Seer  did  view 

A  wet  shroud  swathed6  round  ladye  gay ; 

Then  stay  thee,  Fair,  in  Ravensheuch : 
Why  cross  the  gloomy  firth  to-day  ?" — 

"  'Tis  not  because  Lord  Lindesay's  heir 
To-night  at  Roslin  leads  the  ball, 

But  that  my  ladye-mother  there 
Sits  lonely  in  her  castle-hall. 

"  'Tis  not  because  the  ring  they  ride, 
And  Lindesay  at  the  ring  rides  well, 

But  that  my  sire  the  wine  will  elude, 
If  'tis  not  fill'd  by  Rosabelle." — 

O'er  Roslin  all  that  dreary  night, 

A  wondrous  blaze  was  seen  to  gleam ; 

'Twas  broader  than  the  watch-fire's  light, 
And  redder  than  the  bright  moon-beam. 


*  "  The  third  song  is  intended  to  represent  that  wild  style  of 
composition  which  prevailed  among  the  bards  of  the  Northern 
Continent,  somewhat  softened  and  adorned  by  the  Minstrel's 
residence  in  the  south.  We  prefer  it,  upon  the  whole,  to  either 
of  the  two  former,  and  shall  give  it  entire  to  our  readers,  who 
will  probably  be  struck  with  the  poetical  effect  of  the  dramatic 
forir.  into  which  it  is  thrown,  and  of  the  indirect  description  by 
which  every  thing  is  most  expressively  told,  without  one  word 
of  distinct  narrative." — Jeffrey. 

?  This  was  a  family  name  in  the  house  of  St.  Clair.  Henry 
8t.  Clair,  the  second  of  the  line,  married  Rosabelle,  fourth 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Stratherne. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  M.  4  inch,  isle. 

»  First  Edit.  "  A  wet  shroud  roWd." 

6  First  Edit.  "  It  reddened,"  &c. 

*  First  Edit.  "  Both  vaulted  crypt,"  &c. 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  N. 

*  First  Edit.  "  But  the  ke'pie  rung  and  the  mermaids  sung." 


It  glared  on  Roslin's  castled  rock, 
It  ruddied8  all  the  copse-wood  glen ; 

'Twas  seen  from  Dryden's  groves  of  oak 
And  seen  from  cavern'd  Hawthornde? 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  that  chapel  proud, 
Where  Roslin's  chiefs  uncoffin'd  he, 

Each  Baron,  for  a  sable  shroud, 
Sheathed  in  his  iron  panoply. 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  within,  around, 

Deep  sacristy7  and  altar's  pale ; 
Shone  every  pillar  foliage-bound, 

And  glimmer'd  all  the  dead  men's  mail 

Blazed  battlement  and  pinnet  high, 

Blazed  every  rose-carved  buttress  fair- 
So  still  they  blaze,  when  fate  is  nigh 
The  lordly  line  of  high  St.  Clair. 

There  are  twenty  of  Roslin's  barons  bold 
Lie  buried  within  that  proud  chapelle  ; 

Eacli  one  the  holy  vault  doth  hold — 
But  the  sea  holds  lovely  Rosabelle  1 

And  each  St.  Clair  was  buried  there, 
With  candle,  with  book,  and  with  knell ; 

But  the  sea-caves  rung,  and  the  wild  winds  sung, 
The  dirge  of  lovely  Rosabelle. 

XXIV. 

13o  sweet  was  Harold's  piteous  lay,10 

Scarce  mark'd  the  guests  the  darken'd  hall, 
Though,  long  before  the  sinking  day, 

A  wondrous  shade  involved  them  all : 
It  was  not  eddying  mist  or  fog, 
Drain  d  by  the  sun  from  fen  or  bog  ; 

Of  no  eclipse  had  sages  told ; 
And  yet,  as  it  rame  on  apace, 
Each  one  could  scarce  his  neighbor's  face, 

Could  scarce  his  own  stretch'd  hand  behold. 
A  secret  horror  check'd  the  feast, 

io  "  I  observe  a  great  poetic  climax,  designed,  doubtless,  in 
the  two  last  of  these  songs  from  the  first." — Anna  Seward. 

"  We  (G.  Ellis  and  J.  H.  Frere)  entertain  some  doubts 
about  the  propriety  of  dwelling  so  long  on  the  minstrel  songs 
in  the  last  canto.  I  say  we  doubt,  because  we  are  not  aware 
of  your  having  ancient  authority  for  such  a  practice  ;  but 
though  the  attempt  was  a  bold  one,  inasmuch  as  it  is  not  usual 
to  add  a  \*-h«  le  canto  to  a  story  which  is  already  finished,  we 
are  tar  from  wishing  that  you  had  left  it  unattempted."-- 
Ellis  to  Scott.  "  The  sixth  canto  is  altogether  redundant  ; 
for  the  poem  should  certainly  have  closed  with  the  union 
of  the  lovers,  when  the  interest,  if  any,  was  at  an  end.  But 
what  could  I  do  1  I  had  my  book  and  my  page  still  on  my 
hands,  and  must  get  rid  of  them  at  all  events.  Manage  them 
as  I  would,  their  catastrophe  must  have  been  insufficient  to 
occupy  an  entire&canto  ;  so  I  was  fain  to  eke  it  out  with  the 
songs  of  the  minstrels." — Scott  to  Miss  Seward — Life,  vol.  ii 
pp.  218,  222 


CANTO  VI. 


TJliJi  LAY    Oh'  TtiJti  LAJSi'    MlINfSTKLL. 


5\ 


And  chill' d  the  soul  of  every  guast 
Even  the  high  Dame  stood  half  aghast, 
She  knew  some  evil  on  the  blast ; 
The  elvish  page  fell  to  the  ground, 
And,  shuddering,  mutter'd,  "  Found !    found  ! 
found !" 

XXV. 
Then  sudden,  through  the  darken'd  air 

A  flash  of  lightning  came  ; 
So  broad,  so  bright,  so  red  the  glare, 

The  castle  seem'd  on  flame. 
Glanced  every  rafter  of  the  hall, 
Glanced  every  shield  upon  the  wall ; 
Each  trophied  beam,  each  sculptured  stone, 
Were  instant  seen,  and  instant  gone  ; 
Full  through  the  guests'  bedazzled  band 
Resistless  flash'd  the  levin-brand, 
And  filld  the  hall  with  smouldering  smoke, 
As  on  the  elvish  page  it  broke. 

It  broke,  with  thunder  long  and  loud, 

Dismay'd  the  brave,  appall' d  the  proud, — 
From  sea  to  sea  the  larum  rung ; 

On  Berwick  wall,  and  at  Carlisle  withal, 
To  arms  the  startled  warders  sprung. 
When  ended  was  the  dreadful  roar, 
The  elvish  dwarf  was  seen  no  more  I1 

XXVI. 

Some  heard  a  voice  in  Branksome  Hall, 
Some  saw  a  sight,  not  seen  by  all ; 
That  dreadful  voice  was  heard  by  some, 
Cry,  with  loud  summons,  "  Gylbix,  come  !" 

And  on  the  spot  where  burst  the  brand, 
Just  where  the  page  had  flung  him  down, 

Some  saw  an  arm,  and  some  a  hand, 
And  some  the  waving  of  a  gown. 
The  guests  in  silence  pray'd  and  shook, 
And  terror  dimm'd  each  lofty  look. 


"  The  Goblin  Page  is,  in  our  opinion,  the  capital  deform- 
.ty  of  the  poem.  We  have  already  said  the  whole  machinery 
is  useless ;  but  the  magic  studies  of  the  lady,  and  the  rifled 
tomb  of  Michael  Scott,  give  occasion  to  so  much  admirable 
poetry,  that  we  can,  on  no  account,  consent  to  part  with 
them.  The  page,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  perpetual  burden 
to  the  poet  and  to  the  readers ;  it  is  an  undignified  and  im- 
probable fiction,  which  excites  neither  terror,  admiration, 
nor  astonishment,  but  needlessly  debases  the  strain  of  the 
whole  work,  and  excites  at  once  our  incredulity  and  con- 
tempt. He  is  not  a  'tricksy  spirit,'  like  Ariel,  with  whom 
the  imagination  is  irresistibly  enamored,  nor  a  tiny  monarch, 
like  Obcron,  disposing  of  tiie  destinies  of  mortals  ;  he  rather 
appears  to  us  to  be  an  awkward  sort  of  a  mongrel  between 
Puck  and  Caliban,  of  a  servile  and  brutal  nature,  and  limited 
in  his  powers  to  the  indulge/ice  of  petty  malignity,  and  the 
infliction  of  despicable  injuries.  Besides  this  objection  to  his 
character,  his  existence  has  no  support  from  any  general  or 
established  superstition.  Fairies  and  devils,  ghosts,  angels, 
and  witches,  are  creatures  with  whom  we  are  all  familiar, 
\nd  who  excite  in  all  classes  of  mankind  emotions  with  which 


But  none  of  all  the  astonish' d  train 
Was  so  dismay'd  as  Deloraine  ; 
His  blood  did  freeze,  his  brain  did  burn, 
'Twas  fear'd  his  mind  would  ne'er  return ; 

For  he  was  speechless,  ghastly,  wan, 

Like  him  of  whom  the  story  ran, 

Who  spoke  the  spectre-hound  in  Man.8 
At  length,  by  fits,  he  darkly  told, 
With  broken  hint,  and  shuddering  cold-  - 

That  he  had  seen,  right  certainly, 
A  shape  with  amice  wrapped  around, 
With  a  wrought  Spanish  baldric  bound, 

Like  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  sea  ; 
And  knew — but  how  it  matter'd  not — 
It  was  the  wizard,  Michael  Scott. 

XXVII. 

The  anxious  crowd,  with  horror  pale, 
All  trembling  heard  the  wondrous  tale ; 

No  sound  was  made,  no  word  was  spoke, 

Till  noble  Angus  silence  broke ; 
And  he  a  solemn  sacred  plight 

Did  to  St.  Bride  of  Douglas  make,8 

That  he  a  pilgrimage  would  take 

To  Melrose  Abbey,  for  the  sake 
Of  Michael's  restless  sprite. 
Then  each,  to  ease  his  troubled  breast, 
To  some  bless'd  saint  his  prayers  address'd : 
Some  to  St.  Modan  made  their  vows, 
Some  to  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes, 
Some  to  the  Holy  Rood  of  Lisle, 
Some  to  our  Ladye  of  the  Isle ; 
Each  did  his  patron  witness  make, 
That  he  such  pilgrimage  would  take, 
And  monks  should  sing,  and  bells  should  toll, 
All  for  the  weal  of  Michael's  soul. 
While  vows  were  ta'en,  and  prayers  were  pray'd, 
'Tis  said  the  noble  dame,  dismay'd, 
Renounced,  for  aye,  dark  magic's  aid. 


we  can  easily  be  made  to  sympathize.  But  the  story  of  Gilpin 
Horner  was  never  believed  out  of  the  village  where  he  is  said 
to  have  made  his  appearance,  and  has  no  claims  upon  the  cre- 
dulity of  those  who  were  not  originally  of  his  acquaintance. 
There  is  nothing  at  all  interesting  or  elegant  in  the  scenes  01 
which  he  is  the  hero  ;  and  in  reading  these  passages  we  really 
could  not  help  suspecting  that  they  did  not  stand  in  the  ro- 
mance when  the  aged  minstrel  recited  it  to  the  royal  Charles 
and  his  mighty  earls,  but  were  inserted  afterwards  to  suit  the 
taste  of  the  cottagers  among  whom  he  begged  his  bread  on  the 
border.  We  entreat  Mr.  Scott  to  inquire  into  the  grounds  of 
this  suspicion,  and  to  take  advantage  of  any  decent  pretext  he 
can  lay  hold  of  for  purging  the  '  Lay'  of  this  ungraceful 
intruder.4  We  would  also  move  for  a  quo  warranto  against 
the  Spirits  of  the  River  and  the  Mountain ;  for  though  they 
are  come  of  a  very  high  lineage,  we  do  not  know  what  lawful 
business  they  could  have  at  Branksome  Castle  in  the  yeai 
1550." — Jeffrey. 
a  See  Appendix,  Note  4  O.  3  Ibid.  Note  4  P. 

4  See  '.he  Author's  Introduction  to  the  '  Lay,'  p.  IS 


L 


52                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  vi    j 

XXVIII. 

And  solemn  requiem  for  the  dead ; 

Naught  of  the  bridal  will  I  tell, 

And  bells  toll'd  out  their  mighty  peal, 

Which  after  in  short  space  befell ; 

For  the  departed  spirit's  weal; 

Nor  how  brave  sons  and  daughters  fair 

And  ever  in  the  office  close 

Bless'd  Teviot's  Flower,  and  Cranstoun's  heir : 

The  hymn  of  intercession  rose ; 

After  such  dreadful  scene,  'twere  vain 

And  far  the  echoing  aisles  prolong 

To  wake  the  note  of  mirth  again. 

The  awful  burden  of  the  song, — 

More  meet  it  were  to  mark  the  day 

Dies  ir^e,  dies  illa, 

Of  penitence  and  prayer  divine, 

SOLVET  SjECLUM  IN  FA  VILLA  ; 

When  pilgrim-chiefs,  in  sad  array, 

While  the  pealing  organ  rung : 

Sought  Melrose'  holy  shrine. 

Were  it  meet  with  sacred  strain 

To  close  my  lay,  so  light  and  vain, 

XXIX. 

Thus  the  holy  Fathers  sung. 

With  naked  foot,  and  sackcloth  vest, 

And  arms  enfolded  on  his  breast, 

XXXI. 

Did  every  pilgrim  go ; 

The  standers-by  might  hear  uneath, 

HYMN  FOR  THE  DEAD. 

Footstep,  or  voice,  or  high-drawn  breath, 

That  day  of  wrath,  that  dreadful  day, 

Through  all  the  lengthen'd  row : 

When  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away, 

No  lordly  look,  no  martial  stride, 

What  power  shall  be  the  sinner's  stay  ? 

Gone  was  their  glory,  sunk  their  pride, 

How  shall  he  meet  that  dreadful  day  ? 

Forgotten  their  renown ; 

Silent  and  slow,  like  ghosts  they  glide 

When,  shrivelling  like  a  parched  scroll 

To  the  high  altar's  hallow'd  side, 

The  flaming  heavens  together  roll ; 

And  there  they  knelt  them  down : 

When  louder  yet,  and  yet  more  dread, 

Above  the  suppliant  chieftains  wave 

Swells  the  high  trump  that  wakes  the  dead ! 

The  banners  of  departed  brave  ; 

Beneath  the  letter'd  stones  were  laid 

Oh !  on  that  day,  that  wrathful  day, 

The  ashes  of  their  fathers  dead  ; 

When  man  to  judgment  wakes  from  clay, 

From  many  a  garnish' d  niche  around, 

Be  Thou  the  trembling  sinner's  stay, 

Stern  saints  and  tortured  martyrs  frown' d. 
XXX. 

Though  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away  1 

And  slow  up  the  dim  aisle  afar, 

Hush'd  is  the  harp — the  Minstrel  gone. 

With  sable  cowl  and  scapular, 

And  did  he  wander  forth  alone  ?           » 

And  snow-white  stoles,  in  order  due, 

Alone,  in  indigence  and  age, 

The  holy  Fathers,  two  and  two, 

To  linger  out  his  pilgrimage  ? 

In  long  procession  came ; 

No ;  close  beneath  proud  Newark's  tower,1 

Taper  and  host,  and  book  they  bare, 

Arose  the  Minstrel's  lowly  bower ; 

And  holy  banner,  flourish'd  fair 

A  simple  hut ;  but  there  was  seen 

With  the  Redeemer's  name. 

The  little  garden,  hedged  with  green, 

Above  the  prostrate  pilgrim  band 

The  cheerful  hearth,  and  lattice  clean. 

The  mitred  Abbot  stretch'd  his  hand, 

There  shelterd  wanderers,  by  the  blaze, 

And  bless'd  them  as  they  kneel'd ; 

Oft  heard  the  tale  of  other  days ; 

With  holy  cross  he  sign'd  them  all, 

For  much  he  loved  to  ope  his  door, 

And  pray'd  they  might  be  sage  in  hall, 

And  give  the  aid  he  begg'd  before. 

And  fortunate  in  field. 

So  pass'd  the  winter's  day ;  but  still, 

Then  mass  was  sung,  and  prayers  were  said, 

When  summer  smiled  on  sweet  Bowhill,8 

i "  the  vale  unfolds 

For  manhood  to  enjoy  his  strength  ; 

Rich  groves  of  lofty  stature, 

And  age  to  wear  away  in,"  &c. 

With  Yarrow  winding  through  the  pomp 

Wordsworth's  Yarrow  Visited. 

Of  cultivated  nature; 

And,  rising  from  those  lofty  groves, 

a  Bowhill  is  now,  as  has  been  mentioned  already,  a  seat  of 

Behold  a  ruin  hoary, 

the  Duke  of  Buceleueh.    It  stands  immediately  below  Newark 

The  shatter'd  .front  of  Newark's  towers, 

Hill,  and  above  the  junction  of  the  Yarrow  and  the  Ettrick. 

Renown'd  in  Border  story. 

For  the  other  places  named  in  the  text,  the  reader  is  referred 

"  Fair  scenes  for  childhood's  opening  bloom, 

to  various  notes  on  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border  — 

For  sportive  youth  to  stray  in ; 

Ed. 

2ANT0  VI. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


And  July's  eve,  with  balmy  breath, 
"Waved  the  blue-bells  on  Newark  heath ; 
When  throstles  sung  in  Harehead-shaw, 
And  corn  was  green  on  Carterhaugh  -,1 
And  flourish' d,  broad,  Blackandro's  oak, 
The  aged  Harper's  soul  awoke  ! 
Then  would  he  sing  achievements  high, 

1  Orig. — "  And  grain  waved  green  on  Carterhaugh." 

2  "The  arch  allusions  which  run  through  all  these  Introduc- 
tions, without  in  the  least  interrupting  the  truth  and  graceful 
pathos  of  their  main  impression,  seem  to  me  exquisitely  char- 
acteristic of  Scott,  whose  delight  and  pride  was  to  play  with 
the  genius  which  nevertheless  mastered  him  at  will.  For,  in 
truth,  what  is  it  that  gives  to  all  his  works  their  unique  and 
marking  charm,  except  the  matchless  effect  which  sudden 
effusions  of  the  purest  heart-blood  of  nature  derive  from  their 
being  poured  out,  to  all  appearance  involuntarily,  amidst  dic- 
tion and  sentiment  cast  equally  in  the  mould  of  the  busy 
world,  and  the  seemingly  habitual  desire  to  dwell  on  nothing 
but  what  might  be  likely  to  excite  curiosity,  without  too  much 
disturbing  deeper  feelings,  in  the  saloons  of  polished  life  ? 
Such  outbursts  come  forth  dramatically  in  all  his  writings  ; 
but  in  the  interludes  and  passionate  parentheses  of  the  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel  we  have  the  poet's  own  inner  soul  and 
temperament  laid  bare  and  throbbing  before  us.  Even  here, 
indeed,  he  has  a  mask,  and  he  trusts  it — but  fortunately  it  is  a 
transparent  one. 

"Many  minor  personal  allusions  have  been  explained  in  the 
notes  to  the  last  edition  of  the  '  Lay.'  It  was  hardly  neces- 
sary even  then  to  say  that  the  choice  of  the  hero  had  been 
dictated  by  the  poet's  affection  for  the  living  descendants  of 
the  Baron  of  Cranstoun  ;  and  now — none  who  have  perused 
the  preceding  pages  can  doubt  that  he  had  dressed  out  his 
Margaret  of  Branksome  in  the  form  and  features  of  his  own 
first  love.  This  poem  may  be  considered  as  the  '  bright  con- 
summate flower'  in  which  all  the  dearest  dreams  of  his  youth- 
ful fancy  had  at  length  found  expansion  for  their  strength, 
Bpirit,  tenderness,  and  beauty. 

"  In  the  closing  lines — 

'  Hnsh'd  is  the  harp — the  Minstrel  gone  ; 
And  did  he  wander  forth  alone  ? 
Alone,  in  indigence  and  age, 
To  linger  out  his  pilgrimage  1 
No  ! — close  beneath  proud  Newark's  tower 
Arose  the  Minstrel's  humble  bower,'  &c. — 

— in  these  charming  lines  he  has  embodied  what  was,  at  the 
time  when  he  penned  them,  the  chief  day-dream  of  Ashestiel. 
From  the  moment  that  his  uncle's  death  placed  a  considerable 
sum  of  ready  money  at  his  command,  he  pleased  himself  as 
we  have  seen,  with  the  idea  of  buying  a  mountain  farm,  and 
becoming  not  only  the  '  sheriff'  (as  he  had  in  former  days 
delighted  to  call  himself),  but  '  the  laird  of  the  cairn  and  the 
acaur.'  " — Lockhart.     IAfe  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  212. 

"The  large  quotations  we  have  made  from  this  singular 
poem  must  have  convinced  our  readers  that  it  abounds  equal- 
ly with  poetical  description,  and  with  circumstance  curious 
to  the  antiquary.  These  are  farther  illustrated  in  copious  and 
very  entertaining  notes  :  they,  as  well  as  the  poem,  must  be 
particularly  interesting  to  those  who  are  connected  with  Scot- 
tish families,  or  conversant  in  their  history.  The  author  has 
managed  the  versification  of  the  poem  with  great  judgment, 
and  the  most  happy  effect.  If  he  had  aimed  at  the  grave 
and  stately  cadence  of  the  epic,  or  any  of  oi.r  more  regular 


And  circumstance  of  chivalry, 
Till  the  rapt  traveller  would  stay, 
Forgetful  of  the  closing  day  ; 
And  noble  youths,  the  strain  to  hear, 
Forsook  the  hunting  of  the  deer ; 
And  Yarrow,  as  he  roll'd  along, 
Bore  burden  to  the  Minstrel's  song. 

measures,  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  have 
brought  in  such  names  as  Watt  Tinlinn,  Black  John,  Priest' 
haugh,  Scrogg,  and  other  Scottish  names,  or  to  have  spoken 
of  the  iyke-wake,  and  the  slogan,  and  driving  of  cattle,  which 
Pope  and  Gray  would  have  thought  as  impossible  to  introduce 
into  serious  poetry,  as  Boileau  did  the  names  of  towns  in  the 
campaigns  of  Louis  IV.  Mr.  Scott  has,  therefore,  very  judi- 
ciously thrown  in  a  great  mixture  of  the  familiar,  and  varied 
the  measure ;  and  if  it  has  not  the  finished  harmony,  which, 
in  such  a  subject,  it  were  in  vain  to  have  attempted,  it  has 
great  ease  and  spirit,  and  never  tires  the  reader.  Indeed  we 
think  we  see  a  tendency  in  the  public  taste  to  go  back  to  the 
more  varied  measures  and  familiar  style  of  our  earlier  poets  ; 
a  natural  consequence  of  having  been  satiated  with  the  regu- 
lar harmony  of  Pope  and  his  school,  and  somewhat  wearied 
with  the  stiffness  of  lofty  poetic  language.  We  now  know 
what  can  be  done  in  that  way,  and  we  seek  entertainment  and 
variety,  rather  than  finished  modulation  and  uniform  dignity. 
We  now  take  our  leave  of  this  very  elegant,  spirited,  and  stri 
king  poem." — Annual  Review,  1804. 

"  From  the  various  extracts  we  have  given,  our  readers  will 
be  enabled  to  form  a  tolerably  correct  judgment  of  the  poem  , 
and,  if  they  are  pleased  with  those  portions  of  it  which  have 
now  been  exhibited,  we  may  venture  to  assure  them  that  they 
will  not  be  disappointed  by  the  perusal  of  the  whole.  The 
whole  night  journey  of  Deloraine — the  opening  of  the  Wizard's 
tomb — the  march  of  the  English  battle — and  the  parley  before 
the  walls  of  the  castle,  are  all  executed  with  the  same  spirit 
and  poetical  energy,  which  we  think  is  conspicuous  in  the 
specimens  we  have  already  extracted  ;  and  a  great  variety  of 
short  passages  occur  in  every  part  of  the  poem,  which  are  still 
more  striking  and  meritorious,  though  it  is  impossible  to  detach 
them,  without  injury,  in  the  form  of  a  quotation.  It  is  but 
fair  to  apprize  the  reader,  on  the  other  hand,  that  he  will 
meet  with  very  heavy  passages,  and  with  a  variety  of  details 
which  are  not  likely  to  interest  any  one  but  a  Borderer  or  an 
antiquary.  We  like  very  well  to  hear  of  '  the  gallant  Chief 
of  Otterburne,'  or  '  the  Dark  Knight  of  Liddesdale,'  and  feel 
the  elevating  power  of  great  names,  when  we  read  of  the 
tribes  that  mustered  to  the  war,  '  beneath  the  crest  of  Old 
Dunbar  and  Hepburn's  mingled  banners.'  But  we  really  can- 
not so  far  sympathize  with  the  local  partialities  of  the  author, 
as  to  feel  any  glow  of  patriotism  or  ancient  virtue  in  hearing  of 
the  Todrig  or  Johnston  elans,  or  of  Elliots,  Armstrongs,  and 
Tinlinns ;  still  less  can  we  relish  the  introduction  of  Black 
Jock  of  Athelstane,  Whitslade  the  Hawk,  Arthur  Fire-the- 
Braes,  Bed  Roland  Forster,  or  any  other  of  those  worthies. 
who 

'  Sought  the  beeves  that  made  their  broth, 
In  Scotland  and  in  England  both,' 

into  a  poem  which  has  any  pretensions  to  seriousness  or  dig- 
nity. The  ancient  metrical  romance  might*  have  admitted 
these  homely  personalities  ;  but  the  present  age  will  not  en- 
dure them  ;  and  Mr.  Scott  must  either  sacrifice  his  Bordei 
prejudices,  or  offend  all  his  readers  in  the  other  part  of  th« 
empire."— Jeffrey. 


54 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 
The  feast  was  over  in  Branksome  tower. — P.  18. 

rN  the  reign  of  James  I.,  Sir  William  Scott  of  Buccleuch, 
ihijf  of  the  clan  bearing  that  name,  exchanged,  with  Sir 
Thomas  Inglis  of  Manor,  the  estate  of  Murdiestone,  in  Lanark- 
shire, for  one-half  of  the  barony  of  Branksome,  or  B rank- 
holm,1  lying  upon  the  Teviot,  about  three  miles  above  Hawick. 
He  was  probably  induced  to  this  transaction  from  the  vicinity 
of  Branksome  to  the  extensive  domain  which  he  possessed 
in  Ettrick  Forest  and  in  Teviotdale.  In  the  former  district 
he  held  by  occupancy  the  estate  of  Buccleuch, 2  and  much  of 
the  forest  land  orfthe  river  Ettrick.  In  Teviotdale,  he  en- 
joyed the  harmony  of  Eekford,  by  a  grant  from  Robert  [I.  to 
his  ancestor,  Walter  Scott  of  Kirkurd,  for  the  apprehending 
of  Gilbert  Ridderford,  confirmed  by  Robert  III.,  3d  May,  1424. 
Tradition  imputes  the  exchange  betwixt  Scott  and  Inglis  to  a 
conversation,  in  which  the  latter — a  man,  it  would  appear, 
of  a  mild  and  forbearing  nature,  complained  much  of  the  in- 
juries which  he  was  exposed  to  from  the  English  Borderers, 
who  frequently  plundered  his  lands  of  Branksome.  Sir  Wil- 
liam Scott  instantly  oifered  him  the  estate  of  Murdiestone,  in 
exchange  for  that  which  was  subject  to  such  egregious  incon- 
venience. When  the  bargain  was  completed,  he  dryly  re- 
marked, that  the  cattle  in  Cumberland  were  as  good  as  those 
of  Teviotdale  ;  and  proceeded  to  commence  a  system  of  repri- 
sals upon  the  English,  which  was  regularly  pursued  by  his  suc- 
cessors. In  the  next  reign,  James  II.  granted  to  Sir  Walter 
Scott  of  Branksome,  and  to  Sir  David,  his  son,  the  remaining 
half  of  the  barony  of  Branksome,  to  be  held  in  blanche  for  the 
payment  of  a  red  rose.  The  cause  assigned  for  the  grant  is, 
their  brave  and  faithful  exertions  in  favor  of  the  King  against 
the  house  of  Douglas,  with  whom  James  had  been  recently 
tugging  for  the  throne  of  Scotland.  This  charter  is  dated  the 
2d  February,  1443;  and,  in  the  same  month,  part  of  the  barony 
of  Langholm,  and  many  lands  in  Lanarkshire,  were  conferred 
upon  Sir  Walter  and  his  son  by  the  same  monarch. 

After  the  period  of  the  exchange  with  Sir  Thomas  Inglis, 
Branksome  became  the  principal  seat  of  the  Buccleuch  family. 
The  castle  was  enlarged  and  strengthened  by  Sir  David  Scott, 
the  grandson  of  Sir  William,  its  first  possessor.  But,  in 
1570-1,  the  vengeance  of  Elizabeth,  provoked  by  the  inroads 
of  Buccleuch,  and  his  attachment  to  the  cause  of  Queen 
Mary,  destroyed  the  castle,  and  laid  waste  the  lands  of  Brank- 
some. In  the  same  year  the  castle  was  repaired  and  enlarged 
by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  its  brave  possessor ;  but  the  work  was 
not  completed  until  after  his  death,  in  1574,  when  the  widow 
finished  the  building.  This  appears  from  the  following  in- 
scriptions. Around  a  stone,  bearing  the  arms  of  Scott  of 
Buccleuch,    appears    the    following    legend  : — M  Sft   85j&. 

Scott  of  3Staut!)etm  B^fit  oc  of  Sfr  QMWlimw 
Scott  of  2&trfcurti  Burjt  beflau  jc  toorit  upon 
ye  24  of  f&ardje  1571  jear   qut)a  Tjejjartft   at 

(Sob's  glefSOlir  £e  17  &jml  1574."  On  a  similar 
copartment  are  sculptured  the  arms  of  Douglas,  with  this  in- 
icription,  "Dame  Margaret  Douglas  his  spous  comfle- 

1  Branxholm  is  the  proper  name  of  the  barony  ;  but  Branksome  has  been 
adopted,  as  suitable  tD  the  pronunciation,  and  more  proper  for  poetry. 

2  There  are  no  veit-.ges  of  any  building  at  Buccleuch,  except  the  site  of 
fjmpel,  wlrere,  according  to  tf'-adition  current  in  the  time  of  Scott  of 


tit  the  foresaid  work  in  October   1576."      Over  an 
arched  door  is  inscribed  the  following  moral  verse  : — 

Xu  barlb.  fs.  nocbt  nature.  Jes.  broufibt  fiat 

sal.  lest  ay. 
Ebarefore.  serbe.  @fot».  fcety.  bed.  ge.  rob.  \\)v. 

fame.  sal.  nocfct,  oeltag. 
Sir    Scatter    Scott  of   3Sranr])olni   a&ufrj&t. 

ittatflaret  Boxtfiias.  1571. 

Branksome  Castle  continued  to  be  the  principal  seat  of  the 
Buccleuch  family,  while  security  was  any  object  in  their 
choice  of  a  mansion.  It  has  since  been  the  residence  of  the 
Commissioners,  or  Chamberlains,  of  the  family.  From  the 
various  alterations  which  the  building  has  undergone,  it  is  not 
only  greatly  restricted  in  its  dimensions,  but  retains  little  of 
the  castellated  form,  if  we  except  one  square  tower  of  massy 
thickness,  the  only  part  of  the  original  building  which  now 
remains.  The  whole  forms  a  handsome  modern  residence, 
lately  inhabited  by  my  deceased  friend,  Adam  Ogilvy,  Esq., 
of  Hartwoodmyres,  Commissioner  of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Buccleuch. 

The  extent  of  the  ancient  edifice  can  still  be  traced  by  some 
vestiges  of  its  foundation,  and  its  strength  is  obvious  from  the 
situation,  on  a  deep  bank  surrounded  by  the  Teviot,  and 
flanked  by  a  deep  ravine,  formed  by  a  precipitous  brook.  It 
was  anciently  surrounded  by  wood,  as  appears  from  the  sur- 
vey of  Roxburghshire,  made  for  Pont's  Atlas,  and  preserved 
in  the  Advocates'  Library.  This  wood  was  cut  about  fifty 
years  ago,  but  is  now  replaced  by  the  thriving  plantations, 
which  have  been  formed  by  the  noble  proprietor,  for  milee 
around  the  ancient  mansion  of  his  forefathers. 


Note  B. 

Ninc-and-twcnty  knights  of  fame 

Hung  their  shields  in  Branksome-Hall. — P.  19. 

The  ancient  barons  of  Buccleuch,  both  from  feudal  splendor 
and  from  their  frontier  situation,  retained  in  their  household  at 
Brank.-ome,  a  number  of  gentlemen  of  their  own  name,  who 
held  lands  from  their  chief,  for  the  military  service  of  watching 
and  warding  his  castle.  Satchells  tells  us,  in  his  doggr»! 
poetry, 

"  No  baron  was  better  served  in  Britain  ; 

The  barons  of  Buckleugh  they  kept  their  call, 

Four  and  twenty  gentlemen  in  their  hall, 

All  being  of  his  name  and  kin  ; 

Each  two  had  a  servant  to  wait  upon  them 

Before  supper  and  dinner,  most  renowned, 

The  bells  rung  and  the  trumpets  sowned  ; 

And  more  than  that,  I  do  confess, 

They  kept  four  and  twenty  pensioners. 

Think  not  I  lie,  nor  do  me  blame, 

For  the  pensioners  I  can  all  name  : 

Satchells,  many  of  the  ancient  barons  of  Buccleuch  lie  buried.  There  if 
also  said  to  have  been  a  mill  near  this  solitary  spot ;  an  extraordinary  cir- 
cumstance, as  little  or  no  corn  grows  within  several  miles  of  Buccleuch, 
Satchells  says  it  was  used  to  grind  corn  for  the  hounds  of  the  chieftain. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


There's  men  alive,  elder  than  I, 

They  know  if  I  speak  truth,  or  lie. 

Every  pensioner  a  room1   did  gain, 

For  service  done  and  to  be  done  ; 

This  let  the  reader  understand, 

The  name  both  of  the  men  and  land, 

Which  they  possessed,  it  is  of  truth, 

Both  from  the  Lairds  and  Lords  of  Buckleugh." 

Accordingly,  dismounting  from  his  Pegasus,  Satchells  gives 
Ds,  in  prose,  the  names  of  twenty-four  gentlemen,  younger 
brothers  of  ancient  families,  who  were  pensioners  to  the  house 
of  Buccleuch,  and  describes  the  lands  which  each  possessed  for 
his  Border  service.  In  time  of  war  with  England,  the  garrison 
was  doubtless  augmented.  Satchells  adds,  "  These  twenty- 
three  pensioners,  all  of  his  own  name  of  Scott,  and  Walter 
Gladstanes  of  Whitelaw,  a  near  cousin  of  my  lord's,  as  aforesaid, 
were  ready  on  all  occasions,  when  his  honor  pleased  cause  to 
advertise  them.  It  is  known  to  many  of  the  country  better 
than  it  is  to  me,  that  the  rent  of  these  lands,  which  the  Lairds 
and  Lords  of  Buccleuch  did  freely  bestow  upon  their  friends, 
will  amount  to  above  twelve  or  fourteen  thousand  merks  a- 
year." — History  of  the  name  of  Scott,  p.  45.  An  immense 
sum  in  those  times. 

1  Room,  portion  of  land. 


Note  C. 

with  Jedwood-axe  at  saddlebow. — P.  19. 

"Of  a  truth,"  says  Froissart,  "the  Scottish  cannot  boast 
great  skill  with  the  bow,  but  rather  bear  axes,  with  which,  in 
time  of  need,  they  give  heavy  strokes."  The  Jedwood-axe 
was  a  sort  of  partisan,  used  by  horsemen,  as  appears  from  the 
arms  of  Jedburgh,  which  bear  a  cavalier  mounted,  and  armed 
with  this  weapon.     It  is  also  called  a  Jedwood  or  Jeddart  staff. 


Note  D. 


They  watch,  against  Southern  force  and  guile, 
Lest  Scroop,  or  Howard,  or  Percy's  powers, 
Threaten  Branksome's  lordly  towers, 

From  Warkworth,  or  Naworth,  or  merry  Carlisle. — P.  19. 

Branksome  Castle  was  continually  exposed  to  the  attacks  of 
the  English,  both  from  its  situation  and  the  restless  military 
disposition  of  its  inhabitants,  who  were  seldom  on  good  terms 
with  their  neighbors.  The  following  letter  from  the  Earl  of 
Northumberland  to  Henry  VIII.  in  1533,  gives  an  account  of  a 
laccessful  inroad  of  the  English,  in  which  the  country  was 
plundered  up  to  the  gates  of  the  castle,  although  the  invaders 
tailed  in  their  principal  object,  which  was  to  kill,  or  make  pris- 
oner, the  Laird  of  Buccleuch.  It  occurs  in  the  Cotton  MS. 
Calig.  b.  viii.  f.  222. 

"  Pleaser.h  yt  your  most  gracious  highness  to  be  aduertised, 
that  my  comptroller,  with  Raynald  Carnaby,  desyred  licence 
of  me  to  invade  the  realme  of  Scotiande,  for  the  annoysaunce 
of  your  highnes  enemys,  where  they  thought  best  exploit  by 
theyme  might  be  done,  and  to  haue  to  concur  withe  tiieyme 
tire  inhabitant!  of  Northumberland,  suclie  as  was  towards  me 
according  to  theyre  assembly,  and  as  by  theyre  discretions  vpone 
the  same  they  shulde  thinke  most  convenient ;  and  soo  they 
dyde  meet  vppone  Monday,  before  night,  being  the  iii  day  of 
tnis  instant  monethe,  at  Wawhope,  upon  Northe  Tyne  water, 
thove  Tvndaill,  where  they  were  to  the  number  of  xv  c  men, 


and  soo  invadet  Scotland  at  the  hour  of  viii  of  the  clok  a* 
nyght,  at  a  place  called  Whele  Causay  ;  and  before  xi  of  the 
clok  dyd  send  forth  a  forrey  of  Tyndaill  and  Ryddisdail,  and 
laide  all  the  resydewe  in  a  bushment,  and  acty vely  did  set  vpon 
a  towne  called  Branxholme,  where  the  Lord  of  Buclough 
dwellythe,  and  purpesed  theymeselves  with  a  trayne  for  hym 
lyke  to  his  accustomed  manner,  inrysynge  to  all  frayes  ;  albeit, 
that  knyght  he  was  not  at  home,  and  so  they  brynt  the  said 
Branxholm,  and  other  townes,  as  to  say  Whichestre,  Which 
estre-helme,  and  Whelley,  and  haid  ordered  theymself,  soc 
that  sundry  of  the  said  Lord  of  Buclough's  servants,  who  dyi 
issue  fourthe  of  his  gates,  was  takyn  prisoners.  They  dyd  uM 
leve  one  house,  one  stak  of  come,  nor  one  shyef,  without  the 
gate  of  the  said  Lord  Buclough  vnbrynt ;  and  thui  t^vymaged 
and  frayed,  supposing  the  Lord  of  Buclough  to  be  within  iii  or 
iiii  myles  to  have  trayned  him  to  the  bushment ;  and  soo  in  the 
breyking  of  the  day  dyd  the  forrey  and  the  bushment  mete, 
and  reculed  homeward,  making  theyre  way  westward  from 
theyre  invasion  to  be  over  Lyddersdaill,  as  intending  yf  the  fray 
frame  theyre  furst  entry  by  the  Scotts  waiches,  or  othervvyse  by 
warnying,  shuld  haue  bene  gyven  to  Gedworth  and  the  coun- 
trey  oi'  Scotland  theyruabouts  of  theyre  invasion  ;  whiche  Ged-  ' 
worth  is  from  the  Wheles  Causay  vi  miles,  that  thereby  the 
Scotts  shulde  have  comen  further  vnto  theyme,  and  more  out 
of  ordre  ;  and  soo  upon  sundry  good  considerations,  before  they 
entered  Lyddersdaill,  as  well  accompting  the  inhabitants  of  the 
same  to  be  towards  your  highness,  and  to  enforce  theyme  the 
more  thereby,  as  alsoo  to  put  an  occasion  of  suspect  to  the 
Kinge  of  Scotts,  and  his  counsaill,  to  be  taken  anenst  theyme, 
amonges  theymeselves,  made  proclamacions,  commanding, 
upon  payne  of  dethe,  assurance  to  be  for  the  said  inhabitants  of 
Lyddersdaill,  without  any  prejudice  or  hurt  to  be  done  by  any 
Inglysman  vnto  theyme,  and  soo  in  good  ordre  abowte  the 
howre  of  ten  of  the  clok  before  none,  vppon  Tewisday,  dyd 
pass  through  the  said  Lyddersdail,  when  dyd  come  diverse  of 
the  said  inhabitants  there  to  my  servauntes,  under  the  said  as- 
surance, offerring  theymselfs  with  any  service  they  coutlie 
make ;  and  thus,  thanks  be  to  Godde,  your  highnes'  subjects, 
abowte  the  howre  of  xii  of  the  clok  at  none  the  same  daye 
came  into  this  your  highnes  realme,  bringing  wt  theyme  above 
xl  Scottsmen  prisoners,  one  of  theyme  named  Scot,  of  the  sur- 
name and  kyn  of  the  said  Lord  of  Buclough,  and  of  his  howse- 
hold  ;  they  brought  also  ccc  nowte,  and  above  lx  horse  and 
mares,  keping  in  savetie  frame  losse  or  hurte  all  your  said  high- 
nes subjects.  There  was  alsoo  a  towne,  called  Newbyggins, 
by  diverse  fotmen  of  Tyndaill  and  Ryddesdaill,  takyn  vp  of 
the  night,  and  spoyled,  when  was  slayne  ii  Scottsmen  of  the 
said  towne,  and  many  Scotts  there  hurte  ;  your  highnes  sub- 
jects was  xiii  myles  within  the  grounde  of  Scotiande,  and  is 
from  my  house  at  Werkworthe,  above  lx  miles  of  the  most  evil 
passage,  where  great  snawes  doth  lye ;  heretofore  the  same 
townes  now  brynt  haith  not  at  any  tyme  in  the  mynd  of  man 
in  any  warrs  been  enterprised  unto  nowe  ;  your  subjects  were 
thereto  more  encouraged  for  the  better  advancement  of  your 
highnes  service,  the  said  Lord  of  Buclough  beyng  always  a 
mortall  enemy  to  this  your  Graces  realme,  and  he  dyd  say, 
within  xiii  days  before,  he  woulde  see  who  durst  lye  near  hym  ; 
wt  many  other  cruell  words,  the  knowledge  whereof  was  cer- 
tainly haid  to  my  said  servaunts,  before  theyre  enterprice  maid 
vpon  him  ;  most  humbly  beseeching  your  majesty,  that  youre 
highnes  thanks  may  concur  vnto  theyme,  whose  names  be  here 
inclosed,  and  to  have  in  your  most  gracious  memory,  the  payii- 
full  and  diligent  service  of  my  pore  servaunte  Wharton,  and  thus, 
as  I  am  most  bounden,  shall  dispose  wt  them  that  be  under  me 
f annoysaunce  of  your  highnes  enemys."  In  resent- 
ment of  this  foray,  Buccleuch,  with  other  Border  chiefs,  as- 
sembled an  army  of  3000  riders,  with  which  they  penetrated 
into  Northumberland,  and  laid  waste  the  country  as  far  as  the 
banks  of  Bramish.  They  batiied,  or  defeated,  the  English  for 
ces  opposed  to  them,  and  returned  loaded  with  prey. — Pinkkb 
ton's  History,  vol.  ii.  p.  318. 


66 


SCOTT'S  TOKilCAL   WORKS. 


Note  E. 

Bards  long  shall  tell, 

How  Lord  Walter  fell —P.  19. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  of  Buccleuch  succeeded  to  his  grandfather, 
Sir  David,  in  1492.  He  was  a  hrave  and  powerful  baron,  and 
Warden  of  the  West  Marches  of  Scotland.  His  death  was 
the  consequence  of  a  feud  betwixt  the  Scotts  and  Kerrs,  the 
history  of  which  i3  necessary,  to  explain  repeated  ailusions  in 
the  romance. 

la  tiie  year  1526,  in  the  words  of  Pitscottie,  "  the  Earl  of 
Angus,  and  the  rest  of  the  Douglasses,  ruled  all  which  they 
liked,  and  no  man  durst  say  the  contrary  ;  wherefore  the  King 
(James  V.  then  a  minor)  was  heavily  displeased,  and  would 
fain  have  been  out  of  their  hands,  if  he  might  by  any  way  : 
And,  to  that  effect,  wrote  a  quiet  and  secret  letter  with  his 
own  hand,  and  sent  it  to  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  beseeching 
him  that  he  would  come  with  his  kin  and  friends,  and  all  the 
force  that  he  might  be,  and  meet  him  at  Melross,  at  his  home 
passing,  and  there  to  take  him  out  of  the  Douglasses  hands, 
and  to  put  him  to  liberty,  to  use  himself  among  the  lave  (rest) 
of  his  lords,  as  he  thinks  expedient. 

"This  letter  was  quietly  directed,  and  sent  by  one  of  the 
King's  own  secret  servants,  which  was  received  very  thank- 
fully by  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  who  was  very  glad  theieof, 
to  be  put  to  such  charges  and  familiarity  with  his  prince,  and 
did  great  diligence  to  perform  the  King's  writing,  and  to  bring 
the  matter  to  pass  as  the  King  desired  :  And,  to  that  effect, 
convened  all  his  kin  and  friends,  and  all  that  would  do  for 
him,  to  ride  with  him  to  Melross,  when  he  knew  of  the  King's 
homecoming.  And  so  he  brought  with  him  six  hundred  spears, 
of  Liddesdale,  and  Annandale,  and  countrymen,  and  clans 
thereabout,  and  held  themselves  quiet  while  that  the  King 
returned  out  of  Jedburgh,  and  came  to  Melross,  to  remain  there 
all  that  night. 

"  But  when  the  Lord  Hume,  Cessfoord,  and  Fernyherst 
(the  chiefs  of  the  clan  of  Kerr),  took  their  leave  of  the  King,  and 
returned  home,  then  appeared  the  Lord  of  Buccleuch  in  sight, 
and  his  company  with  him,  in  an  arrayed  battle,  intendiug'to 
have  fulfilled  the  King's  petition,  and  therefore  came  stoutly 
forward  on  the  back  side  of  Haliden  hill.  By  that  the  Earl  of 
Angus,  with  George  Douglas,  his  brother,  and  sundry  other 
of  his  friends,  seeing  this  army  coming,  they  marvelled  what 
the  matter  meant ;  while  at  the  last  they  knew  the  Laird  of 
Buccleuch,  with  a  certain  company  of  the  thieves  of  Annan- 
dale.  With  him  they  were  less  affeard,  and  made  them  man- 
fully to  the  field  contrary  them,  and  said  to  the  King  in  this 
manner,  '  Sir,  yon  is  Buccleuch,  and  thieves  of  Annandale 
with  him,  to  unbeset  your  Grace  from  the  gate'  (i.  e.  interrupt 
your  passage).  '  I  vow  to  God  they  shall  either  light  or  flee  : 
and  ye  shall  tarry  here  on  this  know,  and  my  brother  George 
with  you,  with  any  other  company  you  please  ;  and  I  shall 
pass,  and  put  yon  thieves  off' the  ground,  and  rid  the  gate  unto 
your  Grace,  or  else  die  for  it.'  The  King  tarried  still,  as  was 
devised  ;  and  George  Douglas  with  him,  and  sundry  other 
lords,  such  as  the  Earl  of  Lennox,  and  the  Lord  Erskine,  and 
some  of  the  King's  own  servants  ;  but  all  the  lave  (rest)  past 
with  the  Earl  of  Angus  to  the  field  against  the  Laird  of  Buc- 
cieudi,  who  joyned  and  countered  cruelly  both  the  said  parties 
in  the  field  of  Darnelinver,1  either  against  other,  with  uncertain 
victory.  But  at  the  last,  the  Lord  Hume,  hearing  word  of  that 
matter  how  it  stood,  returned  again  to  the  King  in  all  possible 
huste,  with  him  the  Lairds  of  Cessfoord  and  Feruyhirst,  to  the 
number  of  fourscore  spears,  and  set  freshly  on  the  lap  and  wing 
of  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch's  field,  and  shortly  bare  them  back- 
ward to  the  ground  ;  which  caused  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch, 
and  the  rest  of  his  friends,  to  go  back  and  flee,  whom  they  fol- 


1  Darn 
Field,  frc 


iek,  near  Melrose.     The  place  of  conflict  is  still  mlled  Skinner's 
i  a  corruption  of  Skirmish  Field.    (See   the  A',  instrelsy  of  the 


lowed  and  chased  ;  and  especially  the  Lairds  of  Cessfoord  and 
Feriiyhir.^t  followed  furiouslie,  till  at  the  foot  of  a  path  tne 
Laird  of  Cessfoord  was  slain  by  the  stroke  of  a  spear  by  an 
Elliot,  who  was  then  servant  to  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch.  But 
when  the  Laird  of  Cessfoord  was  slain,  the  chase  ceased.  Tne 
Earl  of  Angus  returned  again  with  great  merriness  and  victory, 
and  thanked  God  that  he  saved  him  from  that  chance,  and 
passed  with  the  King  to  Melross,  where  they  remained  all  that 
night.  On  the  morn  they  past  to  Edinburgh  with  the  King, 
who  was  very  sad  and  dolorous  of  the  slaughter  of  the  Laird  oi 
Cessfoord,  and  many  other  gentlemen  and  yeomen  slain  by  the 
Laird  of  Buccleuch,  containing  the  number  of  fourscore  and 
fifteen,  which  died  in  defence  of  the  King,  and  at  the  command 
of  his  writing." 

I  am  not  the  first  who  has  attempted  to  celebrate  in  verse  the 
renown  of  this  ancient  baron,  and  his  hazardous  attempt  to 
procure  his  sovereign's  freedom.  In  a  Scottish  Latin  poet  we 
find  the  following  verses  : — 

Valterivs  Scotus  Balcluchius, 

Egregio  suscepto  faciuore,  libertate  Regis,  ac  aliis  rebus  gestlg 
clarus,  sub  Jacobo  V.  A".  Christi,  1526. 

"  Intentata  aliis,  nullique  audita  priorum 

Audet,  nee  pavidum  morsve,  metusve  quatit, 
Libertatem  aliis  soliti  transcribere  Regis  : 

Subreptam  banc  Regi  restituisse  paras; 
Si  vincis,  quanta  6  succedunt  pnfcmia  dextrae  ! 

Sin  victus,  falsas  spes  jace,  pone  auimam. 
Hostica  vis  nocuit :  stunt  alts  robora  mentis 

Atque  decus.     Vincet,  Rpge  probante,  fides 
Insita  (puis  animis  virtus,  quosque  acrior  ardor 

Obsidet.  obscuris  nox  premat  an  tenebris  ?" 

Heroes  ex  omni  Historia  Scotica  lectissimi,  Auctore  Johan 
Jonstonio  Abredonense  Scoto,  1603. 

In  consequence  of  the  battle  of  Melrose,  there  ensued  a 
deadly  feud  betwixt  the  names  of  Scott  and  Kerr,  which,  in 
spite  of  all  menus  u<i^\  to  bring  about  an  agreement,  raged  fof 
many  years  upon  the  Borders.  Buccleuch  was  imprisoned,  and 
his  estates  forfeited,  in  the  year  1535,  for  levying  war  against 
the  Kerrs,  and  restored  by  act  of  Parliament,  dated  15th  March, 
1542,  during  the  regency  of  Mary  of  Lorraine.  But  the  most 
signal  act  of  violence  to  which  this  quarrel  gave  rise,  was  the 
murder  of  Sir  Walter  himself,  who  was  slain  by  the  Kerrs  in 
the  streets  of  Edinburgh  in  1552.  This  is  the  event  alluded 
to  in  stanza  vii.  ;  and  the  poem  is  supposed  to  open  shortly 
after  it  had  taken  place. 

The  feud  between  these  two  families  was  not  reconciled  in 
1596,  when  both  chieftains  paraded  the  streets  of  Edinburgh 
with  their  followers,  and  it  was  expected  their  first  meeting 
would  decide  their  quarrel.  But,  on  July  14th  of  the  same 
year,  Colvil,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Bacon,  informs  him,  "  ,hat  there 
was  great  trouble  upon  the  Borders,  which  would  continue  till 
order  should  be  taken  by  the  Queen  oi' England  and  the  King, 
by  reason  of  the  two  young  Scots  chieftains,  Cesford  and  Bac> 
lugh,  and  of  the  present  necessity  and  scarcity  of  corn  amongst 
the  Scots  Borderers  and  riders.  That  there  had  been  a  private 
quarrel  betwixt  those  two  lairds  on  the  Borders,  which  was 
like  to  have  turned  to  blood  ;  but  the  fear  of  the  general  trouble 
had  reconciled  them,  and  the  injuries  which  they  thought  to 
have  committed  against  each  other  were  now  transferred  unon 
England :  not  unlike  that  emulation  in  France  between  the 
Baron  de  Biron  and  Mons.  Jeverie,  who,  being  both  ambitious 
of  honor,  undertook  more  hazardous  enterprises  against  the 
enemy  than  they  would  have  done  if  they  had  been  at  concord 
together." — Birch's  Memorials,  vol.  ii.  p.  67. 

Scottish  Border,  vols.  i.  tind  ii.,  for  farther  particulars  concerning  these 
places,  of  all  which  the  author  of  the  Lay  was  ultimately  proprietor. — Ed.} 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OP  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


57 


Note  F. 

While  Cessford  owns  the  rule  of  Carr, 
While  Ettrick  boasts  the  line  of  Scott, 

The  slaughtered  chiefs,  the  mortal  jar, 

The  havoc  of  the  feudal  war, 
Shall  never,  never  be  forgot! — P.  19. 
Among  other  expedients  resorted  to  for  stanching  the  feud 
betwixt  the  Scotts  and  the  Kerrs,  there  was  a  bond  executed 
in  15ii9,  between  the  heads  of  each  clan,  binding  themselves 
to  perform  reciprocally  the  four  principal  pilgrimages  of  Scot- 
land, for  the  benefit  of  the  souls  of  those  of  the  opposite  name 
who  had  fallen  in  the  quarrel.  This  indenture  is  printed  in 
the  Minstrel  so  of  tke  Scottish  Border,  vol  i.  But  either 
it  never  took  effect,  or  else  the  feud  was  renewed  shortly 
afterwards. 

Such  pactions  were  not  uncommon  in  feudal  times ;  and,  as 
might  be  expected,  they  were  often,  as  in  the  present  case, 
void  of  the  effect  desired.  When  Sir  Walter  Mauny,  the  re- 
nowned follower  of  Edward  III.,  had  taken  the  town  of  Ryol 
in  Gascony,  he  remembered  to  have  heard  that  his  father  lay 
there  buried,  and  offered  a  hundred  crowns  to  any  who  could 
show  him  his  grave.  A  very  old  man  appeared  before  Sir 
Walter,  and  informed  him  of  the  manner  of  his  father's  death, 
and  the  place  of  his  sepulture.  It  seems  the  Lord  of  Mauny 
had,  at  a  great  tournament,  unhorsed,  and  wounded  to  the 
death,  a  Gascon  knight,  of  the  house  of  Mirepoix,  whose  kins- 
man was  Bishop  of  Cambray.  For  this  deed  he  was  held  at 
feud  by  the  relations  of  the  knight,  until  he  agreed  to  under- 
take a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  St.  James  of  Compostella, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  soul  of  the  deceased.  But  as  he  returned 
through  the  town  of  Ryol,  after  accomplishment  of  his  vow, 
he  was  beset  and  treacherously  slain,  by  the  kindred  of  the 
knight  whom  he  had  killed.  Sir  Walter,  guided  by  the  old 
man,  visited  the  lowly  tomb  of  his  father ;  and,  having  read 
the  inscription,  which  was  in  Latin,  he  caused  the  body  to  be 
raised,  and  transported  to  his  native  city  of  Valenciennes, 
where  masses  were,  in  the  days  of  Froissart,  duly  said  for  the 

wul  of  the  unfortunate  pilgrim Chronycle  of  Froissart, 

vol.  i.  p.  123. 


Note  G-. 

With  Carr  in  arms  had  stood. — P.  20. 

The  family  of  Ker,  Kerr,  or  Carr,*  was  very  powerful  on 
the  Border.  Fynes  Morrison  remarks,  in  his  Travels,  that 
their  influence  extended  from  the  village  of  Preston-Grange, 
in  Lothian,  to  the  limits  of  England.  Cessford  Castle,  the 
ancient  baronial  residence  of  the  family,  is  situated  near  the 
village  of  Morebattle,  within  two  or  three  miles  of  the  Cheviot 
Hills.  It  has  been  a  place  of  great  strength  and  consequence, 
but  is  now  ruinous.  Tradition  affirms  that  it  was  founded  by 
Halbert,  or  Habby  Kerr,  a  gigantic  warrior,  concerning  whom 
many  stories  are  current  in  Roxburghshire.  The  Duke  of 
Roxburghe  represents  Kerr  ot  Cessford.  A  distinct  and  power- 
ful branch  of  the  same  name  own  the  Marquis  of  Lothian  as 
their  chiof.  Hence  the  distinction  betwixt  Kerrs  of  Cessford 
and  Fairnihirst. 


Note  H. 
Lora  Cranstoun. — P.  20. 
The  Cranstouns,  Lord  Cranstoun,  are  an  ancient  Border 
family,  whose  chief  seat  was  at  Crailing,  in  Teviotdale.  They 
were  at  this  time  at  feud  with  the  clan  of  Scott ;  for  it  ap- 
pears that  the  Lady  of  Buccleuch,  in  1557,  beset  the  Laird 
of  Cranstoun,  seeking  his  life.  Nevertheless,  the  same  Cran- 
»toun,  or  perhaps  his  son,  was  married  to  a  daughter  of  the 
name  iady. 

1  The  name  is  spelt  differently  by  the  various  families  who  bear  it.    Can- 
it  selected,  not  as  the  most  correct,  but  as  the  most  poetical     <*ding. 
8 


Note  I. 

Of  Bcthunc''s  line  of  Picardie. — P.  20. 
The  Bethune's  were  of  French  origin,  and  derived  theii 
name  from  a  small  town  in  Artois.  There  were  several  dis- 
tinguished families  of  the  Bethunes  in  the  neighboring  provinct 
of  Picardy  ;  they  numbered  among  their  descendants  the  cele- 
brated Due  de  Sully  ;  and  the  name  was  accounted  among  the 
most  noble  in  France,  while  aught  noble  remained  in  that 
country.2  The  family  of  Bethune,  or  Beaioun,  in  Fife,  pro- 
duced three  learned  and  dignified  prelates :  nainelj  ,  Cardina. 
Beaton,  and  two  successive  Archbishops  of  Glasgt  iv,  all  oi 
whom  flourished  about  the  date  of  the  romance.  Of  this 
family  was  descended  Dame  Janet  Beaton,  Lady  Bu  jeleuch, 
widow  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  of  Branksome.  She  was  a  woman 
of  masculine  spirit,  as  appeared  from  her  riding  at  the  head  of 
her  son's  clan,  after  her  husband's  murder.  She  also  possessed 
the  hereditary  abilities  of  her  family  in  such  a  degree  that 
the  superstition  of  the  vulgar  imputed  them  to  supernatural 
knowledge.  With  this  was  mingled  by  faction,  the  foul  ac- 
cusation of  her  having  influenced  Q,ueen  Mary  to  the  murder 
of  her  husband.  One  of  the  placards  preserved  in  Buchanan's 
Detection,  accuses  of  Darnley's  murder  "  the  Erie  of  Both- 
well,  Mr.  James  Balfour,  the  persoun  of  Fliske,  Mr.  David 
Chalmers,  black  Mr.  John  Spens,  who  was  principal  deviser 
of  the  murder ;  and  the  Q,uene,  assenting  thairto,  throw  the 
persuasion  of  the  Erie  Both  well,  and  the  witchcraft  of  L,adv 
Buckleuch.'''' 


Note  K. 

He  learned  the  art  that  none  may  name, 
In  Padua,  far  beyond  the  sea. — P.  20. 
Padua  was  long  supposed,  by  the  Scottish  peasants,  to  be 
the  principal  school  of  necromancy.  The  Earl  of  Gowrie, 
slain  at  Perth,  in  1600,  pretended,  during  his  studies  in  Italy, 
to  have  acquired  some  knowledge  of  the  cabala,  by  which,  he 
said,  he  could  charm  snakes,  and  work  other  miracles ;  and, 
in  particular,  could  produce  children  without  the  intercourse 
of  the  sexes. — See  the  examination  of  Wemyss  of  Bogie  before 
the  Privy  Council,  concerning  Gowrie's  Conspiracy 


Note  L. 


His  form  no  darkening  shadow  traced 
Upon  the  sunny  wall ! — P.  20. 
The  shadow  of  a  necromancer  is  independent  of  the  sun. 
Glycas  informs  us  that  Simon  Magus  caused  his  shadow  to  go 
before  him,  making  people  believe  it  was  an  attendant  spirit 
— Heywood's  Hierarchie,  p.  475.  The  vulgar  conceive, 
that  when  a  class  of  students  have  made  a  certain  progress  in 
their  mystic  studies,  they  are  obliged  to  run  through  a  subter- 
raneous hall,  where  the  devil  literally  catches  the  hindmost 
in  the  race,  unless  he  crosses  the  hall  so  speedily  Uidt  the 
arch-enemy  can  only  apprehend  his  shadow.  In  the  latter 
case,  the  person  of  the  sage  never  after  throws  any  shade ; 
and  those,  who  have  thus  lost  their  shadow,  always  prove  th* 
best  magicians. 


Note  M. 

The  viewless  forms  of  air. — P.  20. 
The  Scottish  vulgar,  without  having  any  very  defined  no- 
tion of  their  attributes,  believe  in  the  existence  of  an  inter- 
mediate class  of  spirits,  residing  in  the  air,  or  in  the  waters  ;  to 
whose  agency  they  ascribe  floods,  storms,  and  all  such  phe- 
nomena as  their  own  philosophy  cannot  readily  explain.  They 
are  supposed  to  interfere  in  the  affairs  of  mortals,  sometimes 

2  This  expression  and  sentiment  were  dictated  by  the  situation  of  Franca, 
in  the  year  1803,  when  the  poem  was  originally  written.    1821. 


58 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Irun  a  malevolent  purpose,  and  sometimes  with  milder  views. 
(t  is  said,  for  example,  that  a  gallant  baron,  having  returned 
from  the  Holy  Land  to  his  castle  of  Drummelziar,  found  his 
lair  lady  nursing  a  healthy  child,  whose  birth  did  not  by  any 
means  correspond  to  the  date  of  his  departure.  Such  an  oc- 
currence, to  the  credit  of  the  dames  of  the  Crusaders  be  it 
spoken,  was  so  rare,  that  it  required  a  miraculous  solution. 
The  lady,  therefore,  was  believed,  when  she  averred  confidently, 
that  the  Spirit  of  the  Tweed  had  issued  from  the  river  while 
she  was  walking  upon  its  bank,  and  compelled  her  to  submit 
to  his  embraces ;  and  the  name  of  Tweedie  was  bestowed 
apori  the  child,  who  afterwards  became  Baron  of  Drummelziar, 
and  chief  of  a  powerful  clan.  To  those  spirits  are  also  as- 
xibed,  in  Scotland,  the 

— "  Airy  tongues,  that  syllable  men's  names, 
On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desert  wildernesses." 

When  the  workmen  were  engaged  in  erecting  the  ancient 
church  of  Old  Deer,  in  Aberdeenshire,  upon  a  small  hill  called 
Bissau,  they  were  surprised  to  find  that  the  work  was  impeded 
by  supernatural  obstacles.  At  length,  the  Spirit  of  the  River 
was  heard  to  say, 

"  It  is  not  here,  it  is  not  here 
That  ye  shall  build  the  church  of  Deer  ; 
But  on  Taptillery, 
Where  many  a  corpse  shall  lie." 

The  site  of  the  edifice  was  accordingly  transferred  to  Tap- 
tillery, an  eminence  at  some  distance  from  the  place  where  the 
building  had  been  commenced. — Macfarlane's  MSS.  1 
mention  these  popular  fables,  because  the  introduction  of  the 
River  and  Mountain  Spirits  may  not,  at  first  sight,  seem  to  ac- 
cord with  the  general  tone  of  the  romance,  and  the  superstitions 
of  the  country  where  the  scene  is  laid. 


Note  N. 
A  fancied  moss-trooper,  &rc. — P.  21. 

This  was  the  usual  appellation  of  the  marauders  upon  the 
Borders  :  a  profession  diligently  pursued  by  the  inhabitants  on 
both  sides,  anil  by  none  more  actively  and  successfully  than  by 
Buccleuch's  clan.  Long  after  the  union  of  the  crowns,  the 
moss-troopers,  although  sunk  in  reputation,  and  no  longer  en- 
joying the  pretext  of  national  hostility,  continued  to  pursue 
their  calling. 

Fuller  includes,  among  the  wonders  of  Cumberland,  "The 
moss-troopers :  so  strange  in  the  condition  of  their  living,  if 
considered  in  their  Original,  Increase,  Height,  Decay,  and 
Ruine. 

"  1.  Original.  I  conceive  them  the  same  called  Borderers 
in  Mr.  Camden ;  and  characterized  by  him  to  be  a  wild  and 
warlike  people.  They  are  called  moss-troopers,  because  dwell- 
ing in  the  mosses,  and  riding  in  troops  together.  They  dwell 
in  the  bounds,  or  meeting,  of  the  two  kingdoms,  but  obey  the 
laws  of  neither.  They  come  to  church  as  seldom  as  the  29th 
of  February  comes  into  the  kalendar. 

"2.  Increase.  When  England  and  Scotland  were  united 
in  Great  Britain,  they  that  formerly  lived  by  hostile  incursions, 
betook  themselves  to  the  robbing  of  their  neighbors.  Their 
sons  are  free  of  the  trade  by  their  fathers'  copy.  They  are  like 
to  Job,  not  in  piety  and  patience,  but  in  sudden  plenty  and 
poverty  ;  sometimes  having  flocks  and  herds  in  the  morning, 
none  at  night,  and  perchance  many  again  next  day.  They 
may  give  for  their  motto,  vivitor  ex  rapto,  stealing  from  their 
honest  neighbors  what  they  sometimes  require.  They  are  a 
nest  of  hornets ;  strike  one^  and  stir  all  of  them  about  vour 
ears.  Indeed,  if  they  promise  safely  to  conduct  a  traveller, 
tney  will  perform  it  with  the  fidelity  of  a  Turkish  janizary ; 
Otherwise,  woe  be  to  him  that  falleth  into  their  quarters  ! 

"  3.  Height.  Amounting,  forty  years  since,  to  some  thou- 
sands.    These  compelled  the  vicinage  to  purchase  their  secu- 


rity, by  paying  a  constant  rent  to  them.  When  in  then 
greatest  height,  they  had  two  great  enemies, — the  Laws  of  the 
Land,  and  the  Lord  William  Howard  of  Naworth.  He  sent 
many  of  them  to  Carlisle,  to  that  place  where  the  officer  doth 
always  his  work  by  daylight.  Yet  these  moss-troopers,  if  pos- 
sibly they  could  procure  the  pardon  for  a  condemned  person  of 
their  company,  would  advance  great  sums  out  of  their  common 
stock,  who,  in  such  a  case,  cast  in  their  lots  amongst  them- 
selves, and  all  have  one  purse. 

"4.  Decay.  Caused,  by  the  wisdom,  valour,  and  diligence 
of  the  Right  Honourable  Charles  Lord  Howard,  Earl  of  Car- 
lisle, who  routed  these  English  Tories  with  his  regiment.  Hi  J 
severity  unto  them  will  not  only  be  excused,  but  commended, 
by  the  judicious,  who  consider  how  our  great  lawyer  doth 
describe  such  persons,  who  are  solemnly  outlawed.  Brao 
ton,  lib.  viii.,  trac.  2,  cap.  11. — '  Ex  tunc  gerunt  caput  lujri- 
num,  ita  quod  sine  judiciali  inquisitione  rite  pereant,  e: 
sccum  suum  judicium  portent  ;  et  merito  sine  lege  per  cunt, 
qui  secundum  legem  vivere  recusdrmit.' — '  Thenceforward 
(after  that  they  are  outlawed),  they  wear  a  wolf's  head,  so  that 
they  lawfully  may  be  destroyed,  without  any  judicial  inquisi- 
tion, as  who  carry  their  own  condemnation  about  them,  and 
deservedly  die  without  law,  because  they  refused  to  live  ac- 
cording to  law.' 

"5.  Ruine.  Such  was  the  success  of  this  worthy  lord's 
severity,  that  he  made  a  thorough  reformation  among  them  ; 
and  the  ring-leaders  being  destroyed,  the  rest  are  reduced  to 
legal  obedience,  and  so,  I  trust,  will  continue." — Fuller's 
Worthies  of  England,  p.  216. 

The  last  public  mention  of  moss-troopers  occurs  during  the 
civil  ware  of  the  17th  century,  when  many  ordinances  of 
Parliament  were  directed  against  them. 


Note  O. 


tame  the  Unicorn's  pride, 

Exalt  the  Crescent  and  the  Star. 


-P.  21. 


The  arms  of  the  Kerrs  of  Cessford  were,  Vert  on  a  cheveron, 
betwixt  three  unicorns'  heads  erased  argent,  three  mullets  sa- 
ble ;  crest,  a  unicorn's  head,  erased  proper.  The  Scotts  of 
Buccleuch  bore,  Or,  on  a  bend  azure  ;  a  star  of  six  points  be- 
twixt two  crescents  of  the  first. 


Note  P. 


William  of  Deloraine. — P.  21. 

The  lands  of  Deloraine  are  joined  to  those  of  Buccleuch  in 
Ettrick  Forest.  They  were  immemorially  possessed  by  the 
Buccleuch  family,  under  the  strong  title  of  occupancy,  al- 
though no  charter  was  obtained  from  the  crown  until  1545 
Like  other  possessions,  the  lands  of  Deloraine  were  occasionallj 
granted  by  them  to  vassals,  or  kinsmen,  for  Border  service 
Satchells  mentions,  among  the  twenty-four  gentlemen-pension- 
ers of  the  family,  "  William  Scott,  commonly  called  Cut-at 
thr-Black,  who  had  the  lands  of  Nether  Deloraine  for  his  ser- 
vice." And  again,  "  This  William  of  Deloraine,  commonly 
called  Cut-at-the-Black,  was  a  brother  of  the  ancient  house  of 
Haining,  whiih  house  of  Haining  is  descended  from  the  an- 
cient house  of  Hassendean."  The  lands  of  Deloraine  now 
give  an  earl's  title  to  the  descendant  of  Henry,  the  second  sur- 
viving son  of  the  Duchess  of  Buccleuch  and  Monmouth.  I 
have  endeavored  to  give  William  of  Deloraine  the  attributes 
which  characterized  the  Borderers  of  his  day  ;  for  which  I 
can  oniy  piead  Froissart's  apology,  that,  "  it  behoveth,  in  a 
lynage,  some  to  be  folyshe  and  outrageous,  to  maynteyne  and 
sustayne  the  peasable."  As  a  contrast  to  my  Marchman,  I 
beg  leave  to  transcribe,  from  the  same  author,  the  speech  of 
Amergot  Marcell.  a  captain  of  the  Adventurous  Companions 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


5S 


k  robber,  and  a  pillager  of  the  country  of  Auvergene,  who  had 
been  bribed  to  sell  his  strongholds,  and  to  assume  a  more  hon- 
orable military  life  under  the  banners  of  the  Earl  of  Arrnagnac. 
But  "  when  he  remembered  alle  this,  he  was  sorrowful ;  his 
tresour  lie  thought  lie  wolde  not  mynysshe ;  he  wonte  dayly 
to  serche  for  newe  pyllages,  wherebye  encresed  his  profyte,  and 
then  he  sawe  that  alle  was  closed  fro'  hym.  Then  he  sayde 
and  imagyned,  that  to  pyll  and  to  robbe  (all  things  considered) 
was  a  good  lyfe,  and  so  repented  hym  of  his  good  doing.  On  a 
time,  he  said  to  his  old  companyons, '  Sirs,  there  is  no  sporte  nor 
glory  in  this  worlde  amonge  men  .)f  warre,  but  to  use  snche 
iyfe  its  we  have  done  in  tyme  paa.  What  a  joy  was  it  to  us 
when  we  rode  forth  at  adventure,  and  somtyme  found  by  the  way 
a  rich  priour  or  merchaunt,  or  ?  route  of  mulettes  of  Mount- 
pellyer.  of  Narbonne,  of  Lymcn*., ' <  t  J  ongans,  of  Besyers,  of  Tholous, 
or  of  Carcasonne,  laden  V/ith  oJjth  of  Brussels,  or  peltre  ware 
pomynge  fro  the  favres,  o/  '.a^en  with  spycery  fro  Burges,  fro 
Damas,  or  fro  Alysaundrc ;  whatsoever  we  met,  all  was  ours,  fu- 
els ransoutned  at  our  pleasures  ;  dayly  we  gate  new  money,  and 
the  vyjlaynes  of  Auvergni';  and  jf  Lymosyn  dayly  provyded  and 
brought  to  our  castell  whete.  ruele,  good  wynes,  beffes,  and  fatte 
mo; tons,  puilayne,  and  wjdJe  foule  :  We  were  ever  furnyslied  as 
tho  we  had  been  kings.  Wnen  we  rode  for!  he.  all  the  countery 
tn  mbled  for  feare  :  all  w*s  ours  goyng  and  comynge.  How  tok 
we  Carlast,  I  and  the  bourge  of  Compayne,  and  1  and  Perot  of 
Bernoys  took  Caluset ,  how  dyd  we  scale,  with  lytell  ayde,  the 
strong  castell  of  Ma*  quell,  pertaymng  to  the  Erl  Dolphyn :  I  kept 
it  nat  past  fyve  days,  but  I  received  for  it.  on  a  fey  re  table,  fyve 
thousande  frank'.s,  and  forgave  one  thousands  for  the  love  of  the 
Erl  Dolphin's  cnildren.  By  my  fayth,  this  was  a  fayre  and  a  good 
iyfe  !  wbere<jre  1  repute  myselfe  sore  deceyved,  in  that  I  have 
rendered  up  the  for',re3s  of  Aloys;  for  it  wolde  have  kept  fro 
all  the  deride,  an',  the  daye  that  I  gave  it  up,  it  was  fournyshed 
with  vyfiylles,  V,  have  been  kept  seven  ye  re  without  any  re- 
vyfivl'inge.  T'.ir  Erl  of  Armynake  hath  deceived  me:  Oiyve 
Barbe.  and  Pr  ret  >e  Bernoys,  showed  to  me  how  I  shulde  repente 
myselfe  :  c  ,rt  ..yne  I  sore  repente  myselfe  of  what  I  have  done.'  " 
•-Froi?',ap/,  vol.  ii.  p.  195. 


NOTE  Q. 

By  wily  turns,  by  desperate  bounds, 
Had  batUed  Percy's  best  blood-hounds.- 


-P.  21. 


The  kings  and  heroes  of  Scotland,  as  well  as  the  Border- 
riders,  were  sometimes  obliged  to  study  how  to  evade  the  pur- 
suit of  blood-hounds.  Barbour  informs  us,  that  Robert  Bruce 
was  repeatedly  tracked  by  sleuth-dogs.  On  one  occasion,  he 
escaped  by  wading  a  bow-shot  down  a  brook,  and  ascending 
into  a  tree  by  a  branch  which  overhung  the  water  ;  thus,  leav- 
ing no  trace  on  land  of  his  footsteps,  he  balfled  the  scent.  The 
jjusnere  came  up : 

ftycht  to  the  burn  thai  passyt  ware, 
Bot  the  sleuth-hund  made  stinting  thar, 
And  waueryt  lang  tyme  ta  and  fra, 
That  he  na  certain  gate  couth  ga  ; 
Till  at  the  last  that  John  of  Lome 
Perseuvit  the  hund  the  sleuth  had  lorne." 

The  Bruce,  Book  rift 

A  sure  way  of  stopping  the  dog  was  to  spill  blood  upon  the 
bock,  which  destroyed  the  discriminating  fineness  of  his  scent. 
A  captive  was  sometimes  sacrificed  on  such  occasions.  Henry 
the  Minstrel  tells  a  romantic  story  of  Wallace,  founded  on  this 
circumstance  : — The  hero's  little  band  had  been  joined  by  an 
Irishman,  named  Fawdoun,  or  Fadzean,  a  dark,  savage,  and 
suspicious  character.  After  a  sharp  skirmish  at  Black-Erne 
Side,  Wallace  was  forced  to  retreat  with  only  sixteen  follow- 
ers. The  English  pursued  with  a  Border  sleuth-bratch,  or 
olood-hound. 


"  In  Gelderland  there  was  that  bratchet  bred, 
Siker  of  scent,  to  follow  them  that  fled  ; 
So  was  he  used  in  Eske  and  Liddesdail, 
While  (i.  e.  till)  she  gat  blood  no  fleeing  might  avail  " 

In  the  retreat,  Fawdoun,  tired,  or  affecting  to  be  so,  would  go  no 
farther.  Wallace,  having  in  vain  argued  with  him.  in  hasty  anger, 
struck  off  his  head,  and  continued  the  retreat.  When  the  English 
came  up,  their  hound  stayed  upon  the  dead  body  :  — 

"The  sleuth  stopped  at  Fawdon,  still  she  stood. 
No  farther  would  fra  time  she  fund  the  blood." 

The  story  concludes  with  a  fine  Gotnic  scene  of  terror.  Wallace 
took  refuge  in  the  solitary  tower  of  G;is-k.  Here  he  was  disturbed 
at  midnight  by  the  blast  of  a  horn.  He  sent  out  his  attendants  by 
two  and  two.  but  no  one  returned  with  tidings.  At  lensth,  when 
he  was  left  alone,  the  sound  was  heard  still  louder.  The  cham- 
pion descended,  sword  in  hand  ;  and,  at  the  gate  of  the  tower,  was 
encountered  by  the  headless  spectre  of  Fawdoun,  whom  he  had 
slain  so  rashly.  Wallace,  in  great  terror,  fled  up  into  the  tower, 
tore  open  the  boards  of  a  window,  leapt  down  fifteen  feet  in  height, 
and  continued  his  flight  up  the  river.  Looking  back  to  Gask,  he 
discovered  the  tower  on  fire,  and  the  form  of  Fawdoun  upon  the 
battlements,  dilated  to  an  immense  size,  and  holding  in  his  hand  « 
blazing  rafter.    The  Minstrel  concludes, 

"  Trust  ryght  wele,  that  all  this  be  sooth  indeed. 
Supposing  it  to  be  no  point  of  the  creed." 

The  Wallace,  Book  v. 

Mr.  Ellis  has  extracted  this  tale  as  a  sample  of  Henry's  poetry. 
Specimens  of  English  Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  351. 


Note  R. 


the  Moat-hill's  mound. 


Where  Druid  shades  still  flitted  round— P.  22. 

This  is  a  round  artificial  mount  near  Hawick,  which,  from  its 
name  (J^Ptfjt.  Anq.  Sax.  Concilium.  Convmtus).  was  probably 
anciently  used  as  a  place  for  assembling  a  national  council  of  the 
adjacent  tribes.  There  are  many  such  mounds  in  Scotland,  and 
they  are  sometimes,  but  rarely,  of  a  square  form. 


Note  S. 

the  tower  of  Hazeldean. — P.  22. 

The  estate  of  Hazeldean,  corruptly  Hassendean,  belonged 
formerly  to  a  family  of  Scotts,  thus  commemorated  by  Satch- 
ells  :— 

"  Hassendean  came  without  a  call, 
The  ancientest  house  among  them  all." 


Note  T. 


On  Minto-crags  the  moonbeams  glint. — P.  22. 
A  romantic  assemblage  of  cliffs,  which  rise  suddenly  above 
the  vale  of  Teviot,  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  family-seat, 
from  which  Lord  Minto  takes  his  title.  A  small  platform,  on 
a  projecting  crag,  commanding  a  most  beautiful  prospect,  is 
termed  BarnAUls1  Bed.  This  Barnhills  is  said  to  have  been  a 
robber,  or  outlaw.  There  are  remains  of  a  strong  tower  be- 
neath the  rocks,  where  he  is  supposed  to  have  dwelt,  and  from 
which  he  derived  his  name.  On  the  summit  of  the  crags  are 
the  fragments  of  another  ancient  tower,  in  a  picturesaue  situa- 


60 


{SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


tion.  Among  the  houses  cast  down  by  the  Earl  of  Hartford^ 
in  J  545,  occur  the  towers  of  Easter  Barnhills,  and  of  Minto- 
crag,  wirli  Minto  town  and  place.  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot,  father  to 
the  present  Lord  Minto,1  was  the  author  of  a  beautiful  pasto- 
ral song,  of  which  the  following  is  a  more  correct  copy  than  is 
usually  published.  The  poetical  mantle  of  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot 
has  descended  to  his  family. 

"  My  sheep  1  neglected,  I  broke  my  sheep-hook, 
And  all  the  gay  haunts  of  my  youth  I  forsook: 
No  more  for  Amynta  fresh  garlands  I  wove : 
Ambition,  I  said,  would  soon  cure  me  of  love. 
But  what  had  my  youth  with  ambition  to  do ! 
Why  left  I  Amynta  !  why  broke  I  my  vow  ! 

"  Through  regions  remote  in  vain  do  I  rove, 
And  bid  the  wide  world  secure  me  from  love. 
Ah,  fool,  to  imagine,  that  aught  could  subdue 
A  love  so  well  founded,  a  passion  so  true  ! 
Ah,  give  me  my  sheep,  and  my  sheep-hook  restore ! 
And  I'll  wander  from  love  and  Amynta  no  more  ! 

M  Alas  !   'tis  too  late  at  thy  fate  to  repine  ! 
Poor  shepherd,  Ainynta,  no  more  can  be  thine  ! 
Thy  tears  are  all  fruitless,  thy  wishes  are  vain, 
The  moments  neglected  return  not  again. 
Ah  !   what  had  my  youth  with  ambition  to  do  ! 
Why  left  I  Amynta!  why  broke  I  my  vow  !" 


Note  U. 


-P.  22. 


Ancient  RiddclV s  fair  domain, 

The  family  of  Riddel!  have  been  very  long  in  possession  of 
the  barony  called  Riddell,  or  Ryedale,  part  of  which  still  bears 
the  latter  name.  Tradition  carries  their  antiquity  to  a  point 
extremely  remote  ;  and  is,  in  some  degree,  sanctioned  by  the 
discovery  of  two  stone  coffins,  one  containing  an  earthen  pot 
filled  with  ashes  and  arms,  bearing  a  legible  date,  A.  D.  727; 
the  other  dated  i)3G,  and  filled  with  the  bones  of  a  man  of  gi- 
gantic size.  These  coffins  were  discovered  in  the  foundations 
of  what  was,  but  has  long  ceased  to  be,  the  chapel  of  Riddell ; 
and  as  it  was  argued  with  plausibility,  that  they  contained  the 
remains  of  some  ancestors  of  the  family,  they  were  deposited 
in  the  modern  place  of  sepulture,  comparatively  so  termed, 
though  built  in  1 1 10.  But  the  following  curious  and  authen- 
tic documents  warrant  most  conclusively  the  epithet,  of  "an- 
cient Riddell :"  1st,  A  charter  by  David  I.  to  Walter  Rydale, 
Sheriff  of  Roxburgh,  confirming  all  the  estates  of  Liliesclive, 
&c,  of  which  his  father,  Gervasius  de  Rydale,  died  possessed. 
2dly,  A  bull  of  Pope  Adrian  IV.,  confirming  the  will  of  Wal- 
ter de  Ridale,  knight,  in  favor  of  his  brother  Anschittil  de  Ri- 
dale,  dated  8th  April,  1155.  3dly,  A  bull  of  Pope  Alexan- 
der III.,  confirming  the  said  will  of  Walter  de  Ridale,  be- 
queathing to  his  brother  Anschittil  the  lands  of  Liliesclive, 
Whettunes,  &c,  and  ratifying  the  bargain  betwixt  Anschittil 
and  Huctredus,  concerning  the  church  of  Liliesclive,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  mediation  of  Malcolm  II.,  and  confirmed  by  a 
ebv.r'er  from  that  monarch.  This  bull  is  dated  17th  June,  1160. 
4tMy.  A  bull  of  the  same  Pope,  confirming  the  will  of  Sir 
Ansc.iittil  de  Ridale,  in  favor  of  his  son  Walter,  conveying  the 
3aid  lands  of  Liliesclive  and  others,  dated  10th  March,  1120. 
It  is  remarkable,  that  Liliesclive,  otherwise  Rydale,  or  Riddell, 
and  the  Whittunes,  have  descended,  through  a  long  train  of 
ancestors,  without  ever  passing  into  a  collateral  line,  to  the 
person  of  Sir  John  Buchanan  Riddell,  Bart,  of  Riddell,  the 
lineal  descendant  and  representative  of  Sir  Anschittil. — These 
circumstances  appeared  worthy  of  notice  in  a  Border  work.a 


1  Grandfather  to  the  present  Earl.    1819. 

1  Since  the  above  note  was  written,  the  ancient  family  of  Riddell  have 
parted  with  all  their  Scotch  estates.— Ed. 


Note  V. 

But  when  Melrose  he  reached  'twas  silence  all ; 

He  meetly  stabled  his  steed  in  stall, 

And  sought  the  convent's  lonely  wall. — P.  22. 

The  ancient  and  beautiful  monastery  of  Melrose  was  founded 
by  King  David  I.  Its  ruins  afi'ord  the  iinest  specimen  of  Gothic 
architecture  and  Gothic  sculpture  which  Scotland  can  boast. 
The  stone  of  which  it  is  built,  though  it  has  resisted  the  weathei 
for  so  many  ages,  retains  perfect  sharpness,  so  that  even  the 
most  minute  ornaments  seem  as  entire  as  when  newly  wrought. 
In  some  of  the  cloisters,  as  is  hinted  in  the  next  Canto,  there 
are  representations  of  flowers,  vegetables,  &c,  carved  in  stone, 
with  accuracy  and  precision  so  delicate,  that  we  almost  distrust 
our  senses,  when  we  consider  the  difficulty  of  subjecting  so 
hard  a  substance  to  such  intricate  and  exquisite  modulation. 
This  superb  convent  was  dedicated  to  St.  Mary,  and  the  monks 
were  of  the  Cistertian  order.  At  the  time  of  the  Reformation, 
they  shared  the  general  reproach  of  sensuality  and  irregularity, 
thrown  upon  the  Roman  churchmen.  The  old  words  of  Gala- 
shids,  a  favorite  Scotch  air,  rau  thus  : — 

O  the  monks  of  Melrose  made  gude  kale,3 

On  Fridays  when  they  fasted. 
They  wanted  neither  beef  nor  ale, 

As  long  as  their  neighbors'  lasted 


Note  W. 


When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 

Seem  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory  ; 

When  silver  edges  the  imagery, 

And  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  live  and  die. 

•  ••»•• 

Then  view  St.  David's  ruin'd  pile. — P.  23. 

The  buttresses  ranged  along  the  sides  of  the  ruins  of  Melrose 
Abbey,  are,  according  to  the  Gothic  style,  richly  carved  and 
fretted,  containing  niches  for  the  statues  of  saints,  and  labelled 
with  scrolls,  bearing  appropriate  texts  of  Scripture.  Most  of 
these  statues  have  been  demolished. 

David  I.  of  Scotland  purchased  the  reputation  of  sanctity, 
by  founding,  and  liberally  endowing,  not  only  the  monastery 
of  Melrose,  but  those  of  Kelso,  Jedburgh,  and  many  others ; 
which  led  to  the  well-known  observation  of  his  successor,  that 
he  was  a  sore  saint  for  the  crown. 


Note  X. 

For  ?nass  or  prayer  can  I  rarely  tarry, 

Save  to  patter  an  Ave  Mary, 

When  I  ride  on  a  Border  foray. — P.  24. 

The  Borderers  were,  as  may  be  supposed,  very  ignoran  about 
religious  matters.  Colville,  in  his  Paranesis,  or  Admonition, 
states,  that  the  reformed  divines  were  so  far  from  undertaking 
distant  journeys  to  convert  the  Heathen,  "as  I  wold  wis  at 
God  that  ye  wold  only  go  hot  to  the  Hielands  and  Borders  ol 
our  own  realm,  to  gain  our  pwin  countreymen,  who,  for  lack 
of  preching  and  ministration  of  the  sacraments,  must,  with  tyme, 
becum  either  infidells,  or  atheists."  But  we  learn,  from  Les- 
ley, that,  however  deficient  -n  real  religion,  they  regularly  toiJ 
their  beads,  and  never  with  more  zeal  than  when  going  on  a 
plundering  expedition. 


3  Kale,  Brotk. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


61 


Note  Y. 

So  had  he  seen,  in  fair  Castile, 

The  youth  in  glittering  squadrons  start ; 

Sudden  the  flying  jennet  wheel, 
And  hurl  the  unexpected  dart. — P.  24. 

4'By  my  faith,"  sayd  the  Duke  of  Lancaster  (to  a  Portu- 
guese squire),  "  of  all  the  feates  of  armes  that  the  Castellyans, 
and  they  of  your  countrey  doth  use,  the  castynge  of  their  dertes 
best  pleaseth  me,  and  gladly  I  wolde  se  it :  for,  as  I  hear  say, 
if  they  strike  one  aryghte,  without  he  be  well  armed,  the  dart 
will  pierce  him  thrughe." — "By  my  fayth,  sir,"  sayd  the 
squyer,  "  ye  say  trouth  ;  for  I  have  seen  many  a  grete  stroke 
given  with  them,  which  at  one  time  cost  us  derely,  and  was 
to  us  great  displeasure  ;  for,  at  the  said  skyrmishe,  Sir  John 
Lawrence  of  Coygne  was  striken  with  a  dart  in  such  wise,  that 
the  head  perced  all  the  plates  of  his  cote  of  mayle,  and  a  sacke 
stopped  with  sylke,  and  passed  thrughe  his  body,  so  that  he 
fell  down  dead." — Froissart,  vol.  ii.  ch.  44. — This  mode  of 
fighting  with  darts  was  imitated  in  the  military  game  called 
Jcugo  de  las  canas,  which  the  Spaniards  borrowed  from  their 
Moorish  invaders.  A  Saracen  champion  is  thus  described  by 
Froissart :  "  Among  the  Sarazyns,  there  was  a  yonge  knight 
called  Agadinger  Dolyferne  ;  he  was  always  wel  mounted  on 
a  redy  and  a  lyght  horse ;  it  seemed,  when  the  horse  ranne, 
that  he  did  fly  in  the  ayre.  The  knighte  seemed  to  be  a  good 
man  of  armes  by  his  dedes ;  he  bare  always  of  usage  three 
fethered  dartes,  and  rychte  well  he  could  handle  them  ;  and, 
according  to  their  custome,  he  was  clene  armed,  with  a  long 
white  towell  about  his  head.  His  apparell  was  blacke,  and 
his  own  colour  browne,  and  a  good  horseman.  The  Crysten 
men  say,  they  thoughte  lie  dyd  such  deeds  of  armes  for  the 
love  of  some  yonge  ladye  of  his  countrey.  And  true  it  was, 
that  he  loved  entirely  the  King  of  Thune's  daughter,  named 
the  Lady  Azala  ;  she  was  inherytor  to  the  realme  of  Thune,  j 
after  the  discease  of  the  kyng,  her  father.  This  Agadinger 
was  sone  to  the  Duke  of  Olyferne.  I  can  nat  telle  if  they  were 
manned  together  after  or  nat  ;  but  it  was  shewed  me,  that 
this  knvght,  for  love  of  the  sayd  ladye,  during  the  siege,  did 
many  feates  of  armes.  The  knyghtes  of  France  wold  fayne 
have  taken  hym  ;  but  they  colde  never  attrape  nor  inclose 
him  ;  Ins  horse  was  so  swyft,  and  so  redy  to  his  hand,  that 
alwaies  he  escaped." — Vol.  ii.  ch.  71. 


conflict  is  well  known:  Percy  was  made  prisoner,  and  the 
Scots  won  the  day,  dearly  purchased  by  the  death  of  their  gal- 
lant general,  the  Earl  of  Douglas,  who  was  slain  in  the  action. 
He  was  buried  at  Melrose,  beneath  the  high  altar.  "  Hi* 
obsequye  was  done  reverently,  and  on  his  bodye  layde  a  tombe 
of  stone,  and  his  baner  hangyng  over  hym." — Froissart, 
vol.  ii.  p.  155 


Note  2  A. 


Note  Z. 


And  there  the  dying  lamps  did  burn, 

Before  thy  low  and  lonely  urn, 

O  gallant  Chief  of  Otterburne  /—P.  24. 

The  famous  and  desperate  battle  of  Otterburne  was  fought 
15th  August,  1388,  betwixt  Henry  Percy,  called  Hotspur,  and 
James,  Earl  of  Douglas.  Both  these  renowned  champions  were 
at  the  head  of  a  chosen  body  of  troops,  and  they  were  rivals 
in  military  lame ;  so  that  Froissart  affirms,  "  Of  all  the  bat- 
tayles  and  encounteryngs  that  1  have  made  mencion  of  here 
before  in  all  this  hystory,  great  or  smalle,  this  battayle  that 
I  treat  of  nowe  was  one  of  the  sorest  and  best  foughten,  with- 
out cowardes  or  faynte  hertes  :  for  there  was  neyther  knyghte 
ttor  squyer  but  that  dyde  his  devoyre,  and  foughte  hande  to 
hande.  This  batayle  was  lyke  the  batayle  of  Becherell,  the 
which  was  valiauntly  fought  and  endured."     The  issue  of  the 

1  The  e  is  something  affecting  in  the  manner  in  which  the  old  Prior  of 
Lochlev  :n  turns  from  describing  the  death  of  the  gallant  Ramsay,  to  the 
general  sorrow  which  it  excited  : —  « 

"  To  tell  you  there  of  the  manere, 
It  is  bot  sorrow  for  til  here  ; 
He  wes  the  grettast  menyd  man 
That  ony  cowth  have  thowcht  of  than, 
Of  his  state,  or  of  mare  be  fare  : 
All  menyt  him,  bath  bettyr  and  war ; 


Dark  Knight  of  Liddesdale.—?.  24. 

William  Douglas,  called  the  Knight  of  Liddesdale,  flour- 
ished during  the  reign  of  David  II.,  and  was  so  distinguished 
by  his  valor,  that  he  was  called  the  Flower  of  Chivalry. 
Nevertheless,  he  tarnished  his  renown  by  the  cruel  murder  of 
Sir  Alexander  Ramsay  of  Dalhousie,  originally  his  friend  and 
brother  in  arms.  The  King  had  conferred  upon  Ramsay  the 
sheriffdom  of  Teviotdale,  to  which  Douglas  pretended  some 
claim.  In  revenge  of  this  preference,  the  Knight  of  Liddes- 
dale came  down  upon  Ramsay,  while  he  was  administering 
justice  at  Hawick,  seized  and  carried  him  off  to  his  remote 
and  inaccessible  castle  of  Hermitage,  where  he  threw  his  un- 
fortunate prisoner,  horse  and  man,  into  a  dungeon,  and  left 
him  to  perish  of  hunger.  It  is  said,  the  miserable  captive  pro- 
longed his  existence  for  several  days  by  the  corn  which  fell 
from  a  granary  above  the  vault  in  which  he  was  confined. ' 
So  weak  was  the  royal  authority,  that  David,  although  highly 
incensed  at  this  atrocious  murder,  found  himself  obliged  to 
appoint  the  Knight  of  Liddesdale  successor  to  his  victim,  as 
Sheriff  of  Teviotdale.  But  he  was  soon  after  slain,  while  hunt- 
ing in  Ettriek  Forest,  by  his  own  godson  and  chieftain,  Wil- 
liam, Earl  of  Douglas,  in  revenge,  according  to  some  authors 
of  Ramsay's  murder ;  although  a  popular  tradition,  preserved 
in  a  hallad  quoted  by  Godscroft,  and  some  parts  of  which  are 
still  preserved,  ascribes  the  resentment  of  the  Earl  to  jealousy. 
The  place  where  the  Knight  of  Liddesdale  was  killed  is  called, 
from  his  name,  William-Cross,  upon  the  ridge  of  a  hill  called 
William-hope,  betwixt  Tweed  and  Yarrow.  His  body,  ac- 
cording to  Godscroft,  was  carried  to  Lindean  church  the  first 
night  after  his  death,  and  thence  to  Melrose,  where  he  was 
interred  with  great  pomp,  and  where  his  tomb  is  still  shown. 


Note  2  B. 


The  moon  on  the  east  oriel  shone. — P.  24. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  more  beautiful  specimen  of  the 
lightness  and  elegance  of  Gothic  architecture,  when  in  its 
purity,  than  the  eastern  window  of  Melrose  Abhey.  Sir  James 
Hall  of  Dunglas,  Bart.,  has,  with  great  ingenuity  and  plausi- 
bility, traced  the  Gothic  order  through  its  various  forms  and 
seemingly  eccentric  ornaments,  to  an  architectural  imitation  of 
wicker  work  ;  of  which,  as  we  learn  from  some  of  the  legenla, 
the  earliest  Christian  churches  were  constructed.  ,  In  such  an 
edifice,  the  original  of  the  clustered  pillars  is  traced  to  a  set  of 
round  posts,  begirt  with  slender  rods  of  willow,  whose  loose 
summits  were  brought  to  meet  from  all  quarters,  and  bound 
together  artificially,  so  as  to  produce  the  frame-work  of  the 
roof :  and  the  tracery  of  our  Gothic  windows  is  displayed  in  tha 

The  ryche  and  pure  him  menyde  bath, 
For  of  his  dede  wes  mekil  skath." 

Some  years  ago,  a  person  digging  for  stones,  about  the  old  castle  of 
Hermitage,  broke  into  a  vault,  containing  a  quantity  of  chaff,  some  bones, 
and  pieces  of  iron  ;  amongst  others,  the  curb  of  an  ancient  bridle  which  the 
author  has  since  given  to  the  E;irl  ■■•  Dalhousie,  under  the  impression  thai 
it  possibly  may  be  a  relic  of  his  brave  ancestor.  The  worthy  clergyman  d 
the  parish  has  mentioned  this  discovery  in  his  Statistical  Account  ot 
Castletown. 


52 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


meeting  and  interlacing  of  rods  and  hoops,  affording  an  inex- 
haustible variety  of  beautiful  forms  of  open  work.  This  inge- 
nious system  is  alluded  to  in  the  romance.  Sir  Jamas  Hall's 
Essay  on  Gothic  Architecture  is  published  in  The  Edinburgh 
Philosophical  Transactions. 


Note  2  C. 


— Thi  wondrous  Michael  Scott. — P.  24. 

«3.r  Michael  Scott  of  Balwearie  flourished  during  the  13th 
leniury,  and  was  one  of  the  ambassadors  sent  to  bring  the 
Maid  of  Norway  to  Scotland  upon  the  death  of  Alexander  III. 
By  a  poetical  anachronism,  he  is  here  placed  in  a  later  era. 
He  was  a  man  of  much  learning,  chiefly  acquired  in  foreign 
countries.  He  wrote  a  commentary  upon  Aristotle,  printed  at 
Venice  in  1496  ;  wid  several  treatises  upor.  natural  philosophy, 
from  which  he  appears  to  have  been  addicted  to  the  abstruse 
studies  of  judicial  astrology,  alchymy,  physiognomy,  and  chi- 
romancy. Hence  he  passed  among  his  contemporaries  for  a 
skilful  magician.  Dempster  informs  us,  that  he  remembers  to 
have  heard  in  his  youth,  that  the  magic  books  of  Michael 
Scott  were  still  in  existence,  but  could  not  be  opened  without 
danger,  on  account  of  the  malignant  fiends  who  were  thereby 
invoked.  Dempsteri  Historia  Ecclesiastica,  1627,  lib.  xii. 
p.  495.  Lesly  characterizes  Michael  Scott  as  "  singularie 
•philosophic,  astronomic,  ac  medicines,  laude  prestans  ;  dice- 
batur  penitissimos  magic  recessus  indagdsse."  Dante  also 
mentions  him  as  a  renowned  wizard  : — 

"  Quell  altro  che  ne'  fianchi  e  cosi  poco, 
Michele  Scotto  fu,  che  veramente 
Delle  magiche  frode  seppe  il  giuoco." 

Inferno,  Canto  xxmo. 

A  personage,  thus  spoken  of  by  biographers  and  historians, 
loses  little  of  his  mystical  fame  in  vulgar  tradition.  Accord- 
ingly, the  memory  of  Sir  Michael  Scott  survives  in  many  a 
legend  ;  and  in  the  south  of  Scotland,  any  work  of  great  labor 
and  antiquity  is  ascribed,  either  to  the  agency  of  Auld  Michael, 
of  Sir  William  Wallace,  or  of  the  devil.  Tradition  varies  con- 
cerning the  place  of  his  burial  ;  some  contend  for  Home  Col- 
trame,  in  Cumberland  ;  others  for  Melrose  Abbey.  But  all 
agree,  that  his  books  of  magic  were  interred  in  his  grave,  or 
preserved  in  the  convent  where  he  died.  Satchells,  wishing  to 
give  some  authority  for  his  account,  of  the  origin  of  the  name 
of  Scott,  pretends,  that,  in  1629,  he  chanced  to  be  at  Burgh 
under  Bowness,  in  Cumberland,  where  a  person,  named  Lance- 
lot Scott,  showed  him  an  extract  from  Michael  Scott's  works, 
tout  lining  that  story  : — 

"  He  said  the  book  which  he  gave  me 
Was  of  Sir  Michael  Scott's  historie  ; 
Which  history  was  never  yet  read  through, 
Nor  never  will,  for  no  man  dare  it  do. 
Young  scholars  have  pick'd  out  something 
From  the  contents,  that  dare  not  read  within. 
He  carried  me  along  the  castle  then, 
And  shew'd  his  written  book  hanging  on  an  iron  pin. 
His  writing  pen  did  seem  to  me  to  be 
Of  hardened  metal,  like  steel,  or  accumie  ; 
The  volume  of  it  did  seem  so  large  to  me, 
As  the  Book  of  Martyrs  and  Turks  historie. 
Then  in  the  church  he  let  me  see 
A  stone  where  Mr.  Michael  Scott  did  lie  ; 
I  asked  at  him  how  that  could  appear, 
Mr.  Michael  had  been  dead  above  five  hundred  year  ? 
He  shew'd  me  none  durst  bury  under  that  stone, 
More  than  he  had  been  dead  a  few  years  agone ; 
For  Mi.  Michael's  name  does  terrifie  each  one." 

History  if  the  Right  Honorable  Name  of  Scott 


Note  2  D. 

Salamanca's  cave. — P.  23. 

Spain,  from  the  relics,  doubtless,  of  Arabian  learning  am 
superstition,  was  accounted  a  favorite  residence  of  magicians. 
Pope  Sylvester,  who  actually  imported  from  Spain  the  uue  of 
the  Arabian  numerals,  was  supposed  to  have  learned  there 
the  magic,  for  which  he  was  stigmatized  by  the  ignorance  of 
his  age. — William  of  Malmsbury,  lib.  ii.  cap.  10.  There 
were  public  schools,  where  magic,  or  rather  the  sciences  gup- 
posed  to  involve  its  mysteries,  were  regularly  taught,  at  Toledo, 
Seville,  and  Salamanca.  In  the  latter  city,  they  were  held  in 
a  deep  cavern  ;  the  mouth  of  which  was  walled  up  by  Q-ueen 
Isabella,  wife  of  King  Ferdinand. — D'Auton  on  Learned  In- 
credulity, p.  45.  These  Spanish  schools  of  magic  are  celebra- 
ted also  by  the  Italian  poets  of  romance  : — 

"  duesto  citta  di  Tolleto  solea 
Tenere  studio  di  negromanzia, 
Quivi  di  magica  arte  si  leggea 
Pubblicamente,  e  di  peromanzia  ; 
E  molti  geomanti  sempre  avea, 
Esperimenti  assai  d'  idromanzia 
E  d'  altre  false  opinion'  di  sciocchi 
Come  e  fatture,  o  spesso  batter  gli  occhi." 

II  Morgante  Maggiore,  Canto  xxv.  St.  259. 

The  celebrated  magician  Maugis,  cousin  to  Rinaldo  of  Mont- 
alban,  called,  by  Ariosto,  Malagigi,  studied  the  black  art  at 
Toledo,  as  we  learn  from  IS  Histoire  de  Maugis  />' Jiijgrc- 
mont.  He  even  held  a  professor's  chair  in  the  necromantic 
university ;  for  so  I  interpret  the  passage,  "  yu'on  tous  les 
sept  ars  d' enchantement,  des  charmes  et  conjurations,  il  iVy 
avoit  mcilleur  maistre  que  lui ;  et  en  tel  renom  qu'on  le  lais- 
soit  en  chaise,  et  Vappelloit  on  maistre  Maguis.,,  This 
Salamancau  Domdaniel  is  said  to  have  been  founded  by  Her- 
cules. If  the  classic  reader  inquires  where  Hercules  himself 
learned  magic,  he  may  consult  "  Les  faicts  et  processes  du 
noble  et  vuillant  Hercules, ,"  where  he  will  learn,  that  the 
fable  of  his  aiding  Atlas  to  support  the  heavens,  arose  from 
the  said  Atlas  having  taught  Hercules,  the  noble  knight-errant, 
the  seven  liberal  sciences,  and  in  particular,  that  of  judicia1 
astrology.  Such,  according  to  the  idea  of  the  mid  lie  ages, 
were  the  studies,  "  maximus  qua  docuit  Atlas." — In  a  ro- 
mantic history  of  Roderic,  the  last  Gothic  King  of  Spain,  he 
is  said  to  have  entered  one  of  those  enchanted  caverns.  It  was 
situated  beneath  an  ancient  tower  near  Toledo  ;  and  when  the 
iron  gates,  which  secured  the  entrance,  were  unfolded,  there 
rushed  forth  so  dreadful  a  whirlwind,  that  hitherto  no  one  had 
dared  to  penetrate  into  its  recesses.  But  Roderic,  threatened 
with  an  invasion  of  the  Moors,  resolved  to  enter  the  cavern, 
where  he  expected  to  find  some  prophetic  intimation  of  the 
event  of  the  war.  Accordingly,  his  train  being  furnished  with 
torches,  so  artificially  composed  that  the  tempest  could  not  ex- 
tinguish them,  the  King,  with  great  difficulty,  penetrated  into 
a  square  hall,  inscribed  all  over  with  Arabian  characters.  In 
the  midst  stood  a  colossal  statue  of  brass,  representing  a  Sara- 
cen wielding  a  Moorish  mace,  with  which  it  discharged  furious 
blows  on  all  sides,  and  seemed  thus  to  excite  the  tempest  which 
raged  around.  Being  conjured  by  Roderic,  it  ceased  from 
striking,  until  he  read,  inscribed  on  the  right  hand,  "  Wretched 
Monarch,  for  thy  evil  hast  thou  come  hither;"  on  the  left 
hand,  "  Thou  shalt  be  dispossessed  by  a  strange  people;" 
on  one  shoulder,  "Ihivoke  the  sons  of  Hagar;"  on  the  other, 
"  /  do  mine  office."  When  the  King  had  deciphered  these 
ominous  inscriptions,  the  statue  returned  to  its  exercise,  the 
tempest  commenced  anew,  and  Roderic  retired,  to  mourn  over 
the  predicted  evils  which  approached  his  throne.  He  caused 
the  gates  of  the  cavern  to  be  locked  and  barricaded  ;  but,  in 
the  course  of  the  night,  the  tower  fell  with  a  tremendous  noise, 
and  under  its  ruins  concealed  forever  the  entrance  to  the  mys- 
tic cavern.     The  conquest  of  Spain  b"f  the  Saracens,  and  th* 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LA¥   OF  THE  LAST  MlJNiSTKEL. 


63 


death  of  the  unfortunate  Don  Roderic,  fulfilled  the  prophecy 
of  the  brazen  statue.  Historia  verdadera  del  Rey  Don  Rod- 
rigo  por  el  Sabio  Jilcayde  Abulcacim,  traduzcda  de  la  lengua 
Arabiga  por  Miquel  de  Luna,  1654,  cap.  vi. 


Note  2  E. 
The  bells  would  ring  in  Notre  Dame. — P.  25. 

"  Tantamne  rem  tarn  negligenterV^  says  Tyrwhitt,  of  his 
predecessor,  Speight ;  who,  in  his  commentary  on  Chaucer, 
had  omitted,  as  trivial  and  fabulous,  the  story  of  Wade  and 
his  boat  Guingelot,  to  the  great  prejudice  of  posterity,  the 
memory  of  the  hero  and  the  boat  being  now  entirely  lost.  That 
future  antiquaries  may  lay  no  such  omission  to  my  charge,  I 
have  noted  one  or  two  of  the  most  current  traditions  concern- 
ing Michael  Scott.  He  was  chosen,  it  is  said,  to  go  upon  an 
embassy,  to  obtain  from  the  King  of  France  satisfaction  for 
certain  piracies  committed  by  his  subjects  upon  those  of  Scot- 
'and.  Instead  of  preparing  a  new  equipage  and  splendid 
retinue,  the  ambassador  retreated  to  his  study,  opened  his  book, 
and  evoked  a  fiend  in  the  shape  of  a  huge  black  horse,  mount- 
ed upon  his  back,  and  forced  him  to  fly  through  the  air  to- 
wards France.  As  they  crossed  the  sea,  the  devil  insidiously 
asked  his  rider,  What  it  was  that  the  old  women  of  Scotland 
muttered  at  bedtime  1  A  less  experienced  wizard  might  have 
answered  that  it  was  the  Pater  Noster,  which  would  have 
licensed  the  devil  to  precipitate  him  from  his  back.  But 
Michael  sternly  replied,  "  What  is  that  to  thee? — Mount, 
Diabolus,  and  fly!"  When  he  arrived  at  Paris,  he  tied  his 
horse  to  the  gate  of  the  palace,  entered,  and  boldly  delivered 
his  message.  An  ambassador,  with  so  little  of  the  pomp  and 
circumstance  of  diplomacy,  was  not  received  with  much  re- 
spect, and  the  King  was  about  to  return  a  contemptuous  refusal 
to  his  demand,  when  Michael  besought  him  to  suspend  his 
resolution  till  he  had  seen  his  horse  stamp  three  times.  The 
first  stamp  shook  every  steeple  in  Paris,  and  caused  all  the 
bells  to  ring  ;  the  second  threw  down  three  oC  the  towers  of 
the  palace  ;  and  the  infernal  steed  had  litted  his  hoof  to  give 
the  third  stamp,  when  the  King  rather  chose  to  dismiss  Michael, 
with  the  most  ample  concessions,  than  to  stand  to  the  probable 
consequences.  Another  time,  it  is  said,  that,  when  residing  at 
the  Tower  of  Oakwood,  upon  the  Ettrick,  about  three  miles 
above  Selkirk,  he  heard  of  the  fame  of  a  sorceress,  called  the 
Witch  of  Falsehope,  who  lived  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
river.  Michael  went  one  morning  to  put  her  skill  to  the  test, 
but  was  disappointed,  by  her  denying  positively  any  know- 
ledge of  the  necromantic  art.  In  his  discourse  with  her,  he 
laid  his  wand  inadvertently  on  the  table,  which  the  hag  ob- 
serving, suddenly  snatched  it  up,  and  struck  him  with  it. 
Feeling  the  force  of  the  charm,  he  rushed  out  of  the  house  ; 
6ut,  as  it  had  conferred  on  him  the  external  appearance  of  a 
hare,  his  servant,  who  waited  without,  halloo'd  upon  the  dis- 
comfited wizard  his  own  greyhounds,  and  pursued  him  so 
close,  that,  in  order  to  obtain  a  moment's  breathing  to  reverse 
the  charm,  Michael,  after  a  very  fatiguing  course,  was  fain  to 
take  refuge  in  his  own  jawholc  (Anglice,  common  sewer).  In 
order  1o  revenge  himself  of  the  witch  of  Falsehope,  Michael, 
one  morning  in  the  ensuing  harvest,  went  to  the  hill  above  the 
house  with  ha  dogs,  and  sent  down  his  servant  to  ask  a  bit  of 
bread  from  tin  goodwife  for  his  greyhounds,  with  instructions 
what  to  do  if  he  met  with  a  denial.  Accordingly,  when  the 
witch  had  refused  the  boon  with  contumely,  the  servant,  as  his 
master  had  directed,  laid  above  the  door  a  paper  which  he  had 
given  him,  containing,  amongst  many  cabalistical  words,  the 
well-known  rhyme, — 

"  Maister  Michael  Scott's  man 
Sought  meat,  and  gat  nane." 
I*  lmediatelj  the  good  old  woman,  instead  of  pursuing  her 


domestic  occupation,  which  was  baking  bread  for  the  reap- 
ers, began  to  dance  round  the  fire,  repeating  the  rhyme,  and 
continued  this  exercise  till  her  husband  sent  the  reapers  to 
the  house,  one  after  another,  to  sec  what  had  delayed  their 
provision ;  but  the  charm  caught  each  as  they  entered,  and 
losing  all  idea  of  returning,  they  joined  in  the  dance  ana 
chorus.  At  length  the  old  man  himself  went  to  the  house; 
but  as  his  wife's  frolic  with  Mr.  Michael,  whom  he  had  se«n 
on  the  hill,  made  him  a  little  cautious,  he  contented  himself 
with  looking  in  at  the  window,  and  saw  the  reapers  at  'heir 
involuntary  exercise,  dragging  his  wife,  now  completely  ex- 
hausted, sometimes  round,  and  sometimes  through,  the  fire, 
which  was,  as  usual,  in  the  midst  of  the  house.  Instead  o. 
entering,  he  saddled  a  horse,  and  rode  up  the  hill,  to  humble 
himself  before  Michael,  and  beg  a  cessation  of  the  spell  ; 
which  the  good-natured  warlock  immediately  granted,  direct 
ing  him  to  enter  the  house  backwards,  and,  with  his  left  hand, 
take  the  spell  from  above  the  door ;  which  accordingly  ended 
the  supernatural  dance. — This  tale  was  told  less  particularly 
in  former  editions,  and  I  have  been  censured  for  inaccuracy 
in  doing  so. — A  similar  charm  occurs  in  Huon  de  Bourdeaux, 
and  in  the  ingenious  Oriental  tale,  called  the  Caliph  Vathck. 

Notwithstanding  his  victory  over  the  witch  of  Falsehope, 
Michael  Scott,  like  his  predecessor,  Merlin,  fell  at  last  a  vie 
tim  to  female  art.  His  wife,  or  concubine,  elicited  from  him 
the  secret,  that  his  art  could  ward  oft"  any  danger  except  the 
poisonous  qualities  of  broth,  made  of  the  flesh  of  a  breme  sow 
Such  a  mess  she  accordingly  administered  to  the  wizard,  who 
died  in  consequence  of  eating  it ;  surviving,  however,  long 
enough  to  put  to  death  his  treacherous  confidant 


Note  2  F. 


The  words  that  cleft  Eildon  hills  in  three. — P.  25. 
Michael  Scott  was,  once  upon  a  time,  much  embarrassed 
by  a  spirit,  for  whom  lie  was  under  the  necessity  of  finding 
constant  employment.  He  commanded  him  to  build  a  cauld, 
or  dam-head,  across  the  Tweed  at  Kelso  ;  it  was  accomplished 
in  one  night,  and  ^til!  does  honor  to  the  infernal  architect. 
Michael  next  ordered  that  Eildon  hill,  which  was  then  a  uni- 
form cone,  should  be  divided  into  three.  Another  night  was 
sufficient  to  part  its  summit  into  the  three  picturesque  peaks 
which  it  now  bears.  At  length  the  enchanter  conquered  this 
indefatigable  demon,  by  employing  him  in  the  hopeless  and 
endless  task  of  making  ropes  out  of  sea-sand. 


Note  2  G. 


That  lamp  shall  burn  uvquenchabhj. 
Until  the  eternal  doom  shall  be. — P.  25. 
Baptista  Porta,  and  other  authors  who  treat  of  natural 
magic,  talk  much  of  eternal  lamps,  pretended  to  have  been 
found  burning  in  ancient  sepulchres.  Fortunins  Licetus  in- 
vestigates the  subject  in  a  treatise,  De  Luccrnis  .Intiqiiorum 
Rrconditis,  published  at  Venice,  1621.  One  of  these  perpet- 
ual lamps  is  said  to  have  been  discovered  in  the  tomb  of  Tul- 
liola,  the  daughter  of  Cicero.  The  wick  was  supposed  to  be 
composed  of  asbestos.  Kircher  enumerates  three  different 
recipes  for  constructing  such  lamps  ;  and  wisely  concludes, 
that  the  thing  is  nevertheless  impossible. — Jllundtts  Siibter- 
rannevs,  p.  72.  Delrio  imputes  the  fabrication  of  such  lights 
to  magical  skill. — Disquisitiones  Magicm,  p.  58.  In  a  very 
rare  romance,  which  "  treateth  of  the  life  of  Virgilius,  and  of 
his  deth,  and  many  marvayles  that  he  dyd  in  his  lyle-time,  by 
wychecrafte  and  nygramaneye,  throughe  the  helpe  of  th« 
devyls  of  hell,"  mention  is  made  of  a  very  extraordinary  pro- 
cess, in  which  one  of  these  mystical  lamps  was  employed.     It 


64 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


»eems  that  Virgil,  as  he  advanced  in  years,  became  desirous  of 
renovating  his  youth  by  magical  art.  For  this  purpose  he 
constructed  a  solitary  tower,  having  only  one  narrow  portal,  in 
which  lie  placed  twenty-four  copper  figures,  armed  with  iron 
flails,  twelve  on  each  side  of  the  porch.  These  enchanted 
statues  struck  with  their  flails  incessantly,  and  rendered  all  en- 
trance impossible,  unless  when  Virgil  touched  the  spring,  which 
Stopped  their  motion.  To  this  tower  he  repaired  privately,  at- 
tended by  one  trusty  servant,  to  whom  he  communicated  the 
secret  of  the  entrance,  and  hither  they  conveyed  all  the  ma- 
gician's treasure.  "  Then  sayde  Virgilius,  my  dere  beloved 
frende,  and  that  I  above  alle  men  truste  and  knowe  mooste  of 
my  secret ;"  and  then  he  led  the  man  into  a  cellar,  where  he 
made  afayer  lamp  at  all  seasons  burnynge.  "  And  then 
sayd  Virgilius  to  the  man,  '  Se  you  the  barrel  that  standeth 
here  V  and  he  sayd,  yea  :  '  Therein  must  thou  put  me  :  fyrst 
ye  must  slee  me,  and  hewe  me  smalle  to  pieces,  and  cut  my 
lied  in  iiii  pieces,  and  salte  the  heed  under  in  the  bottom,  and 
then  the  pieces  there  after,  and  my  herte  in  the  myddel,  and 
then  set  the  barrel  under  the  lampe,  that  nyghte  and  day  the 
fat  therein  may  droppe  and  leake  ;  and  ye  shall  ix  dayes  long, 
ones  in  the  day,  fyll  the  lampe,  and  fayle  nat.  And  when  this 
is  all  done,  then  shall  I  be  reneued,  and  made  yonge  agen." 
At  this  extraordinary  proposal,  the  confidant  was  sore  abashed, 
and  made  some  scruple  of  obeying  hi3  master's  commands. 
At  length,  however,  he  complied,  and  Virgil  was  slain,  piek- 
ied,  and  barrelled  up,  in  all  respects  according  to  his  own 
direction.  The  servant  then  left  the  tower,  taking  care  to  put 
the  copper  thrashers  in  motion  at  his  departure.  He  continued 
daily  to  visit  the  tower  with  the  same  precaution.  Meanwhile, 
the  emperor,  with  whom  Virgil  was  a  great  favorite,  missed 
him  from  the  court,  and  demanded  of  his  servant  where  he 
was.  The  domestic  pretended  ignorance,  till  the  emperor 
threatened  him  with  death,  when  at  length  he  conveyed  him 
to  the  enchanted  tower.  The  same  threat,  extorted  a  discovery 
of  the  mode  of  stopping  the  statues  from  wielding  their  flails. 
"  And  then  the  emperour  entered  into  the  castle  with  ail  his 
folke,  and  sought  all  abonte  in  every  corner  after  Virgilius  ; 
and  at  the  laste  they  sought  so  longe,  that  they  came  into  the 
seller,  where  they  sawe  the  lampe  hang  over  the  barrell, 
where  Virgilius  lay  in  deed.  Then  asked  the  emperour  the 
man,  who  had  made  hym  so  herdy  to  put  bis  mayster  Virgi- 
lius so  to  detlie  ;  and  the  man  answered  no  worde  to  the  em- 
perour. And  then  the  emperour,  with  great  anger,  drewe  out 
his  sworde,  and  slewe  he  there  Virgilius'  man.  And  when  all 
this  was  done,  then  sawe  the  emperour,  and  all  his  folke,  a 
naked  child  iii  tymes  rennynge  about  the  barrell,  saynge  these 
wordes,  '  Cursed  be  the  tyme  that  ye  ever  came  here.'  And 
with  those  words  vanyshed  the  chylde  awaye,  and  was  never 
sene  ageyn  ;  and  thus  abyd  Virgilius  in  the  barrell  deed." — 
Virgilius,  bl.  let.,  printed  at  Antwerpe  by  John  Doesborcke. 
This  curious  volume  is  in  the  valuable  library  of  Mr.  Douce  ; 
and  is  supposed  to  be'  a  translation  from  the  French,  printed 
in  Flanders  for  the  English  market.  See  Ooujet  Biblioth. 
Franc,  ix.  225.  Catalogue  de  la  Bibliotheque  JVationale,  torn, 
fi.  p.  5.     De  Bure,  No.  3857. 


Note  2  H. 


Then  Deloraine,  in  terror,  took 
From  the  cold  hand  the  Mighty  Boole, 

He  thought,  as  he  took  it,  the  dead  man  frown' d. — P.  26. 

William  of  Deloraine  might  be  strengthened  in  this  belief  by 
he  well-known  story  of  the  Cid  Ruy  Diaz.  When  the  body 
of  that  famous  Christian  champion  was  sitting  in  state  by  the 
high  altar  of  the  cathedral  church  of  Toledo,  where  it  remained 
for  ten  years,  a  certain  malicious  Jew  attempted  to  pull  him 


by  the  beard  ;  but  he  had  no  sooner  touched  the  formidable 
whiskers,  than  the  corpse  started  up,  and  half  unsheathed  his 
sword.  The  Israelite  fled  ;  and  so  permanent  was  the  effect  o. 
his  terror,  that  he  became  Christian. — Hkywood's  Hierarchic 
p.  480,  quoted  from  Sebastian  Cobarruvias  Crozee. 


Note  2  I. 
The  Baron's  Dwarf  his  courser  held. — P.  27. 

The  idea  of  Lord  Cranstoun's  Goblin  Page  is  taken  from  a 
being  called  Gilpin  Horner,  who  appeared,  and  made  some 
stay,  at  a  farm-house  among  the  Border-mountains.  A  gentle- 
man of  that  country  has  noted  down  the  following  particulars 
concerning  his  appearance  : — 

"  The  only  certain,  at  least  most  probable  account,  that  evei 
I  heard  of  Gilpin  Horner,  was  from  an  old  man,  of  the  name 
of  Anderson,  who  was  born,  and  lived  all  his  life  at  Todshaw 
hill,  in  Eskedale-muir,  the  place  where  Gilpin  appeared  and 
staid  for  some  time.  He  said  there  were  two  men,  late  in  the 
evening,  when  it  was  growing  dark,  employed  in  fastening  the 
horses  upon  the  uttermost  part  of  their  ground  (that  is,  tying 
their  forefeet  together,  to  hinder  them  from  travelling  far  in 
the  night),  when  they  heard  a  voice  at  some  distance,  crying, 
'Tint!  Tint!  Tint  /'»  One  of  the  men,  named  Moffat, 
called  out,  '  What  diel  has  tint  you?  Come  here.'  Imme- 
diately a  creature,  of  something  like  a  human  form,  appeared. 
It  was  surprisingly  little,  distorted  in  features,  and  misshapen 
in  limbs.  As  soon  as  the  two  men  could  see  it  plainly,  they 
ran  home  in  a  great  fright,  imagining  they  had  met  with  some 
goblin.  By  the  way,  Moffat  fell,  and  it  ran  over  him,  and  was 
home  at  the  house  as  soon  as  either  of  them,  and  staid  there  a 
long  time  ;  but  I  cannot  say  how  long.  It  was  real  fiesta  and 
I  blood,  and  ate  and  drank,  was  fond  of  cream,  and,  when 
|  it  could  get  at  it,  would  destroy  a  great  deal.  It  seemed  a 
mischievous  creature  ;  and  any  of  the  children  whom  it  could 
I  master,  it  would  beat  and  scratch  without  mercy,  ft  was  once 
'  abusing  a  child  belonging  to  the  same  Moffat,  who  had  been 
so  frightened  by  its  first  appearance  ;  and  he,  in  a  passion, 
struck  it  so  violent  a  blow  upon  the  side  of  the  bead,  that  it 
tumbled  upon  the  ground  ;  but.  it  was  not  stunned  ;  for  it  sei 
up  its  head  directly,  and  exclaimed,  '  Ah,  hah,  Will  o'  Moffat, 
you  strike  sair  !'  (viz.  sore).  After  it  had  staid  there  long,  one 
evening,  when  the  women  were  milking  the  cows  in  the  loan, 
it  was  playing  among  the  children  near  by  them,  when  suddenly 
they  heard  a  loud  shrill  voice  cry  three  times,  '  Gilpin  Hor- 
ner /'  It  started,  and  said,  '■That  is  me,  I  must  away,''  and 
instantly  disappeared,  and  was  never  heard  of  more.  Old  An- 
derson did  not  remember  it,  but  said,  he  had  often  heard  his 
father,  and  other  old  men  in  the  place,  who  were  there  at  the 
time,  speak  about  it  ;  and  in  my  younger  years  I  have  often 
heard  it  mentioned,  and  never  met  with  any  who  had  the  re- 
motest doubt  as  to  the  truth  of  the  story  ;  although,  I  must 
own,  I  cannot  help  thinking  there  must  be  some  misrepresenta- 
tion in  it." — To  this  account,  I  have  to  add  the  following  par- 
ticulars from  the  most  respectable  authority.  Besides  constant- 
ly repeating  the  word  tint !  tint !  Gilpin  Horner  was  often 
heard  to  call  upon  Peter  Bertram,  or  Be-te-ram,  as  he  pronoun- 
ced the  word  ;  and  when  the  shrill  voice  called  Gilpin  Horner, 
he  immediately  acknowledged  it  was  the  summons  of  the  said 
Peter  Bertram  :  who  seems  therefore  to  have  been  the  devil 
who  had  tint,  or  lost,  the  little  imp.  As  much  has  been  ob- 
jected to  Gilpin  Horner,  on  account  of  his  being  supposed 
rather  a  device  of  the  author  than  a  popular  superstition,  I  can 
only  say,  that  no  legend  which  I  ever  heard  seemed  to  be 
more  universally  credited  ;  and  that  many  persons  of  very  good 
rank,  and  considerable  information,  are  well  known  to  reposn 
absolute  faith  in  the  tradition. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


Note  2  K. 

But  the  Ladye  of  Branksome  gathered  a  band 

Of  the  best  that  would  ride  at  her  command. — P.  27. 

'  Upon  25th  June,  1557,  Dame  Janet  Beatoune  Lady  Buc- 
eleuch,  and  a  great  number  of  the  name  of  Scott,  delaitit  (ac- 
cused) for  coming  to  the  kirk  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes,  to  the 
number  of  two  hundred  persons  bodin  in  feire  of  weire  (arrayed 
in  armor),  and  breaking  open  the  door  of  the  said  kirk,  in  or- 
der to  apprehend  the  Laird  of  Cranstoune  for  his  destruction." 
On  the  20th  July,  a  warrant  from  the  Q,ueen  is  presented,  dis- 
charging the  justice  to  proceed  against  the  Lady  Buccleuch 
while  new  calling — Abridgment  of  Books  of  Adjournal,  in 
Advocates1  Library. — The  following  proceedings  upon  this 
case  appear  on  the  record  of  the  Court  oi  Justiciary  :  On  the 
25th  of  June,  1557,  Robert  Scott,  in  Bowhill  parish,  priest  of 
the  kirk  of  St.  Mary's,  accused  of  the  convocation  of  the 
Queen's  lieges,  to  the  number  of  two  hundred  persons,  in  war- 
like array,  with  jacks,  helmets,  and  other  weapons,  and  march- 
ing to  the  chapel  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes,  for  the  slaughter 
of  Sir  Peter  Cranstoun,  out  of  ancient  feud  and  malice  pre- 
pense, and  of  breaking  the  doors  of  the  said  kirk,  is  repledged 
by  the  Archbishop  of  Glasgow.  The  bail  given  by  Robert 
Scott  of  Allanhaugh,  Adam  Scott  of  Burnfute,  Robert  Scott 
in  Howfurde,  Walter  Scott  in  Todshawhaugh,  Walter  Scott 
younger  of  Synton,  Thomas  Scott  of  Hayning,  Robert 
Scott,  William  Scott,  and  James  Scott,  brothers  of  the  said 
Walter  Scott,  Walter  Scott  in  the  Woll,  and  Walter  Scott, 
son  of  William  Scott  of  Harden,  and  James  Wemyss  in  Eck- 
ford,  all  accused  of  the  same  crime,  is  declared  to  be  forfeited. 
On  the  same  day,  Walter  Scott  of  Synton,  and  Walter  Chis- 
holme  of  Chisholme,  and  William  Scott  of  Harden,  became 
bound,  jointly  and  severally,  that  Sir  Peter  Cranstoun,  and  his 
Kindred  and  servants,  should  receive  no  injury  from  them  in 
future.  At  the  same  time,  Patrick  Murray  of  Fallohill,  Alex- 
ander Stuart,  uncle  to  the  Laird  of  Trakwhare,  John  Murray 
of  Newhall,  John  Fairlye,  residing  in  Selkirk,  George  Tait, 
younger  of  P  in,  John  Pennycuke  of  Pennycuke,  James  Ram- 
say of  Cokpen,  the  Laird  of  Fassyde,  and  the  Laird  of  Henders- 
toune,  were  all  severally  fined^br  not  attending  as  jurors; 
being  probably  either  in  alliance  with  the  accused  parties,  or 
dreading  their  vengeance.  Upon  the  20th  of  July  following, 
Scott  of  Synton,  Chisholme  of  Chisholme,  Scott  of  Harden, 
Scott  of  Howpaslie,  Scott  of  Burnfute,  with  many  others,  are 
ordered  to  appear  at  next  calling,  under  the  pains  of  treason. 
But  no  farther  procedure  seems  to  have  taken  place.  It  is 
•aid,  that,  upon  this  rising,  the  kirk  of  St.  Mary  was  burnt  by 
the  Scotts. 


Note  2  L. 


Like  a  book-bosom' d  priest. — P.  29. 

"At  Unthank,  two  miles  N.  E.  from  the  church  (of  Ewes), 
mere  are  the  ruins  of  a  chapel  for  divine  service,  in  time  of  Po- 
pery. There  is  a  tradition,  that  friars  were  wont  to  come  from 
Melrose  or  Jedburgh,  to  baptize  and  marry  in  this  parish  ;  and 
from  being  in  use  to  carry  the  mass-book  in  their  bosoms,  they 
were  called  by  the  inhabitants,  Book-a-bosomes.  There  is  a 
man  yet  alive,  who  knew  old  men  who  had  been  baptized  by 
these  Book-a-bosomes,  and  who  says  one  of  them,  called  Hair, 
used  this  parish  for  a  very  long  time." — Account  of  Parish  of 
Ewes,  apud  Macfarlane's  MSS. 


Note  2  M. 

All  was  delusion,  naught  was  truth. — P.  29. 
Glamour,  in  the  legends  of  Scottish  superstition,  means  the 
magic  power  of  imposing  on  the  eyesight  of  the  spectators,  so 
9 


that  the  appearance  of  an  object  shall  be  totally  different  from 
the  reality.  The  transformation  of  Michael  Scott  by  the  witch 
of  Falsehope,  already  mentioned,  was  a  genuine  operation  of 
glamour.  To  a  similar  charm  the  ballad  of  Johnny  Fa'  im- 
putes the  fascination  of  the  lovely  Countess,  who  eloped  with 
that  gipsy  leader  : — 

"  Sae  soon  as  they  saw  her  weel-far'd  face, 
They  cast  the  glamour  o'er  her." 

It  was  formerly  used  even  in  war.  In  1381,  when  the  Duke 
of  Anjou  lay  before  a  strong  castle,  upon  the  coast  of  Naples, 
a  necromancer  offered  to  "  make  the  ayre  so  thy  eke,  that  they 
within  shall  thynke  that  there  is  a  great  hridge  on  the  see  (by 
which  the  castle  was  surrounded)  for  ten  men  to  go  a  front ; 
and  whan  they  within  the  castle  se  this  bridge,  they  will  be  so 
afrayde,  that  they  shall  yelde  them  to  your  mercy.  The 
Duke  demanded, — '  Fayre  Master,  on  this  bridge  that  ye  speke 
of,  may  our  people  assuredly  go  thereon  to  the  castell,  to  as- 
sayle  it  V — '  Syr,'  quod  the  enchantour,  '  I  dare  not  assure  you 
that ;  for  if  any  that  passeth  on  the  bridge  make  the  signe  of  the 
crosse  on  hym,  all  shall  go  to  noughte,  and  they  that  be  on  the 
bridge  shall  fall  into  the  see.'  Then  the  Duke  began  to  laugh  ; 
and  a  certain  of  young  knightes,  that  were  there  present,  said 
'  Syr,  for  godsake,  let  the  mayster  assey  his  cunning  :  we  shall 
leve  making  of  any  signe  of  the  crosse  on  us  for  that  tyme.'  " 
The  Earl  of  Savoy,  shortly  after,  entered  the  tent,  and  recog- 
nized in  the  enchanter  the  same  person  who  had  put  the  castle 
into  the  power  of  Sir  Charles  de  la  Payx,  who  then  held  it,  by 
persuading  the  garrison  of  the  Oueen  of  Naples,  through  magic- 
al deception,  that  the  sea  was  coming  over  the  walls.  The 
sage  avowed  the  feat,  and  added,  that  he  was  the  man  in  the 
world  most  dreaded  by  Sir  Charles  de  la  Payx.  "  '  By  my 
fayth,'  quod  the  Earl  of  Savoy,  '  ye  say  well ;  and  I  will  that 
Syr  Charles  de  la  Payx  shall  know  that  he  hath  gret  wronge 
to  fear  you.  But  I  shall  assure  hym  of  you  ;  for  ye  shall 
never  do  enchantment  to  deceyve  hym,  nor  yet  none  other.  1 
wolde  nat  that  in  tyme  to  come  we  shulde  be  reproached  that 
in  so  high  an  enterprise  as  we  be  in,  wherein  there  be  so  many 
noble  knyghtes  and  squyres  assembled,  that  we  shulde  do  any 
thyng  be  enchantment,  nor  that  we  shulde  wyn  our  enemys  be 
suche  crafte.'  Then  he  called  to  him  a  servaunt,  and  said, '  Go, 
and  get  me  a  hangman,  and  let  him  stryke  off  this  mayster's 
heed  without  delay  ;'  and  as  soone  as  the  Erie  had  command- 
ed it,  incontynent  it  was  done,  for  his  heed  was  stryken  of 
before  the  Erie's  tent." — Froissart,  vol.  i.  ch.  391,  392. 

The  art  of  glamour,  or  other  fascination,  was  anciently  a 
principal  part  of  the  skill  of  the  jongleur,  or  juggler,  whose 
tricks  formed  much  of  the  amusement'of  a  Gothic  castle 
Some  instances  of  this  art  may  be  found  in  the  Minstrelsy  oj 
the  Scottish  Border,  vol.  iv.  p.  106.  In  a  strange  allegorical 
poem,  called  the  Houlat,  written  by  a  dependent  of  the  house 
of  Douglas,  about  1452-3,  the  jay,  ir  an  assembly  of  birds, 
plays  the  part  of  the  juggler.  His  feats  of  glamour  are  thug 
described  : — 

"  He  gart  them  see,  as  it  semyt  in  samyn  houre, 

Hunting  at  herdis  in  holtis  so  hair  ; 
Some  sailand  on  the  see  schippis  of  toure, 
Bernis  battalland  on  burd  brim  as  a  bare  : 
He  coulde  carye  the  coup  of  the  kingis  des, 
Syne  leve  in  the  stede, 
Bot  a  black  bunwede  ; 
He  could  of  a  henis  hede 
Make  a  man  mes. 

"  He  gart  the  Emproure  trow,  and  trewlye  behaifl, 
That  the  corncraik,  the  pundere  at  hand, 

Had  poyndit  all  his  pris  hors  in  a  poynd  fald 
Because  thai  ete  of  the  corn  in  the  kirkland. 

He  could  wirk  windaris,  quhat  way  that  he  wald, 
Mak  a  gray  gus  a  gold  garland, 

A  lang  spere  of  a  bittile,  for  a  berae  bald 


66 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Nobilis  of  nntschelles,  and  silver  of  sand. 
Thus  joukit  with  juxters  the  ja*i"lane  ja, 

Fair  ladyes  in  ringis, 

Knychtis  in  caralyngis, 

Bayth  dansis  and  singis, 
It  semyt  as  sa." 


Note  2  N. 


Now  if  you  ask  who  gave  the  stroke, 

I  cannot  tell,  so  mot  I  thrive ; 

It  was  not  given  by  man  alive. — P.  29. 

Dr.  Henry  More,  in  a  letter  prefixed  to  Glarlville's  Saducis- 
mus  Triumphatus,  mentions  a  similar  phenomenon. 

"  I  remember  an  old  gentleman  in  the  country,  of  my  ac- 
quaintance, an  excellent  justice  of  peace,  and  a  piece  of  a 
mathematician  ;  but  what  kind  of  a  philosopher  he  was,  you 
may  understand  from  a  rhyme  of  his  own  making,  which  he 
commended  to  me  at  my  taking  horse  in  his  yard,  which  rhyme 
is  this : — 

'  Ens  is  nothing  till  sense  finds  out : 
Sense  ends  in  nothing,  so  naught  goes  about.' 

Which  rhyme  of  his  was  so  rapturous  to  himself,  that,  on  the 
reciting  of  the  second  verse,  the  old  man  turned  himself  about 
upon  his  toe  as  nimbly  as  one  may  observe  a  dry  leaf  whisked 
round  the  corner  of  an  orchard-walk  by  some  little  whirlwind. 
With  this  philosopher  I  have  had  many  discourses  concerning 
the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  its  distinction  ;  when  I  have 
run  him  quite  down  by  reason,  he  would  but  laugh  at  me,  and 
say  this  is  logic,  H.  (calling  me  by  my  Christian  name)  ;  to 
which  I  replied,  this  is  reason,  father  L.  (for  so  I  used  and 
some  others  to  call  him)  ;  but  it  seems  you  are  for  the  new 
lights,  and  immediate  inspiration,  which  I  confess  he  was  as 
little  for  as  for  the  other;  but  I  said  so  only  in  the  way  of 
drollery  to  him  in  those  times,  but  truth  is,  nothing  but  palpa- 
ble experience  would  move  him  ;  and  being  a  bold  man,  and 
fearing  nothing,  he  told  me  he  had  used  all  the  magical  cere- 
monies of  conjuration  he  could,  to  raise  the  devil  or  a  spirit, 
and  had  a  mostenrnest  desire  to  meet  with  one,  but  never  could 
do  it.  But  this  he  told  me,  when  he  did  not  so  much  as  think 
of  it,  while  his  servant  was  pulling  oft'  his  boots  in  the  hall, 
some  invisible  hand  ga|e  him  such  a  clap  upon  the  back,  that 
it  made  all  ring  again  ;  'so,'  thought  he  now,  '  I  am  invited 
to  the  converse  of  my  spirit,'  and  therefore,  so  soon  as  his  boots 
were  off,  and  his  shoes  on,  out  he  goes  into  the  yard  and  next 
field,  to  find  out  the  spirit  tiiat  had  given  him  this  familiar  clap 
on  the  back,  but  found  none  neither  in  the  yard  nor  field  next 
to  it. 

"But  though  he  did  not  feel  this  stroke,  albeit  he  thought 
it  afterwards  (finding  nothing  came  of  it)  a  mere  delusion  ; 
yet  not  long  before  his  death,  it  had  more  force  with  him  than 
all  the  philosophical  arguments  I  could  use  to  him,  though  I 
could  wind  him  and  nonplus  him  as  I  pleased  ;  but  yet  all  my 
arguments,  how  solid  soever,  made  no  impression  upon  him  ; 
wherefore,  after  severa.  reasonings  of  this  nature,  whereby  I 
would  prove  to  him  the  soul's  distinction  from  the  body,  and 
its  immortality,  when  nothing  of  such  subtile  consideration  did 
any  more  execution  on  his  mind  than  some  lightning  is  said  to 
do,  though  it  melts  the  sword,  on  the  fuzzy  consistency  of  the 
seabbaid, — '  Well,'  said  I,  '  father  L.,  though  none  of  these 
things  move  you,  I  have  something  still  behind,  and  what 
yourself  has  acknowledged  to  be  true,  that  may  do  the  busi- 
ness :— rDo  you  remember  the  clap  on  your  back  when  your 
kervant  was  pulling  ofF  your  boots  in  the  hall  1  Assure  your- 
belf,'  says  I,  '  father  L.,  that  goblin  will  be  the  first  to  bid  you 
welcome  into  the  other  world.'  Upon  that  his  countenance 
changed  most  sensibly,  and  he  was  more  confounded  with  this 
rubbing  up  his  memory,  than  with  all  the  rational  or  philoso- 
phical argumentations  that  I  could  produce." 


Note  2  0. 

The  -unning  stream  dissolved  the  spell. — P.  30. 

It  is  a  firm  article  of  popular  faith,  that  no  enchantment  can 
subsist  in  a  living  stream.  Nay,  if  you  can  interpose  a  brook 
betwixt  you  and  witches,  spectres,  or  even  fiends,  you  are  in 
perfect  safety.  Bums's  inimitable  Tarn  o'  Shanter  turns  en- 
tirely upon  such  a  circumstance.  The  belief  seems  to  be  of 
antiquity.  Brompton  informs  us,  that  certain  Irish  wizar  a 
could,  by  spells,  convert  earthen  clods,  or  stones,  into  fat  pigs, 
which  they  sold  in  the  market,  but  which  always  reassumed 
their  proper  form  when  driven  by  the  deceived  purchaser  across 
a  running  stream.  But  Brompton  is  severe  on  the  Irish,  for  a 
very  good  reason.  "  Gens  ista  spurcissima  non  solvunt  deci- 
mas." — Chronicon  Johannis  Brompton  apud  decern  Scrip- 
tores,  p.  1076. 


Note  2  P. 

He  never  counted  him  a  man, 

Would  strike  below  the  knee. — P.  30. 

Imitated  from  Drayton's  account  of  Robin  Hood  and  his 
followers : — 

"  A  hundred  valiant  men  had  this  brave  Robin  Hood, 
Still  ready  at  his  call,  that  bowmen  were  right  good  : 
All  clad  in  Lincoln  green,  with  caps  of  red  and  blue, 
His  fellow's  winded  horn  not  one  of  them  but  knew. 
When  setting  to  their  lips  their  bugles  shrill, 
The  warbling  echoes  waked  from  every  dale  and  hill ; 
Their  bauldrics  set  with  studs  athwart  their  shoulders  cast, 
To  which  under  their  arms  their  sheafs  were  buckled  fast, 
A  short  sword  at,  their  belt,  a  buckler  scarce  a  span, 
Who  struck  below  the  knee  not  counted  then  a  man. 
All  made  of  Spanish  yewflfheir  bows  were  wondrous  strong, 
They  not  an  arrow  drew  but  was  a  cloth-yard  long. 
Of  archery  they  had  the  very  perfect  craft, 
With  broad  arrow,  or  but,  or  prick,  or  roving  shaft." 

Poly- Albion,  Song  26. 

To  wound  an  antagonist  in  the  thigh,  or  leg,  was  reckoned 
contrary  to  the  law  of  arms.  In  a  tilt  between  Gawain  Mi- 
chael, an  English  squire,  and  Joachim  Cathore,  a  Frenchman, 
"they  met  at  the  speare  poyntes  rudely;  the  French  squyer 
justed  right  pleasantly ;  the  Englishman  ran  too  lowe,  for  he 
strak  the  Frenchman  depe  into  the  thigh.  Wherewilh  the 
Erie  of  Buckingham  was  right  sore  displeased,  and  so  wer?  all 
the  other  lords,  and  sayde  how  it  was  shamefully  done."— 
Froissart,  vol.  i.  chap.  366.  Upon  a  similar  occasion,  "  the 
two  knyghts  came  a  fote  eche  against  other  rudely,  with  theii 
speares  low  couched,  to  stryke  eche  other  within  the  foure 
quarters.  Johan  of  Castell-M orant  strake  the  English  squyer 
on  the  brest  in  such  wyse,  that  Syr  Wyllyam  Fermetone 
stombled  and  bowed,  for  his  fote  a  lyttel  fayled  him.  He 
helde  his  spere  lowe  with  both  his  handes,  and  coude  nat 
amende  it,  and  strake  Syr  Johan  of  the  Castell-Morant  in  the 
thighe,  so  that  the  speare  went  clene  throughe,  that  the  heed 
was  sene  a  handfull  on  the  other  syde.  And  Syr  Johan  with 
the  stroke  reled,  but  he  fell  nat.  Than  the  Englyshe  knyglit.es 
and  squyers  were  ryghte  sore  displeased,  and  sayde  how  it  was 
a  foule  stroke.  Syr  Wyllam  Fermeton  excused  himselfe,  and 
sayde  how  he  was  sonie  of  that  adventure,  and  howe  that  yf 
he  had  knowen  that  it  shulde  have  bene  so,  he  wolde  never 
have  begone  it ;  sayenge  how  he  could  nat  amende  it,  by  cause 
of  glaunsing  of  his  fote  by  constraynt  of  the  great  stroke  thai 
Syr  Johan  of  the  Oastell-Morant  had  given  him." — Froissart, 
vol.  i.  chap.  373. 


APPEJNLUX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


G7 


Note  2  Q. 

She  drew  the  splinter  from,  the  wound, 
And  with  a  charm  she  stanch' d  the  bl:>i. — P.  31. 

See  several  charms  for  this  purpose  in  Reginald   Scott's 
Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  p.  273. 

"Tom  Potts  was  but  a  serving  man, 
B  at  yet  he  was  a  doctor  good  ; 
He  bound  his  handkerchief  on  the  wound, 
And  with  some  kinds  of  words  he  stanched  the  blood." 
Pieces  of  Ancient  Popular  Poetry,  Lond.  1791,  p.  131. 


Note  2  R. 


But  she  has  ta'en  the  broken  lance, 
And  wash'd  it  from  the  clotted  gore, 
And  salved  the  splinter  o'er  and  o'er. — P.  31. 

Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  in  a  discourse  upon  the  cure  by  sympa- 
thy, pronounced  at  Montpelier,  before  an  assembly  of  nobles 
and  learned  men,  translated  into  English  by  R.  White,  gen- 
tleman, and  published  in  1658,  gives  us  the  following  curious 
surgical  case : — 

"  Mr.  James  Howel  (well  known  in  France  for  his  public 
works,  and  particularly  for  his  Dendrologie,  translated  into 
French  by  Mons.  Baudouin)  coming  by  chance,  as  two  of  his 
best  friends  were  fighting  in  duel,  he  did  his  endeavor  to 
part  them ;  and  putting  himselfe  between  them,  seized,  with 
his  Meft  hand,  upon  the  hilt  of  the  sword  of  one  of  the  com- 
batants, while  with  his  right  hand  he  laid  hold  of  the  blade  of 
the  other.  They,  being  transported  with  fury  one  against  the 
other,  struggled  to  rid  themselve*  of  the  hinderanee  their  friend 
made,  that  they  should  not  kill  one  another  ;  and  one  of  them 
roughly  drawing  the  blade  of  his  sword,  cuts  to  the  very  bone 
the  nerves  and  muscles  of  Mr.  Howel's  hand  ;  and  then  the 
other  disengaged  his  hilts,  and  gave  a  cross  blow  on  his  adver- 
saries head,  which  glanced  towards  his  friend,  who  heaving  up 
his  sore  hand  to  save  the  blow,  he  was  wounded  on  the  back 
of  his  hand  as  he  had  been  before  within.  It  seems  some 
strange  constellation  reigned  then  against  him,  that  he  should 
lose  so  much  bloud  by  parting  two  such  dear  friends,  who,  had 
they  been  themselves,  would  have  hazarded  both  their  lives  to 
have  preserved  his  ;  but  this  involuntary  effusion  of  bloud  by 
them,  prevented  that  which  they  sholde  have  drawn  one  from 
the  other.  For  they,  seeing  Mr.  Howel's  face  besmeared  with 
bloud,  by  heaving  up  his  wounded  hand,  they  both  ran  to  em- 
brace him  ;  and,  having  searched  his  hurts,  they  bound  up  his 
hands  with  one  of  his  garters,  to  close  the  veins  which  were 
cut,  and  bled  abundantly.  They  brought  him  home,  and  sent 
for  a  surgeon.  But  this  being  heard  at  court,  the  King  sent 
one  of  his  own  surgeons ;  for  his  Majesty  much  affected  the 
Baid  Mr.  Howel. 

"  It  was  my  chance  to  be  lodged  hard  by  him  ;  and  four  or 
five  days  after,  as  I  was  making  myself  ready,  he  came  to  my 
House,  sr.d  prayed  me  to  view  his  wounds  ;  '  for  I  understand,' 
laid  he,  ?  that  you  have  extraordinary  remedies  on  such  occa- 
sions, and  my  surgeons  apprehend  some  fear  that  it  may  grow 
to  a  gangrene,  and  so  the  hand  must  be  cut  off.'  In  effect,  his 
countenance  discovered  that  he  was  in  much  pain,  which  he 
said  was  insupportable,  in  regard  of  the  extreme  inflamma- 
tion. I  told  him  1  would  willingly  serve  him  :  but  if  haply 
he  knew  the  manner  how  I  would  cure  him,  without  touching 
or  seeing  him,  it  may  be  he  would  not  expose  himself  to  my 
manner  of  curing,  because  he  would  think  it,  perad  venture, 
either  ineffectual  or  superstitious.  He  replied, '  The  wonderful 
things  which  many  have  related  unto  me  of  your  way  of 
medicament,  makes  me  nothing  doubt  at  all  of  its  efficacy ; 
and  all  that  I  have  to  say  unto  you  is  comprehended  in  the 
Spanish  proverb,  Hagase  el  milagro  y  hagalo  Mahoma — Let 
die  miracle  be  done,  though  Mahomet  do  it.' 


"  I  asked  him  then  for  anything  that  had  the  blood  upon  it ; 
so  he  presently  sent  for  his  garter  wherewith  his  hand  was  first 
bound  ;  and  as  I  called  for  a  basin  of  water,  as  if  I  would  wash 
my  hands,  I  took  a  handful  of  powder  of  vitriol,  which  1  had 
in  my  study,  and  presently  dissolved  it.  As  soon  as  the  bloudy 
garter  was  brought  me,  I  put  it  within  the  basin,  observing, 
in  the  interim,  what  Mr.  Howel  did,  who  stood  talking  with  i 
gentleman  in  a  corner  of  my  chamber,  not  regarding  at  all 
what  I  was  doing  ;  but  he  started  suddenly,  as  if  he  had  found 
some  strange  alteration  in  himself.  I  asked  him  what  ne 
ailed  ?  '  I  know  not  what  ailes  me  ;  but  I  finde  that  I  feel  no 
more  pain.  Methinks  that  a  pleasing  kinde  of  freshnesse,  as 
it  were  a  wet  cold  napkin,  did  spread  over  my  hand,  which 
hath  taken  away  the  inflammation  that  tormented  me  before.' 
— I  replied,  *  Since  then  that  you  feel  already  so  good  effect 
of  my  medicament,  I  advise  you  to  cast  away  all  your  plays- 
ters ;  only  keep  the  wound  clean,  and  in  a  moderate  tempei 
betwixt  heat  and  cold.'  This  was  presently  reported  to  the 
Duke  of  Buckingham,  and  a  little  after  to  the  King,  who  were 
both  very  curious  to  know  the  circumstance  of  the  businesse, 
which  was,  that  after  dinner  I  took  the  garter  out  of  the  water, 
and  put  it  to  dry  before  a  great  fire.  It  was  scarce  dry,  but 
Mr.  Howel's  servant  came  running,  that  his  master  felt  as 
much  burning  as  ever  he  had  done,  if  not  more  ;  for  the  heat 
was  such  as  if  his  hand  were  'twixt  coles  of  fire.  I  answered, 
although  that  had  happened  at  present,  yet  he  should  find  ease 
in  a  short  time  :  for  I  knew  the  reason  of  this  new  accident, 
and  would  provide  accordingly  ;  for  his  master  should  be  free 
from  that  inflammation,  it  may  be  before  he  could  possibly 
return  to  him  ;  but  in  case  he  found  no  ease,  I  wished  him  to 
come  presently  back  again  ;  if  not,  he  might  forbear  coming 
Thereupon  he  went ;  and  at  the  instant  I  did  put  again  tba 
garter  into  the  water,  thereupon  he  found  his  master  without 
any  pain  at  all.  To  be  brief,  there  was  no  sense  of  pain  after- 
ward ;  but  within  five  or  six  dayes  the  wounds  were  cicatrized, 
and  entirely  healed." — Page  6. 

The  King  (James  VI.)  obtained  from  Sir  Kenelm  the  dis 
covery  of  his  secret,  which  he  pretended  had  been  taught 
him  by  a  Carmelite  friar,  who  had  learned  it  in  Armenia,  or 
Persia.  Let  not  the  age  of  animal  magnetism  and  metallic 
tractors  smile  at  the  sympathetic  powder  of  Sir  Kenelm  Bigby. 
Reginald  Scott  mentions  the  same  mode  of  cure  in  these 
terms  : — "  And  that  which  is  more  strange  ...  .  they  can 
remedie  anie  stranger  with  that  verie  sword  wherewith  they 
are  wounded.  Yea,  and  that  which  is  beyond  all  admiration, 
if  they  stroke  the  sword  upward  with  their  fingers,  the  partie 
shall  feele  no  pain  ;  whereas,  if  they  draw  their  fingers  down- 
wards, thereupon  the  partie  wounded  shall  feele  intolerable 
pain."  I  presume  that  the  success  ascribed  to  the  sympathetic 
mode  of  treatment  might  arise  from  the  pains  bestowed  ir 
washing  the  wound,  and  excluding  the  air,  thus  bringing  on  a 
cure  by  the  first  intention.  It  is  introduced  by  Dryden  in  the 
Enchanted  Island,  a  (very  unnecessary)  alteration  of  the 
Tempest : — 

"  Ariel.  Anoint  the  sword  which  pierced  him  with  this 
Weapon-salve,  and  wrap  it  close  from  air, 
Till  I  have  time  to  visit  him  again. — Act  v.  sc.  2. 

Again,  in  scene  4th,  Miranda  enters  with  Hippolito's  sword 
wrapt  up : — 

"  Hip.  O  my  wound  pains  me  ! 

Mir.  I  am  come  to  ease  you.         {She  unwraps  the  sword 

Hip.  Alas,  I  feel  the  cold  air  come  to  me  ; 
My  wound  shoots  worse  than  ever. 

Mir.  Does  it  still  grieve  you  1    [She  wipes  and  anoints  th* 
sword. 

Hip.  Now,  methinks,  there's  something  laid  just  upon  '* 

Mir.  Do  you  find  no  ease  1 

Hip.  Yes,  yes  •  apon  the  sudden  all  this  pain 
Is  leaving  me.     Sweet  heaven,  how  I  am  eased  1" 


68 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  2  S. 

On  Penchryst  glows  a  bale  of  fire. — P.  32. 

Bale,  beacon-fagot.  The  Border  beacons,  from  their  num- 
ber and  position,  formed  a  sort  of  telegraphic  communication 
with  Edinburgh. — The  act  of  Parliament,  1455,  c.  48,  directs, 
that  one  bale  or  fagot  shall  be  warning  of  the  approach  of 
the  English  in  any  manner ;  two  bales  that  they  are  coming 
indeed ;  four  bales,  blazing  beside  each  other,  that  the  enemy 
ire  in  great  force.  "  The  same  taikenings  to  be  watched  and 
maid  at  Eggerhope  (Eggerstand)  Castell,  fra  they  se  the  fire  of 
Hume,  that  they  fire  right  swa.  And  in  like  manner  on  Sow- 
tra.  Edge,  sail  se  the  fire  of  Eggerhope  Castell,  and  mak 
taikening  in  like  manner:  And  then  may  all  Louthaine  be 
warned,  and  in  special  the  Castell  of  Edinburgh  ;  and  their 
four  fires  to  be  made  in  like  manner,  that  they  in  Fife,  and  fra 
Striveling  east,  and  the  east  part  of  Louthaine,  and  to  Dunbar, 
all  may  see  them,  and  come  to  the  defence  of  the  realme." 
These  beacons  (at  least  in  latter  times)  were  a  "  long  and 
strong  tree  set  up,  with  a  long  iron  pole  across  the  head  of  it, 
and  an  iron  brander  fixed  on  a  stalk  in  the  middle  of  it,  for 
holding  a  tar-barrel." — Stevenson's  History,  vol.  ii.  p.  701. 


Note  2  T. 


Our  kin,  and  clan,  and  friends  to  raise. — P.  32. 

The  speed  with  which  the  Borderers  collected  great  bodies 
of  horse,  may  be  judged  of  from  the  following  extract,  when 
the  subject  of  the  rising  was  much  less  important  than  that  sup- 
posed in  the  romance.     It  is  taken  from  Carey's  Memoirs  : — 

"  Upon  the  death  of  the  old  Lord  Scroop,  the  Queen  gave 
the  west  wardenry  to  his  son,  that  had  married  my  sister.  He 
having  received  that  office,  came  to  me  with  great  earnestness, 
and  desired  me  to  be  his  deputy,  offering  me  that  I  should  live 
with  him  in  his  house  ;  that  he  would  allow  me  half  a  dozen 
men,  and  as  many  horses,  to  be  kept  at  his  charge  ;  and  his  fee 
being  1000  merks  yearly,  he  would  part  it  with  me,  and  I 
should  have  the  half.  This  his  noble  offer  I  accepted  of,  and 
went  with  him  to  Carlisle ;  where  I  was  no  sooner  come,  but 
I  entered  into  my  office.  We  had  a  stirring  time  of  it :  and 
few  days  past  over  my  head  but  I  was  on  horseback,  either  to 
prevent  mischief,  or  take  malefactors,  and  to  bring  the  Border 
in  better  quiet  than  it  had  been  in  times  past.  One  memorable 
thing  of  God's  mercy  shewed  unto  me,  was  such  as  I  have 
good  cause  still  to  remember  it. 

"I  had  private  intelligence  given  me,  that  there  were  two 
Scottishmen  that  had  killed  a  churchman  in  Scotland,  and 
were  by  one  of  the  Grtemes  relieved.  This  Giieme  dwelt 
within  five  miles  of  Carlisle.  He  had  a  pretty  house,  and 
close  by  it  a  strong  tower,  for  his  own  defence,  in  time  of 
need. — About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  took  horse  in  Car- 
lisle, and  not  above  twenty-five  in  my  company,  thinking  to 
surprise  the  house  on  a  sudden.  Before  I  could  surround  the 
house,  the  two  Scots  were  gotten  in  the  strong  tower,  and  I 
could  see  a  boy  riding  from  the  house  as  fast  as  his  horse  could 
carry  him ;  I  little  suspecting  what  it  meant.  But  Thomas 
Carleton  came  to  me  presently,  and  told  me,  that  if  I  did  not 
presently  prevent  it,  both  myself  and  all  my  company  would 
De  either  slain  or  taken  prisoners.  It  was  strange  to  me  to  hear 
this  language.  He  then  said  to  me,  '  Do  you  see  that  boy  that 
rideth  away  so  fast  ?  He  will  be  in  Scotland  within  this  half 
nour ;  and  he  is  gone  to  let  them  know,  that  you  are  here,  and 
to  what  end  you  are  come,  and  the  small  number  you  have 
with  you  ;  and  that  if  they  will  make  haste,  on  a  sudden  they 
May  surprise  us,  and  do  with  us  what  they  please.'  Hereupon 
we  took  advice  what  was  best  to  be  done.  We  sent  notice 
presently  to  all  parrs  to  raise  the  country,  and  to  come  to  us 
with  all  the  speed  they  could  ;  and  withall  we  sent  to  Carlisle 
to  raise  the  townsmen  ;  for  without  foot  we  could  do  no  good 
against  the  tower.    There  we  staid  some  hours,  expecting  more 


company  ;  and  within  short  time  after  the  country  came  in  on 
all  sides,  so  that  we  were  quickly  between  three  and  four  hun- 
dred horse ;  anS,  after  some  longer  stay,  the  foot  of  Carlisle 
came  to  us,  to  the  number  of  three  or  four  hundred  men  ; 
whom  we  presently  set  to  work,  to  get  to  the  top  of  the  tower, 
and  to  uncover  the  roof;  and  then  some  twenty  of  them  to  fall 
down  together,  and  by  that  means  to  win  the  tower. — The 
Scots,  seeing  their  present  danger,  offered  to  parley,  and  yielded 
themselves  to  my  mercy.  They  had  no  sooner  opened  the  iron 
gate,  and  yielded  themselves  my  prisoners,  but  we  might  see 
400  horse  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  coming  to  their  rescue, 
and  to  surprise  me  and  my  small  company  ;  but  of  a  sudden 
they  stayed,  and  stood  at  gaze.  Then  had  I  more  to  do  than 
ever;  for  all  our  Borderers  came  crying,  with  full  mouths, 
'  Sir,  give  us  leave  to  set  upon  them  ;  for  these  are  they  that 
have  killed  our  fathers,  our  brothers,  and  uncles,  and  our  cou 
sins  ;  and  they  are  coming,  thinking  to  surprise  you,  upon  weak 
grass  nags,  such  as  they  could  get  on  a  sudden  ;  and  God  hath 
put  them  into  your  hands,  that  we  may  take  revenge  of  them 
for  much  blood  that  they  have  spilt  of  ours.'  I  desired  they 
would  be  patient  a  while,  and  bethought  myself,  if  I  should 
give  them  their  will,  there  would  be  few  or  none  of  the  Scots 
that  would  escape  unkilled  (there  was  so  many  deadly  feuds 
among  them)  ;  and  therefore  I  resolved  with  myself  to  give 
them  a  fair  answer,  but  not  to  give  them  their  desire.  So  I 
told  them,  that  if  I  were  not  there  myself,  they  might  then  do 
what  they  pleased  themselves  ;  but  being  present,  if  I  should 
give  them  leave,  the  blood  that  should  be  spilt  that  day  would 
lie  very  hard  upon  my  conscience.  And  therefore  I  desired 
them,  for  my  sake,  to  forbear;  and,  if  the  Scots  did  not  pres- 
ently make  away  with  all  the  speed  they  could,  upon  my  send- 
ing to  them,  they  should  then  have  their  wills  to  do  what  they 
pleased.  They  were  ill  satisfied  with  my  answer,  but  durst 
not  disobey.  I  sent  with  speed  to  the  Scots,  and  bade  them 
puck  away  with  all  the  speed  they  could  ;  for  if  they  stayed 
the  messenger's  return,  they  should  few  of  them  return  to  their 
own  home.  They  made  no  stay  ;  but  they  were  returned 
homewards  before  the  messenger  had  made  an  end  of  his  mes- 
sage. Thus,  by  God's  mercy,  I  escaped  a  great  danger;  and, 
by  my  means,  there  were  a  great  many  men's  lives  saved  thai 
day." 


Note  2  IT. 

On  many  a  cairn's  gray  pyramid, 

Where  urns  of  mighty  chiefs  lie  hid. — P.  32. 

The  cairns,  or  piles  of  loose  stones,  which  crown  the  sum- 
mit of  most  of  our  Scottish  hills,  and  are  found  in  other  re- 
markable situations,  seem  usually,  though  not  universally,  to 
have  been  sepulchral  monuments.  Six  flat  atones  are  com- 
monly found  in  the  centre,  forming  a  cavity  of  greater  or  small- 
er dimensions,  in  which  an  urn  is  often  placed.  The  author  is 
possessed  of  one,  discovered  beneath  an  immense  cairn  at 
Roughlee,  in  Liddesdale.  It  is  of  the  most  barbarous  con- 
struction ;  the  middle  of  the  substance  alone  having  been  sub- 
jected to  the  fire,  over  which,  when  hardened,  the  artist  had 
laid  an  inner  and  outer  coat  of  unbaked  clay,  etched  with  some 
very  rude  ornaments  ;  his  skill  apparently  being  inadequate  to 
baking  the  vase,  when  completely  finished.  The  contents 
were  bones  and  ashes,  and  a  quantity  of  beads  made  of  coal. 
This  seems  to  nave  been  a  barbarous  imitation  of  the  Roman 
fashion  of  sepulture. 


NOTI'.  2  V. 


For  pathless  march  and  mountain  cell, 
The  peasant  left  his  lowly  shed. — P.  33. 

The  morasses  were  the  usual  rtfuge  of  the  Border  herdsmen, 
on  the  approach  of  an  English  army. — {Minstrelsy  of  tht 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


bi> 


Scottish  Border,  vol.  i.  p.  393.)  Caves,  hewed  in  the  most 
langerous  and  inaccessible  places,  also  afforded  an  occasional 
etreat.  Such  caverns  may  be  seen  in  the  precipitous  banks  of 
the  Teviot  at  Sunlaws,  upon  the  Ale  at  Ancram,  upon  the 
Jed  at  Hundalee,  and  in  many  other  places  upon  the  Border. 
The  banks  of  the  Eske,  at  Gorton  and  Hawthornden,  are  hol- 
lowed into  similar  recesses.  But  even  these  dreary  dens  were 
not  always  secure  places  of  concealment.  "  In  the  way  as  we 
came,  not  far  from  this  place  (Long  Niddry),  George  Ferres, 

a  gentleman  of  my   Lord  Protector's happened 

upon  a  cave  in  the  grounde,  the  mouth  whereof  was  so  worne 
with  the  fresh  print  of  steps,  that  he  seemed  to  be  certayne 
thear  wear  some  folke  within ;  and  gone  doune  to  trie,  he  was 
readily  receyved  with  a  hakebut  or  two.  He  left  them  not 
yet,  till  he  had  known  wheyther  thei  wolde  be  content  to  yield 
and  come  out ;  which  they  fondly  refusing,  he  went  to  my 
lord's  grace,  and  upon  utterance  of  the  thynge,  gat  licence  to 
deale  with  them  as  he  coulde  ;  and  so  returned  to  them,  with 
a  skore  or  two  of  pioners.  Three  ventes  had  their  cave,  that 
we  wear  ware  of,  whereof  he  first  stopt  up  on ;  anoother  he 
fill'd  full  of  strawe,  and  set  it  a  fyer,  whereat  they  within  cast 
water  apace  ;  but  it  was  so  wel  maynteyned  without,  that  the 
fyer  prevayled,  and  thei  within  fayn  to  get  them  belyke  into 
anoother  parler.  Then  devysed  we  (for  I  hapt  to  be  with  him) 
to  stop  the  same  up,  whereby  we  should  eyther  smoother  them, 
or  fynd  out  their  ventes,  if  thei  hadde  any  moe ;  as  this  was 
done  at  another  issue,  about  xii  score  of,  we  moughte  see  the 
fume  of  their  smoke  to  come  out :  the  which  continued  with 
bo  great  a  force,  and  so  long  a  while,  that  we  could  not  but 
thinke  they  must  needs  get  them  out,  or  smoother  within  :  and 
forasmuch  as  we  found  not  that  they  dyd  the  tone,  we  thought 
it  for  certain  thei  wear  sure  of  the  toother." — Patten's  Ac- 
count of  Somerset's  Expedition  into  Scotland,  apud  Dal- 
yell's  Fragments. 


Note  2  W. 


Show'd  southern  ravage  was  begun. — P.  33. 

From  the  following  fragment  of  a  letter  from  the  Earl  of 
Northumberland  to  King  Henry  VIII.,  preserved  among  the 
Cotton  MSS.  Calig.  B.  vii.  179,  the  reader  may  estimate  the 
nature  of  the  dreadful  war  which  was  occasionally  waged  upon 
the  Borders,  sharpened  by  mutual  cruelties,  and  the  personal 
hatred  of  the  wardens,  or  leaders. 

Some  Scottish  Barons,  says  the  Earl,  had  threatened  to  come 
within  "  three  miles  of  my  pore  house  of  Werkworth,  where  I 
lye  and  gif  me  light  to  put  on  my  clothes  at  mydnight ;  and 
al^oo  the  said  Marke  Carr  said  there  opynly,  that  seyng  they 
had  a  governor  on  the  Marches  of  Scotland,  as  well  as  they 
had  in  Ingland,  he  shulde  kepe  your  highness  instructions, 
gyftyn  unto  your  garyson,  for  making  of  any  day-forrey ;  for 
he  and  his  friends  wolde  burne  enough  on  the  nyght,  lettyng 
your  counsaill  here  defyne  a  notable  acte  at  theyre  pleasures. 
Upon  whiche,  in  your  highnes  name,  I  comaundet  dewe  watche 
to  be  kepte  ov  your  M archies,  for  comyng  in  of  any  Scotts. — 
Neuertheles,  upon  Thursday  at  night  last,  came  thyrty  light 
horsemen  into  a  litil  village  of  myne,  called  Whitell,  having 
not  past  sex  houses,  lying  towards  Ryddisdaill,  upon  Shilbotell 
More,  and  there  wold  have  fyred  the  said  howses,  but  ther  was 
no  fyre  to  get  there,  and  they  forgate  to  brynge  any  withe 
theyme  ;  and  took  a  wyf  being  great  with  chylde,  in  the  said 
towne,  and  said  to  hyr,  Wher  we  can  not  gyve  the  lard  lyght, 
yet  we  shall  doo  this  in  spyte  of  hym  ;  and  gyve  her  iii  mortall 
rounds  upon  the  heid,  and  another  in  the  right  side,  with  a 
dagger;  whereupon  the  said  wyf  is  deede,  and  the  childe  in 
her  bely  is  loste.  Beseeching  your  most  gracious  highness  to 
reduce  unto  your  gracious  memory  this  wylful  and  shamefull 
purder,  done  within  this  your  highnes  realme,  notwithstanding 

1  Risp,  creak.— Rive,  tear. 


all  the  inhabitants  thereabout  rose  unto  the  said  fray,  and  gave 
warnynge  by  becons  into  the  countrey  afore  theyme,  and  yet 
the  Scottsnien  dyde  escape.  And  uppon  certeyne  knowledge 
to  my  brother  Clyffbrthe,  and  me,  had  by  credible  persons  of 
Scotland,  this  abomynable  act  not  only  to  be  done  by  dyver3e 
of  the  Mershe,  but  also  the  afore  named  persons  of  Tyvidaill, 
and  consented  to,  as  by  appearance,  by  the  Erie  of  Murey, 
upon  Friday  at  night  last,  let  slip  C  of  the  best  horsemen  o' 
Gleudaill,  with  a  parte  of  your  highnes  subjects  of  Berwyke, 
together  with  George  Dowglas,  whoo  came  into  Ingland  agayne, 
in  the  dawning  of  the  day  ;  but  afore  theyre  retorne,  they  dyu 
mar  the  Earl  of  Murreis  provisions  at  Coldingham ;  for  thty 
did  not  only  burne  the  said  town  of  Coldingham,  with  all  tlie 
come  thereunto  belonging,  which  is  esteemed  worthe  cii  marke 
sterling  ;  but  alsoo  burned  twa  townes  nye  adjoining  thereunto, 
called  Branerdergest  and  the  Black  Hill,  and  toke  xxiii  persons, 
lx  horse,  with  cc  hed  of  cataill,  which,  nowe,  as  I  am  inform- 
ed, hathe  not  only  been  a  staye  of  the  said  Erie  of  Murreis  not 
coming  to  the  Bordure  as  yet,  but  alsoo,  that  none  inlande 
man  will  adventure  theyr  self  uppon  the  Marches.  And  as  for 
the  tax  that  shulde  have  been  grauntyd  for  finding  of  the  said 
iii  hundred  men,  is  utterly  denyed.  Upon  which  the  King  of 
Scotland  departed  from  Edynburgh  to  Stirling,  and  as  yet 
there  doth  remayn.  And  also  I,  by  the  advice  of  my  brother 
Clyfforth,  have  devysed,  that  within  this  iii  nyghts,  Godde  wil- 
ling. Kelsey,  in  like  case,  shall  be  brent,  with  all  the  corn  in 
the  said  town  ;  and  then  they  shall  have  noo  place  to  lye  any 
garyson  in  nygh  unto  the  Borders.  And  as  I  shall  atteigne  fur- 
ther knowledge,  I  shall  not  faill  to  satisfye  your  highnes,  ac- 
cording to  my  most  bounden  dutie.  And  for  this  bumyng  of 
Kelsey  is  devysed  to  be  done  secretly,  by  Tyndaill  and  Ryddis 
dale.  And  thus  the  holy  Trynite  and  *  *  *  your  most  royal 
estate,  with  long  lyf,  and  as  much  increase  of  honour  as  your 
most  noble  heart  can  desire.  At  Werkworth,  the  xxiid  day  of 
October."     (1522.) 


Note  2  X. 
Watt  Tinlinn.— P.  33. 
This  person  was,  in  my  younger  days,  the  theme  of  many  a 
fireside  tale.  He  was  a  retainer  of  the  Buccleuch  family,  and 
held  for  his  Border  service  a  small  tower  on  the  frontiers  of 
Liddesdale.  Watt  was,  by  profession,  a  sutor,  but,  by  incli- 
nation and  practice,  an  archer  and  warrior.  Upon  one  occa- 
sion, the  captain  of  Bewcastle,  military  governor  of  that  wild 
district  of  Cumberland,  is  said  to  have  made  an  incursion  into 
Scotland,  in  which  he  was  defeated,  and  forced  to  fly.  Watt 
Tinlinn  pursued  him  closely  through  a  dangerous  morass  ;  the 
captain,  however,  gained  the  firm  ground  ;  and  seeing  Tinlinn 
dismounted,  and  floundering  in  the  bog,  used  these  words  of 
insult :—"  Sutor  Watt,  ye  cannot  sew  your  boots;  the  heels 
risp,  and  the  seams  rive."1—"  If  I  cannot  sew,"  retorted  Tin- 
linn, discharging  a  shaft,  which  nailed  the  captain's  thigh  to 
his  saddle, — "  If  I  cannot  sew,  I  can  yerk.'n'i 


Note  2  Y. 
Billhope  Stag— P.  34. 
There  is  an  old  rhyme,  which  thus  celebrates  the  places  in 
Liddesdale  remarkable  for  game  : 

"  Billhope  braes  for  bucks  and  raes, 

And  Carit  haugh  for  swine, 
And  Tarras  for  the  good  bull-trout, 
If  he  be  ta'en  in  time." 
The  bucks  and  roes,  as  well  as  the  old  swine,  are  now  e» 
tinct ;  but  the  good  bull-trout  is  still  famous. 

3  Yerk,  to  twitch,  as  shoemakers  do,  J  securing  the  stitches  of  th«ii 
work. 


70 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  2  Z. 
Belted  Will  Howard.— P.  34. 

Lord  William  Howard,  third  son  of  Thomas,  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk, succeeded  to  Naworth  Castle,  and  a  large  domain  an- 
nexed to  it,  in  right  of  his  wife  Elizabeth,  sister  of  George 
Lord  Dacre,  who  died  without  heirs  male,  in  the  11th  of 
(iueen  Elizabeth.  By  a  poetical  anachronism,  he  is  intro- 
duced into  the  romance  a  few  years  earlier  than  he  actually 
flourished.  He  was  warden  of  the  Western  Marches :  and, 
from  the  rigor  with  which  he  repressed  the  Border  excesses, 
the  name  of  Beltft  Will  Howard  is  still  famous  in  our  tradi- 
tions. In  the  castle  of  Naworth,  his  apartments,  containing 
a  bedroom,  oratory,  and  library,  are  still  shown.  They  im- 
press us  with  an  unpleasing  idea  of  the  life  of  a  lord  warden 
of  the  Marches.  Three  or  four  strong  doors,  separating  these 
rooms  from  the  rest  of  the  castle,  indicate  the  apprehensions 
of  treachery  from  his  garrison  ;  and  the  secxet.  winding  pas- 
t»ges,  through  which  he  could  privately  descend  into  the 
guardroom,  or  even  into  the  dungeons,  imply  the  necessity  of 
no  small  degree  of  secret  superintendence  on  the  part  of  the 
governor.  As  the  ancient  books  and  furniture  have  remained 
undisturbed,  the  venerable  appearance  of  these  apartments, 
and  the  armor  scattered  around  the  chamber,  almost  lead  us  to 
QXpeet  the  arrival  of  the  warden  in  person.  Naworth  Castle 
is  situated  near  Brampton,  in  Cumberland.  Lord  William 
Howard  is  ancestor  of  the  Earls  of  Carlisle. 


Note  3  A. 

Lord  Dacre.—?.  34. 


The  well-known  name  of  Dacre  is  derived  from  the  exploits 
of  one  of  their  ancestors  at  the  siege  of  Acre,  or  Ptolemais, 
under  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion.  There  were  two  powerful 
branches  of  that  name.  The  first  family,  called  Lord  Dacres 
of  the  South,  held  the  castle  of  the  same  name,  and  are  an- 
cestors to  the  present  Lord  Dacre.  The  other  family,  descend- 
ed from  the  same  stock,  were  called  Lord  Dacres  of  the 
North,  and  were  barons  of  Gilsland  and  Graystock.  A  chief- 
tain of  the  latter  branch  was  warden  of  the  West  Marches 
during  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  He  was  a  man  of  a  hot  and 
obstinate  character,  as  appears  from  some  particulars  of  Lord 
Surrey's  letter  to  Henry  VIII.,  giving  an  account  of  his  beha- 
vior at  the  siege  and  storm  of  Jedburgh.  It  is  printed  in  the 
Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  Appendix  to  the  Intro- 
duction. 


Note  3  B. 


The  German  hackbut-men. — P.  34. 

In  the  wars  with  Scotland,  Henry  VIII.  and  his  successors 
employed  numerous  bands  of  mercenary  troops.  At  the  bat- 
tle of  Pinky  there  were  in  the  English  army  six  hundred  hack- 
butters  on  foot,  and  two  hundred  on  horseback,  composed 
chiefly  of  foreigners.  On  the  27th  of  September,  1549,  the 
Duke  of  Somerset,  Lord  Protector,  writes  to  the  Lord  Dacre, 
warden  of  the  West  Marches: — "The  Almains,  in  number 
two  thousand,  very  valiant  soldiers,  shall  be  sent  to  you  shortly 
from  Newcastle,  together  with  Sir  Thomas  Holcroft,  and  with 
the  force  of  your  wardenry  (which  we  would  were  advanced 
to  the  most  strength  of  horsemen  that  might  be),  shall  make 
ihe  attempt  to  Loughmaben,  being  of  no  such  strength,  but 
th»t  it  may  be  skailed  with  ladders,  whereof,  beforehand,  we 
would  you  caused  secretly  some  number  to  be  provided  ;  or 
i"V»e  vsdermined  with  the  pyke-axe,  and  so  taken  :  either  to  be 


kept  for  the  King's  Majesty,  or  otherwise  to  be  difaced,  and 
taken  from  the  profits  of  the  enemy.  And  in  like  manner  the 
house  of  Carlaverock  to  be  used."  Repeated  mention  occun 
of  the  Almains,  in  the  subsequent  correspondence  ;  a^d  the 
enterprise  seems  finally  to  have  been  abandoned,  from  the  dif 
ficulty  of  providing  these  strangers  with  the  necessaiy  "vic- 
tuals and  carriages  in  so  poor  a  country  as  Dumfries-shire." — 
History  of  Cumberland,  vol.  i.  Introd.  p.  lxi.  From  the 
battle-pieces  of  the  ancient  Flemish  painters,  we  lean.,  that 
the  Low  Country  and  German  soldiers  marched  to  an  assail! 
with  their  right  knees  bared.  And  we  may  also  observe,  ij 
such  pictures,  the  extravagance  to  which  thej  v-arn<  it  ,'k 
fashion  of  ornamenting  their  dress  with  knots  of  ribbon  Thi> 
custom  of  the  Germans  is  alluded  to  in  the  Mirrour  for  J>L  g  iw 
tratcs,  p.  121. 

"  Their  pleited  garments  therewith  well  accord, 
All  jagde  and  frounst,  with  divers  colours  deckt 


Note  3  C. 

"  Ready,  aye  ready,"  for  the  field. — P.  34. 

Sir  John  Scott  of  Thirlestane  flourished  in  the  reign  of  James 
V.,  and  possessed  the  estates  of  Thirlestane,  Gamescleueh, 
&c,  lying  upon  the  river  of  Ettrick,  and  extending  to  St. 
Mary's  Loch,  at  the  head  of  Yarrow.  It  appears,  that  when 
James  had  assembled  his  nobility,  and  their  feudal  followers, 
at  Fala,  with  the  purpose  of  invading  England,  and  was,  as  is 
well  known,  disappointed  by  the  obstinate  refusal  of  his  peers, 
this  baron  alone  declared  himself  ready  to  follow  the  King 
wherever  he  should  lead.  In  memory  of  his  fidelity,  James 
granted  to  his  family  a  charter  of  arms,  entitling  them  to  bear 
a  border  of  fleurs-de-luce,  similar  to  the  tressure  in  the  royal 
arms,  with  a  bundle  of  spears  for  the  crest ;  motto,  Ready, 
aye  ready.  The  charter  itself  is  printed  by  Nisbet ;  but  his 
work  being  scarce,  I  insert  the  following  accurate  transcript 
from  the  original,  in  the  possession  of  the  Right  Honorable 
Lord  Napier,  the  representative  of  John  of  Thirlestaine. 

"James  Rex. 
We  James,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King  of  Scottis,  consider- 
and  the  flaitli  and  guid  servis  of  of  of1  right  traist  friend  John 
Scott  of  Thirlestane,  quha  cummand  to  our  hoste  at  Soutra- 
edge,  with  three  score  and  ten  launcieres  on  horseback  of  his 
friends  and  followers,  and  beand  willing  to  gang  with  ws  into 
England,  when  all  our  nobles  and  others  refused,  he  was 
ready  to  stake  at  all  our  bidding;  ffor  the  quhilk  cause,  it  is 
our  will,  and  we  doe  straitlie  command  and  charg  our  lion 
herauld  and  his  deputies  for  the  time  beand,  to  give  and  to 
graunt  to  the  said  John  Scott,  ane  Border  of  ffleure  de  lises 
about  his  coatte  of  armes,  sik  as  is  on  our  royal  banner,  and 
alsua  ane  bundell  of  launces  above  his  helmet,  with  thir  words, 
Readdy,  ay  Readdy,  that  he  and  all  his  aftercummers  may 
bruik  the  samine  as  a  pledge  and  taiken  of  our  guid  will  and 
kyndnes  for  his  true  worthines  ;  and  thir  our  letters  seen,  ye 
nae  waes  failzie  to  doe.  Given  at  Ffalla  Muire,  under  oui 
hand  and  privy  cashet,  the  xxvii  day  of  July,  m  c  and  xxxii 
zeires.     By  the  King's  graces  speciall  ordinance. 

"Jo.  Arskink." 

On  the  back  of  the  charter  is  written, 
"  Edin.  14  January,  1713.     Registred,  conform  to  the  act  ol 
parliament  made    anent    probative  writs,  per  M'Kaile,  pror. 
and  produced  by  Alexander  Borthwick,  servant  to  Sir  William 
Scott  of  Thirlestane.     M.  L.  J." 

1  Sic  in  orig. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


71 


Note  3  D. 

An  aged  Knight,  to  danger  steeVd, 

With  many  a  moss-trooper  came  on ; 
And  azure  in  a  golden  field, 
The  stars  and  crescent  graced  his  shield, 
Without  the  bend  of  Mardieston.—?.  34. 

The  family  >f  Harden  are  descended  from  a  younger  son  of 
the  Laird  of  iiuccleuch,  who  flourished  before  the  estate  of 
Murdieston  was  acquired  by  the  marriage  of  one  of  those 
chieftains  with  the  heiress,  in  1296.  Hence  they  bear  the  cog- 
cizance  oi'  the  Scotts  upon  the  field  ;  whereas  those  of  the 
Buccleuch  are  disposed  upon  a  bend  dexter,  assumed  in  conse- 
quence of  that  marriage. — See  Gladstaine  of  Whitelawe's 
MSS.,  and  Scott  of  Stokoe's  Pedigree,  Newcastle,  1783. 

Walter  Scott  of  Harden,  who  flourished  during  the  reign  of 
dueen  Mary,  was  a  renowned  Border  freebooter,  concerning 
whom  tradition  has  preserved  a  variety  of  anecdotes,  some  of 
which  have  been  published  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border  ;  others  in  Leyden's  Scenes  of  Infancy ;  and  others, 
more  lately,  in  The  Mountain  Bard,  a  collection  of  Border 
ballads  by  Mr.  James  Hogg.  The  bugle-horn,  said  to  have 
been  used  by  this  formidable  leader,  is  preserved  by  his  de- 
scendant, the  present  Mr.  Scott  of  Harden.  His  castle  was 
situated  upon  the  very  brink  of  a  dark  and  precipitous  dell, 
through  which  a  scanty  rivulet  steals  to  meet  the  Borthwick. 
In  the  recess  of  this  glen  he  is  said  to  have  kept  his  spoil, 
which  served  for  the  daily  maintenance  of  his  retainers,  until 
the  production  of  a  pair  of  clean  spurs,  in  a  covered  dish,  an- 
nounced to  the  hungry  band,  that  they  must  ride  for  a  supply 
of  provisions.  He  was  married  to  Mary  Scott,  daughter  of 
Philip  Scott  of  Dryhope,  and  called  in  song  the  Flower  of 
Yarrow.  He  possessed  a  very  extensive  estate,  which  was  di- 
vided among  his  five  sons.  There  are  numerous  descendants 
of  this  old  marauding  baron.  The  following  beautiful  passage 
of  Leyden's  Scenes  of  Infancy,  is  founded  on  a  tradition  re- 
specting an  infant  captive,  whom  Walter  of  Harden  carried  off 
in  a  predatory  incursion,  and  who  is  said  to  have  become  the 
author  of  some  of  our  most  beautiful  pastoral  songs  : 

"  Where  Bortha  hoarse,  that  loads  the  meads  with  sand, 
Rolls  her  red  tide  to  Teviot's  western  strand, 
Through  slaty  hills,  whose  sides  are  shagg'd  with  thorn, 
Where  springs,  in  scatter'd  tufts,  the  dark-green  corn, 
Towers  wood-girt  Harden,  far  above  the  vale, 
And  clouds  of  ravens  o'er  the  turrets  sail. 
A  hardy  race,  who  never  shrunk  from  war, 
The  Scott,  to  rival  realms  a  mighty  bar, 
Here  fix'd  his  mountain  home  ; — a  wide  domain, 
And  rich  the  soil,  had  purple  heath  been  grain  ; 
But  what  the  niggard  ground  of  wealth  denied, 
From  fields  more  bless' d  his  fearless  arm  supplied. 

"  The  waning  harvest-moon  shone  cold  and  bright ; 
The  warder's  horn  was  heard  at  dead  of  night ; 
And  as  the  massy  portals  wide  were  flung, 
With  stamping  hoofs  the  rocky  pavement  rung. 
What  fair,  half  veil'd,  leans  from  her  latticed  hall, 
Where  red  the  wavering  gleams  of  torchlight  fall? 
'Tis  Yarrow's  fairest  flower,  who,  through  the  gloom, 
Looks,  wistful,  for  her  lover's  dancing  plume. 
Amid  the  piles  of  spoil,  that  strew'd  the  ground, 
Her  ear,  all  anxious,  caught  a  wailing  sound  ; 
With  trembling  haste  the  youthful  matron  flew, 
And  from  the  hurried  heaps  an  infant  drew. 

"  Scared  at  the  light,  his  little  hands  he  flung 
Around  her  neck,  and  to  her  bosom  clung  ; 
While  beauteous  Mary  soothed,  in  accents  mild, 
His  fluttering  soul,  and  clasp'd  her  foster  child. 
Of  milder  mood  the  gentle  captive  grew, 
Nor  loved  the  scenes  that  scared  his  infant  view  ; 


In  vales  remote,  from  camps  and  cast.es  far, 
He  shunn'd  the  fearful  shuddering  joy  of  war ; 
Content  the  loves  of  simple  swains  to  sing, 
Or  wake  to  fame  the  harp's  heroic  string. 

"  His  are  the  strains  whose  wandering  echoes  thrni 
The  shepherd,  lingering  on  the  twilight  hill, 
When  evening  brings  the  merry  folding  hocllb, 
And  sun-eyed  daisies  close  their  winking  flowers. 
He  lived  o'er  Yarrow's  Flower  to  shed  the  tear, 
To  strew  the  holly  leaves  o'er  Harden's  bier : 
But  none  was  found  above  the  minstrel's  tomb, 
Emblem  of  peace,  to  bid  the  daisy  bloom: 
He,  nameless  as  the  race  from  which  he  sprung, 
Saved  other  names,  and  left  his  own  unsung." 


Note  3  E. 

Scotts  of  Eskdale,  a  stalwart  band. — P.  35. 

In  this,  and  the  following  stanzas,  some  account  is  given  oi 
the  mode  in  which  the  property  in  the  valley  of  Esk  was  trans- 
ferred from  the  Beattisons,  its  ancient  possessors,  to  the  nam« 
of  Scott.  It  is  needless  to  repeat  the  circumstances,  which 
are  given  in  the  poem,  literally  as  they  have  been  preserved 
by  tradition.  Lord  Maxwell,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  took  upon  himself  the  title  of  Earl  of  Morton. 
The  descendants  of  Beattison  of  Woodkerrick,  who  aided  the 
Earl  to  escape  from  his  disobedient  vassals,  continued  to  hold 
these  lands  within  the  memory  of  man,  and  were  the  only 
Beattisons  who  had  property  in  the  dale.  The  old  people  give 
locality  to  the  story,  by  showing  the  Galliard's  Haugh,  the 
place  where  Buccleuch's  men  were  concealed,  &c. 


Note  3  F. 

Their  gathering  word  was  Bellenden. — P.  36. 

Bellenden  is  situated  near  the  head  of  Borthwick  water,  and 
being  in  the  centre  of  the  possessions  of  the  Scotts,  was  fre- 
quently used  as  their  place  of  rendezvous  and  gathering  word. 
— Survey  of  Selkirkshire  in  Macfarlane"1 s  MSS.,  Advocates' 
Library.  Hence  Satchells  calls  one  part  of  his  genealogical 
account  of  the  families  of  that  clan,  his  Bellenden. 


Note  3  Q. 

The  camp  their  home,  their  law  the  sword, 
They  knew  no  country,  owii'd  no  lord. — P.  36. 

The  mercenary  adventurers,  whom,  in  1380,  the  Earl  of 
Cambridge  carried  to  the  assistance  of  the  King  of  Portugal 
against  the  Spaniards,  mutinied  for  want  of  regular  pay.  At 
an  assembly  of  their  leaders,  Sir  John  Soltier,  a  natural  sen 
of  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  thus  addressed  them  :  "  '  I  conn- 
sayle,  let  us  be  alle  of  one  alliance,  and  of  one  accorde,  and  .e\, 
us  among  ourselves  reyse  up  the  banner  of  St.  George,  and  let 
us  be  frendes  to  God,  and  enemyes  to  alle  the  worlde ;  for 
without  we  make  ourselfe  to  be  feared,  we  gete  nothynge.' 

"  '  By  my  fayth,'  quod  Sir  William  Helmon,  '  ye  saye  right 
well,  and  so  let  us  do.'  They  all  agreed  with  oae  voyce,  and 
so  regarded  among  them  who  shulde  be  their  capitayne.  Then 
they  advysed  in  the  case  how  they  coude  nat  have  a  better 
capitayne  than  Sir  John  Soltier.  For  they  sulde  than  have 
good  leyser  to  do  yvel,  and  they  thought  he  was  more  metel- 
yer  thereto  than  any  other.  Then  they  raised  up  the  penon 
of  St.  George,  and  cried,  'A  Soltier!  a  Soltier!  the  valyaunl 
bastarde  !  frendes  to  God,  and  enemies  to  all  the  worlde  !'  — 
Froissart,  vol.  i.  ch.  393. 


VI 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  3  H. 

That  he  may  suffer  march-treason  pain. — P.  37. 

Several  species  of  offences,  peculiar  to  the  Border,  constitu- 
ted what  was  called  march-treason.  Among  others,  was  the 
crime  of  riding,  or  causing  to  ride,  against  the  opposite  country 
dating  the  time  of  truce.  Thus,  in  an  indenture  made  at  the 
water  of Eske,  hpide  Salom,  on  the  25th  day  of  March,  1334, 
bet#ixt  noble  lords  and  mighty,  Sirs  Henry  Percy,  Earl  of 
Northumberland,  and  Archibald  Douglas,  Lord  of  Galloway, 
a  truce  is  agreed  upon  until  the  1st  day  of  July  ;  and  it  is  ex- 
pressly accorded,  "  Gif  ony  stellis  authir  on  the  ta  part,  or  on 
the  tothyr,  that  he  shall  be  hanget  or  heofdit ;  and  gif  ony 
company  stellis  any  glides  within  the  trieux  beforesayd,  ane  of 
that  company  sail  be  hanget  or  heofdit,  and  the  remnant  sail 
restore  the  gudys  stolen  in  the  dubble." — History  of  West- 
moreland and  Cumberland,  Introd.  p.  xxxix. 


Note  3  I. 


Deloraine 


Will  cleanse  him,  by  oath,  of  march-treason  stain. — P.  38. 

In  dubious  cases,  the  innocence  of  Border  criminals  was  oc- 
casionally referred  to  their  own  oath.  The  form  or  excusing 
billn,  or  indictments,  by  Border-oath,  nil  thus:  "Von  shall 
swear  by  heaven  above  you,  hell  beneath  you,  by  your  part  of 
Paradise,  by  all  that  God  made  in  six  days  and  seven  nights, 
and  by  God  himself,  you  are  whart  out  sackless  of  art,  part, 
way,  witting,  ridd,  kenning,  having,  or  recetting  of  any  of  the 
goods  and  cattels  named  in  this  bill.  So  help  you  God." — 
History  of  Cumberland,  Introd.  p.  xxv. 


Note  3  K. 

Knighthood  he  took  of  Douglas*  sword. — P.  38. 

The  dignity  of  knighthood,  according  to  the  original  institu- 
tion, had  this  peculiarity,  that  it  did  not  flow  from  the  mon- 
arch, but  could  be  conferred  by  one  who  himself  possessed  it, 
upon  any  squire  who,  after  due  probation,  was  found  to  merit 
the  honor  of  chivalry.  Latterly,  this  power  was  confined  to 
generals,  who  were  wont  to  create  knights  bannerets  after  or 
before  an  engagement.  Even  so  late  as  the  reign  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  Essex  highly  offended  his  jealous  sovereign  by  the 
indiscriminate  exertion  of  this  privilege.  Among  others,  he 
knighted  the  witty  Sir  John  Harrington,  whose  favor  at  court 
was  by  no  means  enhanced  by  his  new  honors. — See  the  .Yinr.p 
Antique,  edited  by  Mr.  Park.  But  probably  the  latest  in- 
stance of  knighthood,  conferred  by  a  subject,  was  in  the  case 
of  Thomas  Ker,  knighted  by  the  Earl  of  Huntley,  after  the  de- 
tea*  of  the  Earl  of  Argyle  in  the  battle  of  Belrinnes.  The  fact 
is  3f.*°sted,  both  by  a  poetical  and  prose  account  of  the  en- 
gagement, contained  in  an  ancient  MS.  in  the  Advocates'  Li- 
brwy  and  edited  by  Mr.  Dalyell,  in  Qodly  Sangs  and  Ballets, 
Elm.  1802. 


Note  3  L. 


When  English  Mood  swell' d  Jlncram'  s  ford. — P.  38. 

The  battle  of  Ancram  Moor,  or  Penielheuch,  was  fought 
A.  1).  1545.  The  English,  commanded  by  Sir  Ralph  Evers 
end  Sir  Brian  Latoun,  were  totally  routed,  and  both  their 
leaders  slain  in  the  action.  The  Scottish  army  was  com- 
manded by  Archibald  Douglas,  Earl  of  Angus,  assisted  by  the 
Laird  of  Buccleueh  and  Norman  Lesley. 


Note  3  M. 

For  who,  infield  or  foray  slack, 
Saw  the  blanche  lion  e'er  fall  back  ?— P.  38. 
This  was  the  cognizance  of  the  noble  house  of  Howard  in  all 
its  branches.  The  crest,  or  bearing,  of  a  warrior,  was  often 
used  as  a  nomme  de guerre.  Thus  Richard  III.  acquired  hi<. 
well-known  epithet.  The  Boar  of  York.  In  the  violent  satire 
on  Cardinal  Wolsey.  written  by  Roy,  commonly,  but  erro- 
neously, imputed  to  Dr.  Bull,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  is 
called  the  Beautiful  Swan,  and  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  or  Earl 
of  Surrey,  the  White  I. ion.  As  the  book  is  extremely  rare, 
and  the  whole  passage  relates  to  the  emblematical  interpreta- 
tion of  heraldry,  it  shall  be  here  given  at  lengeth. 

"  The  Description  of  the  Armes. 
41  Of  the  proud  Cardinal  this  is  the  slielde 
Borne  up  betweene  two  angels  of  Sathan  ; 
The  six  bloudy  axes  in  a  bare  felde, 
Sheweth  the  cruelte  of  the  red  man, 
Whicli  hath  devoured  the  Beautiful  Swan, 
Mortal  enemy  unto  the  Whyte  Lion, 
Carter  of  Yorke,  the  vyle  butcher's  sonne, 
The  six  bulles  heddes  in  a  felde  blacke, 
Betokeneth  hi*  stordy  furiousness, 
Wherefore,  the  godly  lyght  to  put  abacke, 
He  bryngeth  in  his  dyvlish  dareness; 
The  bandog  in  the  middes  doth  expresse 
The  mastiff  eurre  bred  in  Ypswieh  towne, 
Gnawynge  with  his  tetii  a  kinges  crowne. 
The  cloubbe  signineth  playne  his  tiranny, 
Covered  over  with  ■  Cardinally  halt, 
Wherein  shall  be  1'ultillcd  the  prophecy, 
Aryse  up,  Jaeke,  and  put  on  thy  salatt, 
For  the  tyme  is  come  of  bagge  and  walatt. 
The  temporal]  chevalry  thus  thrown  doune, 
Wherefor,  prest,  take  hede,  and  beware  thy  crowne." 

There  were  two  copies  of  this  very  scarce  satire  in  the  libra- 
ry of  the  late  John,  Duke  of  Roxburghe.  See  an  account  of  it 
al«o  in  Sir  Egerton  Brydges'  curious  miscellany,  the  Censura 
Lileraria. 


Note  3  N. 
Det  Musgrane  meet  fierce  Deloraine 
In  single  fight. P.  38. 

It  may  easily  be  supposed,  that  trial  by  single  combat,  so 
peculiar  to  the  feudal  system,  was  common  on  the  Borders. 
In  1558,  the  well-known  Kirkaldy  of  Grange  fought  a  duel 
with  Ralph  Evre,  brother  to  the  then  Lord  Evre,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  dispute  about  a  prisoner  said  to  have  been  ill- 
treated  by  the  Lord  Evre.  Pitscottie  gives  the  following  ac- 
count of  the  affair  : — "  The  Lord  of  Ivers  his  brother  r  rovoked 
William  Kircaldy  of  Grange  to  fight  with  him,  in  singular 
comb  it,  on  horseback,  with  spears  ;  who,  keeping  the  appoint 
ment,  accompanied  with  Monsieur  d'Ossel,  lieutenant  to  the 
French  king,  and  the  garrison  of  Haymouth,  and  Mr.  Ivers, 
accompanied  with  the  governor  and  garrison  of  Berwick,  it 
was  discharged,  under  the  pain  of  treason,  that  any  man 
should  come  near  the  champions  within  a  flight-shot,  except 
one  man  for  either  of  them,  to  bear  their  spears,  two  trumpets, 
and  two  lords  to  be  judges.  When  they  were  in  readiness,  the 
trumpets  sounded,  the  heraulds  cried,  and  the  judges  let  them 
go.  They  then  encountered  very  fiercely  ;  but  Grange  struck 
his  spear  through  his  adversary's  shoulder,  and  bare  him  off 
his  horse,  being  sore  wounded  :  But  whether  he  died  or  not,  it 
is  uncertain." — P.  202. 

The  following  indenture  will  show  at  how  late  a  period  thu 
trial  by  combat  was  resorted  to  on  the  Border,  as  a  proof  of 
guilt  or  innocence  : — 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


73 


"It  is  agreed  between  Thomas  Musgrave  and  Launcelot 
Carleton,  for  the  true  trial  of  such  controversies  as  are  betwixt 
them,  to  have  it  openly  tried  by  way  of  combat,  before  God 
and  the  face  of  the  world,  to  try  it  in  Canonbyholme,  before 
England  and  Scotland,  upon  Thursday  in  Easter-week,  being 
the  eighth  day  of  April  next  ensuing,  A.  D.  1602,  betwixt  nine 
of  the  clock  and  one  of  the  same  day,  to  fight  on  foot,  to  be 
armed  with  jack,  steel  cap,  plaite  sleeves,  plaite  breaches, 
p'ai  jb  sockes,  two  basleard  swords,  the  blades  to  be  one  yard 
and  half  a  quarter  in  length,  two  Scotch  daggers,  or  dorks,  at 
their  girdles,  and  either  of  them  to  provide  armour  and  weap- 
ons for  themselves  according  to  this  indenture.  Two  gentle- 
men to  be  appointed  on  the  field,  to  view  both  the  parties,  to 
see  that  they  both  be  equal  in  arms  and  weapons,  according  to 
this  indenture ;  and  being  so  viewed  by  the  gentlemen,  the 
gentlemen  to  ride  to  the  rest  of  the  company,  and  to  leave 
them  but  two  boys,  viewed  by  the  gentlemen,  to  be  under  six- 
teen years  of  age,  to  hold  their  horses.  In  testimony  of  this 
our  agreement,  we  have  both  set  our  hands  to  this  indenture, 
of  intent  all  matters  shall  be  made  so  plain,  as  there  shall  be 
no  question  to  stick  upon  that  day.  Which  indenture,  as  a 
witness,  shall  be  delivered  to  two  gentlemen.  And  for  that  it 
is  convenient  the  world  should  be  privy  to  every  particular 
of  the  grounds  of  the  quarrel,  we  have  agreed  to  set  it  down 
in  this  indenture  betwixt  us,  that,  knowing  the  quarrel,  their 
eyes  may  be  witness  of  the  trial. 

THE  GROUNDS  OF  THE  QUARREL. 

"  1.  Lancelot  Carleton  did  charge  Thomas  Musgrave  before 
the  Lords  of  her  Majesty's  Privy  Council,  that  Lancelot  Carle- 
ton was  told  by  a  gentleman,  one  of  her  Majesty's  sworn  ser- 
vants, that  Thomas  Musgiave  had  offered  to  deliver  her  Majes- 
ty's Castle  of  Bewcastle  to  the  King  of  Scots  ;  and  to  witness 
the  same,  Lancelot  Carleton  had  a  letter  under  the  gentleman's 
own  hand  for  his  discharge. 

"  2.  He  chargeth  him,  that  whereas  her  Majesty  doth  yearly 
bestow  a  great  fee  upon  him,  as  captain  of  Bewcastle,  to  aid 
and  defend  her  Majesty's  subjects  therein  :  Thomas  Musgrave 
hath  neglected  his  duty,  for  that  her  Majesty's  Castle  of  Bew- 
castle was  by  him  made  a  den  of  thieves,  and  an  harbour  and 
receipt  for  murderers,  felons,  and  all  sorts  of  misdemeanors. 
The  precedent  was  ( iuint in  Whitehead  and  Runion  Blackburne. 

"  3.  He  chargeth  him,  that  his  office  of  Bewcastle  is  open 
for  the  Scotch  to  ride  in  and  through,  and  small  resistance 
made  by  him  to  the  contrary. 

"  Thomas  Musgrave  doth  deny  all  this  charge  ;  and  saith, 
that  he  will  prove  that  Lancelot  Carleton  doth  falsely  bely  him, 
and  will  prove  the  same  by  way  of  combat,  according  to  this 
indenture.  Lancelot  Carleton  hath  entertained  the  challenge  ; 
and  so,  by  God's  permission,  will  prove  it  true  as  before,  and 
oath  set  his  hand  to  the  same. 

(Signed)        "  Thomas  Musgrave. 

"  Lancelot  Carleton." 


Note  3  0. 

He,  the  jovial  harper. — P.  39. 

The  person  here  alluded  to,  is  one  of  our  ancient  Border 
ninstreis,  called  Rattling  Roaring  Willie.  This  soubriquet 
was  probably  derived  from  his  bullying  disposition ;  being,  it 
would  seem,  such  a  roaring  boy,  as  is  frequently  mentioned  in 
old  plays.  While  drinking  at  Newmill,  upon  Teviot,  about 
five  miles  above  Hawick,  Willie  chanced  to  quarrel  with  one 
of  his  own  profession,  who  was  usually  distinguished  by  the 
odd  name  of  Sweet  Milk,  from  a  place  on  Rule  Water  so 
called.  They  retired  to  a  meadow  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Teviot,  to  decide  the  contest  with  their  swords,  and  Sweet 


1  The  day  of  the  Rood-fair  at  Jedburgh. 
9  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot  of  Stobs,  and  Scott  of  Falnash. 
10 


Milk  was  killed  on  the  spot.  A  thorn-tree  marks  the  scene  of 
the  murder,  which  is  still  called  Sweet  Milk  Thorn.  Willie 
was  taken  and  executed  at  Jedburgh,  bequeathing  his  name 
to  the  beautiful  Scotch  air,  called  "  Rattling  Roaring  Willie." 
Ramsay,  who  set  no  value  on  traditionary  lore,  published  a 
few  verses  of  this  song  in  the  Tea-Table  Miscellany,  carefully 
suppressing  all  which  had  any  connection  with, the  history  of 
the  author  and  origin  of  the  piece.  In  this  case,  however, 
honest  Allan  is  in  some  degree  justified,  by  the  extreme  worth- 
lessness  of  the  poetry.  A  verse  or  two  may  be  taken,  as  illus- 
trative of  the  history  of  Roaring  Willie,  alluded  to  in  the  felt, 

"  Now  Willie's  gane  to  Jeddart, 

And  he's  for  the  rood-day  ;i 
But  Stobs  and  young  Falnashs 

They  follow 'd  him  a'  the  way  ; 
They  follow'd  him  a'  the  way, 

They  sought  him  up  and  down, 
In  the  links  of  Ousenam  water 

They  fand  him  sleeping  sound. 

"  Stobs  light  aff  his  horse, 

And  never  a  word  he  spak, 
Till  he  tied  Willie's  hands 

Fu'  fast  behind  his  back ; 
Fu'  fast  behind  his  back, 

And  down  beneath  his  knee, 
And  drink  will  be  dear  to  Willie, 

When  sweet  milk3  gars  him  die 

u  Ah  wae  light  on  ye,  Stobs  1 

An  ill  death  mot  ye  die  ; 
Ye're  the  first  and  foremost  man 

That  e'er  laid  hands  on  me  ; 
That  e'er  laid  hands  on  me, 

And  took  my  mare  me  frae : 
Wae  to  you,  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot « 

Ye  are  my  mortal  fae  I 

"  The  lasses  of  Ousenam  Watei 

Are  rugging  and  riving  their  han 
And  a'  ror  the  sake  of  Willie, 

His  beauty  was  so  fair : 
His  beauty  was  so  fair, 

And  comely  for  to  see, 
And  drink  will  be  dear  to  Willie, 

When  sweet  milk  gars  him  die  " 


Note  3  P. 


He  knew  each  ordinance  and  clause 
Of  Black  Lord  Archibald's  battle-laws 
In  the  Old  Douglas'  day.— P.  39. 

The  title  to  the  most  ancient  collection  of  Border  regulation 
runs  thus  :, — "  Be  it  remembered,  that,  on  the  18th  day  of  De 
cember,  1468,  Earl  William  Douglas  assembled  the  whole 
lords,  freeholders,  and  eldest  Borderers,  that  best  knowledge 
had,  at  the  college  of  Linclouden  ;  and  there  he  caused  these 
lords  and  Borderers  bodily  to  be  sworn,  the  Holy  Gospel 
touched,  that  they,  justly  and  truly,  after  their  cunning, 
should  decrete,  decern,  deliver,  and  put  in  order  and  writing, 
the  statutes,  ordinances,  and  uses  of  marche,  that  were  ordained 
in  Black  Archibald  of  Douglas's  days,  and  Archibald  his 
son's  days,  in  time  of  warfare  ;  and  they  came  again  to  him 
advisedly  with  these  statutes  and  ordinances,  which  were  in 
time  of  warfare  before.  The  said  Earl  William,  seeing  the 
statutes  in  writing  decreed  and  delivered  by  the  said  lords  and 

8  A  wretcnea  pun  on  sua  antagonist'*  nam* 


u 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Borderers,  thought  them  right  speedful  and  profitable  to  the 
Borders  ;  the  which  statutes,  ordinances,  and  points  of  warfare, 
he  took,  and  the  whole  lords  and  Borderers  he  caused  bodily  to 
be  sworn,  that  they  should  maintain  and  supply  him  at  their 
goodly  power,  to  do  the  law  upon  those  that  should  break  the 
statutes  underwritten.  Also,  the  said  Earl  William,  ani. 
brds,  and  eldest  Borderers,  made  certain  points  to  be  treason  in 
time  of  warfare  to  be  used,  which  were  no  treason  before  lm 
cime,  but  to  be  treason  in  his  time,  and  in  all  time  coming." 


Note  3  Q. 


-P.  40. 


The  Bloody  Heart  blazed  in  the  van, 
Announcing  Douglas,  dreaded  name. 

The  chief  of  this 'potent  race  of  heroes,  about  the  date  of  the 
Aoem,  was  Archibald  Douglas,  seventh  Earl  of  Angus,  a  man 
of  great  courage  and  activity.  The  Bloody  Heart  was  the 
well-known  cognizance  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  assumed  from 
the  time  of  good  Lord  James,  to  whose  care  Robert  Bruce 
committed  his  heart,  to  be  carried  to  the  Holy  Land. 


Note  3  R. 


And  Sicinton  laid  his  lance  in  rest, 
That  tamed  of  yore  the  sparkling  crest 
Of  Clarence's  Plantagcnet. — P.  40. 

At  the  battle  of Beauge,  in  France,  Thomas,  Duke  of  Clar- 
ence, brother  to  Henry  V.,  was  unhorsed  by  Sir  John  S  win  ton 
of  Swinton,  who  distinguished  him  by  a  coronet  set  with 
precious  stones,  which  he  wore  around  his  helmet.  The  family 
of  Swinton  is  one  of  the  most  ancient  in  Scotland,  and  pro- 
duced many  celebrated  warriors.1 


Note  3  S. 


And  shouting  still,  A  Home !  a  Home  I — P:  40. 

The  Earls  of  Home,  as  descendants  of  the  Dunbars,  ancient 
Earls  of  March,  carried  a  lion  rampant,  argent ;  but,  as  a 
difference,  changed  the  color  of  the  shield  from  gules  to  vert, 
in  allusion  to  Greenlaw,  their  ancient  possession.  The  slogan, 
or  war-cry,  of  this  powerful  family,  was,  "A  Home!  a 
Home  !"  It  was  anciently  placed  in  an  escrol  above  the  crest. 
The  helmet  ii  armed  with  a  lion's  head  erased  gules,  with  a 
cap  of  state  gules,  turned  up  ermine. 

The  Hepburns,  a  powerful  family  in  East  Lothian,  were 
usually  in  close  alliance  with  the  Homes.  The  chief  of  this 
clan  was  Hepburn,  Lord  of  Hailes  ;  a  family  which  terminated 
in  the  too  famous  Earl  of  Both  well. 


Note  3  T. 


And  some,  with  many  a  merry  shout, 
In  riot,  revelry,  and  rout, 
Pursued  the  foot-ball  play . — P.  41. 

The  foot-ball  was  anciently  a  very  favorite  sport  all  through 
Scotland,  but  especially  upon  the  Borders.  Sir  John  Carmi- 
chael  of  Carmichael,  Warden  of  the  Middle  Marches,  was 
killed  in  1600  by  a  band  of  the  Armstrongs,  returning  from  a 
foot-ball  match.  Sir  Robert  Cary,  in  his  Memoirs,  mentions 
a  great  meeting,  appointed  by  the  Scotch  riders  to  be  held  at 
Kelso  for  the  purpose  of  playing  at  foot-ball,  but  which  ter- 
minated in  an  incursion  upon  England.  At  present,  the  foot- 
Sea  the  Battle  of  Halidon  Hill.  Sir  W.  Scott  was  descended  from  Sir 
Jchn  S  winton.— Ed. 


ball  is  often  played  by  the  inhabitants  of  adjacent  pawsne* 
or  of  the  opposite  banks  of  a  stream.  Tne  victory  is  con 
tested  with  the  utmost  fury,  and  very  serious  accidents  hav 
sometimes  taken  place  in  the  struggle. 


Note  3  U. 


'  Twtxt  truce  and  war,  such  sudden  change 
Was  not  infrequent,  nor  held  strange, 
In  the  old  Border-day. — P.  41. 

Notwithstanding  the  constant  wars  upon  the  Borders,  an.. 
the  occasional  cruelties  which  marked  the  mutual  inroads 
the  inhabitants  on  either  side  do  not  appear  to  have  regarded 
each  other  with  that  violent  anil  personal  animosity,  which 
might  have  been  expected.  On  the  contrary,  like  the  out 
posts  of  hostile  armies,  they  often  carried  on  something  re 
sembling  friendly  intercourse,  even  'jn  the  middle  of  hostili- 
ties ;  and  it  is  evident,  from  various  ordinances  against  trade 
and  intermarriages,  between  English  and  Scottish  Borderera, 
that  the  governments  of  both  countries  were  jealous  of  their 
cherishing  too  intimate  a  connection.  Froissart  says  of  both 
nations,  that  "  Englyshmen  on  the  one  party,  and  Scottes  on 
the  other  party,  are  good  men  of  warre  ;  for  when  they  meet, 
there  is  a  harde  fighi.  without  sparynge.  There  is  no  boo 
[truce]  between  the"i,  as  long  as  spears,  swords,  axes,  or  dag 
gers,  will  endure,  bfc„  'aye  on  eche  upon  other ;  and  whan 
they  be  well  beaten,  and  «^»at  the  one  party  hath  obtained  the 
victory,  they  then  glorifye  so  in  theyre  dedes  of  armies,  and 
are  so  joyfull,  that  such  as  be  taken  they  shall  be  ransomed, 
or  that  they  go  out  of  the  felde  ;  so  that  shortly  eche  of  them 
is  so  content  with  other,  that,  at  their  departynge,  curtyslye 
they  will  say,  God  thank  you." — Bernkrs'  Froissart,  vol. 
ii.  p.  153.  The  Border  meetings  of  truce,  which,  although 
places  of  merchandise  and  merriment,  often  witnessed  the  most 
bloody  scenes,  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  description  in  the 
text.  They  are  vividly  portrayed  in  the  old  ballad  of  the 
Reidsquair.  [See  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  15.]  Both  partie* 
came  armed  to  a  meeting  of  the  wardens,  yet  they  interniixeo 
fearlessly  and  peaceably  with  each  other  in  mutual  sports  and 
familiar  intercourse,  until  a  casual  fray  arose  :  — 

"  Then  was  there  naught  but  bow  and  spear, 
And  every  man  pull'd  out  a  brand." 

In  the  29th  stanza  of  this  canto,  there  is  an  attempt  to  ex- 
press some  of  the  mixed  feelings,  with  which  the  Borderers  n 
each  side  were  led  to  regard  their  neighbors. 


Note  3  V. 

on  the  darkening  plain, 


Loud  hollo,  whoop^or  whistle  ran, 
As  bands  their  stragglers  to  regain, 

Give  the  shrill  watchword  of  their  clan. — P.  41. 

Patten  remarks,  with  bitter  censure,  the  disorderly  conduct 
of  the  English  Borderers,  who  attended  the  Protector  Somer- 
set on  his  expedition  against  Scotland.  "  As  we  wear  then  a 
setting,  and  'he  tents  a  setting  up,  among  all  things  els  20m- 
mendable  ic  our  hole  journey,  one  thing  seemed  to  me  an 
intolerable  disorder  and  abuse  :  that  whereas  always,  both  in 
all  tounes  of  war,  and  in  all  campes  of  armies,  quietness  and 
stilnes,  without  nois,  is,  principally  in  the  night,  after  the 
watch  is  set,  observed  (I  need  not  reason  why),  our  northern 
prikers,  the  Borderers,  notwithstandyng,  with  great  enormitie 
(as  thought  me),  and  not  unlike  (to  be  playn)  unto  a  masteries 
hounde  howlyng  in  a  hie  way  when  he  hath  lost  him  he  waited 
upon,  sum  hoopynge,  sum  whistlyng,  and  most  with  crying,  A 
Berwyke,  a  Berwyke  !  A  Fenwyke,  a  Fenwyke  !  A  Bulmer, 
a  Bulmer!  or  so  ootherwise  as  theyr  captains  names  wear. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


never  lin'de  these  troublous  and  dangerous  noyses  all  the 
nyghte  longe.  They  said,  they  did  it  to  find  their  captain  and 
fellows  ;  but  if  the  souldiers  of  our  oother  countreys  and  sheres 
had  used  the  same  maner,  in  that  case  we  should  have  oft 
times  had  the  state  of  our  campe  more  like  the  outrage  of  a 
dissolute  huntyng,  than  the  quiet  of  a  well  ordered  armye.  It 
a  1  feat  of  war,  in  mine  opinion,  that  might  right  well  be  left. 
I  suuld  reherse  causes  (but  yf  I  take  it,  they  are  better  unspo- 
ken than  uttred,  unless  the  faut  wear  sure  to  be  amended)  that 
might  shew  thei  move  alweis  more  peral  to  our  armie,  but  in 
their  one  nyght's  so  doynge,  than  they  shew  good  service  (as 
tome  sey)  in  a  hoole  vyage." — Apud  Dalzell's  Fragments, 
A  75. 


Note  3  W. 

To  see  how  thou  the  chase  couldst  wind, 
Cheer  the  dark  blood-hound  on  his  way, 
And  with  the  bugle  rouse  the  fray. — P.  45. 

The  pursuit  of  Border  marauders  was  followed  by  the  in- 
jured party  and  his  friends  with  blood-hounds  and  bugle-horn, 
and  was  called  the  hot-trod.  He  was  entitled,  if  his  dog  could 
trace  the  scent,  to  lbllow  the  invaders  into  the  opposite  king- 
dom ;  a  privilege  which  often  occasioned  bloodshed.  In  addi- 
tion to  what  has  been  said  of  the  blood-hound,  1  may  add, 
that  the  breed  was  kept  up  by  the  Bucdeueh  family  on  their 
Border  estates  till  within  the  18th  century.  A  person  was 
alive  in  the  memory  of  man,  who  remembered  a  biood-hound 
being  kept  at  Eldinhope,  in  Ettrick  Forest,  for  whose  main- 
tenance the  tenant  had  an  allowance  of  meal.  At  that  time 
the  sheep  were  always  watched  at  night.  Upon  one  occasion, 
when  the  duty  had  fallen  on  the  narrator,  then  a  lad,  he  be- 
came exhausted  with  fatigue,  and  fell  asleep  upon  a  bank, 
near  sun-rising.  Suddenly  he  was  awakened  by  the  tread  of 
horses,  and  saw  five  men,  well  mounted  and  armed,  ride 
briskly  over  the  edge  of  the  hill.  They  stopped  and  looked  at 
the  flock  ;  but  the  day  was  too  far  broken  to  admit  the  chance 
of  their  carrying  any  of  them  off".  One  of  them,  in  spits, 
leaped  from  his  horse,  anu  coming  to  the  shepherd,  seized 
him  by  the  belt  he  wore  round  his  waist ;  and,  setting  his  foot 
upon  his  body,  pulled  it  till  it  broke,  and  carried  it  away 
with  him.  They  rode  off  at  the  gallop  ;  and,  the  shepherd 
giving  the  alarm,  the  blood-hound  was  turned  loose,  and  the 
people  in  the  neighborhood  alarmed.  The  marauders,  how- 
ever, escaped,  notwithstanding  a  sharp  pursuit.  This  circum- 
stance serves  to  show  how  very  long  the  license  of  the  Borderers 
continued  in  some  degree  to  manifest  itself. 


Note  3  X. 


She  wrought  not  by  forbidden  spell. — P.  46. 

Popular  belief,  though  contrary  to  the  doctrines  of  the  Church, 
made  a  favorable  distinction  betwixt  magicians,  and  necroman- 
cers, or  wizards  ;  the  former  were  supposed  to  command  the 
evil  spirits,  and  the  latter  to  serve,  or  at  least  to  be  in  league 
and  compact  with,  those  enemies  of  mankind.  The  arts  of 
Bubjecting  the  demons  were  manifold  ;  sometimes  the  fiends 
were  actually  swindled  by  the  magicians,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
bargain  betwixt  one  of  their  number  and  the  noet  Virgil.  The 
classical  /eader  will  doubtless  be  curious  to  peruse  this  anec- 
dote : — 

"  Virgilius  was  at  scole  atTolenton,  where  he  stodyed  dyly- 
gently,  for  he  was  of  great  understandynge.  Upon  a  tyme, 
the  scolers  had  lycense  to  go  to  play  and  sprote  them  in  the 
fyldes,  after  the  usance  of  the  old  tyme.     And  there  was  also 


Virgilius  therbye,  also  walkynge  among  the  hylles  alle  about. 
It  fortuned  he  spyed  a  great  hole  in  the  syde  of  a  great  hyll 
wherein  he  went  so  depe,  that  he  culd  not  see  no  more  lyght ; 
and  than  he  went  a  lytell  farther  therein,  and  than  he  saw 
some  lyght  egayne,  and  than  he  went  fourth  streyghte,  and 
within  a  lytell  wyle  after  he  harde  a  voyce  that  called  '  Vir- 
gilius!  Virgilius!'  and  looked  aboute,  and  he  colde  nat  see 
no  body.  Than  sayd  he  (i.  e.  the  voice),  *  Virgilius,  see  ye 
not  the  lytell  borde  lying  besyde  you  there  marked  wilh  hat 
word  V  Than  answered  Virgilius,  '  I  see  that  borde  well 
anough.'  The  voice  said,  '  Doo  awaye  that  borde,  and  lette 
me  out  there  atte.'  Than  answered  Virgilius  to  the  voice  that 
was  under  the  lytell  borde,  and  sayd,  '  Who  art  thou  that 
callest  me  so  V  Than  answered  the  devyll,  '  I  am  a  devyll 
conjured  out  of  the  bodye  of  a  certeyne  man,  and  banysshed 
here  tyll  the  day  of  judgmend,  without  that  I  be  delyvered 
by  the  handes  of  men.  Thus,  Virgilius,  I  pray  the,  delyver 
me  out  of  this  payn,  and  I  shall  shewe  unto  the  many  bokes 
of  negromancye,  and  how  thou  shalt  come  by  it  lyghtly,  and 
know  the  practyse  therein,  that  no  man  in  the  scyence  of  ne- 
gromancye shall  passe  the.  And  moreover,  I  shall  shewe  and 
enforme  the  so,  that  thou  shalt  have  alle  thy  desyre,  w  hereby 
methinke  it  is  a  great  gyfte  for  so  lytyll  a  doyng.  For  ye  may 
also  thus  all  your  power  frendys  helpe,  and  make  ryche  your 
enemyes.'  Thorough  that  great  promyse  was  Virgilius  tempt- 
ed ;  lie  badde  the  f'yiitl  show  the  bokes  to  hym,  that  he  might 
have  and  occupy  them  at  his  wyll ;  and  so  the  fynde  shewed 
him.  And  than  Virgilius  pulled  open  a  borde,  and  there  was 
a  lytell  hole,  and  thereat  wrang  the  devyll  out  like  a  yell,  and 
cam  and  stode  before  Virgilius  lyke  a  bygge  man  ;  whereof 
Virgilius  was  astonied  and  marveyled  greatly  thereof,  that  so 
great  a  man  myght  come  out  of  so  lytyll  a  hole.  Than  sayd 
Virgilius,  '  Shulde  ye  well  passe  into  the  hole  that  ye  cam  out 
of?' — 'Yea,  I  shall  well,'  said  the  devyl. — '  I  holde  the  best 
plegge  that  I  have,  that  ye  shall  not  do  it.' — '  Well,'  sayd  the 
devyll,  '  thereto  I  consent.'  And  than  the  devyll  wrange 
himselfe  into  the  lytyll  hole  agene  ;  and  as  he  was  therein, 
Virgilius  kyvered  the  hole  ageyne  with  the  borde  close,  and 
so  was  the  devyll  begyled,  and  myght  nat  there  come  out 
agen,  but  abydeth  shytte  styll  therein.  Than  called  the  devyll 
dredefully  to  Virgilius,  and  said,  '  What  have  ye  done,  Vir- 
gilius V — Virgilius  answered,  '  Abyde  there  styll  to  your  day 
appoynted  ;'  and  fro  thens  forth  abydeth  he  there.  And  so 
Virgilius  became  very  connynge  in  the  practyse  of  the  black 
scyence." 

This  story  may  remind  the  reader  of  the  Arabian  tale  of  the 
Fisherman  and  the  imprisoned  Genie ;  and  it  is  more  than 
probable,  that  many  of  the  marvels  narrated  in  the  life  of  Vir- 
gil, are  of  Oriental  extraction.  Among  such  I  am  disposed  to 
reckon  the  following  whimsical  account  of  the  foundation  of 
Naples,  containing  a  curious  theory  concerning  the  origin  of 
the  earthquakes  with  which  it  is  afflicted.  Virgil,  who  was  a 
person  of  gallantry,  had,  it  seems,  carried  off  the  daughter  of  % 
certain  Soldan,  and  was  anxious  to  secure  his  prize. 

"  Than  he  thought  in  his  mynde  how  he  myghte  marye  hyr, 
and  thought  in  his  mynde  to  founde  in  the  middes  of  the  see 
a  fayer  towne,  with  great  landes  belongynge  to  it ;  and  so  he 
did  by  his  cunnynge,  and  called  it  Napells.  And  the  fanda- 
cyon  of  it  was  of  egges,  and  in  that  town  of  Napells  he  made 
a  tower  with  iiii  corners,  and  in  the  toppe  he  set  an  apell  upon 
an  yron  yarde,  and  no  man  culde  pull  away  that  apell  without 
he  brake  it ;  and  thoroughe  that  yren  set  he  a  bolte,  and  in  that 
bolte  set  he  a  egge.  And  he  henge  the  apell  by  the  stauke 
upon  a  cheyne,  and  so  hangeth  it  still.  And  when  the  egge 
styrreth,  so  shulde  the  towne  of  Napells  quake;  and  whan 
the  egge  brake,  then  shulde  the  towne  sinke.  Whan  he  had 
made  an  ende,  he  lette  call  it  Napells."  This  appears  to  have 
been  an  article  of  current  belief  during  the  middle  ages,  as  ap- 
pears from  the  statutes  of  the  order  J)u  Saint  Esprit  au  droit 
desir,  instituted  in  1352.  A  chapter  of  the  knights  is  appointed 
to  be  held  annually  at  the  Castle  of  the  Enchanted  Egg,  neai 
the  grotto  of  Virgil.— Montfaucon,  vol.  ii.  p.  329 


76 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  3  Y. 

A  merlin  sat  upon  her  wrist, 

Held  by  a  leash  of  silken  twist. — P.  46. 

A  u.erlin,  or  sparrow-hawk,  was  actually  carried  by  ladies 
of  rank,  as  a  falcon  was,  in  time  of  peace,  the  constant  attend- 
ant of  a  knight  or  baron.  See  Latham  on  Falconry. — Gods- 
croft  relates  that  when  Mary  of  Lorraine  was  regent,  she  pressed 
the  Earl  of  Angus  to  admit  a  royal  garrison  into  his  Castle  of 
TantalUwn.  To  this  lie  returned  no  direct  answer;  but,  as  if 
Apostrophizing  a  goss-hawk,  which  sat  on  his  wrist,  and  which 
he  was  feeding  during  the  Queen's  speech,  he  exclaimed, 
"  The  devil's  in  this  greedy  glede,  she  will  never  be  full." — 
Hume's  History  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  1743,  vol.  ii.  p. 
131.  Barclay  complains  of  the  common  and  indecent  practice 
of  bringing  hawks  and  hounds  into  churches. 


Note  3  Z. 


And  princely  peacock's  gilded  train, 

And  o'er  the  boar-head  garnished  brave. — P.  47. 

The  peacock,  it  is  well  known,  was  considered,  during  the 
times  of  chivalry,  not  merely  as  an  exquisite  delicacy,  but  as  a 
dish  of  peculiar  solemnity.  After  being  roasted,  it  was  again 
decorated  with  its  plumage,  and  a  sponge,  dipped  in  lighted 
spirits  of  wine,  was  placed  in  its  bill.  When  it  was  introduced 
on  days  of  grand  festival,  it  was  the  signal  for  the  adventurous 
knights  to  take  upon  them  vows  to  do  some  deed  of  chivalry, 
''  before  the  peacock  and  the  ladies." 

The  boar's  head  was  also  a  usual  dish  of  feudal  splendor. 
In  Scotland  it  was  sometimes  surrounded  with  little  banners, 
displaying  the  colors  and  achievements  of  the  baron  at  whose 
board  it  was  served. — Pinkerton's  History,  vol.  i.  p.  432. 


Note  4  A. 
Smote,  with  his  gauntlet,  stout  Hunthill. — P.  47. 
The  Rutherfords  of  Hunthill  were  an  ancient  race  of  Border 
Lairds,  whose  names  occur  in  history,  sometimes  as  defending 
the  frontier  against  the  English,  sometimes  as  disturbing  the 
peace  of  their  own  country.  Dickon  Draw-the-sword  was  son 
to  the  ancient  warrior,  called  in  tradition  the  Cock  of  Hunthill, 
remarkable  for  leading  into  battle  nine  sons,  gallant  warriors, 
all  sons  of  the  aged  champion.  Mr.  Rutherford,  late  of  New 
York,  in  a  letter  to  the  editor,  soon  after  these  songs  were  first 
published,  quoted,  when  upwards  of  eighty  years  old,  a  ballad 
apparently  the  same  with  the  Raid  of  the  Reid-square,  but 
which  apparently  is  lost,  except  the  following  lines  : — 

••  Bauld  Rutherfurd  he  was  fu'  stout, 
With  all  his  nine  sons  him  about, 
He  brought  the  lads  of  Jedbrught  out, 
And  bauldly  fought  that  day." 


Note  4  B. 

bit  his  glove. — P.  47. 

I'o  bite  the  thumb,  or  the  glove,  seems  not  to  have  been  con- 

1  Froissart  relates,  that  a  knight  of  the  household  of  the  Comte  de  Foix 
ixhioited  a  similar  feat  of  strength.  The  hall-fire  had  waxed  low,  and 
Hood  was  wanted  to  mend  it.  The  knight  went  down  to  the  court-yard, 
vhero  stood  an  ass  laden  with  fagots,  seized  on  the  animal  and  burden, 
»nd,  carrying  him  up  to  the  hall  on  his  shoulders,  tumbled  him  into  the 
thimney  with  his  heels  uppermost :  a  humane  pleasantry,  much  applauded 
by  the  Count  and  all  the  spectators. 

3  "  Minions  of  the  moon,"  as  Falstaff  would  have  said.  The  vocation 
pursued  by  our  ancient  Borderers  may  be  justified  on  the  authority  of  the 
most  polished  of  the  ancient  nations  :  "  For  the  Grecians  in  old  time,  and 
■uch  barbarians  as  in  the  continent  lived  neere  unto  the  sea,  or  else  inhab- 
ited the  islands,  after  once  they  began  to  crosse  over  one  to  another  in 


sidered,  upon  the  Border,  as  a  gesture  of  contempt,  though  so 
used  by  Shakspeare,  but  as  a  pledge  of  mortal  revenge.  It  ii 
yet  remembered,  that  a  young  gentleman  of  Teviotdale,  on  the 
morning  after  a  hard  drinking-bout,  observed  that  he  had  bitten 
his  glove.  He  instantly  demanded  of  his  companion  with 
whom  he  h-id  quarrelled  ?  And,  learning  that  he  had  had 
words  with  one  of  the  party,  insisted  on  instant  satisfaction, 
asserting,  that  though  he  remembered  nothing  of  the  dispute, 
yet  he  was  sure  he  never  would  have  bit  his  glove  unless  he 
had  received  some  unpardonable  insult.  He  fell  in  the  duel, 
which  was  fought  near  Selkirk,  in  1721. 


Note  4  0. 


Since  old  Buccleuch  the  name  did  gain, 
When  in  the  cleuch  the  buck  was  to1  en. — P.  47. 
A  tradition  preserved  by  Scott  of  Satchells,  who  published, 
in  1688,  A  true  History  of  the  Right  Honorable  name  of  Scott, 
gives  the  following  romantic  origin  of  that  name.  Two  breth- 
ren, natives  of  Galloway,  having  been  banished  from  that 
country  for  a  riot,  or  insurrection,  came  to  Rankleburn,  in  Et- 
trick  Forest,  where  the  keeper,  whose  name  was  Brydone,  re- 
ceived them  joyfully,  on  account  of  their  skill  in  winding  the 
horn,  and  in  the  other  mysteries  of  the  chase.  Kenneth  Mac- 
Alpin,  then  King  of  Scotland,  came  soon  after  to  hunt  in  the 
royal  forest,  and  pursued  a  buck  from  Ettrick-heugh  to  the 
glen  now  called  Buckcleuch,  about  two  miles  above  the  junc- 
tion of  Rankleburn  with  the  river  Ettrick.  Here  the  stag  stood 
at  bay ;  and  the  King  and  his  attendants,  who  followed  on 
horseback,  were  thrown  out  by  the  steepness  of  the  hill  and  the 
morass.  John,  one  of  the  brethren  from  Galloway,  had  fol- 
lowed the  chase  on  foot ;  and,  now  coming  in,  seized  the  buck 
by  the  horns,  and,  being  a  man  of  great  strength  and  activity, 
threw  him  on  his  back,  and  ran  with  his  burden  about  a  mile 
up  the  steep  hill,  to  a  place  called  Cracra-Cross,  where  Ken* 
neth  had  halted,  and  laid  the  buck  at  the  sovereign's  feet.1 

"  The  deer  being  cureed  in  that  place, 

At  his  Majesty's  demand, 
Then  John  of  Galloway  ran  apace, 

And  fetched  water  to  his  hand. 
The  King  did  wash  into  a  dish, 

And  Galloway  John  he  wot ; 
He  said,  '  Thy  name  now  after  this 

Shall  ever  be  called  John  Scott. 

"  '  The  forest  and  the  deer  therein, 

We  commit  to  thy  hand  ; 
For  thou  shalt  sure  the  ranger  be, 

If  thou  obey  command  ; 
And  for  the  buck  thou  stoutly  brought 

To  us  up  that  steej)  heuch, 
Thy  designation  ever  shall 

Be  John  Scott  in  Buckscleuch.' 

"  In  Scotland  no  Buckcleuch  was  then, 
Before  the  buck  in  the  cleuch  was  slain ; 
Night's  men2  at  first  they  did  appear, 
Because  moon  and  stars  to  their  arms  they  bear. 
Their  crest,  supporters,  and  hunting-horn, 
Show  their  beginning  from  hunting  came ; 

ships,  became  theeves,  and  went  abroad  under  the  conduct  of  their  mora 
puissent  men,  both  to  enrich  themselves,  and  to  fetch  in  maintenance  for 
the  weak :  and  falling  upon  towns  unfortified,  or  scatteringly  inhabited, 
rifled  them,  and  made  this  the  best  means  of  thear  living  •,  being  a  matter  at 
that  time  nowhere  in  disgrace,  but  rather  carrying  with  it  something  of  glory. 
This  is  manifest  by  some  that  dwell  upon  the  continent,  amongst  whom,  so 
it  be  performed  nobly,  it  is  still  esteemed  as  an  ornament.  The  same  is 
also  proved  by  some  of  the  ancient  poets,  .vho  introduced  men  questioning 
of  such  as  sail  by,  on  all  coasts  alike,  whether  they  be  theeves  or  not ;  as  a 
thyng  neyther  scorned  by  such  as  were  asked,  nor  upbraided  by  those  tlu»* 
were  desirous  to  know.  They  also  robbed  one  another,  within  the  main 
land ;  and  much  of  Greece  useth  that  old  custome,  as  the  Locriant  th» 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


M 


Their  name,  and  style,  the  book  doth  say, 
John  gained  them  both  into  one  day." 

Watt's  Bellenden. 

The  Buccleuch  arms  have  been  altered,  and  now  allude  less 
pointedly  to  this  hunting,  whether  real  or  fabulous.  The  fa- 
mily now  bear  Or,  upon  a  bend  azure,  a  mullet  betwixt  two 
crescents  of  the  field  ;  in  addition  to  which,  they  formerly  bore 
in  the  field  a  hunting-horn.  The  supporters,  now  two  ladies, 
were  formerly  a  hound  and  buck,  or,  according  to  the  old 
terms,  a  hart  of  leash  and  a  hart  of  greece.  The  family  of 
Scott  of  Howpasley  and  Thirlestaine  long  retained  the  bugle- 
horn  ;  they  also  carried  a  bent  bow  and  arrow  in  the  sinister 
cantle,  perhaps  as  a  difference.  It  is  said  the  motto  was — 
Best  riding-  by  moonlight,  in  allusion  to  the  crescents  on  the 
shield,  and  perhaps  to  the  habits  of  those  who  bore  it.  The 
motto  now  given  is  Amo,  applying  to  the  female  supporters. 


Note  4  D. 


old  Albert  Orceme, 

The  Minstrel  of  that  ancient  name. — P.  48. 

"  John  Graeme,  second  son  of  Malice,  Earl  of  Monteith, 
commonly  surnamed  John  with  the  Bright  Sword,  upon  some 
displeasure  risen  against  him  at  court,  retired  with  many  of  his 
clan  and  kindred  into  the  English  Borders,  in  the  reign  of  King 
Henry  the  Fourth,  where  they  seated  themselves  ;  and  many 
of  their  posterity  have  continued  there  ever  since.  Mr.  Sand- 
ford,  speaking  of  them,  says  (which  indeed  was  applicable  to 
most  of  the  Borderers  on  both  sides),  «  They  were  all  stark 
moss-troopers,  and  arrant  thieves  :  Both  to  England  and  Scot- 
and  outlawed  ;  yet  sometimes  connived  at,  because  they  gave 
Intelligence  forth  of  Scotland,  and  would  raise  400  horse  at  any 
time  upon  a  raid  of  the  English  into  Scotland.  A  saying  is  re- 
corded of  a  mother  to  her  son  (which  is  now  become  prover- 
bial), Ride,  Rowley,  hough's  i'  the  pot :  that  is,  the  last  piece 
of  beef  was  in  the  pot,  and  therefore  it  was  high  time  to  go  and 
fetch  more.'  " — Introduction  to  the  History  of  Cumberland. 

The  residence  of  the  Graemes  being  chiefly  in  the  Debatea- 
ble  Land,  so  called  because  it  was  claimed  by  both  kingdoms, 
their  depredations  extended  both  to  England  and  Scotland, 
with  impunity  ;  for  as  both  wardens  accounted  them  the  pro- 
per subjects  of  their  own  prince,  neither  inclined  to  demand 
reparation  for  their  excesses  from  the  opposite  officers,  which 
would  have  been  an  acknowledgment  of  his  jurisdiction  over 
them. — See  a  long  correspondence  on  this  subject  betwixt  Lord 
Dacre  and  the  English  Privy  Council,  in  Introduction  to  His- 
tory of  Cumberland.  The  Debateable  Land  was  finally  divid- 
ed betwixt  England  and  Scotland,  by  commissioners  appointed 
by  both  nations.* 


Note  4  E. 

The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall. — P.  48. 
This  burden  is  adopted,  with  some  alteration,  from  ar    old 
Scottish  song,  beginning  thus  :— 

"  She  lean'd  her  back  against  a  thorn, 
The  son  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wa' : 
And  there  she  has  her  young  babe  born, 
And  the  lyon  shall  be  lord  of  a'." 

Acarnanians,  and  those  of  the  continent  in  that  quarter,  unto  this  day. 
Moreover,  the  fashion  of  wearing  iron  remaineth  yet  with  the  people  of  that 
continent,  from  their  old  trade  of  thieving."— Hobbes'  Thucydides,  p.  4. 
Lond. 

1  See  various  notes  in  the  Minstrelsy. 

8  The  tomb  of  Sir  William  St.  Clair,  on  which  he  appears  sculptured  in 
armor,  with  a  greyhound  at  his  feet,  is  still  to  be  seen  in  Roslin  chapel. 
The  person  who  shows  it  always  tells  the  story  of  his  hunting  match,  with 


Note  4  F. 
Who  has  not  heard  of  Surrey's  fame  ?— P.  48. 

The  gallant  and  unfortunate  Henry  Howard,  Earl  ?f  Su 
rey,  was  unquestionably  the  most  accomplished  cava!  r  of  h« 
time ;  and  his  sonnets  display  beauties  which  would  do  lionoi 
to  a  more  polished  age.  He  was  beheaded  on  Tower-hill  in 
1546  ;  a  victim  to  the  mean  jealousy  of  Henry  VIII.,  whs 
could  not  bear  so  brilliant  a  character  near  his  throne. 

The  song  of  the  supposed  bard  is  founded  on  an  incident  said 
to  have  happened  to  the  Earl  in  his  travels.  Cornelius  Agri-*- 
pa,  the  celebrated  alchemist,  showed  him,  in  a  looking-glasa, 
the  lovely  Geraldine,  to  whose  service  he  had  devoted  his  pen 
and  his  sword.  The  vision  represented  her  as  indisposed,  and 
reclining  upon  a  couch,  reading  her  lover's  verses  by  the  light 
of  a  waxen  taper. 


Note  4  G. 


The  storm-swept  Orcades  : 

Where  erst  St.  Clairs  held  princely  sway, 
O'er  isle  and  islet,  strait  and  bay. — P.  49. 

The  St.  Clairs  are  of  Norman  extraction,  being  descended 
from  William  de  St.  Clair,  second  son  of  Walderne  Compte  de 
St.  Clair,  and  Margaret,  daughter  to  Richard  Duke  of  Nor- 
mandy. He  was  called,  for  his  fair  deportment,  the  Seemly 
St.  Clair  ;  and,  settling  in  Scotland  during  the  reign  of  Mai 
colm  Caenmore,  obtained  large  grants  of  land  in  Mid-Lothian 
These  domains  were  increased  by  the  liberality  of  succeeding 
monarchs  to  the  descendants  of  the  family,  and  comprehended 
the  baronies  of  Rosline,  Pentland,  Cowsland,  Cardaine,  and 
several  others.  It  is  said  a  large  addition  was  obtained  from 
Robert  Bruce,  on  the  following  occasion  : — The  King,  in  fol- 
lowing the  chase  upon  Pentland-hills,  had  often  started  a 
"  white  faunch  deer,"  which  had  always  escaped  from  his 
hounds  ;  and  he  asked  the  nobles,  who  were  assembled  around 
him,  whether  any  of  them  had  dogs,  which  they  thought  might 
be  more  successful.  No  courtier  would  affirm  that  his  hounds 
were  fleeter  than  those  of  the  king,  until  Sir  William  St.  Clair 
of  Rosline  unceremoniously  said,  he  would  wager  his  head  that 
his  two  favorite  dogs,  Help  and  Hold,  would  kill  the  deer  be- 
fore she  could  cross  the  March-burn.  The  King  instantly 
caught  at  his  unwary  offer,  and  betted  the  forest  of  Pentland- 
moor  against  the  life  of  Sir  William  St.  Clair.  All  the  hounds 
were  tied  up,  except  a  few  ratches,  or  slow-hounds,  to  put  up 
the  deer  ;  while  Sir  William  St.  Clair,  posting  himself  in  the 
best  situation  for  slipping  his  dogs,  prayed  devoutly  to  Christ, 
the  blessed  Virgin,  and  St.  Katherine.  The  deer  was  shortly 
after  roused,  and  the  hounds  slipped  ;  Sir  William  following 
on  a  gallant  steed,  to  cheer  his  dogs.  The  hind,  however, 
reached  the  middle  of  the  brook,  upon  which  the  hunter  threw 
himself  from  his  horse  in  despair.  At  this  critical  moment, 
however,  Hold  stopped  her  in  the  brook  ;  and  Help,  coming 
up,  turned  her  back,  and  killed  her  on  Sir  William's  side 
The  King  descended  from  the  hill,  embraced  Sir  William,  and 
bestowed  on  him  the  lands  of  Kirkton,  Logan-house,  Eara- 
craig,  &c,  in  free  forestrie.  Sir  William,  in  acknowledgment 
of  St.  Katherine's  intercession,  built  the  chapel  of  St.  Kathe- 
rine in  the  Hopes,  the  churchyard  of  which  is  still  to  be  seen. 
The  hill,  from  which  Robert  Bruce  beheld  this  memorable 
chase,  is  still  called  the  King's  Hill ;  and  the  place  where  Sii 
William  hunted,  is  called  the  Knight's  Field.*— MS.  Histery 

some  addition  to  Mr.  Hay's  account ;  as  that  the  Knight  of  Rosline's  fright 
made  him  poetical,  and  that  in  the  last  emergency,  he  shouted, 
"  Help,  Haud,  an  ye  may, 
Or  Roslin  will  lose  his  head  this  day." 
If  this  couplet  does  him  no  great  honor  as  a  poet,  the  conclusion  of  th« 
story  does  him  still  less  credit.    He  set  his  foot  on  the  dog,  says  the  nar- 
rator, and  killed  him  on  the  spot,  saying  he  would  never  again  put  his  neck 
in  such  a  risk.    As  Mr.  Hay  does  not  mention  this  circumstance,  I  hope  « 
is  only  founded  on  the  couchant  posture  of  the  hound  on  th<>  Monument 


78 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


of  the  Family  of  St.   Clair,  hy  Richard  Augustin  Hay, 
Canon  of  St.  Genevieve. 

This  adventurous  huntsman  married  Elizabeth,  daughter  of 
Malice  Spar,  Earl  of  Orkney  and  Stratherne,  in  whose  right 
their  son  Henry  was,  in  1379,  created  Earl  of  Orkney,  by  Haco, 
king  of  Norway.  His  title  was  recognized  by  the  Kings  of 
Scotland,  and  remained  with  his  successors  until  it  was  an- 
nexed to  the  crown,  in  1471,  by  act  of  Parliament.  In  ex- 
change for  this  earldom,  the  castle  and  domains  of  Ravens- 
craig,  or  Ravensheuch,  were  conferred  on  William  Saintclair, 
Earl  of  Caithness. 


j  committed,  was  persevering,  to  my  own  destruction,  in  serving 
I   the  royal  family  faithfully,  though  obstinately,  after  so  great  a 
share  of  depression,  and   after  they  had  been  pleased  to  doom 
j  me  and  my  familie  to^tarve.— MS.  Memoirs  of  John,  Mas- 
ter of  St.  Clair. 


Note  4  H. 


Still  nods  their  palace  to  its  fall, 

Thy  pride  and  sorrow,  fair  Kirkwall. — P.  49. 

The  Castle  of  Kirkwall  was  built  by  the  St.  Clairs,  while 
Earls  of  Orkney.  It  was  dismantled  by  the  Earl  of  Caithness 
about  1615.  having  been  garrisoned  against  the  government  by 
Robert  Stewart,  natural  son  to  the  Earl  of  Orkney. 

Its  ruins  afforded  a  sad  subject  of  contemplation  to  John, 
Master  of  St.  Clair,  who,  flying  from  his  native  country,  on 
account  of  his  share  in  the  insurrection  1715,  made  some  stay 
at  Kirkwall. 

"  I  had  occasion  to  entertain  myself  at  Kirkwall  with  the 
melancholy  prospect  of  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle,  the  seat  of 
the  old  Earls  of  Orkney,  my  ancestors  ;  and  of  a  more  melan- 
choly reflection,  of  so  great  and  noble  an  estate  as  the  Orkney 
and  Shetland  Isles  being  taken  from  one  of  them  by  James  the 
Third  for  faultrie,  after  his  brother  Alexander,  Duke  of  Alba- 
ny, had  married  a  daughter  of  my  family,  and  for  protecting 
and  defending  the  said  Alexander  against  the  King,  who  wish- 
ed to  kill  him,  as  he  had  done  his  youngest  brother,  the  Earl 
of  Mar ;  and  for  which,  after  the  forfaultrie,  he  gratefully 
divorced  my  forfaulted  ancestor's  sister ;  though  I  cannot  per- 
suade myself  that  he  had  any  misalliance  to  plead  against  a 
familie  in  whose  veins  the  blood  of  Robert  Bruce  ran  as  fresh 
as  in  his  own  ;  for  their  title  to  the  crowne  was  by  a  daughter 
of  David  Bruce,  son  to  Robert ;  and  our  alliance  was  by  mar- 
rying a  grandchild  of  the  same  Robert  Bruce,  and  daughter  to 
the  sister  of  the  same  David,  out  of  the  familie  of  Douglass, 
which  at  that  time  did  not.  much  sullie  the  blood,  more  than 
my  ancestor's  having  not  long  before  had  the  honour  of  marry- 
ing a  daughter  of  the  King  of  Denmark's,  who  was  named 
Florentine,  and  has  left  in  the  town  of  Kirkwall  a  noble  mon- 
ument of  the  grandeur  of  the  times,  the  finest  church  ever  I 
saw  entire  in  Scotland.  I  then  had  no  small  reason  to  think, 
in  that  unhappy  state,  on  the  many  not  inconsiderable  services 
rendered  since  to  the  royal  familie,  for  these  many  years  by- 
gone, on  all  occasions,  when  they  stood  most  in  need  of  friends, 
which  they  have  thought  themselves  very  often  obliged  to  ac- 
knowledge by  letters  yet  extant,  and  in  a  style  more  like  friends 
Uian  souveraigns  ;  our  attachment  to  them,  without  any  other 
thanks,  having  brought  upon  us  considerable  losses,  and  among 
others,  that  of  our  all  in  Cromwell's  time ;  and  left  in  that 
i  onditipn  without  the  least  relief  except  what  we  found  in  our 
own  virtue.  My  father  was  the  only  man  of  the  Scots  nation 
tvho  had  courage  enough  to  protest  in  Parliament  against  King 
William's  title  to  the  throne,  which  was  lost,  God  knows  how  ; 
and  this  at  a  time  when  the  losses  in  the  cause  of  the  royall 
familie,  and  their  usual  gratitude,  had  scarce  left  him  bread  to 
maintain  a  numerous  familie  of  eleven  children,  who  had  soon 
after  sprung  up  on  him,  in  spite  of  all  which,  he  had  honoura- 
bly persisted  in  his  principle.  1  eS.y,  these  things  considered, 
and  after  being  treated  as  1  was,  and  in  that  unlucky  state, 
when  objects  appear  to  men  in  their  true  light,  as  at  the  hour 
of  death,  could  I  be  blamed  for  making  some  bitter  reflections 
to  myself,  and  laughing  at  the  extravagance  and  unaccountable 
humour  of  men,  and  the  singularitie  of  my  own  case  (an  exile 
for  the  cause  of  the  Stuart  family),  when  I  ought  to  have 
known,  that  the  greatest  crime  I,  or  my  family,  could  have 


Note  4  I. 
Of  that  Sea-Snake,  tremendous  curVd, 
Whose  monstrous  circle  girds  the  world. — P.  49. 

The  jormungnndr,  or  Snake  of  the  Ocean,  whose  folds  sur- 
round the  earth,  is  one  of  the  wildest  fictions  of  the  Edda.  It 
was  very  nearly  caught  by  the  god  Thor,  who  went  to  fish  for 
it  with  a  hook  baited  with  a  bull's  head.  In  tho  battle  be- 
twixt the  evil  demons  and  the  divinities  of  Odin,  which  is  to 
precede  the  Ragnarockr,  or  Twilight  of  the  Gods,  this  Snake 
is  to  act  a  conspicuous  part. 


Note  4  K. 
Of  those  dread  Maids,  whose  hideous  yell.— P.  49. 
These  were  the  Valcyriur,  or  Selectors  of  the  Slain,  dis- 
patched by  Odin  from  Valhalla,  to  choose  those  who  wore  to 
die,  and  to  distribute  the  contest.     They  were  well  known  to 
the  English  reader  as  Gray's  Fatal  Sisters. 


Note  4  L. 

Of  Chiefs,  who,  guided  through  the  gloom 

By  the  pale  death-lights  of  the  tomb, 

Kansaik'd  the  graves  of  warriors  old, 

Their  falchions  wrench'  d  from  corpses'  hold. — P.  49. 
The  northern  warriors  were  usually  entombed  with  their 
arms,  and  their  Other  treasures.  Thus,  Angantyr,  before  com- 
mencing the  duel  in  which  he  was  slain,  stipulated,  that  if  he 
fell,  his  sword  Tyrfing  should  be  buried  with  him.  His  daugh- 
ter lienor,  afterwards  took  it  from  his  tomb.  The  dialogue 
which  paased  betwixt  her  and  Angantyr's  spirit  on  this  occa- 
sion has  been  often  translated.  The  whole  history  may  be 
found  in  the  Hervarar-Saga.  Indeed,  the  ghosts  of  the  north- 
ern warriors  were  not  wont  tamely  to  suffer  their  tombs  to  be 
plundered  ;  and  hence,  the  mortal  heroes  had  an  additional 
temptation  to  attempt  such  adventures  ;  for  they  held  nothing 
more  worthy  of  their  valor  than  to  encounter  supernatural  be- 
ings.— Bartiiolinus  I)e  causis  contempt  a  a  Danis  mortis, 
lib.  i.  cap.  2,  9,  10,  13. 


Note  4  M. 
Castle  Ravensheuch. — P.  50. 


A  large  and  strong  castle,  now  ruinous,  situated  betwixt 
Kirkaldy  and  Dysart,  on  a  steep  crag,  washed  by  the  Frith  of 
Forth.  It  was  conferred  on  Sir  William  St.  Clair  as  a  slight 
compensation  for  the  earldom  of  Orkney,  by  a  charter  of  King 
James  III.  dated  in  1471,  and  is  now  the  property  of  Sir  James 
St.  Clair  Erskine  (now  Earl  of  Rosslyn),  representative  of  the 
family.  It  was  long  a  principal  residence  of  the  Barons  of 
Roslin. 


Note  4  N. 


Secm'd  all  on  fire  within,  around, 
Deep  sacristy  and  altar's  pale  ; 
Shone  every  pillar  foliage  hound, 
And  glimmer' d  all  the  dead  men's  mail. — P.  50. 
The  beautiful  chapel  of  Roslin  is  still  in  tolerable  preserva- 
tion.    It  was  founded  in  1446,  by  William  St.  Clair,  Prince  of 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


79 


O.'kney,  Duke  of  Oldenburgh,  Earl  of  Caithness  and  Strath- 
eine  Lord  St.  Clair,  Lord  Niddesdale,  Lord  Admiral  of  the 
Scottish  Seas,  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  Scotland,  Lord  Warden 
of  the  three  Marches,  Baron  of  Roslin,  Pentland,  Pentland- 
moor,  &t  ,  Knight  of  the  Cockle,  and  of  the  Garter  (as  is 
affirr-.ed);  High  Chancellor,  Chamberlain,  and  Lieutenant  of 
Scotland.  This  lofty  person,  whose  titles,  says  Godscroft, 
might  weary  a  Spaniard,  built  the  castle  of  Roslin,  where  he 
resided  in  princely  splendor,  and  founded  the  chapel,  which  is  in 
the  most  rich  and  florid  style  of  Gothic  architecture.  Among 
tfce  profuse  carving  on  the  pillars  and  buttresses,  the  rose  is  fre- 
quently introduced,  in  allusion  to  the  name,  with  which,  how- 
ever, the  flower  has  no  connection  ;  the  etymology  oeing  Ross- 
linnhe,  the  promontory  of  the  linn,  or  water-fall.  The  chapel 
is  said  to  appear  on  fire  previous  to  the  death  of  any  of  his  de- 
scendants. This  superstition,  noticed  by  Slezer,  in  his  Thca- 
trum  Scotice,  and  alluded  to  in  the  text,  is  probably  of  Nor- 
wegian derivation,  and  may  have  been  imported  by  the  Earls 
of  Orkney  into  their  Lothian  dominions.  The  tomb-fires  of 
the  north  are  mentioned  in  most  of  the  Sagas. 

The  Barons  of  Roslin  were  buried  in  a  vault  beneath  the 
chapel  floor.  The  manner  of  their  interment  is  thus  described 
by  Father  Hay,  in  the  MS.  history  already  quoted. 

"  Sir  William  Sinclair,  the  father,  was  a  lewd  man.  He 
kept  a  miller's  daughter,  with  whom,  it  is  alleged,  he  went  to 
Ireland  ;  yet  I  think  the  cause  of  his  retreat  was  rather  occa- 
sioned by  the  Presbyterians,  who  vexed  him  sadly,  because  of 
his  religion  being  Roman  Catholic.  His  son,  Sir  William,  died 
during  the  troubles,  and  was  interred  in  the  chapel  of  Roslin 
the  very  same  day  that  the  battle  of  Dunbar  was  fought. 
When  my  godfather  was  buried,  his  (i.  e.  Sir  William's)  corpse 
seemed  to  be  entire  at  the  opening  of  the  cave  ;  but  when  they 
came  to  touch  his  body,  it  fell  into  dust.  He  was  laying  in 
his  armor,  with  a  red  velvet  cap  on  his  head,  on  a  flat  stone  ; 
nothing  was  spoiled  except  a  piece  of  the  white  furring  that 
went  round  the  cap,  and  answered  to  the  hinder  part  of.  the 
/lead.  All  his  predecessors  were  buried  after  the  same  man- 
ner, in  their  armor  :  late  Rosline,  my  good  father,  was  the  first 
that  was  buried  in  a  coffin,  against  the  sentiments  of  King 
James  the  Seventh,  who  was  then  in  Scotland,  and  several 
other  persons  well  versed  in  antiquity,  to  whom  my  mother 
would  not  hearken,  thinking  it  beggarly  to  be  buried  after  that 
manner.  The  great  expenses  she  was  at  in  burying  her  hus- 
band, occasioned  the  sumptuary  acts  which  were  made  in  the 
following  parliament." 


Note  4  0. 

For  he  was  speechless,  ghastly,  wan 

Like  him  of  whom  the  story  ran, 

Who  spoke  tkc  spectre-hound  in  Man. — P.  51. 

The  ancient  castle  of  Peel-town,  in  the  Isle  of  Man,  is  sur- 
rounded by  four  churches,  now  ruinous.  Through  one  of  these 
chapels  there  was  formerly  a  passage  from  the  guard-room  of 
the  garrison.  This  was  closed,  it  is  said,  upon  the  following  oc- 
aasion  :  "  They  say,  that  an  apparition,  called,  in  the  Mankish 
anguag  \  the  Mauthe  Doog  :n  the  shape  of  a  large  black 
spaniel,  .3  ith  curled  shaggy  hav,  was  used  to  haunt  Peel-castle  ; 
and  has  been  frequently  seen  in  every  room,  but  particularly  in 
the  guard-chamber,  where,  as  soon  as  candles  were  lighted,  it 
came  and  lay  down  before  the  fire,  in  presence  of  all  the  sol- 
diers, who,  at  length,  by  being  so  much  accustomed  to  the 
light  af  it,  lost  great  part  of  the  terror  they  were  seized  with  at 


its  first  appearance.  They  still,  however,  retained  a  certain 
awe,  as  believing  it  was  an  evil  spirit,  which  only  waited  per- 
mission to  do  them  hurt ;  and,  for  that  reason,  forebore  swear- 
ing and  all  profane  discourse,  while  in  its  company.  But 
though  they  endured  the  shock  of  such  a  guest  when  altogether 
in  a  body,  none  cared  to  be  left  alone  with  it.  It  being  the 
custom,  therefore,  for  one  of  the  soldiers  to  lock  the  gates  )i 
the  castle  at  a  certain  hour,  and  carry  the  keys  to  the  capta..v 
to  whose  apartment,  as  I  said  before,  the  way  led  through  the 
church,  they  agreed  among  themselves,  that  whoever  was  tc 
succeed  the  ensuing  night  his  fellow  in  this  errand,  should  ac 
company  him  that  went  first,  and  by  this  means  no  man  would 
be  exposed  singly  to  the  danger  ;  for  I  forgot  to  mention,  that 
the  Mauthe  Doog  was  always  seen  to  come  out  from  that  pas- 
sage at  the  close  of  the  day,  and  return  to  it  again  as  soon  as 
the  morning  dawned  ;  which  made  them  look  on  this  place  as 
its  peculiar  residence. 

"  One  night  a  fellow  being  drunk,  and  by  the  strength  of  his 
liquor  rendered  more  daring  than  ordinarily,  laughed  at  the 
simplicity  of  his  companions,  and,  though  it  was  not  his  turn 
to  go  with  the  keys,  would  needs  take  that  office  upon  him,  to 
testify  his  courage.  All  the  soldiers  endeavored  to  dissuade 
him  ;  but  the  more  they  said,  the  more  resolute  he  seemed,  and 
swore  that  he  desired  nothing  more  than  that  the  Mauthe 
Doog  would  follow  him,  as  it  had  done  the  others ;  for  he 
would  try  if  it  were  dog  or  devil.  After  having  talked  in  a 
very  reprobate  manner  for  some  time,  he  snatched  up  the  keys, 
and  went  out  of  the  guard-room.  In  some  time  after  his  de- 
parture, a  great  noise  was  heard,  but  nobody  had  the  boldness 
to  see  what  occasioned  it,  till  the  adventurer  returning,  they 
demanded  the  knowledge  of  him  ;  but  as  loud  and  noisy  as  he 
had  been  at  leaving  them,  he  was  now  become  sober  and  silent 
enough  ;  for  he  was  never  heard  to  speak  more,  and  though 
all  the  time  he  lived,  which  was  three  days,  he  was  entreated 
by  all  who  came  near  him,  either  to  speak,  or,  if  he  could  not 
do  that,  to  make  some  signs,  by  which  they  might  understand 
what  had  happened  to  him,  yet  nothing  intelligible  could  be 
got  from  him,  only  that,  by  the  distortion  of  his  limbs  and  fea- 
tures, it  might  be  guessed  that  he  died  in  agonies  more  than  is 
common  in  a  natural  death. 

"  The  Mauthe  Doog  was,  however,  never  after  seen  in  the 
castle,  nor  would  any  one  attempt  to  go  through  that  passage  ; 
for  which  reason  it  was  closed  up,  and  another  way  madt 
This  accident  happened  about  three  score  years  since  ;  and  I 
heard  it  attested  by  several,  but  especially  by  an  old  soldier, 
who  assured  me  he  had  seen  it  oftener  than  he  had  then  hairs 
on  his  head." — Waldron's  Description  of  the  Isle  of  Man, 
p.  107. 


Note  4  P. 


St.  Bride  of  Douglas.—?.  51. 


This  was  a  favorite  saint  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  and  of  the 
Earl  of  Angus  in  particular,  as  we  learn  from  the  following 
passage  : — "  The  Q.ueen-regent  had  proposed  to  raise  a  rival 
noble  to  the  ducal  dignity  ;  and  discoursing  of  her  purpose  with 
Angus,  he  answered,  '  Why  not,  madam  1  we  are  happy  that 
have  such  a  princess,  that  can  know  and  will  acknowledge 
men's  services,  and  is  willing  to  recompense  it ;  but,  by  the 
might  of  God'  (this  was  his  oath  when  he  was  serious  and  in 
anger ;  at  other  times,  it  was  by  St.  Bryde  of  Douglas),  '  if  he 
be  a  Duke,  I  will  be  a  Drake  !'— So  she  desisted  from  proseeu- 
ting  of  that  purpose." — Godscroft,  vol.  ii.  p.  131. 


ill  a  x  m  t  o  it : 

A   TALE   OF   FLODDEN   FIELD.1 

IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


Alas  !    that  Scottish  maid  should  sing 
The  combat  where  her  lover  fell ! 

That  Scottish  Bard  should  wake  the  string. 
The  triumph  of  our  foes  to  tell. 


Lkydkn. 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833. 

Some  alterations  in  the  text  of  the  Introduction 
to  Marmion,  and  of  the  Poem  itself,  as  -well  as 
various  additions  to  the  Author's  Notes,  will  be 
observed  in  this  Edition.  We  have  folio-wed  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  interleaved  copy,  as  finally  revised 
by  him  in  the  summer  of  1831. 

The  preservation  of  the  original  MS.  of  the 
Poem  has  enriched  this  volume  with  numerous 
various  readings,  which  -will  be  found  curious  and 
interesting. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

What  I  have  to  say  respecting  this  Poem  may 
be  briefly  told.  In  the  Introduction  to  the  "  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  I  have  mentioned  the  cir- 
cumstances, so  far  as  my  literary  life  is  concerned, 
which  induced  me  to  resign  the  active  pursuit  of 
an  honorable  profession,  for  the  more  precarious 
resources  of  literature.  My  appointment  to  the 
Sheriffdom  of  Selkirk  called  for  a  change  of  resi- 
dence. I  left,  therefore,  the  pleasant  cottage  I 
had  upon  the  side  of  the  Esk,  for  the  "  pleasanter 
banks  of  the  Tweed,"  in  order  to  comply  -with  the 
law,  which  requires  that  the  Sheriff  shall  be  resi- 
dent, at  least  during  a  certain  number  of  months, 
within  his  jurisdiction.  We  found  a  delightful  re- 
tirement, by  my  becoming  the  tenant  of  my  inti- 
mate friend  and  cousin-german,  Colonel  Russell,2 
in  his  mansion  of  Ashestiel,  which  was  unoccupied, 
during  his  absence  on  military  service  in  India. 
The  house  was  adequate  to  our  accommodation, 
and   the  exercise  of  a  limited  hospitality.     The 

*  Published  in  4to,  jCI  lis.  6d.,  February,  1808. 


situation  is  uncommonly  beautiful,  by  the  side  of  a 
fine  river,  whose  streams  are  there  very  favorable 
for  angling,  surrounded  by  the  remains  of  natural 
woods,  and  by  liills  abounding  in  game.  In  point 
of  society,  according  to  the  heartfelt  phrase  of 
Scripture,  we  dwelt  "  amongst  our  own  people ;" 
and  as  the  distance  from  the  metropolis  was  only 
thirty  miles,  we  were  not  out  of  reach  of  our  Ed- 
inburgh friends,  in  which  city  we  spent  the  terms 
of  the  summer  and  whiter  Sessions  of  the  Court, 
that  is,  five  or  six  months  in  the  year. 

An  important  circumstance  had,  about  the  same 
time,  taken  place  in  my  life.  Hopes  had  been 
held  out  to  me  from  an  influential  quarter,  of  a 
nature  to  relieve  me  from  the  anxiety  which  I 
must  have  otherwise  felt,  as  one  upon  the  preca- 
rious tenure  of  whose  own  life  rested  the  principal 
prospects  of  his  family,  and  especially  as  one  who 
had  necessarily  some  dependence  upon  the  favor 
of  the  public,  which  is  proverbially  capricious; 
though  it  is  but  justice  to  add,  that,  in  my  own 
case,  I  have  not  found  it  so.  Mr.  Pitt  had  express- 
ed a  wish  to  my  personal  friend,  the  Right  Hon- 
orable William  Dundas,  now  Lord  Clerk  Registei 
of  Scotland,  that  some  fitting  opportunity  should 
be  taken  to  be  of  service  to  me ;  and  as  my  views 
and  wishes  pointed  to  a  future  rather  than  an  im- 
mediate provision,  an  opportunity  of  accomplish- 
ing this  was  soon  found.  One  of  the  Principal 
Clerks  of  Session,  as  they  are  called  (official  per- 
sons who  occupy  an  important  and  responsible 
situation,  and  enjoy  a  considerable  income),  who 
had  served  upwards  of  thirty  years,  felt  himself, 
from  age,  and  the  infirmity  of  deafness  with  which 
it  was  accompanied,  desirous  of  retiring  from  his 
official   situation.     As  the  law  then   stood,  such 


2  Now  Major-General  Sir  James  Russell,  K. 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  viii.  pp.  133,  318. 


C.  B.— Sea 


MA.RM10N. 


81 


official  persons  were  entitled  to  bargain  with  their 
successors,  either  for  a  sum  of  money,  which  was 
usually  a  considerable  one,  or  for  an  interest  in  the 
emoluments  of  the  office  during  their  life.  My 
predecessor,  whose  services  had  been  unusually 
meritorious,  stipulated  for  the  emoluments  of  his 
office  during  his  life,  while  I  should  enjoy  the  sur- 
vivorship, on  the  condition  that  I  discharged  the 
duties  of  the  office  in  the  mean  time.  Mr.  Pitt, 
however,  having  died  in  the  interval,  his  adminis- 
tration was  dissolved,  and  was  succeeded  by  that 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Fox  and  Grenville  Min- 
istry. My  affair  was  so  far  completed,  that  my 
commission  lay  in  the  office  subscribed  by  his 
Majesty ;  but,  from  hurry  or  mistake,  the  interest 
of  my  predecessor  was  not  expressed  in  it,  as  had 
been  usual  in  such  cases.  Although,  therefore,  it 
only  required  payment  of  the  fees,  I  could  not  in 
honor  take  out  the  commission  in  the  present  state, 
since,  in  the  event  of  my  dying  before  him,  the 
►  gentleman  whom  I  succeeded  must  have  lost  the 
vested  interest  which  he  had  stipulated  to  retain. 
I  had  the  honor  of  an  interview  with  Earl  Spen- 
cer on  the  subject,  and  he,  in  the  most  handsome 
manner,  gave  directions  that  the  commission  should 
issue  as  originally  intended ;  adding,  that  the  mat- 
ter having  received  the  royal  assent,  he  regarded 
only  as  a  claim  of  justice  what  he  would  have 
willingly  done  as  an  act  of  favor.  I  never  saw 
Mr.  Fox  on  this,  or  on  any  other  occasion,  and 
never  made  any  application  to  him,  conceiving 
that  in  doing  so  I  might  have  been  supposed  to 
express  political  opinions  contrary  to  those  which 
I  had  always  professed.  In  his  private  capacity, 
there  is  no  man  to  whom  I  would  have  been  more 
proud  to  owe  an  obligation,  had  I  been  so  distin- 
guished. 

By  this  arrangement  I  obtained  the  survivor- 
ship of  an  office,  the  emoluments  of  which  were 
fully  adequate  to  my  wishes ;  and  as  the  law  re- 
specting the  mode  of  providing  for  superannuated 
officers  was,  about  five  or  six  years  after,  altered 
from  that  which  admitted  the  arrangement  of  as- 
sistant and  successor,  my  colleague  very  hand- 
somely took  the  opportunity  of  the  alteration,  to 
accept  of  the  retiring  annuity  provided  in  such 
cases,  and  admitted  me  to  the  full  benefit  of  the 
office. 

l  See  IAfe,  vol.  iii.  p.  4. 

9  "  Next  view  in  state,  proud  prancing  on  his  roan, 
The  golden-crested  haughty  Marmion, 
Now  forging  scrolls,  now  foremost  in  the  fight, 
Not  quite  a  felon,  yet  but  half  a  knight, 
The  gibbet  or  the  field  prepared  to  grace  ; 
A  mighty  mixture  of  the  great  and  base. 
And  think'st  thou,  Scott !  by  vain  conceit  perchance, 
On  public  taste  to  foist  thy  stale  romance, 
Though  Murray  with  his  Miller  may  combine 
To  yield  thy  muse  just  half-a-crown  per  line? 
11 


But  although  the  certainty  of  succeeding  to  a 
considerable  income,  at  the  time  I  obtained  it, 
seemed  to  assure  me  of  a  quiet  harbor  in  my  old 
age,  I  did  not  escape  my  share  of  inconvenience 
from  the  contrary  tides  and  currents  by  which  we 
are  so  often  encountered  in  our  journey  through 
life.  Indeed,  the  publication  of  my  next  poetical 
attempt  was  prematurely  accelerated,  from  one  of 
those  unpleasant  accidents  which  can  neither  be 
foreseen  nor  avoided. 

I  had  formed  the  prudent  resolution  to  endeavor 
to  bestow  a  little  more  labor  than  I  had  yet  done 
on  my  productions,  and  to  be  in  no  hurry  again  to 
announce  myself  as  a  candidate  for  literary  fame. 
Accordingly,  particular  passages  of  a  poem,  which 
was  finally  called  "  Marmion,"  were  labored  with 
a  good  deal  of  care,  by  one  by  whom  much  care 
was  seldom  bestowed.  Whether  the  work  was 
worth  the  labor  or  not,  I  am  no  competent  judge ; 
but  I  may  be  permitted  to  say,  that  the  period  of 
its  composition  was  a  very  happy  one,  in  my  life ; 
so  much  so,  that  I  remember  with  pleasure,  at  this 
moment,  some  of  the  spots  in  which  particular  pas- 
sages were  composed.  It  is  probably  owing  to 
this,  that  the  Introduction  to  the  several  Cantos 
assumed  the  form  of  familiar  epistles  to  my  inti- 
mate friends,  in  which  I  alluded,  perhaps  more 
than  was  necessary  or  graceful,  to  my  domestic 
occupations  and  amusements — a  loquacity  which 
may  be  excused  by  those  who  remember,  that  I 
was  still  young,  light-headed,  and  happy,  and  that 
"  out  of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth 
speaketh." 

The  misfortunes  of  a  near  relation  and  friend, 
which  happened  at  this  time,  led  me  to  alter  my 
prudent  determination,  which  had  been,  to  use 
great  precaution  in  sending  this  poem  into  the 
world ;  and  made  it  convenient  at  least,  if  not  ab- 
solutely necessary,  to  hasten  its  publication.  The 
publishers  of  "  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  em- 
boldened by  the  success  of  that  poem,  willingly  of- 
fered a  thousand  pounds  for  "  Marmion."1  The 
transaction  being  no  secret,  afforded  Lord  Byron, 
who  was  then  at  general  war  with  all  \vho  blacked 
paper,  an  apology  for  including  me  in  his  satire, 
entitled  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers.'" 
I  never  could  conceive  how  an  arrangement  be- 
tween an  author  and  his  publishers,  if  satisfactory 

No  !  when  the  sons  of  song  descend  to  trade, 
Their  bays  are  sear,  their  former  laurels  fade. 
Let  such  forego  the  poet's  sacred  name, 
Who  rack  their  brains  for  lucre,  not  for  fame  ; 
Still  for  stern  Mammon  may  they  toil  in  vain ! 
And  sadly  gaze  on  gold  they  cannot  gain  ! 
Such  be  their  meed,  such  still  the  just  reward 
Of  prostituted  muse  and  hireling  bard  ! 
For  this  we  spurn  Apollo's  venal  son, 
And  bid  a  long  '  Good-night  to  Marmion.'  " 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  235-ft 


82 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


to  the  persons  concerned,  could  afford  matter  of 
ceisure  to  any  third  party.  I  had  taken  no  unu- 
sual or  ungenerous  means  of  enhancing  the  value 
of  my  merchandise — I  had  never  higgled  a  mo- 
ment about  the  bargain,  but  accepted  at  once 
what  I  considered  the  handsome  offer  of  my  pub- 
lishers. These  gentlemen,  at  least,  were  not  of 
opinion  that  they  had  been  taken  advantage  of  in 
the  transaction,  which  indeed  was  one  of  their  own 
framing ;  on  the  contrary,  the  sale  of  the  Poem 
was  so  far  beyond  their  expectation,  as  to  induce 
them  to  supply  the  Author's  cellars  with  what  is 
always  an  acceptable  present  to  a  young  Scottish 
housekeeper,  namely,  a  hogshead  of  excellent  claret. 
The  Poem  was  finished  in  too  much  haste,  to 
allow  me  an  opportunity  of  softening  down,  if  not 
removmg^some  of  its  most  prominent  defects.  The 
nature  of  Marmion's  guilt,  although  similar  instan- 
ces were  found,  and  might  be  quoted,  as  existing 
in  feudal  times,  was  nevertheless  not  sufficiently 
rjeculiar  to  be  indicative  of  the  character  of  the 
period,  forgery  being  the  crime  of  a  commercial, 
rather  than  a  proud  and  warlike  age.  This  gross 
defect  ought  to  have  been  remedied  or  palliated. 
Yet  I  suffered  the  tree  to  lie  as  it  had  fallen.  I 
remember  my  friend,  Dr.  Leyden,  then  in  the  East, 
wrote  me  a  furious  remonstrance  on  the  subject. 

On  first  reading  this  satire,  1809,  Scott  says,  "It  is  funny 
enough  to  see  a  whelp  of  a  young  Lord  Byron  ahusing  me,  of 
whose  circumstances  he  knows  nothing,  for  endeavoring  to 
scratch  out  a  living  with  my  pen.  God  help  the  hear,  if  hav- 
ing little  else  to  eat,  he  must  not  even  suck  his  own  paws.  I 
can  assure  the  noble  imp  of  fame  it  is  not  my  fault  that  I  was 
not  born  to  a  park  and  j£5000  a  year,  as  it  is  not  his  lordship's 
merit,  although  it  may  be  his  great  good  fortune,  that  he  was 
not  born  to  live  by  his  literary  talents  or  success." — Life,  vol. 
hi.  p.  195. — See  also  Correspondence  with  Lord  Bvron  lbiu. 
pp.  395   398. 

i  "Mirmion  was  first  printed  it  c  splendid  quarto,  price 
one  g'.inea  and  a  half  Tne  2000  copies  of  this  edition  were 
all  deposed  of  lr.  less  than  £  month,  when  a  second  of  3000 
ropies,  in  8vo.,  was  sent  to  press.  There  followed  a  third  and 
a  fourth  edition,  each  of  3000,  in  1809 ;  a  fifth  of  2000,  early 
in  1810  ;  and  a  sixth  of  3000,  in  two  volumes,  crown  8vo., 


I  have,  nevertheless,  always  been  of  opinion,  that 
corrections,  however  in  themselves  judicious,  have 
a  bad  effect — after  publication.  An  author  is  nev- 
er so  decidedly  condemned  as  on  his  own  confes- 
sion, and  may  long  find  apologists  and  partisans, 
until  he  gives  up  his  own  cause.  I  was  not,  there- 
fore, inclined  to  afford  matter  for  censure  out  ol 
my  own  admissions ;  and,  by  good  fortune,  the 
nove"ty  of  the  subject,  and,  if  I  may  say  so,  some 
force  and  vivacity  of  description  were  allowed  to 
atone  for  many  imperfections.  Thus  the  second 
experiment  on  the  public  patience,  generally  the 
most  perilous, — for  the  public  are  then  most  apt 
to  judge  with  rigor,  what  in  the  first  instance  they 
had  received,  perhaps,  with  imprudent  generosity, 
— was  in  my  case  decidedly  successful.  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  pass  tins  ordeal  favorably,  and  the 
return  of  sales  before  me  makes  the  copies  amount 
to  thirty-six  thousand  printed  between  1808  and 
1825,  besides  a  considerable  sale  since  that  period.1 
I  shall  here  pause  upon  the  subject  of  "  Marmion,"  | 
and,  in  a  few  prefatory  words  to  "  The  Lady  of 
the  Lake,"  the  last  poem  of  mine  which  obtained 
eminent  success,  I  will  continue  the  task  which  I 
have  imposed  on  myself  respecting  the  origin  of 
my  productions. 

Abbotsfobd,  April,  1830. 

with  twelve  designs  by  Singleton,  before  the  end  of  that  year ; 
a  seventh  of  4000,  and  an  eighth  of  5000  copies  8vo.,  in  1811  ; 
a  ninth  of  3000  in  1815  ;  a  tenth  of  500  in  1820  ;  an  eleventh  of 
500,  and  a  twelfth  of  2000  copies,  in  foolscap,  both  in  1825. 
The  legitimate  sale  in  this  country,  therefore,  down  to  the 
time  of  its  being  included  in  the  first  collective  edition  of  his 
poetical  works,  amounted  to  31,000  ;  and  the  aggregate  of  that 
sale,  down  to  the  period  at  which  I  am  writing  (May,  1836), 
may  be  stated  at  50,000  copies.  I  presume  it  is  right  for  me 
to  facilitate  the  task  of  future  historians  of  our  literature  by 
preserving  these  details  as  often  as  I  can.  Such  particulars 
respecting  many  of  the  great  works  even  of  the  last  century, 
are  already  sought  for  with  vain  regret;  and  I  anticipate  no 
day  when  the  student  of  English  civilization  will  pass  without 
curiosity  the  contemporary  reception  of  the  Tale  of  Floddeu 
Field."— Lockhart,  Life  of  Scott,  Pol.  iii.  p.  66. 


M  a  x  m  i  0  n  . 


TO    THE 
RIGHT     HONORABLE 

HENRY   LORD   MONTAGU,1 
&c.  <Scc.  dec. 

THIS  ROMANCE    IS    INSCRIBED  BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

It  if  Snrdly  to  be  expected,  that  an  Author  whom  the  Public  have  honored  with  some  degree  of  ap- 
plff'Mi,  should  not  be  again  a  trespasser  on  their  kindness.  Yet  the  Author  of  Marmion  must  be  sup- 
posed to  feel  some  anxiety  concerning  its  success,  since  he  is  sensible  that  he  hazards,  by  this  second 
intrusion,  any  reputation  which  his  first  Poem  may  have  procured  him.  The  present  story  turns  upon 
the  private  adventures  of  a  fictitious  character  ;  but  is  called  a  Tale  of  Flodden  Field,  because  the  herds 
fate  is  connected  with  that  memorable  defeat,  and  the  causes  which  led  to  it.  The  design  of  the  Author 
was,  if  possible,  to  apprize  his  readers,  at  the  outsit,  of  the  date  of  his  Story,  and  to  prepare  them  for 
the  manners  of  the  Age  in  which  it  is  laid.  Any  Historical  Narrative,  far  more  an  attempt  at  Epic 
composition,  exceeded  his  plan  of  a  Romantic  Tale  ;  yet  he  may  be  permitted  to  hope,  from-  the  popularity 
o/The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  that  an  attempt  to  paint  the  manners  of  the  feudal  times,  upon  a 
broader  scale,  and  in  the  course  of  a  more  interesting  story,  will  not  be  unacceptable  to  the  Public. 

The  Poem  opens  about  the  commencement  of  August,  and  concludes  with  the  defeat  of  Flodden,  9th 
September,  1513. 

Ashestiel,  1808. 


iHarmton. 


INTRODUCTION"  TO  CANTO  FIRST. 


WILLIAM  STEWART  ROSE,  ESQ.* 

Ashestiel,  Ettrick  Forest. 
November's  sky  is  chill  and  drear, 
November's  leaf  is  red  and  sear : 
Late,  gazing  down  the  steepy  linn, 
That  hems  our  little  garden  in, 
Low  in  its  dark  and  narrow  glen, 
You  scarce  the  rivulet  might  ken, 
So  thick  the  tangled  greenwood  grew, 
So  feeble  trill'd  the  streamlet  through : 
Now,  murmuring  hoarse,  and  frequent  seen 
Through  bush  and  brier,  no  longer  green, 

1  Lord  Montagu  was  the  second  son  of  Henry  Duke  of  Buc- 
cleuch,  by  the  only  daughter  of  John  last  Duke  of  Montagu. 

2  For  the  origin  and  progress  of  Scott's  acquaintance  with 
VIr.  Rose,  see  Life,  vols.  ii.  iii    iv.  vi.     Part  of  Marmion 


An  angry  brook,  it  sweeps  the  glade, 
Brawls  over  rock  and  wild  cascade, 
And,  foaming  brown  with  doubled  speed, 
Hurries  its  waters  to  the  Tweed. 

No  longer  Autumn's  glowing  red 
Upon  our  Forest  hills  is  shed  ;8 
No  more,  beneath  the  evening  beam, 
Fair  Tweed  reflects  their  purple  gleam ; 
Away  hath  pass'd  the  heather-bell 
That  bloom'd  so  rich  on  Needpath-fell ; 
Sallow  his  brow,  and  russet  bare 
Are  now  the  sister-heights  of  Yah*. 
The  sheep,  before  the  pinching  heaven, 
To  shelter'd  dale  and  down  are  driven, 
Where  yet  some  faded  herbage  pines, 
And  yet  a  watery  sunbeam  shines : 
In  meek  despondency  they  eye 
The  wither'd  sward  and  wintry  sky, 

was  composed  at  Mr.  Rose's  seat  in  the  New  Forest,  Ibim, 
vol.  iii.  p.  10. 
3  MS. — "  No  longer  now  in  glowing  red 

The  Ettericke-Forest  hills  are  clad." 


84 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  far  beneath  their  summer  hill, 
Stray  sadly  by  Glenkinnon's  rill : 
The  shepherd  shifts  his  mantle's  fold, 
And  wraps  him  closer  from  the  cold ; 
His  dogs,  no  merry  circles  wheel, 
But,  shivering,  follow  at  his  heel  •, 
A  cowering  glance  they  often  cast, 
As  deeper  moans  the  gathering  blast. 

My  imps,  though  hardy,  bold,  and  wild, 
As  best  befits  the  mountain  child, 
Feel  the  sad  influence  of  the  hour, 
And  wail  the  daisy's  vanished  flower ; 
Their  summer  gambols  tell,  and  mourn, 
And  anxious  ask, — Will  spring  return, 
And  birds  and  lambs  again  be  gay, 
And  blossoms  clothe  the  hawthorn  spray  ? 

Yes,  prattlers,  yes.     The  daisy's  flower 
Again  shall  paint  your  summer  bower ; 
Again  the  hawthorn  shall  supply 
The  garlands  you  delight  to  tie ; 
The  iambs  upon  the  lea  shall  bound, 
The  wild  birds  carol  to  the  round, 
And  while  you  frolic  light  as  they, 
Too  short  shall  seem  the  summer  day. 

To  mute  and  to  material  things 
New  life  revolving  summer  brings  ;* 
The  genial  call  dead  Nature  hears, 
And  in  her  glory  reappears. 
But  oh  !  my  country's  wintry  state 
"What  second  spring  shall  renovate  ? 
What  powerful  call  shall  bid  arise 
The  buried  warlike  and  the  wise  ;3 
The  mind  that  thought  for  Britain's  weal, 
The  hand  that  grasp'd  the  victor's  steel  ? 
The  vernal  sun  new  life  bestows 
Even  on  the  meanest  flower  that  blows ; 
But  vainly,  vainly  may  he  shine, 
Where  glory  weeps  o'er  Nelson's  shrine  ; 


1  "  The  '  chance  and  change'  of  nature, — the  vicissitudes 
winch  are  observable  in  the  moral  as  well  as  the  physical  part 
of  the  creation, — have  given  occasion  to  more  exquisite  poetry 
than  any  other  general  subject.  The  author  had  before  made 
ample  use  of  the  sentiments  suggested  by  these  topics  ;  yet  he 
is  not  satisfied,  but  begins  again  with  the  same  in  his  first  in- 
troduction. The  lines  are  certainly  pleasing  ;  but  they  fall,  in 
our  estimation,  far  below  that  beautiful  simile  of  the  Tweed 
which  he  has  introduced  into  his  former  poem.  The  At,  at, 
rai  /xa\aicai  of  Moschus  is,  however,  worked  up  again  to  some 
advantage  in  the  following  passage; — 'To  mute,'  &c." — 
Monthly  Rev.,  May,  1808. 

2  MS. — "  What  call  awakens  from  the  dead 

The  hero's  heart,  the  patriot's  head  ?" 
8  MS. — "  Deep  in  each  British  bosom  wrote, 

O  never  be  those  names  forgot !" 
<  Nelson. 
6  Copenhagen. 
«  MS  — "  Tngg'd  at  subjection's  cracking  rein." 


And  vainly  pierce  the  solemn  gloom, 
That  shrouds,  O  Pitt,  thy  hallow'd  tomb  ! 

Deep  graved  in  every  British  heart, 
0  never  let  those  names  depart  !8 
Say  to  your  sons, — Lo,  here  his  grave, 
Who  victor  died  on  Gadite  wave  ;4 
To  him,  as  to  the  burning  levin, 
Short,  bright,  resistless  course  was  given. 
Where'er  his  country's  foes  were  found, 
Was  heard  the  fated  thunder's  sound, 
Till  burst  the  bolt  on  yonder  shore, 
Roll'd,  blazed,  destroy'd, — and  was  no  more. 

Nor  mourn  ye  less  his  perish'd  worth, 
Who  bade  the  conqueror  go  forth, 
And  launch'd  that  thunderbolt  of  war 
On  Egypt,  Hafnia,6  Trafalgar ; 
Who,  born  to  guide  such  high  emprize, 
For  Britain's  weal  was  early  wise ; 
Alas !  to  whom  the  Almighty  gave, 
For  Britain's  sins,  an  early  grave ! 
His  worth,  who,  in  his  mightiest  hour, 
A  bauble  held  the  pride  of  power, 
Spurn'd  at  the  sordid  lust  of  pelf, 
And  served  his  Albion  for  herself; 
Who,  when  the  frantic  crowd  amain 
Strain'd  at  subjection's  bursting  rein,6 
O'er  their  wild  mood  full  conquest  gain'd, 
The  pride,  he  would  not  crush,  restrain'd, 
Show'd  their  fierce  zeal  a  worthier  cause,7 
And  brought  the  freeman's  arm,  to  aid  the  free 
man's  laws. 

Had'st  thou  but  lived,  though  stripp'd  of 
power,8 
A  watchman  on  the  lonely  tower, 
Thy  thrilling  trump  had  roused  the  land, 
When  fraud  or  danger  were  at  hand ; 
By  thee,  as  by  the  beacon-light, 
Our  pilots  had  kept  course  aright ; 
As  some  proud  column,  though  alone 

i  MS. — "  Show'd  their  bold  zeal  a  worthier  cause." 
8  This  paragraph  was  interpolated  on  the  blank  page  of  thi 
MS.     We  insert  the  lines  as  they  appear  there  : — 
"  O  had  he  lived,  though  stripp'd  of  power, 
Like  a  lone  watchman  on  the  tower, 
His  thrilling  trumpet  through  the  land 
Had  warn'd  when  foemen  were  at  hind. 
As  by  some  beacon's  lonely  light, 
By  thee  our  course  had  steer'd  aright ; 
Our  steady  course  had  steer'd  arig 
Our  pilots  kept  their  course  aiic 
His  single  mind,  unbent  by  fate, 
Had  propp'd  his  country's  tottering  weight; 
tall 


1  aright;  \ 
aright ;  v 
ight;        j 


Had  propp'd  our  tottering  state  and  throne, 
His  strength  had  propp'd  our  tottering  throne, 
The  beacon  light  is  quench'd  in  smoke, 
The  warder  fallen,  the  column  broke." 


MARMION. 


85 


Thy  strength  had  propp'd  the  tottering  throne  : 
Now  is  the  stately  column  broke, 
The  beacon-light  is  quench'd  in  smoke, 
The  trumpet's  silver  sound  is  still, 
The  warder  silent  on  the  hill  1 

Oh  think,  how  to  his  latest  day,1 
When  Death,  just  hovering,  claim'd  his  prey, 
"With  Palinure's  unalter'd  mood, 
Firm  at  his  dangerous  post  he  stood ; 
Each  call  for  needful  rest  repell'd, 
With  dying  hand  the  rudder  held, 
Till  in  his  fall,  with  fateful  sway, 
The  steerage  of  the  realm  gave  way ! 
Then  while  on  Britain's  thousand  plains, 
One  unpolluted  church  remains, 
Whose  peaceful  bells  ne'er  sent  around 
The  bloody  tocsm's  maddening  sound, 
But  still,  upon  the  hallow'd  day,2 
Convoke  the  swains  to  praise  and  pray ; 
While  faith  and  civil  peace  are  dear, 
Grace  this  cold  marble  with  a  tear, — 
He,  who  preserved  them,  Pitt,  lies  here  ! 

Nor  yet  suppress  the  generous  sigh, 
Because  his  rival  slumbers  nigh ; 
Nor  be  thy  requiescat  dumb, 
Lest  it  be  said  o'er  Fox's  tomb.' 
For  talents  mourn,  untimely  lost, 
When  best  employ'd,  and  wanted  most ; 
Mourn  genius  high,  and  lore  profound, 
And  wit  that  loved  to  play,  not  wound ; 
And  all  the  reasoning  powers  divine, 
To  penetrate,  resolve,  combine ; 
And  feelings  keen,  and  fancy's  glow, — 
They  sleep  with  him  who  sleeps  below : 
And,  if  thou  mourn'st  they  could  not  save 
From  error  him  who  owns  this  grave, 

i  MS. — "  Yet  think  how  to  his  latest  day." 

2  MS. — "  But  still  upon  the  holy  day." 

3  In  place  of  this  couplet,  and  the  ten  lines  which  follow  it, 
|he  original  MS.  of  Marmion  has  only  the  following  : — 

"  If  genius  high  and  judgment  sound, 
And  wit  that  loved  to  play,  not  wound, 
And  all  the  reasoning  powers  divine, 
To  penetrate,  resolve,  combine, 
Could  save  one  mortal  of  the  herd 
From  error — Fox  had  never  err'd." 

"  While  Scott  was  correcting  a  second  proof  of  the  passage 
where  Pitt  and  Fox  are  mentioned  together,  at  Stanmore  Priory, 
in  April,  1807,  Lord  Abercorn  suggested  that  the  compliment 
to  the  Whig  statesman  ought  to  be  still  further  heightened,  and 
Beveral  lines — 

'  For  talents  mourn  untimely  lost, 
When  best  employed,  and  wanted  most,1  &c. — 
were  added  accordingly.  I  have  heard,  indeed,  that  they  came 
from  the  Marquis's  own  pen.  Ballantyne,  however,  from  some 
inadvertence,  had  put  the  sheet  to  press  before  the  revise,  as  it 
is  called,  arrived  in  Edinburgh,  and  some  few  copies  got  abroad 
V»  which  the  additional  couplets  were  omitted.     A  London 


Be  every  harsher  thought  suppress'd, 
And  sacred  be  the  last  long  rest. 
Here,  where  the  end  of  earthly  things 
Lays  heroes,  patriots,  bards,  and  kings ; 
Where  stiff  the  hand,  and  still  the  tongue, 
Of  those  who  fought,  and  spoke,  and  sung ; 
Here,  where  the  fretted  aisles  prolong 
The  distant  notes  of  holy  song, 
As  if  some  angel  spoke  agen, 
"  All  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men  •" 
If  ever  from  an  English  heart, 
0,  here  let  prejudice  depart, 
And,  partial  feeling  cast  aside,4 
Record,  that  Fox  a  Briton  died ! 
When  Europe  crouch'd  to  France's  yoke, 
And  Austria  bent,  and  Prussia  broke, 
And  the  firm  Russian's  purpose  brave, 
Was  barter'd  by  a  timorous  slave, 
Even  then  dishonor's  peace  he  spurn'd, 
The  sullied  olive-branch  return' d, 
Stood  for  his  country's  glory  fast, 
And  nail'd  her  colors  to  the  mast ! 
Heaven,  to  reward  his  firmness,  gave 
A  portion  in  this  honor"  d  grave, 
And  ne'er  held  marble  in  its  trust 
Of  two  such  wondrous  men  the  dust.* 

With  more  than  mortal  powers  endow'd, 
How  high  they  soar'd  above  the  crowd ! 
Theirs  was  no  common  party  race,6 
Jostling  by  dark  intrigue  for  place ; 
Like  fabled  Gods,  their  mighty  war 
Shook  realms  and  nations  in  its  jar ; 
Beneath  each  banner  proud  to  stand, 
Look'd  up  the  noblest  of  the  land, 
Till  through  the  British  world  were  known 
The  names  of  Pitt  and  Fox  alone. 
Spells  of  such  force  no  wizard  grave 

journal  (the  Morning  Chronicle)  was  stupid  and  malignant 
enough  to  insinuate  that  the  author  had  his  presentation  copies 
struck  off  with  or  without  them,  according  as  they  were  for 
Whig  or  Tory  hands.  I  mention  the  circumstance  now  only 
because  I  see  by  a  letter  of  Heber's  that  Scott  had  thought  it 
worth  his  while  to  contradict  the  absurd  charge  in  the  news- 
papers of  the  day." — Lockhart,  IAfe  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  CI. 

4  MS. — "  And  party  passion  dofFd  aside." 

6  "  The  first  epistolary  effusion,  containing  a  threnody  on 
Nelson,  Pitt,  and  Fox,  exhibits  a  remarkable  failure.  We  are 
unwilling  to  quarrel  with  a  poet  on  the  score  of  politics ;  but 
the  manner  in  which  he  has  chosen  to  praise  the  Its',  of  these 
great  men,  is  more  likely,  we  conceive,  to  give  offence  to  his 
admirers,  than  the  most  direct  censure.  The  only  deed  for 
which  he  is  praised  is  for  having  broken  off  the  negotiation  fol 
peace ;  and  for  this  act  of  firmness,  it  is  added,  Heaven  re* 
warded  him  with  a  share  in  the  honored  grave  of  Pitt !  tt  u 
then  said  that  his  errors  should  be  forgotten,  and  that  he  died 
a  Briton — a  pretty  plain  insinuation  that,  in  the  author's  opin^ 
ion,  he  did  not  live  one ;  and  just  such  an  encomium  as  he 
himself  pronounces  over  the  grave  of  his  villain  hero,  Mac- 
mion."— Jeffrey. 

8  MS. — "  Theirs  was  no  common  courtier  race.' 


86                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

E'er  framed  in  dark  Thessalian  cave, 

Like  frostwork  in  the  morning  ray, 

Though  his  could  drain  the  ocean  dry, 

The  fancied  fabric  melts  away  ;• 

And  force  the  planets  from  the  sky.1 

Each  Gothic  arch,  memorial-stone, 

These  spells  are  spent,  and,  spent  with  these, 

And  long,  dim,  lofty  aisle,  are  gone ; 

The  wine  of  life  is  on  the  lees. 

And,  lingering  last,  deception  dear, 

Genius,  and  taste,  and  talent  gone, 

The  choir's  high  sounds  die  on  my  ear. 

Forever  tomb'd  beneath  the  stone, 

Now  slow  return  the  lonely  down, 

Where — taming  thought  to  human  pride ! — 

The  silent  pastures  bleak  and  brown, 

The  mighty  chiefs  sleep  side  by  side.3 

The  farm  begirt  with  copsewood  wild, 

Drop  upon  Fox's  grave*the  tear, 

The  gambols  of  each  frolic  child, 

'Twill  trickle  to  his  rival's  bier ; 

Mixing  their  sin-ill  cries  with  the  tone 

O'er  Pitt's  the  mournful  requiem  sound, 

Of  Tweed's  dark  waters  rushing  on. 

And  Fox's  shall  the  notes  rebound. 

The  solemn  echo  seems  to  cry, — 

Prompt  on  unequal  tasks  to  run, 

"  Here  let  their  discord  with  them  die. 

Thus  Nature  disciplines  her  son : 

Speak  not  for  those  a  separate  doom, 

Meeter,  she  says,  for  me  to  stray, 

Whom  Fate  made  Brothers  in  the  tomb ; 

And  waste  the  solitary  day, 

But  search  the  land  of  living  men, 

In  plucking  from  yon  fen  the  reed, 
And  watch  it  floating  down  the  Tweed; 

Where  wilt  thou  find  their  like  agen  ?" 

Or  idly  list  the  shrilling  lay, 

Rest,  ardent  Spirits !  till  the  cries 

With  which  the  milkmaid  cheers  her  way, 

Of  dying  Nature  bid  you  rise ; 

Marking  its  cadence  rise  and  fail, 

Not  even  your  Britain's  groans  can  pierce 

As  from  the  field,  beneath  her  pail, 

The  leaden  silence  of  your  hearse ; 

She  trips  it  down  the  uneven  dale ; 

Then,  0,  how  impotent  and  vain 

Meeter  for  me,  by  yonder  cairn, 

This  grateful  tributary  strain ! 

The  ancient  shepherd's  tale  to  learn ; 

Though  not  unmark'd  from  northern  clime, 

Though  oft  he  stop  in  rustic  fear,4 

Ye  heard  the  Border  Minstrel's  rhyme : 

Lest  his  old  legends  tire  the  ear 

His  Gothic  harp  has  o'er  you  rung ; 

Of  one,  who,  in  his  simple  mind, 

The  Bard  you  deign'd  to  praise,  your  deathless 

May  boast  of  book-learn'd  taste  refined. 

names  has  sung. 

But  thou,  my  friend,  can'st  fitly  tell 

Stay  yet,  illusion,  stay  a  while, 

(For  few  have  read  romance  so  well), 

My  wilder'd  fancy  still  beguile  ! 

How  still  the  legendary  lay 

From  this  high  theme  how  can  I  part, 

O'er  poet's  bosom  holds  its  sway ; 

Ere  half  unloaded  is  my  heart ! 

How  on  the  ancient  minstrel  strain 

For  all  the  tears  e'er  sorrow  drew, 

Time  lays  his  palsied  hand  in  vain ; 

And  all  the  raptures  fancy  knew, 

And  how  our  hearts  at  doughty  deeds, 

And  all  the  keener  rush  of  blood, 

By  warriors  wrought  in  steely  weeds, 

That  throbs  through  bard  in  bard-like  mood, 

Still  throb  for  fear  and  pity's  sake ; 

Were  here  a  tribute  mean  and  low, 

As  when  the  Champion  of  the  Lake 

Though  all  their  mingled  streams  could  flow — 

Enters  Morgana's  fated  house, 

Woe,  wonder,  and  sensation  high, 

Or  in  the  Chapel  Perilous, 

In  one  spring-tide  of  ecstasy ! — 

Despising  spells  and  demons'  force, 

It  will  not  be — it  may  not  last — 

Holds  converse  with  the  unburied  corse  ;* 

The  vision  of  enchantment's  past : 

Or  when,  Dame  Ganore's  grace  to  move 

MS. — "  And  force  the  pale  moon  from  the  sky."                . 

Which  hushes  all !  a  calm  unstormy  wave 

"  Reader  !  remember  when  thou  wert  a  lad, 

Which  oversweeps  the  world.    The  theme  is  old 

Then  Pitt  was  all ;  or,  if  not  all,  so  much, 
His  very  rival  almost  deem'd  him  such. 

Of '  dust  to  dust ;'  but  half  its  tale  untold  ; 

Time  tempers  not  its  terrors. 

We,  we  have  seen  the  intellectual  race 

Byron's  Age  of  Bronzt 

Of  giants  stand,  like  Titans,  face  to  face  ; 

8  "  If  but  a  beam  of  sober  reason  play, 

Athos  and  Ida,  with  a  dashing  sea 

Lo  !  Fancy's  fairy  frostwork  melts  away." 

Of  eloquence  between,  which  flow'd  all  free, 

Rogers'  Pleasures  of  Memory 

As  the  deep  billows  of  the  /Egein  roar 

4  MS. — "  Though  oft  he  stops  to  wonder  still 

Betwixt  the  Hellenic  and  the  Phrygian  shore. 

That  his  old  legends  have  the  skill 

But  where  are  they — the  rivals  ! — a  few  feet 

To  win  so  well  the  attentive  ear, 

Of  sullen  earth  divide  each  winding-sheet. 

Perchance  to  draw  the  sigh  or  tear  " 

How  peaceful  and  how  powerful  is  "he  grave 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

CANTO  I. 


MARMIOJN. 


87 


(Alas,  that  lawless  was  their  love !) 
He  sought  proud  Tarquin  in  his  den, 
And  free  full  sixty  knights ;  or  when, 
A  sinful  man,  and  unconfess'd, 
He  took  the  Sangreal's  holy  quest, 
And,  slumbering,  saw  the  vision  high, 
He  might  not  view  with  waking  eye.1 

The  mightiest  chiefs  of  British  song 
Scorn'd  not  such  legends  to  prolong : 
They  gleam  through  Spenser's  elfin  dream, 
And  mix  in  Milton's  heavenly  theme ; 
And  Dryden,  in  immortal  strain, 
Had  raised  the  Table  Round  again,' 
But  that  a  ribald  King  and  Court 
Bade  him  toil  on,  to  make  them  sport ; 
Demanded  for  their  niggard  pay, 
Fit  for  their  souls,  a  looser  lay, 
Licentious  satire,  song,  and  play  ;8 
The  world  defrauded  of  the  high  design,4 
Profaned  the  God-given  strength,  and  marr'd 
the  lofty  line. 

Warm'd  by  such  names,  well  may  we  then, 
Though  dwindled  sons  of  little  men, 
Essay  to  break  a  feeble  lance 
In  the  fair  fields  of  old  romance ; 
Or  seek  the  moated  castle's  cell, 
Where  long  through  talisman  and  spelL 
While  tyrants  ruled,  and  damsels  wept, 
Thy  Genius,  Chivalry,  hath  slept: 
There  sound  the  harpings  of  the  North, 
Till  he  awake  and  sally  forth, 
On  venturous  quest  to  prick  again, 
In  all  his  arms,  with  all  his  train,8 
Shield,  lance,  and  brand,  and  plume,  and  scarf, 
Fay,  giant,  dragon,  squire,  and  dwarf, 
And  wizard  with  his  wand  of  might, 
And  errant  maid  on  palfrey  white. 
Around  the  Genius  weave  their  spells, 
Pure  Love,  who  scarce  his  passion  tells ; 
Mystery,  half  veiTd  and  half  reveal'd ; 
And  Honor,  with  his  spotless  shield; 
Attention,  with  fix'd  eye ;  and  Fear, 
That  loves  the  tale  she  shrinks  to  hear ; 


l  See  Appendix,  Note  B.  «  Ibid.  Note  C. 

"MS. — "  Licentious  song,  lampoon,  and  play." 
4  MS. — "  The  world  defrauded  of  the  bold  design, 

And  quench'd  the  heroic  ;  fire,  and  marr'd  the 
Profaned  the  heavenly       J      lofty  line." 
iLgain, 

'  Profaned  his  God-given  strength,  and  marr'd  his  lofty  line." 
6  In  the  MS.  the  rest  of  the  passage  stands  as  follows  : — 

"  Around  him  wait  with  all  their  \  charms> 
(  spells, 

Pure  Love  which  \  Virtue  only  warms  ; 

f  scarce  his  passion  tells  ; 
Mystery,  half  seen  and  half  conceal'd  ; 
And  Honor,  with  unspotted  shield  ; 


And  gentle  Courtesy ;  and  Faith, 
Unchanged  by  sufferings,  time,  or  death ; 
And  Valor,  lion-mettled  lord, 
Leaning  upon  his  own  good  sword. 

Well  has  thy  fair  achievement  shown, 
A  worthy  meed  may  thus  be  won ; 
Ytene's6  oaks — beneath  whose  shade 
Their  theme  the  merry  minstrels  made, 
Of  Ascapart  and  Bevis  bold,7 
And  that  Red  King,8  who,  while  of  old, 
Through  Boldrewood  the  chase  he  led, 
By  his  loved  huntsman's  arrow  bled — 
Ytene's  oaks  have  heard  again 
Renew'd  such  legendary  strain ; 
For  thou  hast  sung,  how  He  of  Gaul, 
That  Amadis  so  famed  in  hall, 
For  Oriana,  foil'd  in  fight 
The  Necromancer's  felon  might ; 
And  well  in  modern  verse  hast  wove 
Partenopex's  mystic  love :' 
Hear,  then,  attentive  to  my  lay, 
A  knightly  tale  of  Albion's  elder  day. 


Jtl  a  rmi  o  n . 


CANTO  FIRST. 


&fte  dUstle 


Day  set  on  Norham's  castled  steep,10 
And  Tweed's  fair  river,  broad  and  deep, 

And  Cheviot's  mountains  lone : 
The  battled  towers,  the  donjon  keep," 
The  loophole  grates,  where  captives  weep, 
The  flanking  walls  that  round  it  sweep, 

In  yellow  lustre  shone.1* 
The  warriors  on  the  turrets  high, 
Moving  athwart  the  evening  sky,18 

Seem'd  forms  of  giant  height : 
Their  armor,  as  it  caught  the  rays, 

Attention,  with  fix'd  eye  ;  and  Feai, 
That  loves  the  tale  she  shrinks  to  near; 
And  gentle  Courtesy  ;  and  Faith, 
And  Valor  that  despises  death." 

6  The  New  Forest  in  Hampshire,  anciently  so  called. 

7  See  Appendix,     ote  D. 

8  William  Rufns. 

9  Partenopex  de  Blois,  a  poem,  by  W.  S.  Rose,  Esq.,  WM 
published  in  1808.— Ed. 

See  Appendix,  Note  E.  Ibid.  Note  F. 

12  In  the  MS.  the  first  line  has  "hoary  keep:"  the  founk 
"  donjon  steep  ;"  the  seventh  "  ruddy  lustre." 
«  MS.— "  Eastern  sky." 


88                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                                canto  i 

Flash'd  back  again  the  western  blaze,1 

Raised  the  portcullis'  ponderous  guard, 

In  lines  of  dazzling  light. 

The  lofty  palisade  unsparr'd 

II. 

And  let  the  drawbridge  fall. 

Saint  George's  banner,  broad  and  gay, 

V. 

JNow  faded,  as  the  fading  ray 

Along  the  bridge  Lord  Marmion  rode, 

Less  bright,  and  less,  was  flung  ; 

Proudly  his  red-roan  charger  trode, 

The  evening  gale  had  scarce  the  power 

His  helm  hung  at  the  saddlebow ; 

To  wave  it  on  the  Donjon  Tower, 

Well  by  his  visage  you  might  know 

So  heavily  it  hung. 

He  was  a  stalworth  knight,  and  keen, 

The  scouts  had  parted  on  their  search 

And  had  in  many  a  battle  been ; 

The  Castle  gates  were  barr'd ; 

The  scar  on  his  brown  cheek  reveal'd* 

Above  the  gloomy  portal  arch, 

A  token  true  of  Bosworth  field ; 

Timing  liis  footsteps  to  a  march, 

His  eyebrow  dark,  and  eye  of  fire, 

The  Warder  kept  Iris  guard ; 

Show'd  spirit  proud,  and  prompt  to  ire ; 

Low  humming,  as  he  paced  along, 

Yet  lines  of  thought  upon  his  cheek 

Some  ancient  Border  gathering  song. 

Did  deep  design  and  counsel  speak. 

His  forehead,  by  his  casque  worn  bare, 

III. 

His  thick  mustache,  and  curly  hair, 

A  distant  trampling  sound  he  hears ; 

Coal-black,  and  grizzled  here  and  there, 

He  looks  abroad,  and  soon  appears, 

But  more  through  toil  than  age ; 

O'er  Horncliff-hill  a  plump2  of  spears, 

His  square-turned  joints,  and  strength  of  limb 

Beneath  a  pennon  gay ; 

Show'd  liim  no  carpet  knight  so  trim, 

A  horseman,  darting  from  the  crowd, 

But  in  close  fight  a  champion  grim, 

Like  lightning  from  a  summer  cloud, 

In  camps  a  leader  sage.6 

Spurs  on  his  mettled  courser  proud, 

Before  the  dark  array. 

VI. 

Beneath  the  sable  palisade, 

Well  was  lie  arm'd  from  head  to  heel, 

That  closed  the  Castle  barricade, 

In  mail  and  plate  of  Milan  steel  ;6 

His  bugle  horn  he  blew ; 

But  his  strong  helm,  of  mighty  cost, 

The  warder  hasted  from  the  wall, 

Was  all  with  burnish'd  gold  emboss'd : 

And  warn'd  the  Captain  in  the  halL 

Amid  the  plumage  of  the  crest, 

For  well  the  blast  he  knew ; 

A  falcon  hover'd  on  her  nest, 

And  joyfully  that  knight  did  call, 

With  wings  outspread,  and  forward  breast ; 

To  sewer,  squire,  and  seneschal. 

E'en  such  a  falcon,  on  his  shield, 

Soar'd  sable  in  an  azure  field : 

IV. 

The  golden  legend  bore  aright, 

"  Now  broach  ye  a  pipe  of  Malvoisie, 

a®\)o  cljfcfes  at  me,  to  Deatj)  Is  tnflftt.7 

Bring  pasties  of  the  doe, 

Blue  was  the  charger's  broider'd  rein ; 

And  quickly  make  the  entrance  free, 

Blue  ribbons  deck'd  his  arching  mane ; 

And  bid  my  heralds  ready  be, 

The  knightly  housing's  ample  fold 

And  every  minstrel  sound  his  glee, 

Was  velvet  blue,  and  trapp'd  with  gold. 

And  all  our  trumpets  blow  ; 

And,  from  the  platform,  spare  ye  not 

VII. 

To  fire  a  noble  salvo-shot  :3 

Behind  him  rode  two  gallant  squires, 

Lord  Marmion  waits  below !" 

Of  noble  name,  and  knightly  sires ; 

Then  to  the  Castle's  lower  ward 

They  burn'd  the  gilded  spurs  to  claim ; 

Sped  forty  yeomen  tall, 

For  well  could  each  a  war-horse  tame, 

The  iron-studded  gates  unbarr'd, 

Could  draw  the  bow,  the  sword  could  sway, 

i  "  Evening-  blaze." 

6  "Marmion  is  to  Deloraine  what  Tom  Jones  is  to  Joseph 

2  This  word  properly  applies  to  a  flight  of  water-fowl ;  Dut 

Andrews  :  the  varnish  of  higher  breeding  nowhere  diminishes 

js  applied,  by  analogy,  to  a  body  of  horse. 

the  prominence  of  the  features  ;  and  the  minion  of  a  king  is 

"  There  is  a  knight  of  the  North  Country, 

as  light  and  sinewy  a  cavalier  as  the  Borderer — rather  less 

Which  leads  a  lusty  plump  of  spears." 

ferocious — more  wicked,  not  less  fit  for  the  hero  of  a  ballad, 

Flodden  Field. 

and  much  more  so  for  the  hero  of  a  regular  poem." — Georgi 

MS. — "  A  welcome  shot." 

Ellis. 

4  MS. — "  On  his  brown  cheek  an  azure  scar 

0  See  Appendix.  Note  G. 

Bore  token  true  of  Bosworth  war." 
1 

7  1  jid.  Note  H. 

\J 


CANTO  I. 


MARMION. 


by 


And  lightly  bear  the  ring  away ; 
Nor  less  with  courteous  precepts  stored, 
Could  dance  in  hall,  and  carve  at  board, 
And  frame  love-ditties  passing  rare, 
And  sing  them  to  a  iady  fair. 

VIII. 

Four  men-at-arms  came  at  their  backs, 
With  halbert,  bill,  and  battle-axe : 
They  bore  Lord  Marmion's  lance  so  strong,1 
And  led  his  sumpter-mules  along, 
And  ambling  palfrey,  when  at  need 
Him  listed  ease  his  battle-steed. 
The  last  and  trustiest  of  the  four, 
On  high  his  forky  pennon  bore ; 
Like  swallow's  tail,  in  shape  and  hue, 
Flutter'd  the  streamer  glossy  blue, 
Where,  blazon'd  sable,  as  before, 
The  towering  falcon  seem'd  to  soar. 
Last,  twenty  yeomen,  two  and  two, 
In  hosen  black,  and  jerkins  blue, 
With  falcons  broider'd  on  each  breast, 
Attended  on  their  lord's  behest. 
Each,  chosen  for  an  archer  good, 
Knew  hunting-craft  by  lake  or  wood ; 
Each  one  a  six-foot  bow  could  bend, 
And  far  a  cloth-yard  shaft  could  send ; 
Each  held  a  boar-spear  tough  and  strong, 
And  at  their  belts  their  quivers  rung. 
Their  dusty  palfreys,  and  array, 
Show'd  they  had  march'd  a  weary  way. 

IX. 

'Tis  meet  that  I  should  tell  you  now, 
How  fairly  arm'd,  and  order'd  how, 

The  soldiers  of  the  guard, 
With  musket,  pike,  and  morion, 
To  welcome  noble  Marmion,    • 

Stood  in  the  Castle-yard ; 
Minstrels  and  trumpeters  were  there, 
The  gunner  held  his  linstock  yare, 

For  welcome-shot  prepared : 
Enter'd  the  train,  and  such  a  clang,2 
As  then  through  all  his  turrets  rang, 

Old  Nbrham  never  heard. 

X. 

The  guards  their  morrice-pikes  advanced, 
The  trumpets  flourish'd  brave, 

i  MS.—  '   One  bore  Lord  Marmion's  lance  so  strong, 
Two  led  his  sumpter-mules  along, 
The  third  his  palfrey,  when  at  need." 

2  MS. — "  And  when  he  enter'd,  such  a  clang 

As  through  the  echoing  turrets  rang." 

8  "The  most  picturesque  of  all  poets,  Homer,  is  frequently 
minute,  to  the  utmost  degree,  in  the  description  of  the  dresses 
*nd  accoutrements  of  his  personages.     These  particulars,  often 
12 


The  cannon  from  the  ramparts  glanced, 

And  thundering  welcome  gave. 
A  blithe  salute,  in  martial  sort, 

The  minstrels  well  might  sound, 
For,  as  Lord  Marmion  cross'd  the  court, 

He  scatter'd  angels  round. 
"  Welcome  to  Norliam,  Marmion  1 

Stout  heart,  and  open  hand ! 
Well  dost  thou  brook  thy  gallant  roan, 

Thou  flower  of  English  land  1" 

±L 

Two  pursuivants,  whom  tabarts  deck, 
With  silver  scutcheon  round  their  neck, 

Stood  on  the  steps  of  stone, 
By  wluch  you  reach  the  donjon  gate, 
And  there,  with  herald  pomp  and  state, 

They  hail'd  Lord  Marmion  :3 
They  hail'd  him  Lord  of  Fontenaye,         * 
Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye, 

Of  Tamworth  tower  and  town  :4 
And  he,  their  courtesy  to  requite, 
Gave  them  a  chain  of  twelve  marks'  weight, 

All  as  he  lighted  down. 
"  Now,  largesse,  largesse,6  Lord  Marmion, 

Knight  of  the  crest  of  gold ! 
A  blazon'd  shield,  in  battle  won, 

Ne'ex  guarded  heart  so  bold." 

XII. 

They  marshall'd  him  to  the  Castle-halL 

Where  the  guests  stood  all  aside, 
And  loudly  flourish'd  the  trumpet-calL 

And  the  heralds  loudly  cried, 
— "  Room,  lordlings,  room  for  Lord  Marmion, 

With  the  crest  and  helm  of  gold ! 
Full  well  we  know  the  trophies  won 

In  the  lists  at  Cottiswold : 
There,  vainly  Ralph  de  Wilton  strove 

'Gainst  Marmion's  force  to  stand : 
To  him  he  lost  his  lady-love, 

And  to  the  King  his  land. 
Ourselves  beheld  the  listed  field, 

A  sight  both  sad  and  fair ; 
We  saw  Lord  Marmion  pierce  his  shield,6 

And  saw  his  saddle  bare ; 
We  saw  the  victor  win  the  crest 

He  wears  with  worthy  pride ; 
And  on  the  gibbet- tree,  reversed, 


inconsiderable  in  themselves,  have  the  effect  of  giving  truth 
and  identity  to  the  picture,  and  assist  the  mind  in  realizing 
the  scenes,  in  a  degree  which  no  general  description  could 
suggest ;  nor  could  we  so  completely  enter  the  Castle  with 
Lord  Marmion,  were  any  circumstances  of  the  description 
omitted." — British  Critic. 


*  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

8  MS.—"  Cleave  his  shield." 


6  Ibid,  Note  K 


90 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  1 


His  foeman's  scutcheon  tied. 

XV. 

Place,  nobles,  for  the  Falcon-Knight ! 

The  Captain  mark'd  his  alter'd  look, 

Room,  room,  ye  gentles  gay, 

And  gave  a  squire  the  sign ; 

For  him  who  conquer'd  in  the  right, 

A  mighty  wassail-bowl  he  took, 

Marmion  of  Fontenaye  1" 

And  crown'd  it  high  in  wine. 

"  Now  pledge  me  here,  Lord  Marmion : 

XIII. 

But  first  I  pray  thee  fair,3 

Then  stepp'd  to  meet  that  noble  Lord 

Where  hast  thou  left  that  page  of  thine, 

Sir  Hugh  the  Heron  bold, 

That  used  to  serve  thy  cup  of  wine, 

Baron  of  TVisell,  and  of  Ford, 

Whose  beauty  was  so  rare  ? 

And  Captain  of  the  Hold.1 

When  last  in  Raby  towers  we  met, 

He  led  Lord  Marmion  "to  the  deas, 

The  boy  I  closely  eyed, 

Raised  o'er  the  pavement  high, 

And  often  mark'd  his  cheeks  were  wet, 

And  placed  him  in  the  upper  place — 

With  tears  he  fain  would  hide : 

They  feasted  full  and  high : 

His  was  no  rugged  horse-boy's  hand, 

The  whiles  a  Northern  harper  rude 

To  burnish  slneld  or  sharpen  brand,4 

Chanted  a  rhyme  of  deadly  feud, 

Or  saddle  battle-steed ; 

"How    the  fierce    Thirwalls,    and    Ridleys 

But  meeter  seemed  for  lady  fair, 

♦    all? 

To  fan  her  cheek,  or  curl  her  hair, 

Stout  Willimondswick, 

Or  through  embroidery,  rich  and  rare, 

And  Hardriding  Dick, 

The  slender  silk  to  lead : 

And  Hughie  of  Hawdon,   and   Will  o'   the 

His  skin  was  fair,  his  ringlets  gold, 

Wall, 

His  bosom — when  he  sigh'd, 

Have  set  on  Sir  Albany  Fcathcrstojihaxgh, 

The  russet  doublet's  rugged  fold 

And  taken  his  life  at  the  Deadmari s-shaw? 

Could  scarce  repel  its  pride ! 

Scantily  Lord  Marmion's  ear  could  brook 

Say,  hast  thou  given  that  lovely  youth 

The  harper's  barbarous  lay  ; 

To  serve  in  lady's  bower  ? 

Yet  much  he  praised  the  pains  he  took, 

Or  was  the  gentle  page,  in  sooth, 

And  well  those  pains  did  pay  : 

A  gentle  paramour  V 

For  lady's  suit,  and  minstrel's  strain, 

By  knight  should  ne'er  be  heard  in  vain. 

XVI. 

Lord  Marmion  ill  could  brook  such  jest ; 

He  roll'd  his  kindling  eye, 

XIV. 

With  pain  Ins  rising  wrath  suppress' d, 

"  Now,  good  Lord  Marmion,"  Heron  says, 

Yet  made  a  calm  reply : 

"  Of  your  fair  courtesy, 

"  That  boy  thou  thought'st  so  goodly  fair, 

I  pray  you  bide  some  little  space 

He  might  not  brook  the  northern  air. 

In  this  poor  tower  with  me. 

More  of  Ins  fate  if  thou  wouldst  learn, 

Here  may  you  keep  your  arms  from  rust, 

I  left  him  sick  in  Lindisfarn  :6 

May  breathe  your  war-horse  well ; 

Enough  of  him. — But,  Heron,  say, 

Seldom  has  pass'd  a  week  but  giust 

Why  does  thy  lovely  lady  gay 

Or  feats  of  arms  befell : 

Disdain  to  grace  the  hall  to  day  ? 

The  Scots  can  rein  a  mettled  steed ; 

Or  has  that  dame,  so  fair  and  sage, 

And  love  to  couch  a  spear ; — 

Gone  on  some  pious  pilgrimage  ?" — 

Saint  George  !  a  stirring  life  they  lead, 

He  spoke  in  covert  scorn,  for  fame 

That  have  such  neighbors  near. 

Whisper'd  light  tales  of  Heron's  dame.1 

Then  stay  with  us  a  little  space, 

Our  northern  wars  to  learn  ; 

XVII. 

I  pray  you,  for  your  lady's  grace !" 

Unmark'd,  at  least  unreck'd,  the  taunt, 

Lord  Marmion's  brow  grew  stern. 

Careless  the  Knight  replied,8 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  L.                        a  Ibid.  Note  M. 

Is  come,  I  ween,  of  lineage  high, 

MS. — "  And  let  me  pray  thee  fair." 

And  of  thy  lady's  kin. 

MS. — "  To  rub  a  shield  or  sharp  a  brand." 

That  youth,  so  like  a  paramour, 

6  MS. — "  Lord  Marmion  ill  such  jest  could  brook, 

Who  wept  for  shame  and  pride, 

He  roll'd  his  kindling  eye  ; 

Was  erst,  in  Wilton's  lordly  bower 

Fix'd  on  the  Knight  his  dark  haught  look, 

Sir  Ralph  de  Wilton's  bride.'  " 

And  answer' d  stern  and  high  : 

«  See  Note  2  B,  canto  ii.  stanza  1. 

'  That  page  thou  didst  so  closely  eye, 

MS. — "  Whisper'd  strange  things  of  Heron's  dame. 

So  fair  of  hand  and  skin. 

8  MS.—"  The  Captain  gay  replied." 

CANTO  I. 


MARM10N. 


yi 


■  No  bird,  whose  feathers  gayly  flaunt, 

Delights  in  cage  to  bide : 
Norham  is  grim  and  grated  close, 
Hemm'd  in  by  battlement  and  fosse, 

And  many  a  darksome  tower; 
And  better  loves  my  lady  bright 
To  §H  '  liberty  and  light, 

In  lair  Queen  Margaret's  bower 
We  hold  our  greyhound  in  our  hand, 

Our  falcon  on  our  glove ; 
But  where  shall  we  find  leash  or  bam., 

For  dame  that  loves  to  rove  ? 
Let  the  wild  falcon  soar  her  swing, 
She'll  stoop  when  she  has  tired  her  wing." — 

XVIII, 
"  Nay,  if  with  Royal  James's  bride 
The  lovely  Lady  Heron  bide, 
Behold  me  here  a  messenger, 
Your  tender  greetings  prompt  to  bear ; 
For,  to  the  Scottish  court  address'd, 
I  journey  at  our  King's  behest, 
And  pray  you,  of  your  grace,  provide 
For  me,  and  mine,  a  trusty  guide. 
I  have  not  ridden  in  Scotland  since 
James  back'd  the  cause  of  that  mock  prince, 
Warbeck,  that  Flemish  counterfeit, 
Who  on  the  gibbet  paid  the  cheat. 
Then  did  I  march  with  Surrey's  power, 
What  time  we  razed  old  Ayton  tower." — a 

XIX. 

*  For  such-like  need,  my  lord,  I  trow, 
Norham  can  find  you  guides  enow ; 
For  here  be  some  have  prick'd  as  far, 
On  Scottish  ground,  as  to  Dunbar ; 
Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale, 
And  driven  the  beeves  of  Lauderdale ; 
Harried  the  wives  of  Greenlaw's  goods, 
And  given  them  light  to  set  then  hoods." — • 

XX. 

"  Now,  m  good  sooth,"  Lord  Marmion  cried, 

"  Were  I  in  warlike  wise  to  ride, 

A  better  guard  I  would  not  lack, 

Than  your  stout  forayers  at  my  back ; 

But,  as  in  form  of  peace  I  go, 

A  friendly  messenger,  to  know, 

Why  through  all  Scotland,  near  and  far, 

Their  King  is  mustering  troops  for  war, 

The  sight  of  plundering  Border  spears 

Might  justify  suspicious  fears, 

And  deadly  feud,  or  thirst  of  spoil, 

Break  out  in  some  unseemly  broil : 

A  herald  were  my  fitting  guide ; 

1  MS. — "  She'll  stoop  again  when  tired  her  wing." 
»  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 


Or  friar,  sworn  in  peace  to  bide ; 
Or  pardoner,  or  travelling  priest, 
Or  strolling  pilgrim,  at  the  least." 

XXI. 

The  Captain  mused  a  little  space, 

And  pass'd  his  hand  across  his  face. 

— "  Fain  would  I  find  the  guide  you  want, 

But  ill  may  spare  a  pursuivant, 

The  only  men  that  safe  can  ride 

Mine  errands  on  the  Scottish  side : 

And  though  a  bishop  built  this  fort, 

Few  holy  brethren  here  resort ; 

Even  our  good  chaplain,  as  I  ween, 

Since  our  last  siege,  we  have  not  seen : 

The  mass  he  might  not  sing  or  say, 

Upon  one  stinted  meal  a-day  ; 

So,  safe  he  sat  in  Durham  aisle, 

And  pray'd  for  our  success  the  while. 

Our  Norham  vicar,  woe  betide, 

Is  all  too  well  in  case  to  ride ; 

The  priest  of  Shoreswood4 — he  could  rein 

The  wildest  war-horse  in  your  train ; 

But  then,  no  spearman  in  the  hall 

Will  sooner  swear,  or  stab,  or  brawl. 

Friar  John  of  Tillmouth  were  the  man 

A  blithesome  brother  at  the  can, 

A  welcome  guest  in  hall  and  bower. 

He  knows  each  castle,  town,  and  tower, 

In  which  the  wine  and  ale  is  good, 

'Twixt  Newcastle  and  Holy-Rood. 

But  that  good  man,  as  ill  befalls, 

Hath  seldom  left  our  castle  walls, 

Since,  on  the  vigil  of  St.  Bede, 

In  evil  hour,  he  cross'd  the  Tweed, 

To  teach  Dame  Alison  her  creed. 

Old  Bughtrig  found  him  with  his  wife ; 

And  John,  an  enemy  to  strife, 

Sans  frock  and  hood,  fled  for  his  life. 

The  jealous  churl  hath  deeply  swore, 

That,  if  again  he  venture  o'er, 

He  shall  slirieve  penitent  no  more. 

Little  he  loves  such  risks,  I  know ; 

Yet,  in  your  guard,  perchance  will  go." 

XXII. 
Young  Selby,  at  the  fair  hall-board, 
Carved  to  his  uncle  and  that  lord, 
And  reverently  took  up  the  word. 
"  Kind  uncle,  woe  were  we  each  one, 
If  harm  should  hap  to  brother  John. 
He  is  a  man  of  mirthful  speech, 
Can  many  a  game  and  gambol  teach : 
Full  well  at  tables  can  he  play, 
And  sweep  at  bowls  the  stake  away. 


s  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 
«  Ibid.  Note  P. 


92                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                                 canto  i. 

None  can  a  lustier  carol  bawl, 

And  warms  itself  against  his  nose,4 

The  needfullest  among  us  all, 

Kens  he,  or  cares,  which  way  he  goes." — ■ 

When  time  hangs  heavy  in  the  hall, 

And  snow  comes  thick  at  Christmas  tide, 

XXV. 

And  we  can  neither  hunt,  nor  ride 

"  Gramercy !"  quoth  Lord  Marmion, 

A  foray  on  the  Scottish  side. 

"  Full  loth  were  I,  that  Friar  John, 

The  vow'd  revenge  of  Bughtrig  rude, 

That  venerable  man,  for  me, 

May  end  in  worse  than  loss  of  hood. 

Were  placed  in  fear  or  jeopardy. 

Let  Friar  John,  in  safety,  still 

If  this  same  Palmer  will  me  lead 

In  chimney-corner  snore  his  fill, 

From  hence  to  Holy-Rood, 

Roast  hissing  crabs,  or  flagons  swill : 

Like  his  good  saint,  I'll  pay  his  meed, 

Last  night,  to  Norham  there  came  one, 

Instead  of  cockle-shell,  or  bead, 

Will  better  guide  Lord  Marmion." — 

With  angels  fair  and  good. 

"  Nephew,"  quoth  Heron,  "  by  my  fay, 

I  love  such  holy  ramblers ;  still 

Well  hast  thou  spoke ;  say  forth  thy  say." — 

They  know  to  charm  a  weary  hill, 

With  song,  romance,  or  lay : 

XXIII. 

Some  jovial  tale,  or  glee,  or  jest, 

"  Here  is  a  holy  Palmer  come, 

Some  lying  legend,  at  the  least, 

From  Salem  first,  and  last  from  Rome ; 

They  bring  to  cheer  the  way." — 

One,  that  hath  kiss'd  the  blessed  tomb, 

And  visited  each  holy  slirine, 

XXVI. 

In  Araby  and  Palestine  ; 

"  Ah !  noble  sir,"  young  Selby  said, 

On  hills  of  Armenie  hath  been, 

And  finger  on  his  lip  he  laid, 

Where  Noah's  ark  may  yet  be  seen ; 

"  Tliis  man  knows  much,  perchance  e'en  more 

By  that  Red  Sea,  too,  hath  he  trod, 

Than  he  could  learn  by  holy  lore. 

Which  parted  at  the  prophet's  rod ; 

Still  to  himself  he's  muttering, 

In  Sinai's  wilderness  he  saw 

And  shrinks  as  at  some  unseen  thing. 

The  Mount,  where  Israel  heard  the  law 

Last  night  we  listen'd  at  his  cell ; 

'Mid  thunder -dint,  and  flashing  levin, 

Strange  sounds  we  heard,  and,  sooth  to  telL 

And  shadows,  mists,  and  darkness,  given. 

He  murmur'd  on  till  morn,  howe'er 

He  shows  Saint  James's  cockle-shell, 

No  living  mortal  could  be  near. 

Of  fair  Montserrat,  too,  can  tell ; 

Sometimes  I  thought  I  heard  it  plain, 

And  of  that  Grot  where  Olives  nod,1 

As  other  voices  spoke  again. 

Where,  darling  of  each  heart  and  eye, 

I  cannot  tell — I  like  it  not — 

From  all  the  youth  of  Sicily, 

Friar  John  hath  told  us  it  is  wrote, 

Saint  Rosalie2  retired  to  God.1 

No  conscience  clear,  and  void  of  wrong, 

Can  rest  awake,  and  pray  so  long. 

XXIV. 

Himself  still  sleeps  before  his  beads 

"  To  stout  Saint  George  of  Norwich  merry, 

Have  mark'd  ten  aves,  and  two  creeds." — 8 

Saint  Thomas,  too,  of  Canterbury, 

Cuthbert  of  Durham  and  Saint  Bede, 

XXVII. 

For  his  sins'  pardon  hath  he  pray'd. 

— "  Let  pass,"  quoth  Marmion ;  "  by  my  fay, 

He  knows  the  passes  of  the  North, 

This  man  shall  guide  me  on  my  way, 

And  seeks  for  shrines  beyond  the  Forth ; 

Although  the  great  arch-fiend  and  he 

Little  he  eats,  and  long  will  wake, 

Had  sworn  themselves  of  company. 

And  drinks  but  of  the  stream  or  lake. 

So  please  you,  gentle  youth,  to  call 

This  were  a  guide  o'er  moor  and  dale ; 

This  Palmer7  to  the  Castle-hall." 

But,  when  our  John  hath  quaff 'd  his  ale, 

The  summon'd  Palmer  came  in  place ; 

As  little  as  the  wind  that  blows, 

His  sable  cowl  o'erhung  his  face ; 

1  MS. — "  And  of  the  olive's  shaded  cell." 

we  think,  are  of  this  description  ;  and  this  commemoration  ui 

2  MS.—"  Retired  to  God  St.  Rosalie." 

Sir  Hugh  Heron's  troopers,  who 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  Ci. 

'  Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale,'  &c. 

4  MS. — "  And  with  metheglin  vvarm'd  his  nose, 

As  little  as,"  &c. 

The  long  account  of  Friar  John,  though  not  without  merit, 

*  "  This  poem  has  faults  of  too  great  magnitude  to  be  passed 

offends  in  the  same  sort,  nor  can  we  easily  conceive,  how  Eny 

without  notice.     There  is  a  debasing  lowness  and  vulgarity  in 

one  could  venture,  in  a  serious  poem,  to  speak  of 

tome  passages,  which  we  think  must  be  offensive  to  every 

'  the  wind  that  blows, 

reader  of  delicacy,  and  which  are  not,  for  the  most  part,  re- 

And warms  itself  against  his  nose.''  " — Jeffrey. 

deemed  by  any  vigor  or  picturesque  effect.    The  venison  pasties, 

e  See  Appendix,  Note  R.                       »  Ibid.  Note  S. 

CANTO  I. 


MARMION. 


93 


In  his  black  mantle  was  he  clad, 
With  Peter's  keys,  in  cloth  of  red, 

On  his  broad  shoulders  wrought ; 
The  scallop  shell  his  cap  did  deck ; 
The  crucifix  around  his  neck 

Was  from  Loretto  brought ; 
His  sandals  were  with  travel  tore, 
Staff,  budget,  bottle,  scrip,  he  wore ; 
The  faded  palm-branch  in  his  hand 
Show'd  pilgrim  from  the  Holy  Land.1 

XXVIII. 
When  as  the  Palmer  came  in  hall, 
Nor  lord,  nor  knight,  was  there  more  tail 
Or  had  a  statelier  step  withal, 

Or  look'd  more  high  and  keen ; 
For  no  saluting  did  he  wait, 
But  strode  across  the  hall  of  state, 
And  fronted  Marmion  where  he  sate,3 

As  he  his  peer  had  been. 
But  his  gaunt  frame  was  worn  with  toil ; 
His  cheek  was  sunk,  alas  the  while  ! 
And  when  he  struggled  at  a  smile, 

His  eye  look'd  haggard  wild : 
Poor  wretch !  the  mother  that  him  bare, 
If  she  had  been  in  presence  there, 
In  his  wan  face,  and  sun-burn'd  hair, 

She  had  not  known  her  child. 
Danger,  long  travel,  want,  or  woe, 
Soon  change  the  form  that  best  we  know — 
For  deadly  fear  can  time  outgo, 

And  blanch  at  once  the  hair ; 
Hard  toil  can  roughen  form  and  face,8 
And  want  can  quench  the  eye's  bright  grace, 
Nor  does  old  age  a  wrinkle  trace 

More  deeply  than  despair. 
Happy  whom  none  of  these  befall,4 
But  this  poor  Palmer  knew  them  all. 

XXIX. 

Lord  Marmion  then  his  boon  did  ask ; 
The  Palmer  took  on  him  the  task, 
So  he  would  march  with  morning  tide,5 
To  Scottish  court  to  be  his  guide. 
"  But  I  have  solemn  vows  to  pay, 
And  may  not  linger  by  the  way, 

To  fair  St.  Andrews  bound, 
Within  the  ocean-cave  to  pray, 
Where  good  Saint  Rule  his  holy  lay, 

i  "  The  first  presentment  of  the  mysterious  Palmer  is  lauda- 
ble."—Jeffrey. 
2  MS. — "  And  near  Lord  Marmion  took  his  seat." 
8  MS. — "  Hard  toil  can  alter  form  and  face, 

/  roughen  youthful  grace, 
And  want  can  ]  quench  >  lhe  eyeg  of  „ 

(  dim        > 
*  MS. — "  Happy  whom  none  such  woes  befall." 
6  MS. — "  So  he  would  ride  with  morning  tide." 


From  midnight  to  the  dawn  of  day, 

Sung  to  the  billows'  sound  ;e 
Thence  to  Saint  Fillan's  blessed  well, 
Whose  spring  can  phrensied  dreams  dispel, 

And  the  crazed  brain  restore  :7 
Saint  Mary  grant,  that  cave  or  spring 
Could  back  to  peace  my  bosom  bring, 

Or  bid  it  throb  no  more !" 

XXX. 

And  now  the  midnight  draught  of  sleep, 
Where  wine  and  spices  richly  steep, 
In  massive  bowl  of  silver  deep, 

The  page  presents  on  knee. 
Lord  Marmion  drank  a  fair  good  rest, 
The  Captain  pledged  Ins  noble  guest, 
The  cup  went  through  among  the  rest,8 

Who  drain'd  it  merrily  ; 
Alone  the  Palmer  pass'd  it  by, 
Though  Selby  press'd  him  courteously. 
This  was  a  sign  the  feast  was  o'er ; 
It  hush'd  the  merry  wassel  roar,9 

The  minstrels  ceased  to  sound. 
Soon  in  the  castle  naught  was  heard, 
But  the  slow  footstep  of  the  guard, 

Pacing  liis  sober  round. 

XXXI. 

With  early  dawn  Lord  Marmion  rose : 

And  first  the  chapel  doors  unclose ; 

Then,  after  morning  rites  were  done 

(A  hasty  mass  from  Friar  John),10 

And  knight   and   squire   had   broke   their 

fast, 
On  rich  substantial  repast, 
Lord  Marmion's  bugles  blew  to  horse  : 
Then  came  the  stirrup-cup  in  course : 
Between  the  Baron  and  his  host, 
No  point  of  courtesy  was  lost : 
High  thanks  were  by  Lord  Marmion  paid, 
Solemn  excuse  the  Captain  made, 
Till,  filing  from  the  gate,  had  pass'd 
That  noble  train,  their  Lord  the  last. 
Then  loudly  rung  the  trumpet  call; 
Thunder'd  the  cannon  from  the  wall, 

And  shook  the  Scottish  shore ; 
Around  the  castle  eddied  slow, 
Volumes  of  smoke  as  white  as  snow, 

And  hid  its  turrets  hoar ; 


s  See  Appendix,  Note  T.  T  Ibid.  Note  U. 

6  MS. — "  The  cup  pass'd  round  among  the  rert. 

u  MS.—"  Soon  died  the  merry  wassel  roar." 

10  "  In  Catholic  countries,  in  order  to  reconcile  the  pleaiurei 
of  the  great  with  the  observances  of  religion,  it  was  common, 
when  a  party  was  bent  for  the  chase,  to  celebrate  nrws,  abridged 
and  maimed  of  its  rites,  called  a  hunting-mass,  the  brevity  of 
which  was  designed  to  correspond  with  the  impatience  of  th« 
aiulipnce." — Vote  to  "The  Abbot.''''     New  Edit 


94 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II. 


Till  they  roll'd  forth  upon  the  air,1 
And  met  the  river  breezes  there, 
Which  gave  again  the  prospect  fair. 


ill  a  r  mi  on. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  SECOND. 


TO  THE 
REV.  JOHN  MARRIOTT,  A.  M. 

Ashestiel,  Ettrick  Forest. 
The  scenes  are  desert  now,  and  bare, 
Where  flourish'd  once  a  forest  fair,2 
When  these  waste  glens  with  copse  were  lined, 
And  peopled  with  the  hart  and  hind. 
Yon  Thorn — perchance  whose  prickly  spears 
Have  fenced  him  for  three  hundred  years, 
While  fell  around  liis  green  compeers — 
Yon  lonely  Thorn,  would  he  could  tell 
The  changes  of  his  parent  dell,3 
Since  he,  so  gray  and  stubborn  now, 
Waved  in  each  breeze  a  sapling  bough ; 
Would  he  could  tell  how  deep  the  shade 
A  thousand  mingled  brandies  made ; 
How  broad  the  shadows  of  the  oak, 
How  clung  the  rowan4  to  the  rock, 
And  tlirough  the  foliage  show'd  his  head, 
With  narrow  leaves  and  berries  red ; 
What  pines  on  every  mountain  sprung, 
O'er  every  dell  what  birches  hung, 
In  every  breeze  what  aspens  shook, 
What  alders  shaded  every  brook  1 

"  Here,  in  my  shade,"  methinks  he'd  say, 
"  The  mighty  stag  at  noon-tide  lay : 
The  wolf  I've  seen,  a  fiercer  game 
(The  neighboring  dingle  bears  his  name), 
With  lurclung  step  around  me  prowl, 
And  stop,  against  the  moon  to  howl ; 
The  mountain-boar,  on  battle  set, 
His  tusks  upon  my  stem  would  whet ; 

i  MS. — "  Slow  they  roll'd  forth  upon  the  air." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

3  "The  second  epistle  opens  again  with  'chance  and  change;' 
out  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  mode  in  which  it  is  introduced 
is  new  and  poetical.  The  comparison  of  Ettrick  Forest,  now 
open  and  naked,  with  the  state  in  which  it  once  was — covered 
•^ith  wood,  the  favorite  resort  of  the  royal  hunt,  and  the  refuge 
of  daring  outlpws — leads  the  poet  to  imagine  an  ancient  thorn 
gifted  with  the  powers  of  reason,  and  relating  the  various 
scenes  which  it  has  witnessed  during  a  period  of  three  hundred 
vears.  A  melancholy  train  of  fancy  is  naturally  encouraged 
by  the  idea." — Monthly  Review. 


While  doe,  and  roe,  and  red-deer  good, 

Have  bounded  by,  through  gay  green-wood. 

Then  oft,  from  Newark's5  riven  tower, 

Sallied  a  Scottish  monarch's  power : 

A  thousand  vassals  muster'd  round, 

With  horse,  and  hawk,  and  horn,  and  hound ; 

And  I  might  see  the  youth  intent, 

Guard  every  pass  with  crossbow  bent ; 

And  through  the  brake  the  rangers  stalk, 

And  falc'ners  hold  the  ready  hawk ; 

And  foresters,  in  green-wood  trim, 

Lead  in  the  leash  the  gazehounds  grim, 

Attentive,  as  the  bratchet's6  bay 

From  the  dark  covert  drove  the  prey, 

To  slip  them  as  he  broke  away. 

The  startled  quarry  bounds  amain, 

As  fast  the  gallant  greyhounds  strain ; 

Whistles  the  arrow  from  the  bow, 

Answers  the  harquebuss  below ; 

While  all  the  rocking  hills  reply, 

To  hoof-clang,  hound,  and  hunter's  cry, 

And  bugles  ringing  lightsomely." 

Of  such  proud  huntings,  many  tales 
Yet  linger  in  our  lonely  dales, 
Up  pathless  Ettrick  and  on  Yarrow, 
Where  erst  the  outlaw  drew  his  arrow.7 
But  not  more  blithe  than  silvan  court, , 
Than  we  have  been  at  humbler  sport ; 
Though  small  our  pomp,  and  mean  our  game, 
Our  mirth,  dear  Marriott,  was  the  same. 
Remember'st  thou  my  greyhounds  true  I 
O'er  holt  or  hill  there  never  flew, 
From  slip  or  leash  there  never  sprang, 
More  fleet  of  foot,  or  sure  of  fang. 
Nor  dull,  between  each  merry  chase, 
Pass'd  by  the  intermitted  space ; 
For  we  had  fair  resource  in  store, 
In  Classic  and  in  Gothic  lore : 
We  mark'd  each  memorable  scene, 
And  held  poetic  talk  between ; 
Nor  hill,  nor  brook,  we  paced  along, 
But  had  its  legend  or  its  song. 
All  silent  now — for  now  are  still 
Thy  bowers,  untenanted  Bowhill  !8 
No  longer,  from  thy  mountains  dun, 

*  Mountain-ash. 

MS. — "  How  broad  the  ash  his  shadows  flung, 
How  to  the  rock  the  rowan  clung." 
6  See  Notes  to  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

6  Slowhound. 

7  The  Tale  of  the  Outlaw  Murray,  who  held  out  Newark 
Castle  and  Ettrick  Forest  against  the  King,  may  be  found  in 
the  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  i.  In  the  Macfarlane  MS.,  among 
other  causes  of  James  the  Fifth's  charter  to  the  burgh  of  Sel- 
kirk, is  mentioned,  that  the  citizens  assisted  him  to  suppress 
this  dangerous  outlaw. 

s  A  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch  on  the  Yarrow,  in  Et> 
[   trick  Forest.     See  Notes  to  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel- 


CANTO  I. 


MARM10N. 


9a 


The  yeoman  hears  the  well-known  gun, 
And  while  his  honest  heart  glows  warm, 
At  thought  of  his  paternal  farm, 
Round  to  his  mates  ahrimmer  fills, 
And  drinks,  "  The  Chieftain  of  the  Hills !" 
No  fairy  forms,  in  Yarrow's  bowers, 
Trip  o'er  the  walks,  or  tend  the  flowers, 
Fair  as  the  elves  whom  Janet  saw 
By  moonlight  dance  on  Carterhaugh ; 
No  youthful  Baron's  left  to  grace 
The  Forest-Sheriff '8  lonely  chase, 
And  ape,  in  manly  step  and  tone, 
The  majesty  of  Oberon  -,1 
And  she  is  gone,  whose  lovely  face 
Is  but  her  least  and  lowest  grace  ;a 
Though  if  to  Sylphid  Queen  'twere  given, 
To  show  our  earth  the  charms  of  Heaven, 
She  could  not  glide  along  the  air, 
With  form  more  light,  or  face  more  fair. 
No  more  the  widow's  deafen'd  ear 
Grows  quick  that  lady's  step  to  hear ; 
At  noontide  she  expects  her  not, 
Nor  busies  her  to  trim  the  cot ; 
Pensive  she  turns  her  humming  wheel, 
Or  pensive  cooks  her  orphans'  meal ; 
Yet  blesses,  ere  she  deals  their  bread, 
The  gentle  hand  by  winch  they're  fed. 

From  Yair, — which  hills  so  closely  bind, 
Scarce  can  the  Tweed  his  passage  find, 
Though  much  he  fret,  and  chafe,  and  toil, 
Till  all  his  eddying  currents  boil, — 
Her  long-descended  lord3  is  gone, 
And  left  us  by  the  stream  alone. 
And  much  I  miss  those  sportive  boys,4 
Companions  of  my  mountain  joys, 
Just  at  the  age  'twixt  boy  and  youth, 
When  thought  is  speech,  and  speech  is  truth. 
Close  to  my  side,  with  what  delight 
They  press'd  to  hear  of  Wallace  wight, 
When,  pointing  to  his  airy  mound, 
I  call'd  his  ramparts  holy  ground  !5 
Kindled  their  brows  to  hear  me  speak ; 
And  I  have  smiled,  to  feel  my  cheek, 
Despite  the  difference  of  our  years, 
Return  again  the  glow  of  theirs. 
Ah,  happy  boys !  such  feelings  pure, 
They  will  not,  cannot,  long  endure ; 

Mr.  Marriott  was  governor  to  the  young  nobleman  here 
al  »ded  to,  George  Henry,  Lord  Scott,  son  to  Charles,  Earl  of 
D*ikeith  (afterwards  Duke  of  Buccleuch  and  dueensberry), 
a»i  who  died  early  in  1808.— See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  hi. 
pp.  59-61. 

a  The  four  next  lines  on  Harriet,  Countess  of  Dalkeith,  af- 
terwards Duchess  of  Buccleuch,  were  not  in  the  original  MS. 

s  The  late  Alexander  Pringle,  Esq.,  of  Whytbank— whose 
beautiful  seat  of  the  Yair  stands  on  the  Tweed,  about  two 
miles  below  Ashestiel,  the  then  residence  of  the  poet. 

*  The  sons  of  Mr.  Pringle  of  Whytbank. 


Condemn'd  to  stem  the  world's  rude  tide, 
You  may  not  linger  by  the  side ; 
For  Fate  shall  thrust  you  from  the  shore, 
And  Passion  ply  the  sail  and  oar.8 
Yet  cherish  the  remembrance  still, 
Of  the  lone  mountain  and  the  rill ; 
For  trust,  dear  boys,  the  time  will  come, 
When  fiercer  transport  shall  be  dumb, 
And  you  will  think  right  frequently, 
But,  well  I  hope,  without  a  sigh, 
On  the  free  hours  that  we  have  spent 
Together,  on  the  brown  lull's  bent. 

When,  musing  on  companions  gone, 
We  doubly  feel  ourselves  alone, 
Something,  my  friend,  we  yet  may  gain ; 
There  is  a  pleasure  in  this  pain : 
It  soothes  the  love  of  lonely  rest, 
Deep  in  each  gentler  heart  impress' d. 
'Tis  silent  amid  worldly  toils, 
And  stifled  soon  by  mental  broils  , 
But,  in  a  bosom  thus  prepared, 
Its  still  small  voice  is  often  heard, 
W  hispering  a  mingled  sentiment, 
'Twixt  resignation  and  content. 
Oft  in  my  mind  such  thoughts  awake, 
By  lone  St  Mary's  silent  lake  ;7 
Thou  know'st   it   well, — nor   fen,  nor 

sedge, 
Pollute  the  pure  lake's  crystal  edge  ; 
Abrupt  and  sheer,  the  mountains  sink 
At  once  upon  the  level  brink ; 
And  just  a  trace  of  silver  sand8 
Marks  where  the  water  meets  the  land. 
Far  in  the  mirror,  bright  and  blue, 
Each  hill's  huge  outline  you  may  view  ;9 
Shaggy  with  heath,  but  lonely  bare, 
Nor  tree,  nor  bush,  nor  brake,  is  there, 
Save  where,  of  land,  yon  slender  line 
Bears  thwart  the  lake  the  scatter'd  pine 
Yet  even  this- nakedness  has  power, 
And  aids  the  feeling  of  the  hour : 
Nor  thicket,  dell,  nor  copse  you  spy, 
Where  living  thing  conceal'd  might  lie  ; 
Nor  point,  retiring,  hides  a  dell, 
Where   swain,   or   woodman  lone,   might 

dwell ; 
There's  notliing  left  to  fancy's  guess, 

6  There  is,  on  a  high  mountainous  ridge  above  the  farm  ol 
Ashestiel,  a  fosse  called  Wallace's  Trench. 
6  MS. — "  And  youth  shall  ply  the  sail  and  oar.' 
»  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 

8  MS.—"  At  once  upon  the   j  Sllent  \  brink  ; 

'  silver  ' 

And  just  a  line  of  pebbly  sand." 

9  MS. — "  Far  traced  upon  the  lake  you  view 

The  hills'  \  huge  \  sides  and  sombre  **•  " 
'  bare  ) 


96                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  z. 

Tou  see  that  all  is  loneliness : 

Back  to  my  lonely  home  retire, 

And  silence  aids — though  the  steep  hills 

And  light  my  lamp,  and  trim  my  fire ; 

Send  to  the  lake  a  thousand  rills ; 

There  ponder  o'er  some  mystic  lay, 

In  summer  tide,  so  soft  they  weep, 

Till  the  wild  tale  had  all  its  sway,8 

The  sound  but  lulls  the  ear  asleep ; 

And,  in  the  bittern's  distant  shriek, 

Your  horse's  hoof-tread  sounds  too  rude, 

I  heard  unearthly  voices  speak, 

So  stilly  is  the  solitude. 

And  thought  the  Wizard  Priest  was  come, 

To  claim  again  his  ancient  home ! 

Naught  living  meets  the  eye  or  ear, 

And  bade  my  busy  fancy  range, 

But  -well  I  ween  the  dead  are  near ; 

To  frame  him  fitting  shape  and  strange, 

For  though,  in  feudal  strife,  a  foe 

Till  from  the  task  my  brow  I  clear'd,7 

Hath  laid  Our  Lady's  chapel  low,1 

And  smiled  to  think  that  I  had  fear'd. 

Yet  still,  beneath  the  hallow'd  soil, 

The  peasant  rests  him  from  his  toil, 

But  chief,  'twere  sweet  to  think  such  life 

And,  dying,  bids  his  bones  be  laid, 

(Though  but  escape  from  fortune's  strife), 

Where  erst  his  simple  fathers  pray'd. 

Something  most  matchless  good  and  wise, 

A  great  and  grateful  sacrifice ; 

If  age  had  tamed  the  passions'  strife,8 

And  deem  each  hour  to  musing  given, 

And  fate  had  cut  my  ties  to  life, 

A  step  upon  the  road  to  heaven. 

Here,  have  I  thought,  'twere  sweet  to  dwell, 

And  rear  again  the  chaplain's  cell, 

Yet  him,  whose  heart  is  ill  at  ease, 

Like  that  same  peaceful  hermitage, 

Such  peaceful  solitudes  displease: 

Where  Milton  long'd  to  spend  his  age.' 

He  loves  to  drown  his  bosom's  jar 

'Twere  sweet  to  mark  the  setting  day, 

Amid  the  elemental  war : 

On  Bour hope's  lonely  top  decay ; 

And  my  black  Palmer's  choice  had  been 

And,  as  it  faint  and  feeble  died 

Some  ruder  and  more  savage  scene, 

On  the  broad  lake,  and  mountain's  side, 

Like  that  which  frowns  round  dark  Loch- 

To  say,  "  Thus  pleasures  fade  away ; 

skene.8 

Youth,  talents,  beauty,  thus  decay, 

There  eagles  scream  from  isle  to  shore ; 

And  leave  us  dark,  forlorn,  and  gray ;" 

Down  all  the  rocks  the  torrents  roar  ; 

Then  gaze  on  Dry  hope's  ruined  tower, 

O'er  the  black  waves  incessant  driven, 

And  think  on  Yarrow's  faded  Flower : 

Dark  mists  infect  the  summer  heaven ; 

And  when  that  mountain-sound  I  heard, 

Through  the  rude  barriers  of  the  lake, 

Which  bids  us  be  for  storm  prepared, 

Away  its  hurrying  waters  break, 

The  distant  rustling  of  his  wings, 

Faster  and  whiter  dash  and  curl, 

As  up  his  force  the  Tempest  brings, 

Till  down  yon  dark  abyss  they  hurl. 

'Twere  sweet,  ere  yet  his  terrors  rave, 

Rises  the  fog-smoke  white  as  snow, 

To  sit  upon  the  Wizard's  grave ; 

Thunders  the  viewless  stream  below, 

That  Wizard  Priest's,  whose  bones  are  thrust 

Diving,  as  if  condemn'd  to  lave 

From  company  of  holy  dust  ;4 

Some  demon's  subterranean  cav*., 

On  which  no  sunbeam  ever  shines — 

Who,  prison'd  by  enchanter's  spell, 

(So  superstition's  creed  divines) — 

Shakes  the  dark  rock  with  groan  and  yell. 

Thence  view  the  lake,  with  sullen  roar, 

And  well  that  Palmer's  form  and  mien 

Heave  her  broad  billows  to  the  shore ;         • 

Had  suited  with  the  stormy  scene, 

And  mark  the  wild-swans  mount  the  gale, 

Just  on  the  edge,  straining  his  ken 

Spread  wide  through  mist  their  snowy  sail,6 

To  view  the  bottom  of  the  den, 

And  ever  stoop  again  to  lave 

Where  deep,  deep  down,  and  far  within, 

Their  bosoms  on  the  surging  wave ; 

Toils  with  the  rocks  the  roaring  linn ; 

Then,  when  against  the  driving  hail 

Then,  issuing  forth  one  foamy  wave, 

No  longer  might  my  plaid  avail, 

And  wheeling  round  the  Giant's  Grave, 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 

And  every  herb  that  sips  the  dew  ; 

2  "A  few  of  the  lines  which  follow  breathe  as  true  a  spirit 

Till  old  experience  do  attain 

of  pea«:e  and  repose,  as  even  the  simple  strains  of  our  vener- 

To something  like  prophetic  strain." 

able  Walton." — Monthly  Review. 

//  Penieroa* 

3  "  And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 

Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage 

*  MS. — "  Spread  through  broad  mist  their  snowy  sail." 

The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  cell, 

6  MS. — "  Till  fancy  wild  had  all  her  «w^v," 

Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell 

*  MS. — "  Tni  from  me  tasK  my  brain  1  ciea^u." 

Of  every  star  that  heaven  doth  show, 

fi  See  Appendix,  Note  Z. 

CANTO  II. 


MARMIOJN. 


91 


White  as  the  enemy  charger's  tail, 
Drives  down  the  pass  of  Moffatdale. 

Marriott,  thy  harp,  on  Isis  strung, 
To  many  a  Border  theme  has  rung  :* 
Then  list  to  me,  and  thou  shalt  know 
Of  this  mysterious  Man  of  Woe. 


Max 


mton 


CANTO  SECOND. 


£&e   Conbcnt, 


The  breeze,  which  swept  away  the  smoke, 

Round  Norham  Castle  roll'd, 
When  all  the  loud  artillery  spoke, 
With  lightning-flash  and  thunder-stroke, 

As  Marmion  left  the  Hold. 
It  curl'd  not  Tweed  alone,  that  breeze, 
For,  far  upon  Northumbrian  seas, 

It  freshly  blew,  and  strong, 
Where,  from  high  Whitby's  cloister'd  pile,9 
Bound  to  St.  Cuthbert's  Holy  Isle,' 

It  bore  a  bark  along. 
Upon  the  gale  she  stoop'd  her  side, 
And  bounded  o'er  the  swelling  tide, 

As  she  were  dancing  home ; 
The  merry  seamen  laugh' d  to  see 
Their  gallant  ship  so  lustily 

Furrow  the  green  sea-foam. 
Much  joy'd  they  in  their  honor'd  freight ; 
For,  on  the  deck,  in  chair  of  state, 
The  Abbess  of  Saint  Hilda  placed, 
With  five  fair  nuns,  the  galley  graced. 

II. 

'Twas  sweet  to  see  these  holy  maids, 
Like  birds  escaped  to  green-wood  shades, 

Their  first  flight  from  the  cage, 
How  timid,  and  how  curious  too, 
For  all  to  them  was  strange  and  new, 
And  all  the  common  sights  they  view, 

Their  wonderment  engage. 
One  eyed  the  shrouds  and  swelling  sail, 

With  many  a  benedicite ; 
One  at  the  rippling  surge  grew  pale, 

And  would  for  terror  pray ; 
Then  shriek'd,  because  the  sea-dog,  nigh, 
His  round  black  head,  and  sparkling  eye, 


J  See  various  ballads  by  Mr.  Marriott,  in  the  4th  vol.  of  the 
Border  Minstrelsy. 
«  See  Appendix,  Note  2  A.  »  Ibid,  Note  2  B. 

13 


Rear'd  o'er  the  foaming  spray ; 
And  one  would  still  adjust  her  veil, 
Disorder'd  by  the  summer  gale, 
Perchance  lest  some  more  worldly  eye 
Her  dedicated  charms  might  spy ; 
Perchance,  because  such  action  graced 
Her  fair  turn'd  arm  and  slender  waist. 
Light  was  each  simple  bosom  there, 
Save  two,  who  ill  might  pleasure  share,- 
The  Abbess,  and  the  Novice  Clare. 

ni 

The  Abbess  was  of  noble  blood, 
But  early  took  the  veil  and  hood, 
Ere  upon  life  she  cast  a  look, 
Or  knew  the  world  tliat  she  forsook. 
Fair  too  she  was,  and  kind  had  been 
As  she  was  fair,  but  ne'er  had  seen 
For  her  a  timid  lover  sigh, 
Nor  knew  the  influence  of  her  eye. 
Love,  to  her  ear,  was  but  a  name, 
Combined  with  vanity  and  shame ; 
Her  hopes,  her  fears,  her  joys,  were  ali 
Bounded  within  the  cloister  wall : 
The  deadliest  sin  her  mind  could  reach, 
Was  of  monastic  rule  the  breach ; 
And  her  ambition's  highest  aim 
To  emulate  Saint  Hilda's  fame. 
For  this  she  gave  her  ample  dower,4 
To  raise  the  convent's  eastern  tower ; 
For  this,  with  carving  rare  and  quaint, 
She  deck'd  the  chapel  of  the  saint, 
And  gave  the  relic-shrine  of  cost 
With  ivory  and  gems  emboss'd. 
The  poor  her  Convent's  bounty  blest, 
The  pilgrim  in  its  halls  found  rest. 

IV. 

Black  was  her  garb,  her  rigid  rule 
Reform'd  on  Benedictine  school ; 
Her  cheek  was  pale,  her  form  was  spare 
Vigils,  and  penitence  austere, 
Had  early  quench'd  the  light  of  youth, 
But  gentle  was  the  dame,  in  sooth ; 
Though  vain  of  her  religious  sway, 
She  loved  to  see  her  maids  obey, 
Yet  nothing  stern  was  she  in  cell, 
And  the  nuns  loved  their  Abbess  well. 
Sad  was  this  voyage  to  the  dame ; 
Summon'd  to  Lindisfarne,  she  came, 
There,  with  Saint  Cuthbert's  Abbot  old, 
And  Tynemouth's  Prioress,  to  hold 
A  chapter  of  Saint  Benedict, 
For  inquisition  stern  and  strict, 


*  MS. — "    rwas  she  that  gave  her  ample  dowei 

'  Tieas  she,  with  carving  rare  and  quaint, 
Who  deck'd  the  chapel  of  the  saint  " 


98 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II 


On  two  apostates  from  the  faith, 
And,  if  need  were,  to  doom  to  death. 

V. 

Naught  say  I  here  of  Sister  Clare, 
Save  this,  that  she  was  young  and  fair ; 
As  yet  a  novice  unprofess'd, 
Lovely  and  gentle,  but  distress' d. 
She  was  betroth'd  to  one  now  dead, 
Or  worse,  who  had  dishonor'd  fled. 
Her  kinsman  bade  her  give  her  hand 
To  one,  who  loved  her  for  her  land : 
Herself,  almost  heart-broken  now, 
Was  bent  to  take  the  vestal  vow, 
And  shroud,  within  Saint  Hilda's  gloom, 
Her  blasted  hopes  and  wither'd  bloom. 

VI. 
She  sate  upon  the  galley's  prow, 
And  seem'd  to  mark  the  waves  below ; 
Nay,  seem'd,  so  fix'd  her  look  and  eye, 
To  count  them  as  they  glided  by. 
She  saw  them  not — 'twas  seeming  all — 
Far  other  scenes  her  thoughts  recall, — 
A  sun-scorch'd  desert,  waste  and  bare, 
Nor  waves,  nor  breezes  murmur'd  there ; 
There  saw  she,  wfcere  some  careless  hand 
O'er  a  dead  corpse  had  heap'd  the  sand, 
To  hide  it  till  the  jackals  come, 

To  tear  it  from  the  scanty  tomb. 

See  what  a  woful  look  was  given, 
As  she  raised  up  her  eyes  to  heaven ! 

VII. 

Lovely,  and  gentle,  and  distress' d — 

These  charms  might  tame  the  fiercest  breast : 

Harpers  have  sung,  and  poets  told, 

That  he,  in  fury  uncontroll'd, 

The  shaggy  monarch  of  the  wood, 

Before  a  virgin,  fair  and  good, 

Hath  pacified  his  savage  mood. 

But  passions  in  the  human  frame, 

Oft  put  the  lion's  rage  to  shame ; 

And  jealousy,  by  dark  intrigue, 

With  sordid  avarice  in  league, 

Had  practised  with  their  bowl  and  knife, 

Against  the  mourner's  harmless  life. 

Thi3  crime  was  charged  'gainst  those  who  lay 

Prison'd  in  Cuthbert's  islet  gray. 

VIIL 

And  now  the  vessel  skirts  the  strand 
Of  mountainous  Northumberland ; 
Towns,  towers,  and  halls,  successive  rise, 
And  catch  the  nuns'  delighted  eyes. 
Monk-Wearmouth  soon  behind  them  lay, 
And  Tynemouth's  priory  and  bay  ; 
They  niark'd,  amid  her  trees,  the  hall 


Of  lofty  Seaton-Delaval ; 

They  saw  the  Blythe  and  Wansbeck  floods 

Rush  to  the  sea  through  sounding  woods ; 

They  pass'd  the  tower  of  Widderington,1 

Mother  of  many  a  valiant  son ; 

At  Coquet-isle  their  beads  they  tell 

To  the  good  Saint  who  own'd  the  cell; 

Then  did  the  Alne  .attention  claim, 

And  Warkworth,  proud  of  Percy's  name ; 

And  next,  they  cross  d  themselves,  to  hear 

The  whitening  breakers  sound  so  near, 

Where,  boiling  through  the  rocks,  they  roar, 

On  Dunstanborough's  cavern'd  sltore ; 

Thy  tower,  proud   Bamborough,  niark'd  thef 

there, 
King  Ida's  castle,  huge  and  square, 
From  its  tall  rock  look  grimly  down, 
And  on  the  swelling  ocean  frown ; 
Then  from  the  coast  they  bore  away, 
And  reach'd  the  Holy  Island's  bay. 

IX. 

The  tide  did  now  its  flood-mark  gain, 
And  girdled  in  the  Saint's  domain : 
For,  with  the  flow  and  ebb,  its  style 
Varies  from  continent  to  isle ; 
Dry-shod,  o'er  sands,  twice  every  day, 
The  pilgrims  to  the  shrine  find  way ; 
Twice  every  day,  the  waves  efface, 
Of  staves  and  sandall'd  feet  the  trace. 
As  to  the  port  the  galley  flew, 
Higher  and  higher  rose  to  view 
The  Castle  with  its  battled  walls, 
The  ancient  Monastery's  halls, 
A  solemn,  huge,  and  dark-red  pile, 
Placed  on  the  margin  of  the  isle. 

X. 

In  Saxon  strength  that  Abbey  frown' d, 
With  massive  arches  broad  and  round, 

That  rose  alternate,  row  and  row, 

On  ponderous  columns,  short  and  low, 
Built  ere  the  art  was  known, 

By  pointed  aisle  and  shafted  stalk, 

The  arcades  of  an  alley'd  walk 
To  emulate  in  stone. 
On  the  deep  walls,  the  heathen  Dane 
Had  pour'd  his  impious  rage  in  vain ; 
And  needful  was  such  strength  to  these, 
Exposed  to  the  tempestuous  seas, 
Scourged  by  the  wind's  eternal  sway, 
Open  to  rovers  fierce  as  they, 
Which  could  twelve  hundred  years  withstana 
Winds,  waves,  and  northern  pirates'  hand. 
Not  but  that  portions  of  the  pile, 
Rebuilded  in  a  later  style, 

See  the  notes  on  Chevy  Chase.— Percy's  Reliqu.es 


aNTO  II. 


MARMION. 


99 


Show'd  where  the  spoiler's  hand  had  been ; 

And  monks  cry,  "  Fye  upon  your  name  1 

Not  but  the  wasting  sea-breeze  keen 

In  wrath,  for  loss  of  silvan  game, 

Had  worn  the  pillar's  carving  quaint, 

Saint  Hilda's  priest  ye  slew." — 

And  moulder'd  in  his  niche  the  saint, 

"  This,  on  Ascension-day,  each  year, 

And  rounded,  with  consuming  power, 

While  laboring  on  our  harbor-pier, 

The  pointed  angles  of  each  tower ; 

Must  Herbert,  Bruce,  and  Percy  hear." 

Yet  still  entire  the  Abbey  stood, 

They  told,  how  in  their  convent-ceU 

Like  veteran,  worn,  but  unsubdued. 

A  Saxon  princess  once  did  dwell, 

The  lovely  Edelfled  ;9 

XL 

And  how,  of  thousand  snakes,  each  one 

Soon  as  they  near'd  his  turrets  strong, 

Was  changed  into  a  coil  of  stone, 

The  maidens  raised  Saint  Hilda's  song, 

When  holy  Hilda  pray'd ; 

And  with  the  sea-wave  and  the  wind, 

Themselves,  within  their  holy  bound, 

Their  voices,  sweetly  shrill,  combined, 

Their  stony  folds  had  often  found. 

And  made  harmonious  close ; 

They  told,  how  sea-fowls'  pinions  fail, 

Then,  answering  from  the  sandy  shore, 

As  over  Whitby's  towers  they  sail,8 

Half-drown'd  amid  the  breakers'  roar, 

And,  sinking  down,  with  flutterings  faint. 

According  chorus  rose : 

They  do  their  homage  to  the  saint. 

Down  to  the  haven  of  the  Isle, 

The  monks  and  nuns  in  order  file, 

XIV. 

From  Cuthbert's  cloisters  grim ; 

Nor  did  Saint  Cuthbert's  daughters  fail, 

Banner,  and  cross,  and  relics  there, 

To  vie  with  these  in  holy  tale ; 

To  meet  Saint  Hilda's  maids,  they  bare ; 

His  body's  resting-place,  of  old, 

And,  as  they  caught  the  sounds  on  air, 

How  oft  their  patron  changed,  they  told  ;4 

They  echoed  back  the  hymn. 

How,  when  the  rude  Dane  burn'd  their  pile, 

The  islanders,  in  joyous  mood, 

The  monks  fled  forth  from  Holy  Isle  ; 

Rush'd  emulously  through  the  flood, 

O'er  northern  mountain,  marsh,  and  moor. 

To  hale  the  bark  to  land ; 

From  sea  to  sea,  from  shore  to  shore, 

Conspicuous  by  her  veil  and  hood, 

Seven  years  Saint  Cuthbert's  corpse  they  bore 

Signing  the  cross,  the  Abbess  stood, 

They  rested  them  in  fair  Melrose ; 

And  bless'd  them  with  her  hand. 

But  though,  alive,  he  loved  it  well. 

Not  there  his  relics  might  repose ; 

XII. 

For,  wondrous  tale  to  tell  L 

Suppose  we  now  the  welcome  said, 

In  his  stone-coffin  forth  he  rides, 

Suppose  the  Convent  banquet  made : 

A  ponderous  bark  for  river  tides, 

All  through  the  holy  dome, 

Yet  light  as  gossamer  it  glides, 

Through  cloister,  aisle,  and  gallery, 

Downward  to  Tilmouth  cell. 

Wherever  vestal  maid  might  pry, 

Nor  long  was  his  abiding  there, 

Nor  risk  to  meet  unhallow'd  eye, 

For  southward  did  the  saint  repair ; 

The  stranger  sisters  roam : 

Chester-le-Street,  and  Rippon,  saw 

Till  fell  the  evening  damp  with  dew, 

His  holy  corpse,  ere  Wardilaw 

And  the  sharp  sea-breeze  coldly  blew, 

Hail'd  him  with  joy  and  fear ; 

For  there,  even  summer  night  is  chill. 

And,  after  many  wanderings  past, 

Then,  having  stray'd  and  gazed  their  fill, 

He  chose  his  lordly  seat  at  last, 

They  closed  around  the  fire ; 

Where  Ins  cathedral,  huge  and  vast, 

And  all,  in  turn,  essay'd  to  paint 

Looks  down  upon  the  Wear  : 

The  rival  merits  of  their  saint, 

There,  deep  in  Durham's  Gothic  shade, 

A  theme  that  ne'er  can  tire 

His  relics  are  in  secret  laid ; 

A  holy  maid ;  for,  be  it  known, 

But  none  may  know  the  place, 

That  their  saint's  honor  is  their  own. 

Save  of  his  holiest  servants  three, 

Deep  sworn  to  solemn  secrecy, 

XIII. 

Who  share  that  wondrous  grace. 

Then  Whitby's  nuns  exulting  told, 

How  to  their  house  three  Barons  bold 

XV. 

Must  menial  service  do  -,1 

Who  may  his  miracles  declare ! 

While  horns  blow  out  a  note  of  shame, 

Even  Scotland's  dauntless  king,  and  heir 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C.                      a  Ibid.  Note  2  D. 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E.                      <  Ibid.  Note  2  F 

^(XsVOUXsn/c/, 


100                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  n. 

(Although  with  them  they  led 

Some  vague  tradition  go, 

Galwegians,  wild  as  ocean's  gale, 

Few  only,  save  the  Abbot,  knew 

And  Lodon's  knights,  all  sheathed  in  mail 

Where  the  place  lay ;  and  still  more  few 

And  the  bold  men  of  Teviotdale), 

Were  those,  who  had  from  him  the  clew 

Before  his  standard  fled.1 

To  that  dread-  vault  to  go. 

'TVas  he,  to  vindicate  his  reign, 

Victim  and  executioner 

Edged  Alfred's  falchion  on  the  Dane, 

Were  blindfold  when  transported  there. 

And  turn'd  the  Conqueror  back  again,' 

In  low  dark  rounds  the  arches  hung, 

"When,  with  his  Norman  bowyer  band, 

From  the  rude  rock  the  side-walls  sprung ; 

He  came  to  waste  Northumberland. 

The  grave-stones  rudely  sculptured  o'er, 

Half  sunk  in  earth,  by  time  half  wore, 

XVI. 

Were  all  the  pavement  of  the  floor ; 

But  fain  Saint  Hilda's  nuns  would  learn 

The  mildew-drops  fell  one  by  one, 

If,  on  a  rock,  by  Lindisfarne, 

With  tinkling  plash,  upon  the  stone. 

Saint  Cuthbert  sits,  and  toils  to  frame 

A  cresset,8  in  an  iron  chain,7 

The  sea-born  beads  that  bear  lus  name  :* 

Which- served  to  light  this  drear  domain, 

Such  tales  had  Whitby's  fishers  told, 

With  damp  and  darkness  seem'd  to  strive, 

And  said  they  might  his  shape  behold, 

As  if  it  scarce  might  keep  alive ; 

And  hear  lus  anvil  sound ; 

And  yet  it  dimly  served  to  show 

A  deaden'd  clang, — a  huge  dim  form, 

The  awful  conclave  met  below. 

Seen  but,  and  heard,  when  gathering  storm4 

And  night  were  closing  round. 

XIX. 

But  this,  as  tale  of  idle  fame, 

There,  met  to  doom  in  secrecy, 

The  nuns  of  Lindisfarne  disdain. 

Were  placed  the  heads  of  convents  three ; 

All  servants  of  Saint  Benedict, 

XVII. 

The  statutes  of  whose  order  strict 

"While  round  the  fire  such  legends  go, 

On  iron  table  lay  ,8 

Far  different  was  the  scene  of  woe, 

In  long  black  dress,  on  seats  of  stone, 

Where,  in  a  secret  aisle  beneath, 

Behind  were  these  three  judges  shown 

Council  was  held  of  life  and  death. 

By  the  pale  cresset's  ray : 

It  was  more  dark  and  lone  that  vault, 

The  Abbess  of  Saint  Hilda's,  there, 

Than  the  worst  dungeon  cell : 

Sat  for  a  space  with  visage  bare, 

Old  Colwulf  •  built  it,  for  lus  fault, 

Until  to  hide  her  bosom's  swell, 

In  penitence  to  dwell, 

And  tear-drops  that  for  pity  felL 

When  he,  for  cowl  and  beads,  laid  down 

She  closely  drew  her  veil : 

The  Saxon  battle-axe  and  crown. 

Yon  shrouded  figure,  as  I  guess, 

This  den,  which,  chilling  every  sense 

By  her  proud  mien  and  flowing  dress, 

Of  feeling,  hearing,  sight, 

Is  Tynemouth's  haughty  Prioress,9 

Was  call'd  the  Vault  of  Penitence, 

And  she  with  awe  looks  pale : 

Excluding  air  and  light, 

And  he,  that  Ancient  Man,  whose  sight 

Was,  by  the  prelate  Sexhelm,  made 

Has  long  been  quench'd  by  age's  night, 

A  place  of  burial  for  such  dead, 

Upon  whose  wrinkled  brow  alone, 

As,  having  died  in  mortal  sin, 

Nor  ruth,  nor  mercy's  trace,  is  shown, 

Might  not  be  laid  the  church  within. 

Whose  look  is  hard  and  stern, — 

'Twas  now  a  place  of  punishment ; 

Saint  Cuthbert's  Abbot  is  his  style  ; 

Whence  if  so  loud  a  shriek  were  sent, 

For  sanctity  call'd,  through  the  isle, 

As  reach'd  the  upper  air, 

The  Saint  of  Lindisfarne. 

The  hearers  bless'd  themselves,  and  said, 

The  spirits  of  the  sinful  dead 

XX. 

Bemoan'd  their  torments  there. 

Before  them  stood  a  guilty  pair, 

But  though  an  equal  fate  they  share, 

XVIII. 

Yet  one  alone  deserves  our  care. 

But  though,  in  the  monastic  pile, 

Her  sex  a  page's  dress  belied ; 

Did  of  this  penitential  aisle 

The  cloak  and  doublet  loosely  tied, 

>  See  Appendix,  Note  2  G.  a  Ibid.  Note  2  H.  s  Ibid.Note2I. 

T  MS. — "  Suspended  by  an  iron  chain, 

*  MS. — "  Seen  only  when  the  gathering  storm." 
See  Appendix,  Note  2  K. 

A  cresset  show'd  this  \    ar     \  domain." 
(  drear  ) 

•  Antique  chandelier. 

8  MS. — "  On  stony  table  lay."     >  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U 

canto  n.                                               MARMION.                                                     101 

Obsc^ired  lier  charms,  but  could  not  hide. 

Such  tools  the  Tempter  ever  needs, 

Her  cap  down  o'er  her  lace  she  drew ; 

To  do  the  savagest  of  deeds ; 

And,  on  her  doublet  breast, 

For  them  no  vision'd  terrors  daunt, 

She  tried  to  hide  the  badge  of  blue, 

Their  nights  no  fancied  spectres  haunt, 

Lord  Marmion's  falcon  crest. 

One  fear  with  them,  of  all  most  base, 

But,  at  the  Prioress'  command, 

The  fear  of  death, — alone  finds  place. 

A  Monk  undid  the  silken  band, 

This  wretch  was  clad  in  frock  and  cowL 

That  tied  her  tresses  fair, 

And  shamed  not  loud  to  moan  and  howl, 

And  raised  the  bonnet  from  her  head, 

His  body  on  the  floor  to  dash, 

And  down  her  slender  form  they  spread, 

And  crouch,  like  hound  beneath  the  lash ; 

In  ringlets  rich  and  rare. 

While  his  i#tite  partner,  standing  near, 

Constance  de  Beverley  they  know, 

Waited  her  doom  without  a  tear. 

Sister  profess'd  of  Fontevraud, 

Whom  the  church  number'd  with  the  dead, 

XXIII. 

For  broken  vows,  and  convent  fled. 

Yet  well  the  luckless  wretch  might  shriek, 

Well  might  her  paleness  terror  speak ! 

XXI. 

For  there  were  seen  in  that  dark  walL 

When  thus  her  face  was  given  to  view 

Two  niches,  narrow,  deep,  and  tall ; 

(Although  so  pallid  was  her  hue, 

Who  enters  at  such  grisly  door, 

It  did  a  ghastly  contrast  bear 

Shall  ne'er,  I  ween,  find  exit  more. 

To  those  bright  ringlets  glistering  fair), 

In  each  a  slender  meal  was  laid, 

Her  look  composed,  and  steady  eye, 

Of  roots,  of  water,  and  of  bread : 

Bespoke  a  matchless  constancy ; 

By  each,  in  Benedictine  dress, 

And  there  she  stood  so  calm  and  pale, 

Two  haggard  monks  stood  motionless  ; 

That,  but  her  breathing  did  not  fail, 

Who,  holding  high  a  blazing  torch, 

And  motion  slight  of  eye  and  head, 

Show'd  the  grim  entrance  of  the  porch : 

And  of  her  bosom,  warranted 

Reflecting  back  the  smoky  beam, 

That  neither  sense  nor  pulse  she  lacks, 

The  dark-red  walls  and  arches  gleam. 

You  might  have  thought  a  form  of  wax, 

Hewn  stones  and  cement  were  display'd, 

Wrought  to  the  very  life,  was  there ; 

And  building  tools  in  order  laid. 

So  still  she  was,  so  pale,  so  fair.1 

XXIV. 

XXII. 

These  executioners  were  chose, 

Her  comrade  was  a  sordid  soul, 

As  men  who  were  with  mankind  foes, 

Such  as  does  murder  for  a  meed ; 

And  with  despite  and  envy  fired, 

Who,  but  of  fear,  knows  no  control, 

Into  the  cloister  had  retired ; 

Because  his  conscience,  sear'd  and  foul, 

Or  who,  in  desperate  doubt  of  grace, 

Feels  not  the  import  of  his  deed ; 

Strove,  by  deep  penance,  to  efface 

One,  whose  brute-feeling  ne'er  aspires8 

Of  some  foul  crime  the  stain  ; 

Beyond  his  own  more  brute  desires.      g 

For,  as  the  vassals  of  her  will, 

1  "  The  picture  of  Constance  before  her  judges,  though  more 

Not  once  had  turn'd  to  either  side — 

labored  than  that  of  the  voyage  of  the  Lady  Abbess,  is  not, 

Nor  once  did  those  sweet  eyelids  close, 

to  our  taste,  so  pleasing  ;  though  it  has  beauty  of  a  kind  fully 

Or  shade  the  glance  o'er  which  they  rose, 

as  popular." — Jeffrey. 

But  round  their  orbs  of  deepest  blue 

"  1  sent  for  '  Marmion,'   because  it  occurred  to  me  there 

The  circling  white  dilated  grew — 

might  be  a  resemblance  between  part  of  '  Parisina,'  and  a  sim- 

And there  with  glassy  gaze  she  stood 

ilar  scene  in  the  second  canto  of  '  Marmion.'     I  fear  there  is, 

As  ice  were  in  her  curdled  blood  ; 

though  I  never  thought  of  it  before,  and  could  hardly  wish  to 

But  every  now  and  then  a  tear 

imitate  that  which  is  inimitable.     I  wish  you  would  ask  Mr. 

So  large  and  slowly  gather'd  slid 

Gifford  whether  I  ought  to  say  any  thing  upon  it.     I  had  com- 
pleted the  story  on  the  passage  from  Gibbon,  which  indeed 

From  the  long  dark  fringe  of  that  fair  lid. 
It  was  a  thing  to  see,  not  hear  ! 

leads  to  a  like  scene  naturally,  without  a  thought  of  the  kind  ; 

And  those  who  saw,  it  did  surprise, 

but  it  comes  upon  me  not  very  comfortably." — Lord  Byron 

Such  drops  could  fall  from  human  eyes. 

1p  Mr.  Murray,  Feb.  3,  1816.— Compare : 

To  speak  she  thought — the  imperfect  note 

Was  choked  within  her  swelling  throat, 

"...  Parisina's  fatal  charms 

Yet  seem'd  in  that  low  hollow  groan 

Again  attracted  every  eye — 

Her  whole  heart  gushing  in  the  tone." 

Would  she  thus  hear  him  doom'd  to  die  ? 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  x.  p.  171. 

She  stood,  I  said,  all  pale  and  still, 

a  In  some  recent  editions  this  word    had  been   erroneous 

The  living  cause  of  Hugo's  ill ; 

printed  "  inspires."     The  MS.  has  the  correct  line. 

W**  eyes  unmoved,  but  full  and  wide, 

"  One  whose  brute-feeling  ne'er  aspires  " 

102 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II 


Such  men  the  Church  selected  still, 

XXVII. 

As  either  joy'd  in  doing  ill, 

"  I  spesfk  not  to  implore  your  grace,' 

Or  thought  more  grace  to  gain, 

Well  know  I  for  one  minute's  space 

If,  in  her  cause,  they  wrestled  down 

Successless  might  I  sue  : 

Feelings  their  nature  strove  to  own. 

Nor  do  I  speak  your  prayers  to  gain ; 

By  strange    device  were  they  brought 

For  if  a  death  of  lingering  pain, 

there, 

To  cleanse  my  sins,  be  penance  vain, 

They  knew  not  how,  nor  knew  not  where. 

Vain  are  your  masses  too. — 

I  listen'd  to  a  traitor's  tale, 

XXV. 

I  left  the  convent  and  the  veil ; 

And  now  that  blind  old  Abbot  rtlfee, 

For  three  long  years  I  bow'd  my  pride, 

To  speak  the  Chapter's  doom, 

A  horse-boy  in  his  train  to  ride ; 

On  those  the  wall  was  to  enclose, 

And  well  my  folly's  meed  he  gave, 

Alive,  within  the  tomb  ;* 

Who  forfeited,  to  be  his  slave, 

But  stopp'd,  because  that  woful  Maid, 

All  here,  and  all  beyond  the  grave. — 

Gathering  her  powers,  to  speak  essay'd. 

He  saw  young  Clara's  face  more  fair, 

Twice  she  essay'd,  and  twice  in  vain ; 

He  knew  her  of  broad  lands  the  heir, 

Her  accents  might  no  utterance  gain ; 

Forgot  Ins  vows,  his  faith  foreswore, 

Naught  but  imperfect  murmurs  slip 

And  Constance  was  beloved  no  more. — 

From  her  convulsed  and  quivering  lip ; 

'Tis  an  old  tale,  and  often  told ; 

'Twixt  each  attempt  all  was  so  still, 

But  did  my  fate  and  wish  agree, 

You  seem'd  to  hear  a  distant  rill — 

Ne'er  had  been  read,  in  story  old, 

'Twas  ocean's  swells  and  falls  ; 

Of  maiden  true  betray'd  for  gold, 

For  though  this  vault  of  sin  and  fear 

That  loved,  or  was  avenged,  like  me  1 

Was  to  the  sounding  surge  so  near, 

A  tempest  there  you  scarce  could  hear, 

XXVIII. 

So  massive  were  the  walls. 

"  The  King  approved  his  favorite's  aim ; 

In  vain  a  rival  barr'd  his  claim, 

XXVI. 

Whose  fate  with  Clare's  was  plight, 

At  length,  an  effort  sent  apart 

For  he  attaints  that  rival's  fame 

The  blood  that  curdled  to  her  heart, 

With  treason's  charge — and  on  they  came, 

And  light  came  to  her  eye, 

In  mortal  lists  to  fight. 

And  color  dawn'd  upon  her  cheek, 

Their  oaths  are  said, 

A  hectic  and  a  flutter'd  streak,2 

Their  prayers  are  pray'd, 

Like  that  left  on  the  Cheviot  peak. 

Their  lances  in  the  rest  are  laid          x 

By  Autumn's  stormy  sky ; 

They  meet  in  mortal  shock ; 

And  when  her  silence  broke  at  length, 

And,  hark !  the  throng,  with  thundering  cry, 

Still  as  she  spoke  she  gather'd  strength, 

Shout '  Marmion,  Marmion !  to  the  sky, 

And  srm'd  herself  to  bear.3 

De  Wilton  to  the  block !' 

It  was  a  fearful  sight  to  see 

Say^xe,  who  preach  Heaven  shall  decide6 
When  in  the  lists  two  champions  ride, 

Such  high  resolve  and  constancy, 

In  form  so  soft  and  fair.4 

Say,  was  Heaven's  justice  here  ? 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 

Nor  do  I  speak  your  prayers  to  gain  ; 

2  MS.—"  A  feeble  and  a  flutter'd  streak, 

For  if  my  penance  be  in  vain, 

Like  that  with  which  the  mornings  break 

Your  prayers  1  cannot  want. 

In  Autumn's  sober  sky." 

Full  well  I  knew  the  church's  doom, 

8  "  Mr.  S.  has  judiciously  combined  the  horrors  of  the  pun- 

What time  I  left  a  convent's  gloom, 

ishment  with  a  very  beautiful  picture  of  the  offender,  so  as  to 

To  fly  with  him  I  loved  ; 

heighten  the  interest  which  the  situation  itself  must  necessarily 

And  well  my  folly's  meed  he  gave — 

rxcite ;    and  the  struggle  of  Constance  to  speak,  before  the 

I  forfeited,  to  be  a  slave, 

fatal  sentence,  is  finely  painted." — Monthly  Review. 

All  here,  and  all  beyond  the  grave, 

*  MS. — "  And  mann'd  herself  to  bear. 

And  faithless  hath  he  proved  ; 

It  was  a  fearful  thing  to  see 

He  saw  another's  face  more  fair, 

Such  high  resolve  and  constancy, 

He  saw  her  of  broad  lands  the  heir, 

In  form  so  soft  and  fair  ; 

And  Constance  loved  no  more — 

Like  Summer's  dew  her  accents  fell, 

Loved  her  no  more,  who,  once  Heaven's  bride 

But  dreadful  was  her  tale  to  tell.'''' 

Now  a  scom'd  menial  by  his  side, 

6  M9. — "  I  speak  not  now  to  sue  for  grace, 

Had  wander'd  Europe  o'er." 

For  well  I  know  one  minute's  space 

6  MS. — "  Say,  ye  who  preach  the  heavens  decide 

Your  mercy  set  rce  would  grant  i 

When  in  the  lists  the  warrior!  ride  ' 

canto  n.   "                                        MARMION.                                                     103 

When,  loyal  in  his  love  and  faith, 

Some  traveller  then  shall  find  my  bones 

Wilton  found  overthrow  or  death, 

Whitening  amid  disjointed  stones, 

Beneath  a  traitor's  spear  ? 

And,  ignorant  of  priests'  cruelty,2 

How  false  the  charge,  how  true  he  fell 

Marvel  such  relices  here  should  be." 

This  guilty  packet  best  can  tell." — 

Then  drew  a  packet  from  her  breast, 

XXXII. 

•  Paused,  gather'd  voice,  and  spoke  the  rest. 

Fix'd  was  her  look,  and  stern  her  air : 

Back  from  her  shoulders  stream'd  her  hair 

XXIX. 

The  locks  that  wont  her  brow  to  shade, 

"  Still  was  false  Marmion's  bridal  staid ; 

Stared  up  erectly  from  her  head ;' 

To  Wliitby's  convent  fled  the  maid, 

Her  figure  seem'd  to  rise  more  high ; 

The  hated  match  to  shun. 

Her  voice,  despair's  wild  energy 

•  Ho  1  shifts  she  thus  V  King  Henry  cried, 

Had  given  a  tone  of  prophecy. 

•  Sir  Marmion,  she  shall  be  thy  bride, 

Appall'd  the  astonish'd  conclave  sate ; 

If  she  were  sworn  a  nun.' 

With  stupid  eyes,  the  men  of  fate 

One  way  remain'd — the  King's  command 

Gazed  on  the  light  inspired  form, 

Sent  Marmion  to  the  Scottish  land : 

And  listen' d  for  the  avenging  storm; 

I  linger'd  here,  and  rescue  plann'd 

The  judges  felt  the  victim's  dread ; 

For  Clara  and  for  me  : 

No  hand  was  moved,  no  word  was  said. 

This  caitiff  Monk,  for  gold,  did  swear, 

Till  thus  the  Abbot's  doom  was  given, 

He  would  to  Wliitby's  shrine  repair, 

Raising  his  sightless  balls  to  heaven  :— 

And,  by  his  drugs,  my  rival  fair 

"  Sister,  let  thy  sorrows  cease ; 

A  saint  in  heaven  should  be. 

Sinful  brother,  part  in  peace  I"4 

But  ill  the  dastard  kept  his  oath, 

From  that  dire  dungeon,  place  of  doom, 

Whose  cowardice  has  undone  us  both 

Of  execution  too,  and  tomb, 

• 

Paced  forth  the  judges  three ; 

XXX. 

Sorrow  it  were,  and  shame,  to  tell 

*  And  now  my  tongue  the  secret  tells, 

The  butcher-work  that  there  befell 

Not  that  remorse  my  bosom  swells, 

When  they  had  glided  from  the  cell 

But  to  assure  my  soul  that  none 

Of  sin  and  misery. 

Shall  ever  wed  with  Marmion.1 

Had  fortune  my  last  hope  betray'd, 

XXXIII. 

This  packet,  to  the  King  convey'd, 

An  hundred  winding  steps  convey 

Had  giren  him  to  the  headsman's  stroke, 

That  conclave  to  the  upper  day  ;8 

Although  my  heart  that  instant  broke. — 

But,  ere  they  breathed  the  fresher  air. 

Now,  men  of  death,  work  forth  your  will, 

They  heard  the  shriekings  of  despair 

For  I  can  suffer,  and  be  still ; 

And  many  a  stifled  groan  : 

And  come  he  slow,  or  come  he  fast, 

With  speed  their  upward  way  they  take 

It  is  but  Death  who  comes  at  last. 

'   (Such  speed  as  age  and  fear  can  make), 

And  cross'd  themselves  for  terror's  sake, 

XXXI. 

As  hurrying,  tottering  on : 

"  Yet  dread  me,  from  my  living  tomb, 

Even  in  the  vesper's  heavenly  tone,8 

Ye  vassal  slaves  of  bloody  Rome ! 

They  seem'd  to  hear  a  dying  groan, 

If  Marmion's  late  remorse  should  wake, 

And  bade  the  passing  knell  to  toll 

Full  soon  such  vengeance  will  he  take, 

For  welfare  of  a  parting  soul. 

That  you  shall  wish  the  fiery  Dane 

Slow  o'er  the  midnight  wave  it  swung, 

Had  rather  been  your  guest  again. 

Northumbrian  rocks  in  answer  rung ; 

Belund,  a  darker  hour  ascends ! 

To  Warkworth  cell  the  echoes  roll'd, 

The  altars  quake,  the  crosier  bends, 

His  beads  the  wakeful  hermit  told, 

The  ire  of  a  despotic  Bang 

The  Bamborough  peasant  raised  Ins  head, 

Rides  forth  upon  destruction's  wing ; 

But  slept  ere  half  a  prayer  he  said ; 

Then  shall  these  vaults,  so  strong  and  deep, 

So  far  was  heard  the  mighty  knell, 

Burst  open  to  the  sea- winds'  sweep ; 

The  stag  sprung  up  on  Cheviot  Fell, 

l  The  MS.  adds — "  His  schemes  reveal'd,  his  honor  gone." 

5  MS, — "  From  that  dark  penance  vault  to  day." 

»  MS. — "  And,  witless  of  priests'  cruelty." 

•  MS. — M  That  night  amid  the  vesper's  swell, 

'  MS.—"  Stared  up  i  ^P""'1^     {  from  her  he*ad." 

They  thought  they  heard  Constantia's  yelL 

<  uncurling  1 

And  bade  the  mighty  bell  to  toll, 

*  See  Note  2  M  on  Stanza  xxv.  ante,  p.  102. 

|                         For  welfare  of  a  passing  soul." 

104 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III, 


Spread  his  broad  nostrils  to  the  wind, 
Listed  before,  aside,  behind, 
Then  couch'd  him  down  beside  the  hind, 
And  quaked  among  the  mountain  fern, 
To  hear  that  sound  so  dull  and  stern.1 


Jtlarmton. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  THIRD. 


WILLIAM  ERSKINE,   ESQ,.' 

Ashestiel,  Ettrick  Forest. 
Like  April  morning  clouds,  that  pass, 
With  varying  shadow,  o'er  the  grass, 
And  imitate,  on  field  and  furrow, 
Life's  checker'd  scene  of  joy  and  sorrow ; 
Like  streamlet  of  the  mountain  north, 
Now  in  a  torrent  racing  forth, 
Now  winding  slow  its  silver  train, 
And  almost  slumbering  on  the  plain  ; 
Like  breezes  of  the  autumn  day, 
Whose  voice  inconstant  dies  away, 
And  ever  swells  again  as  fast, 
When  the  ear  deems  its  murmur  past ; 
Thus  various,  my  romantic  theme 
Flits,  winds,  or  sinks,  a  morning  dream. 
Yet  pleased,  our  eye  pursues  the  trace 
Of  Light  and  Shade's  inconstant  race ; 
Pleased,  views  the  rivulet  afar, 
Weaving  its  maze  irregular ; 
And  pleased,  we  listen  as  the  breeze 
Heaves  its  wild  sigh  through  Autumn  trees ; 
Then,  wild  as  cloud,  or  stream,  or  gale, 
Flow  on,  flow  unconfined,  my  Tale  ! 

Need  I  to  thee,  dear  Erskine,  tell 
I  love  the  license  all  too  well, 
In  sounds  now  lowly,  and  now  strong, 
To  raise  the  desultory  song  ? — s 
Oft,  when  'mid  such  capricious  chime, 
Some  transient  fit  of  lofty  rhyme 

*  u  The  sound  of  the  knell  that  was  rung  for  the  parting  soul 
of  this  victim  of  seduction,  is  described  with  great  force  and 
solemnity." — Jeffrey. 

"  The  whole  of  this  trial  and  doom  presents  a  high-wrought 
scene  of  horror,  which,  at  the  close,  rises  almost  to  too  great  a 
pitch." — Scots  Mag.,  March,  1808. 

2  William  Erskine,  Esq.,  advocate,  Sheriff-depute  of  the 
Orkneys,  became  a  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Session  by  the  title 
of  Lord  Kinnedder,  and  died  at  Edinburgh  in  August,  1822. 
He  had  been  from  early  youth  the  most  intimate  of  the  Poet's 
friends,  and  his  chief  confidant  and  adviser  as  to  all  literary 
**au*,»D      See  a  notice  of  his  lite  and  ciiaracter  by  the  late  Mr.  | 


To  thy  kind  judgment  seem'd  excuse 

For  many  an  error  of  the  muse, 

Oft  hast  thou  said,  "  If,  still  misspent, 

Thine  hours  to  poetry  are  lent,4 

Go,  and  to  tame  thy  wandering  course, 

Quaff  from  the  fountain  at  the  source ; 

Approach  those  masters,  o'er  whose  tomb 

Immortal  laurels  ever  bloom : 

Instructive  of  the  feebler  bard, 

Still  from  the  grave  their  voice  is  heard ; 

From  them,  and  from  the  paths  they  show'd, 

Choose  honor'd  guide  and  practised  road ; 

Nor  ramble  on  through  brake  and  maze, 

With  harpers  rude  of  barbarous  days. 

"  Or  deem'st  thou  not  our  later  time6 
Yields  topic  meet  for  classic  rhyme  ? 
Hast  thou  no  elegiac  verse 
For  Brunswick's  venerable  hearse  ? 
What !  not  a  line,  a  tear,  a  sigh, 
When  valor  bleeds  for  liberty  ? — 
Oh,  hero  of  that  glorious  time, 
When,  with  unrivall'd  light  sublime, — 
Though  martial  Austria,  and  though  all 
The  might  of  Russia,  and  the  Gfetul, 
Though  banded  Europe  stood  ner  foes, — 
The  star  of  Brandenburgh  arose  ! 
Thou  couldst  not  live  to  see  her  beam 
Forever  quench'd  in  Jena's  stream. 
Lamented  Chief ! — it  was  not  given 
To  thee  to  change  the  doom  of  Heaven, 
And  crush  that  dragon  in  its  birth, 
Predestined  scourge  of  guilty  earth. 
Lamented  Chief ! — not  thine  the  power, 
To  save  in  that  presumptuous  hour, 
When  Prussia  hurried  to  the  field, 
And  snatch'd  the  spear,  but  left  the  shield  ! 
Valor  and  skill  'twas  thine  to  try, 
And,  tried  in  vain,  'twas  thine  to  die. 
Ill  had  it  seem'd  thy  silver  hair 
The  last,  the  bitterest  pang  to  share, 
For  princedoms  reft,  and  scutcheons  riven, 
And  birthrights  to  usurpers  given ; 
Thy  land's,  thy  cluldren's  wrongs  to  feel, 
And  witness  woes  thou  couldst  not  heal  1 
On  thee  relenting  Heaven  bestows 

Hay  Donaldson,  to  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  contributed  sere 
ral  paragraphs. — Ed. 
3  MS. — "  Wit',  sound  now  lowly,  and  now  higher, 

Irregular  to  wake  the  lyre." 
*  MS. — "  Thine  hours  to  thriftless  rhyme  are  lent." 
6  MS. — "  Dost  thou  not  deem  our  later  day 
Yields  topic  meet  for  classic  lay  ? 
Hast  thou  no  elegiac  tone 
To  join  that  universal  moan, 
Which  mingled  with  the  battle's  yell, 
Where  venerable  Brunswick  fell  1 — 
What !  not  a  verse,  a  tear,  a  sigh. 
When  valor  bleeds  for  liberty  V 


CANTO  III. 


MARMION. 


105 


For  honor'd  life  an  honor'd  close ;' 

And  when  revolves,  in  time's  sure  change, 

The  hour  of  Germany's  revenge, 

W  hen,  breathing  fury  for  her  sake, 

Some  new  Arminius  shall  awake, 

Her  champion,  ere  he  strike,  shall  come 

To  whet  his  sword  on  Brunswick's  tomb.8 

"  Or  of  the  Red-Cross  hero3  teach, 
Dauntless  in  dungeon  as  on  breach : 
Alike  to  him  the  sea,  the  shore, 
The  brand,  the  bridle,  or  the  oar : 
Alike  to  liim  the  war  that  calls 
Its  votaries  to  the  shatter' d  walls, 
Which  the  grim  Turk,  besmear'd  with  blood, 
Against  the  Invincible  made  good ; 
Or  that,  whose  thundering  voice  could  wake 
The  silence  of  the  polar  lake, 
When  stubborn  Russ,  and  metal'd  Swede, 
On  the  warp'd  wave  their  death-game  play'd ; 
Or  that,  where  Vengeance  and  Affright 
Howl'd  round  the  father  of  the  fight, 
Who  snatch'd,  on  Alexandria's  sand, 
The  conqueror's  wreath,  with  dying  hand.4 

"  Or,  if  to  touch  such  chord  be  thine, 
Restore  the  ancient  tragic  line, 
And  emulate  the  notes  that  wrung 
From  the  wild  harp,  which  silent  hung 
By  silver  Avon's  holy  shore, 
Till  twice  an  hundred  years  roll'd  o'er ; 
When  she,  the  bold  Enchantress,6  came, 
With  fearless  hand  and  heart  on  flame ! 
From  the  pale  willow  snatch'd  the  treasure, 
And  swept  it  with  a  kindred  measure, 
Till  Avon  swans,  while  rung  the  grove 
With  Montfort's  hate  and  Basil's  love, 

i  MS. — "  For  honor'd  life  an  honor'd  close — 
The  boon  which  falling  heroes  crave, 
A  soldier's  death,  a  warrior's  grave. 
Or  if,  with  more  exulting  swell, 
Of  conquering  chiefs  thou  lov'st  to  tell, 
Give  to  the  harp  an  unheard  strain, 
And  sing  the  triumphs  of  the  main — 
Of  him  the  Red-Cross  hero  teach, 
Dauntless  on  Acre's  bloody  breach, 
And,  «corner  of  tyrannic  power, 
As  di  intless  in  the  Temple's  tower : 
Alike  to  him,  the  sea,  the  shore, 
The  brand,  the  bridle,  or  the  oar, 
The  general's  eye;  the  pilot's  art, 
The  soldier's  arm,  the  sailor's  heart. 
Or  if  to  touch  such  chord  be  thine,"  &3. 
»  "  Scott  seems  to  have  communicated  fragments  of  the  poem 
rery  freely  during  the  whole  of  its  progress.     As  early  as  the 
22d  February,  1807,  I  find  Mrs.  Hayman  acknowledging,  in 
'he  name  of  the  Princess  of  Wales,  the  receipt  of  a  copy  of  the 
Introduction  to  Canto  III.,  in  which  occurs  the  tribute  to  her 
royal  highness's  heroic   father,    mortally   wounded  the  year 
before  at  Jena — a  tribute  so  grateful  to  her  feelings  that  she 
herself  shortly  after  sent  the  poet  an  elegant  silver  vase  as  a 


Awakening  at  the  inspired  strain, 
Deem'd  their  own  Shakspeare  lived  again." 

Thy  friendship  thus  thy  judgment  wronging, 
With  praises  not  to  me  belonging, 
In  task  more  meet  for  mightiest  powets, 
Wouldst  thou  engage  my  thriftless  hours. 
But  say,  my  Erskine,  hast  thou  weigh'd 
That  secret  power  by  all  obey'd, 
Which  warps  not  less  the  passive  mind, 
Its  source  conceal'd  or  undefined ; 
Whether  an  impulse,  that  has  birth 
Soon  as  the  infant  wakes  on  earth, 
One  with  our  feelings  and  our  powers, 
And  rather  part  of  us  than  ours ; 
Or  whether  fitlier  term'd  the  sway 
Of  habit,  form'd  in  early  day  ? 
Howe'er  derived,  its  force  confest 
Rules  with  despotic  sway  the  breast, 
And  drags  us  on  by  viewless  chain, 
While  taste  and  reason  plead  in  vain.* 
Look  east,  and  ask  the  Belgian  why, 
Beneath  Batavia's  sultry  sky, 
He  seeks  not  eager  to  inhale 
The  freshness  of  the  mountain  gale, 
Content  to  rear  his  whiten' d  wall 
Beside  the  dank  and  dull  canal  ? 
He'll  say,  from  youth  he  loved  to  see 
The  white  sail  gliding  by  the  tree. 
Or  see  yon  weatherbeaten  hind, 
Whose  sluggish  herds  before  him  wind, 
Whose  tatter'd  plaid  and  rugged  cheek 
His  northern  clime  and  kindred  speak ; 
Through  England's  laughing  meads  he  goes, 
And  England's  wealth  around  him  flows  ; 
Ask,  if  it  would  content  him  well, 
At  ease  in  those  gay  plains  to  dwell, 

memorial  of  her  thankfulness.     And  about  the  same  time  the 
Marchioness  of  Abercorn  expresses  the  delight  with  which  both 
she  and  her  lord  had  read  the  generous  verses  on  Pitt  and  Fox 
in  another  of  those  epistles." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  9 
s  Sir  Sidney  Smith. 
*  Sir  Ralph  Abercromby. 
6  Joanna  Baillie. 

8  "  As  man,  perhaps,  the  moment  of  his  breath, 
Receives  the  lurking  principle  of  death  ; 
The  young  disease,  that  must  subdue  at  length, 
Grows  with  his  growth,  and  strengthens  with  his  strength 
So,  cast  and  mingled  with  his  very  frame, 
The  Mind's  disease,  its  Ruling  Passion,  came ; 
Each  vital  humor  which  should  feed  the  whole, 
Soon  flows  to  this,  in  body  and  in  soul , 
Whatever  warms  the  heart,  or  fills  the  head, 
As  the  mind  opens,  and  its  functions  spread, 
Imagination  plies  her  dangerous  art, 
And  pours  it  all  upon  the  peccant  part. 

"  Nature  its  mother,  Habit  is  its  nurse ; 
Wit,  Spirit,  Faculties,  bnt  make  it  worse ; 
Reason  itself  but  gives  it  edge  and  power ; 
As  Heaven's  blest  beam  turns  vinegar  more  sour,"  &c. 
Pope's  Essay  on  Man. — Ed 


100 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III* 


"Where  hedge-rows  spread  a  verdant  screen, 
And  spires  and  furests  intervene, 
And  the  neat  cottage  pejeps  between  ? 
No !  not  for  these  will  he  exchange 
His  dark  Lochaber's  boundless  range : 
Not  for  fair  Devon's  meads  forsake 
Bennevis  gray,  and  Garry's  lake, 

Thu3  while  I  ape  the  measure  wild 
Of  tales  that  charm' d  me  yet  a  child, 
Rude  though  they  be,  still  with  the  chime 
Return  the  thoughts  of  early  time  ; 
And  feelings,  roused  in  life's  first  day, 
Glow  in  the  line,  and  prompt  the  lay. 
Then  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tower, 
"Which  charm'd  my  fancy's  wakening  hour.1 
Though  no  broad  river  swept  along, 
To  claim,  perchance,  heroic  song ; 
Though  sigh'd  no  groves  in  summer  gale, 
To  prompt  of  love  a  softer  tale ; 
Though  scarce  a  puny  streamlet's  speed 
Claim'd  homage  from  a  shepherd's  reed ; 
Yet  was  poetic  impulse  given, 
By  the  green  hill  and  clear  blue  heaven. 
It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild, 
Where  naked  cliffs  were  rudely  piled ; 
But  ever  and  anon  between 
Lay  velvet  tufts  of  loveliest  green ; 
And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 
Recesses  where  the  wall-flower  grew,2 
And  honeysuckle  loved  to  crawl 
Up  the  low  crag  and  ruin'd  wall. 
I  deem'd  such  nooks  the  sweetest  shade 
The  sun  in  all  its  round  survey'd ; 
And  still  I  thought  that  shatter'd  tower3 
The  mightiest  work  of  human  power : 
And  marvell'd  as  the  aged  hind 
"With  some  strange  tale  bewitch' d  my  mind, 
Of  forayers,  who,  with  headlong  force, 
Down  from  that  strength  had  spurr'd  their  horse, 
Their  southern  rapine  to  renew, 
Far  in  the  distant  Cheviots  blue, 
And,  home  returning,  fill'd  the  hall 
With  revel,  wassel-rout,  and  brawl.4 
Methought  that  still  with  trump  and  clang, 
The  gateway's  broken  arches  rang ; 
Methought  grim  features,  seam'd  with  scars, 
Glared  through  the  window's  rusty  bars, 

'  '  MS. — °  The  lonely  hill,  the  rocky  tower, 

/That  caught  attention's  wakening  hour." 
MS. — "  Recesses  where  the  woodbine  grew." 
8  Smailholm   Tower,   in    Berwickshire,   the    scene  of  the 
inthor's  infancy,  is  situated  ahout  two  miles  from  Dryburgh 
ibbey. 
*  The  two  next  couplets  are  not  in  the  MS. 
v  MS. — "  While  still  with  mimic  hosts  of  shells, 
Again  my  sport  the  combat  tells — 
Onward  the  Scottish  Lion  bore, 
The  scatter'd  Southron  fled  before." 


And  ever,  by  the  winter  hearth, 

Old  tales  I  heard  of  woe  or  mirth, 

Of  lovers'  slights,  of  ladies'  charms, 

Of  witches'  spells,  of  warriors'  arms : 

Of  patriot  battles,  won  of  old 

By  Wallace  wight  and  Bruce  the  bold ; 

Of  later  fields  of  feud  and  fight, 

When,  pouring  from  their  Highland  height, 

The  Scottish  clans,  in  headlong  sway, 

Had  swept  the  scarlet  ranks  away. 

Wliile  stretch'd  at  length  upon  the  floor.5 

Again  I  fought  each  combat  o'er, 

Pebbles  and  shells,  in  order  laid, 

The  mimic  ranks  of  war  display'd ; 

And  onward  still  the  Scottish  Lion  bore, 

And  still  the  scatter'd  Southron  fled  before.' 

Still,  with  vain  fondness,  could  I  trace, 
Anew,  each  kind  familiar  face, 
That  brighten'd  at  our  evening  fire  ! 
From  the  thatch'd  mansion's  gray-hair'd  She,7 
Wise  without  learning,  plain  and  good, 
And  sprung  of  Scotland's  gentler  blood  ; 
Whose  eye,  in  age,  quick,  clear,  and  keen, 
Show'd  what  in  youth  its  glance  had  been ; 
Whose  doom  discording  neighbors  sought, 
Content  with  equity  unbought  f 
To  him  the  venerable  Priest, 
Our  frequent  and  familiar  guest, 
Whose  life  and  manners  well  could  paint 
Alike  the  student  and  the  saint  ;9 
Alas  !  whose  speech  too  oft  I  broke 
With  gambol  rude  and  timeless  joke : 
For  I  was  wayward,  bold,  and  wild, 
A  self-will'd  imp,  a  grandame's  child ; 
But  half  a  plague,  and  half  a  jest, 
Was  still  endured,  beloved,  caress' d. 

For  me,  thus  nurtured,  dost  thou  ask 
The  classic  poet's  well-conn'd  task  ? 
Nay,  Erskine,  nay — On  the  wild  hill 
Let  the  wild  heath-bell  flourish  still ; 
Cherish  the  tulip,  prune  the  vine, 
But  freely  let  the  woodbine  twine, 
And  leave  untrimm'd  the  eglantine : 
Nay,  my  friend,  nay — Since  oft  thy  praise 
Hath  given  fresh  vigor  to  my  lays ; 
Since  oft  thy  judgment  could  refine 

6  See  notes  on  The  Eve  of  St.  John. 

7  Robert  Scott  of  Sandy  knows,  the  grandfather  of  the  Poet 

8  Upon  revising  the  Poem,  it  seems  proper  to  mention  that 
the  lines, 

"  Whose  doom  discording  neighbors  sought, 
Content  with  equity  unbought:" 
have  been  unconsciously  borrowed  from  a  passage  in  Dryden' 
beautiful  epistle  to  John  Driden  of  Chesterton. — 1808.     Not* 
to  Second  Edit. 

9  MS. — "  The  student,  gentleman,  and  saint." 

The  reverend  gentleman  alluded  to  was  Mr.  John  Martin 


CANTO  III. 


MARMION. 


107 


My  flatten'd  thought,  or  cumbrous  line  ; 

The  village  inn  seem'd  large,  though  rude  ■* 

Still  kind,  as  is  thy  wont,  attend, 

Its  cheerful  fire  and  hearty  food 

And  in  the  minstrel  spare  the  friend. 

Might  well  relieve  his  tram 

Though  wild  as  cloud,  as  stream,  as  gale, 

Down  from  their  seats  the  horsemen  sprung, 

Flow  forth,  flow  unrestrain'd,  my  Tale  1 

With  jingling  spurs  the  court-yard  rung : 

They  bind  their  horses  to  the  stall 

For  forage,  food,  and  firing  call, 

And  various  clamor  fills  the  hall : 

HI  a  r  m  x  o  n . 

Weighing  the  labor  with  the  cost, 

Toils  everywhere  the  bustling  host. 

CANTO   THIRD. 

III. 

Soon,  by  the  chimney's  merry,  blaze, 
Through  the  rude  hostel  might  you  gaze ; 

S&e  hostel,  or  Knit. 

Might  see,  where,  in  dark  nook  aloof, 

The  rafters  of  the  sooty  roof 

I. 

Bore  wealth  of  winter  cheer ; 

The  livelong  day  Lord  Marmion  rode : 

Of  sea-fowl  dried,  and  solands  store, 

The  mountain  path  the  Palmer  allow' d, 

And  gammons  of  the  tusky  boar, 

By  glen  and  streamlet  winded  still, 

And  savory  haunch  of  deer. 

Where  stunted  birches  hid  the  rill. 

The  chimney  arch  projected  wide ; 

Hiey  might  not  choose  the  lowland  road, 

Above,  around  it,  and  beside, 

For  the  Merse  forayers  were  abroad, 

Were  tools  for  housewives'  hand ; 

Who,  fired  with  hate  and  thirst  of  prey, 

ISTor  wanted,  hi  that  martial  day, 

Had  scarcely  fail'd  to  bar  their  way. 

The  implements  of  Scottish  fray, 

Oft  on  the  trampling  band,  from  crown 

The  buckler,  lance,  and  brand. 

Of  some  tall  cliff,  the  deer  look'd  down ; 

Beneath  its  shade,  the  place  of  state, 

On  wing  of  jet,  from  his  repose 

On  oaken  settle  Marmion  sate, 

In  the  deep  heath,  the  black-cock  rose ; 

And  view'd  around  the  blazing  hearth. 

Sprung  from  the  gorse  the  timid  roe, 

His  followers  mix  in  noisy  mirth ; 

Nor  waited  for  the  bending  bow ; 

Whom  with  brown  ale,  in  jolly  tide, 

And  when  the  stony  path  began, 

From  ancient  vessels  ranged  aside, 

By  which  the  naked  peak  they  wan, 

Full  actively  their  host  supplied. 

Up  flew  the  snowy  ptarmigan. 

The  noon  had  long  been  pass'd  before 

IV. 

They  gain'd  the  height  of  Lammermoor  ;a 

Theirs  was  the  glee  of  martial  breast, 

Thence  winding  down  the  northern  way, 

And  laughter  theirs  at  little  jest ; 

Before  them,  at  the  close  of  day, 

And  oft  Lord  Marmion  deign'd  to  aid, 

Old  Gilford's  towers  and  hamlet  lay.8 

And  mingle  in  the  mirth  they  made ; 

For  though,  with  men  of  high  degree, 

II. 

The  proudest  of  the  proud  was  he, 

No  summons  calls  them  to  the  tower, 

Yet,  train'd  in  camps,  he  knew  the  art 

To  spend  the  hospitable  hour. 

To  win  the  soldier's  hardy  heart. 

T  >  Scotland's  camp  the  Lord  was  gone ; 

They  love  a  captain  to  obey, 

His  cautious  dame,  in  bower  alone, 

Boisterous  as  March,  yet  fresh  as  May ; 

Dreaded  her  castle  to  unclose, 

•     With  open  hand,  and  brow  as  free, 

So  late,  to  unknown  friends  or  foes. 

Lover  of  wine  and  minstrelsy  ; 

On  through  the  hamlet  as  they  paced, 

Ever  the  first  to  scale  a  tower, 

Before  a  porch,  whose  front  was  graced 

As  venturous  in  a  lady's  bower : — 

With  bush  and  flagon  trimly  placed, 

Such  buxom  chief  shall  lead  his  host 

Lord  Marmion  drew  his  rein : 

From  India's  fires  to  Zembla's  frost. 

mister  of  Mertoun,  in  which  parish  Smailholm  Tower  is  sit- 

s  The  village  of  Gifford  lies  about  four  miles  from  Hadding- 

aated. 

ton  :  close  to  it  is  Yester  House,  the  seat  of  the  Marquis  of 

X  MS. — "  They  might  not  choose  the  easier  road, 

Tweeddale,  and  a  little  farther  up  the  stream,  which  descendi 

For  many  a  forayer  was  abroad." 

from  the  hills  of  Lammermoor,  are  the  remains  of  the  old  ca» 

2  See  Notes  to  "  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor."      Waverley 

tie  of  the  family. 

Novels,  vob.  xiii.  and  xiv 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  N 

X 


108                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  hi, 

V. 

Now  must  I  venture,  as  I  may, 

Resting  upon  his  pilgrim  staff, 

To  sing  his  favorite  roundelay." 

Right  opposite  the  Palmer  stood ; 

4 

His  thin  dark  visage  seen  but  half, 

IX. 

Half  hidden  by  his  hood. 

A  mellow  voice  Fitz-Eustace  had, 

Still  fix'd  on  Marmion  was  his  look, 

The  air  he  chose  was  wild  and  sad ; 

Which  he,  who  ill  such  gaze  could  brook, 

Such  have  I  heard,  in  Scottish  land, 

Sti'Dve  by  a  frown  to  quell ; 

Rise  from  the  busy  harvest  band, 

But  not  for  that,  though  more  than  once 

When  falls  before  the  mountaineer, 

Full  met  their  stern  encountering  glance, 

On  Lowland  plains,  the  ripen'd  ear. 

The  Palmer's  visage  fell. 

Now  one  shrill  voice  the  notes  prolong, 

Now  a  wild  chorus  swells  the  song : 

VI. 

Oft  have  I  listen'd,  and  stood  still, 

By  fits  less  frequent  from  the  crowd 

As  it  came  soften'd  up  the  hill, 

Was  heard  the  burst  of  laughter  loud ; 

And  deem'd  it  the  lament  of  men 

For  still,  as  squire  and  archer  stared 

Who  languish'd  for  their  native  glen ; 

On  that  dark  face  and  matted  beard, 

And  thought  how  sad  would  be  such  sound 

Their  glee  and  game  declined. 

On  Susquehanna's  swampy  ground, 

All  gazed  at  length  in  silence  drear, 

Kentucky's  wood-encumber'd  brake, 

Unbroke,  save  when  in  comrade's  ear 

Or  wild  Ontario's  boundless  lake, 

Some  yeoman,  wondering  in  his  fear, 

Where  heart-sick  exiles,  in  the  strain, 

Thus  whisper'd  forth  his  mind : — 

Recall'd  fair  Scotland's  hills  again  1 

"  Saint  Mary !  saw'st  thou  e'er  such  sight  ? 

How  pale  his  cheek,  his  eye  how  bright, 

X. 

Whene'er  the  firebrand's  fickle  light 

Song. 

Glances  beneath  his  cowl ! 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest, 

Full  on  our  Lord  he  sets  his  eye ; 

Whom  the  fates  sever 

For  his  best  palfrey,  would  not  I 

From  his  true  maiden's  breast, 

Endure  that  sullen  scowl." 

Parted  forever  ? 

Where  through  groves  deep  and  high, 

VII. 

Sounds  the  far  billow, 

But  Marmion,  as  to  chase  the  awe 

Where  early  violets  die, 

Which  thus  had  quell'd  their  hearts,  who 

Under  the  willow. 

saw 
The  ever-varying  fire-light  show 

CHORUS. 

That  figure  stern  and  face  of  woe, 

Eleu  loro,  (fee.     Soft  shall  be  his  pillow; 

Now  call'd  upon  a  squire : — 

"  Fitz-Eustace,  know'st  thou  not  some  lay, 

There,  through  the  summer  day, 

To  speed  the  lingering  night  away  ? 

Cool  streams  are  laving  ; 

We  slumber  by  the  fire." — 

There,  while  the  tempests  sway, 

Scarce  are  boughs  waving ; 

VIII. 

There,  thy  rest  shalt  thou  take, 

"  So  please  you,"  thus  the  youth  rejoin'd, 

Parted  forever, 

"  Our  choicest  minstrel's  left  behind. 

Never  again  to  wake, 

Ill  may  we  hope  to  please  your  ear, 

Never,  0  never  ! 

Accustom'd  Constant's  strains  to  hear. 

The  harp  full  deftly  can  he  strike, 

CHORUS. 

And  wake  the  lover's  lute  alike ; 

Eleu  loro,  <fcc.    Never,  0  never 

To  dear  Saint  Valentine,  no  thrush 

XI. 

Sings  livelier  from  a  spring-tide  bush, 

No  nightingale  her  love-lorn  tune 

Where  shall  the  traitor  rest, 

More  sweetly  warbles  to  the  moon. 

He  the  deceiver, 

Woe  to  the  cause,  whate'er  it  be, 

Who  could  win  maiden's  breast, 

Detains  from  us  his  melody, 

Ruin  and  leave  her  ? 

Lavish'd  on  rocks,  and  billows  stern, 

In  the  lost  battle, 

Or  duller  monks  of  Lindisfarne. 

Borne  down  by  the  flying, 

Where  mingles  war's  rattle 

i  MS.—"  Full  met  their  eyes'  encountering  glance." 

With  groans  of  the  dying. 

canto  in.                                            MARMION.                                                       108 

CHORUS. 

XIV. 

Eleu  loro,  <fcc.     There  shall  he  be  lying. 

Marmion,  whose  steady  heart  and  eye 

Ne'er  changed  in  worst  extremity ; 

Her  wing  shall  the  eagle  flap 

Marmion,  whose  soul  could  scantly  brook, 

O'er  the  false-hearted ; 

Even  from  his  King,  a  haughty  look  ;a 

His  warm  blood  the  wolf  shall  lap, 

Whose  accent  of  command  contrcll'd, 

Ere  life  be  parted. 

In  camps,  the  boldest  of  the  bold — 

Shame  and  dishonor  sit 

Thought,  look,  and  utterance  fail'd  him  now, 

By  his  grave  ever ; 

Fall'n  was  his  glance,  and  flush'd  his  brow : 

Blessing  shall  hallow  it, — 

For  either  in  the  tone, 

Never,  0  never  1 

Or  something  in  the*  Palmer's  look, 

So  full  upon  his  conscience  strook, 

CHORUS. 

That  answer  he  found  none. 

Kim  loro,  Ac.    Never,  0  never  ! 

Thus  oft  it  haps,  that  when  within 

They  shrink  at  sense  of  secret  sin, 

XH. 

A  feather  daunts  the  brave  ; 

It  ceased,  the  melancholy  sound ; 

A  fool's  wild  speech  confounds  the  wise, 

And  silence  sunk  on  all  around. 

And  proudest  princes  veil  their  eyes 

The  air  was  sad ;  but  sadder  still 

Before  their  meanest  slave. 

It  fell  on  Marmion's  ear, 

And  plain'd  as  if  disgrace  and  ill, 

XV. 

And  shameful  death,  were  near. 

Well  might  he  falter  ! — By  his  aid 

He  drew  his  mantle  past  his  face, 

Was  Constance  Beverley  betray'd, 

Between  it  and  the  band, 

Not  that  he  augur'd  of  the  doom, 

And  rested  with  his  head  a  space, 

Which  on  the  living  closed  the  tomb  ; 

Reclining  on  his  hand. 

But,  tired  to  hear  the  desperate  maid 

His  thoughts  I  scan  not ;  but  I  ween, 

Threaten  by  turns,  beseech,  upbraid  ; 

That  could  their  import  have  been  seen, 

And  wroth,  because  in  wild  despair, 

The  meanest  groom  in  all  the  hall, 

She  practised  on  the  life  of  Clare  ; 

That  e'er  tied  courser  to  a  stall, 

Its  fugitive  the  Church  he  gave, 

Would  scarce  have  wish'd  to  be  their 

Though  not  a  victim,  but  a  slave  ; 

prey, 

And  deem'd  restraint  in  convent  strange 

For  Lutterward  and  Fontenaye. 

Would  hide  her  wrongs,  and  her  revenge. 

Himself,  proud  Henry's  favorite  peer, 

XIII. 

Held  Romish  thunders  idle  fear, 

High  minds,  of  native  pride  and  force, 

Secure  his  pardon  he  might  hold, 

Most  deeply  feel  thy  pangs,  Remorse  ! 

For  some  slight  mulct  of  penance-gold. 

Fear,  for  their  scourge,  mean  villains  have, 

Thus  judging,  he  gave  secret  way, 

Thou  art  the  torturer  of  the  brave  ! 

When  the  stern  priests  surprised  their  pre^ 

Yet  fatal  strength  they  boast  to  steel 

His  train  but  deem'd  the  favorite  page 

Their  minds  to  bear  the  wounds  they  feel, 

Was  left  behind,  to  spare  his  age  ; 

Even  while  they  writhe  beneath  the  smart 

Or  other  if  they  deem'd,  none  dared 

Of  civil  conflict  in  the  heart. 

To  mutter  what  he  thought  and  heard : 

For  soon  Lord  Marmion  raised  his  head, 

Woe  to  the  vassal  who  durst  pry 

1  v  And,  smiling,  to  Fitz-Eustace  said — 

Into  Lord  Marmion's  privacy ! 

"  Is  it  not  strange,  that,  as  ye  sung, 

Seem'd  in  mine  ear  a  death-peal  rung, 

*                XVI. 

Such  as  in  nunneries  they  toll 

His  conscience  slept — he  deem'd  her  well, 

For  some  departing  sister's  soul  ? 

And  safe  secured  in  distant  cell ; 

Say,  what  may  this  portend  ?" — 

But,  waken'd  by  her  favorite  lay, 

Then  first  the  Palmer  silence  broke 

And  that  strange  Palmer's  boding  say, 

(The  livelong  day  he  had  not  spoke), 

That  fell  so  ominous  and  drear, 

"  The  death  of  a  dear  friend."1 

Full  on  the  object  of  his  fear, 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  0. 

Even  from  his  King,  a  scornful  look." 

*Mf  -  "Marmion,  whose  pride  >  could  Qever  br<. 

s  MS. — "  But  tired  to  hear  the  furious  maid." 

Who*?  haughty  soul     ) 

*  MS. — "  Incensed,  because  in  wild  despair." 

110                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  in 

To  aid  remorse's  venom'd  throes, 

Full  often  learn  the  art  to  know 

Dark  tales  *of  convent-vengeance  rose; 

Of  future  weal,  or  future  woe, 

And  Constance,  late  betray'd  and  scorn' d, 

By  word,  or  sign,  or  star ; 

All  lovely  on  his  soul  return'd ; 

Yet  might  a  knight  his  fortune  hear, 

Lovely  as  when,  at  treacherous  call, 

If,  knight-like,  he  despises  fear, 

She  left  her  convent's  peaceful  wall, 

Not  far  from  hence  ; — if  fathers  old 

Crimson'd  with  shame,  with  terror  mute, 

Aright  our  hamlet  legend  told." — 

Dreading  alike  escape,  pursuit, 

These  broken  words  the  menials  move 

Till  love,  victorious  o'er  alarms, 

(For  marvels  still  the  vulgar  love),                * 

Hid  fears  and  blushes  in  his  arms. 

And,  Marmion  giving  license  cold, 

XVIL 

"  Alas !"  he  thought,  "  how  changed  that  mien ! 

His  tale  the  host  thus  gladly  told : — 

XIX. 

How  changed  these  timid  looks  have  been,1 

Cfce  post's  2Taie. 

Since  years  of  guilt,  and  of  disguise, 

"  A  Clerk  could  tell  what  years  have  flown 

Have  steel'd  her  brow,  and  arm'd  her  eyes ! 

Since  Alexander  fili'd  our  throne 

No  more  of  virgin  terror  speaks 

(Third  monarch  of  that  warlike  name), 

The  blood  that  mantles  in  her  cheeks  ; 

And  eke  the  time  when  here  he  came 

Fierce,  and  unfeminine,  are  there, 

To  seek  Sir  Hugo,  then  our  lord : 

Phrensy  for  joy,  for  grief  despair ; 

A  braver  never  drew  a  sword  ; 

And  I  the  cause — for  whom  were  given 

A  wiser  never,  at  the  hour 

Her  peace  on  earth,  her  hopes  in  heaven ! — 

Of  midnight,  spoke  the  word  of  power 

Would,"  thought  he,  as  the  picture  grows, 

The  same,  whom  ancient  records  call 

"  I  on  its  stalk  had  left  the  rose  ! 

The  founder  of  the  Goblin-Hall.8 

Oh,  why  should  man's  success  remove 

I  would,  Sir  Knight,  your  longer  stay 

The  very  charms  that  wake  his  love  ! — 

Gave  you  that  cavern  to  survey. 

Her  convent's  peaceful  solitude 

Of  lofty  roof,  and  ample  size, 

Is  now  a  prison  harsh  and  rude ; 

Beneath  the  castle  deep  it  lies : 

And,  pent  within  the  narrow  cell, 

To  hew  the  living  rock  profound, 

How  will  her  spirit  chafe  and  swell  1 

The  floor  to  pave,  the  arch  to  round, 

How  brook  the  stern  monastic  laws ! 

There  never  toil'd  a  mortal  arm, 

The  penance  how — and  I  the  cause  ! — • 

It  all  was  wrought  by  word  and  charm ; 

Vigil  and  scour  ^ — perchance  even  worse  !" — 

And  I  have  heard  my  grandsire  say, 

And  twice  he  rose  to  cry,  "  To  horse  !" — 

That  the  wild  clamor  and  affray 

And  twice  Ins  Sovereign's  mandate  came, 

Of  those  dread  artisans  of  hell, 

Like  damp  upon  a  kindling  flame  ; 

Who  labor'd  under  Hugo's  spell, 

And  twice  he  thought,  "  Gave  I  not  charge 

Sounded  as  loud  as  ocean's  war, 

She  should  be  safe,  though  not  at  large  1 

Among  the  caverns  of  Dunbar. 

They  durst  not,  for  their  island,  shred 

One  golden  ringlet  from  her  head." 

XX. 

"  The  King  Lord  Gifford's  castle  sought, 

XVIII. 

Deep  laboring  with  uncertain  thought ; 

Wlrile  thus  in  Marmion's  bosom  strove 

Even  then  he  muster'd  all  his  host, 

Repentance  and  reviving  love, 

To  meet  upon  the  western  coast : 

Like  wlurl winds,  whose  contending  sway 

For  Norse  and  Danish  galleys  plied 

I've  seen  Loch  Vennachar  obey, 

Their  oars  within  the  frith  of  Clyde* 

Their  Host  the  Palmer's  speech  had  heard, 

There  floated  Haco's  banner  trim,4 

And,  talkative,  took  up  the  word : 

Above  Norweyan  warriors  grim,6 

"  Ay,  reverend  Pilgrim,  you,  who  stray 

Savage  of  heart,  and  large  of  limb , 

From  Scotland's  simple  land  away,3 

Threatening  both  continent  and  isle, 

To  visit  realms  afar, 

Bute,  Arran,  Cunninghame,  and  Kyle. 

'  The  MS.  reads  :— 

How  will  her  ardent  spirit  swell, 

"  Since  fiercer  passions  wild  and  high, 

And  chafe  within  the  narrow  cell !" 

Have  flush'd  her  cheek  with  deeper  dye, 

2  MS. — "  From  this  plain  simple  land  away.' 

And  years  of  guilt,  and  of  disguise, 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P. 

Have  steel'd  her  brow,  and  arm'd  her  eyes, 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q,. 

Aiid  I  the  cause — for  whom  were  given 

6  MS. — "  There  floated  Haco's  banner  grim 

Her  peace  on  earth,  her  hopes  in  heaven  !— 

O'er  fierce  of  heart  and  large  of  limb 

CANTO  III. 


MARMION. 


Ill 


Lord  Gifford,  deep  beneath  the  ground, 

As  born  upon  that  blessed  night4 

Heard  Alexander's  bugle  sound, 

"When  yawning  graves,  and  dying  groan, 

And  tarried  not  his  garb  to  change, 

Proclaim'd  hell's  empire  overthrown, — 

But,  in  his  wizard  habit  strange,1 

"With  untaught  valor  shalt  compel 

Came  forth, — a  quaint  and  fearful  sight ; 

Response  denied  to  magic  spell.' — 6 

His  mantle  lined  with  fox-skins  white ; 

*  Gramercy,'  quoth  out  Monarch  free, 

His  high  and  wrinkled  forehead  bore 

'  Place  him  but  front  to  front  with  me. 

A  pointed  cap,  such  as  of  yore 

And,  by  this  good  and  honor'd  brand, 

Clerks  say  that  Pharaoh's  Magi  wore : 

The  gift  of  Coeur-de-Lion's  hand, 

His  shoes  were  mark'd  with  cross  and  spell, 

Soothly  I  swear,  that,  tide  what  tide, 

Upon  his  breast  a  pentacle  ;2 

The  demon  shall  a  buffet  bide.' — 6 

His  zone,  of  virgin  parchment  thin, 

His  bearing  bold  the  wizard  view'd, 

Or,  as  some  tell,  of  dead  man's  skin, 

And  thus,  well  pleased,  his  speech  renew'd:— ■ 

Bore  many  a  planetary  sign, 

'  There  spoke  the  blood  of  Malcolm ! — mark : 

Combust,  and  retrograde,  and  trine  ;8 

Forth,  pacing  hence,  at  midnight  dark, 

And  in  his  hand  he  held  prepared, 

The  rampart  seek,  whose  circling  crown7 

A  naked  sword  without  a  guard. 

Crests  the  ascent  of  yonder  down  : 

A  southern  entrance  shalt  thou  find ; 

XXL 

There  halt,  and  there  thy  bugle  wind, 

"  Dire  dealings  with  the  fiendish  race 

And  trust  thine  elfin  foe  to  see. 

Had  mark'd  strange  lines  upon  his  face ; 

In  guise  of  thy  worst  enemy : 

Vigil  and  fast  had  worn  him  grim, 

Couch  then  thy  lance,  and  spur  thy  steed — 

His  eyesight  dazzled  seem'd  and  dim, 

Upon  him !  and  Saint  George  to  speed ! 

As  one  unused  to  upper  day ; 

If  he  go  down,  thou  soon  shalt  know 

Even  his  own  menials  with  dismay 

Whate'er  these  airy  sprites  can  show  ■  - 

Beheld,  Sir  Knight,  the  grisly  Sire, 

If  thy  heart  fail  thee  in  the  strife, 

In  his  unwonted  wild  attire  ; 

I  am  no  warrant  for  thy  life.' 

Unwonted,  for  traditions  run, 

He  seldom  thus  beheld  the  sun. —                    • 

XXIII. 

•  I  know,'  he  said — his  voice  was  hoarse, 

"  Soon  as  the  midnight  bell  did  ring, 

And  broken  seem'd  its  hollow  force, — 

Alone,  and  arm'd,  forth  rode  the  King 

1 1  know  the  cause,  although  untold, 

To  that  old  camp's  deserted  round  :8 

"Why  the  King  seeks  his  vassal's  hold : 

Sir  Knight,  you  well  might  mark  the  mouncl 

Vainly  from  me  my  liege  would  know 

Left  hand  the  town, — the  Pictish  race, 

His  kingdom's  future  weal  or  woe ; 

The  trench,  long  since,  in  blood  did  trace ; 

But  yet,  if  strong  his  arm  and  heart, 

The  moor  around  is  brown  and  bare, 

His  courage  may  do  more  than  art. 

The  space  within  is  green  and  fair. 

The  spot  our  village  children  know, 

XXII. 

For  there  the  earliest  wild-flowers  grow ; 

" '  Of  middle  air  the  demons  proud, 

But  woe  betide  the  wandering  wight, 

"Who  ride  upon  the  racking  cloud, 

That  treads  its  circle  in  the  night ! 

Can  read,  in  fix'd  or  wandering  star, 

The  breadth  across,  a  bowshot  clear, 

The  issue  of  events  afar  ; 

Gives  ample  space  for  full  career : 

But  still  their  sullen  aid  withhold, 

Opposed  to  the  four  points  of  heaven, 

Save  when  by  mightier  force  controll'd. 

By  four  deep  gaps  are  entrance  given. 

Such  late  I  summon'd  to  my  hall ; 

The  southernmost  our  Monarch  past,9 

And  though  so  potent  was  the  call, 

Halted,  and  blew  a  gallant  blast ; 

That  scarce  the  deepest  nook  of  hell 

And  on  the  north,  within  the  ring, 

I  deem'd  a  refuge  from  the  spell, 

Appear'd  the  form  of  England's  King, 

Yet,  obstinate  in  silence  still, 

Who  then,  a  thousand  leagues  afar, 

The  haughty  demon  mocks  my  skill. 

In  Palestine  waged  holy  war : 

But  thou — who  little  know'st  thy  might, 

Yet  arms  like  England's  did  he  wield, 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R                        2  Ibid.  Note  2  S. 

e  MS.—"  Bicker  and  buffet  he  shall  bide." 

8  MS. — "  Bare  many  a  character  and  sign, 
Of  planets  retrograde  and  trine." 

7  MS.-"  Seek  J  that  |  old  j  camp  which  j  M  &  ^^ 
(  yon  )        (  trench  that    > 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 

8  MS. — "  Alone,  and  arm'd,  rode  forth  the  King 

*  MS  — "  With  untaught  valor  mayst  compel 

To  that  encampment's  haunted  round  " 

What  is  denied  to  magic  spell." 

9  MS. — "  The  southern  gate  oui  Monarch  past." 

112 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III 


Alike  the  leopards  in  the  shield, 

The  Elfin  Warrior  doth  wield, 

Alike  his  Syrian  courser's  frame, 

Upon  the  brown  hill's  breast  ;4 

The  rider's  length  of  limb  the  same : 

And  many  a  knight  hath  proved  his  chance. 

Long  afterwards  did  Scotland  know, 

In  the  charm'd  ring  to  break  a  lance, 

Fell  Edward1  was  her  deadliest  foe. 

But  all  have  foully  sped ; 

Save  two,  as  legends  tell,  and  they 

XXIY. 

Were  Wallace  wight,  and  Gilbert  Hay. — 

"  The  vision  made  our  Monarch  start, 

Gentles,  my  tale  is  said." 

But  soon  he  mann'd  his  noble  heart, 

And  in  the  first  career  they  ran, 

XXVI. 

The  Elfin  Knight  fell,  horse  and -man; 

The  quaighs5  were  deep,  the  liquor  strong, 

Yet  did  a  splinter  of  his  lance 

And  on  the  tale  the  yeoman-throng 

Through  Alexander's  visor  glance, 

Had  made  a  comment  sage  and  long, 

And  razed  the  skin — a  puny  wound. 

But  Marmion  gave  a  sign  : 

The  King,  light  leaping  to  the  ground, 

And,  with  their  lord,  the  squires  retire ; 

With  naked  blade  his  phantom  foe 

The  rest,  around  the  hostel  fire, 

Compell'd  the  future  war  to  show. 

Their  drowsy  limbs  recline  ; 

Of  Largs  he  saw  the  glorious  plain, 

For  pillow,  underneath  each  head, 

Where  still  gigantic  bones  remain, 

The  quiver  and  the  targe  were  laid. 

Memorial  of  the  Danish  war  ; 

Deep  slumbering  on  the  hostel  floor,8 

Himself  he  saw,  amid  the  field, 

Oppress'd  with  toil  and  ale,  they  snore : 

On  high  his  brandish'd  war-axe  wield, 

The  dying  flame,  in  fitful  change, 

And  strike  proud  Haco  from  his  car, 

Threw  on  the  group  its  shadows  strange. 

While  all  around  the  shadowy  Kings    ' 

Denmark's  grim  ravens  cower'd  their  wings. 

XXVII. 

'Tis  said,  that,  in  that  awful  night, 

Apart,  and  nestling  in  the  hay 

Remoter  visions  met  his  sight, 

Of  a  waste  loft,  Fitz-Eustace  lay ; 

Foreshowing  future  conquests  far,2 

Scarce,  by  the  pale  moonlight,  were  seen 

When  our  sons'  sons  wage  northern  war ; 

•The  foldings  of  his  mantle  green : 

A  royal  city,  tower  and  spire, 

Lightly  he  dreamt,  as  youth  will  dream, 

Redden'd  the  midnight  sky  with  fire, 

Of  sport  by  thicket,  or  by  stream, 

And  shouting  crews  her  navy  bore, 

Of  hawk  or  hound,  of  ring  or  glove, 

Triumphant  to  the  victor  shore.3 

Or,  lighter  yet,  of  lady's  love. 

Such  signs  may  learned  clerks  explain, 

A  cautious  tread  his  slumber  broke, 

They  pass  the  wit  of  simple  swain. 

And,  close  beside  him,  when  he  woke, 

In  moonbeam  half,  and  half  in  gloom, 

XXV. 

Stood  a  tall  form,  with  nodding  plume ; 

"  The  joyful  King  turn'd  home  again, 

But,  ere  his  dagger  Eustace  drew, 

Headed  liis  host,  and  quell'd  the  Dane ; 

His  master  Marmion's  voice  he  knew.' 

But  yearly,  when  return' d  the  night 

Of  his  strange  combat  with  the  sprite, 

XXVIII. 

His  wound  must  bleed  and  smart ; 

— "  Fitz-Eustace  !  rise,  I  cannot  rest ; 

Lord  Gifford  then  would  gibing  say, 

Yon  churl's  wild  legend  haunts  my  breast, 

•  Bold  as  ye  were,  my  liege,  ye  pay 

And  graver  thoughts  have  chafed  my  mood : 

The  penance  of  your  start.' 

The  ah  must  cool  my  feverish  blood ; 

Long  since,  beneath  Dunfermline's  nave, 

And  fain  would  I  ride  forth,  to  see 

King  Alexander  fills  his  grave, 

The  scene  of  elfin  chivalry. 

Our  Lady  give  him  rest  1 

Arise,  and  saddle  me  my  steed  ;8 

Yet  still  the  knightly  spear  and  shield  • 

And,  gentle  Eustace,  take  good  heed 

i  Edward  I.,  surnamed  Longshanks. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U. 

*  MS.—"  To  be  fulfill'd  in  times  afar, 

6  A  wooden  cup,  composed  of  staves  hooped  together. 

When  our  sons'  sons  wage  northern  war  J 

6  MS. — "  Deep  slumbering  on  the  floor  of  clay, 

A  royal  city's  towers  and  spires 

Oppress'd  with  toil  and  ale,  they  lay  , 

Redden'd  the  midnight  sky  with  fires, 

The  dying  flame,  in  fitful  change, 

And  shouting  crews  her  navy  bore, 

Threw  on  them  lights  and  shadows  strange." 

Triumphant,  from  the  vanquish'd  shore." 

7  MS. — "  But,  ere  his  dagger  Eustace  drew, 

*  For  an  account  of  the  expedition  to  Copenhagen  in  1801, 

It  spoke — Lord  Marmion's  voice  he  knew  " 

ee  Southey's  Life  of  Nelson,  chap.  vii. 

8  MS. — "  Come  down  and  saddle  me  my  steed." 

Z^£*£JJ3iiA*  .•*..-'.  *ft-rf.:  ■•-■*- 


oanto  iv.                                                 MARMIOJN.                                                          113 

Thou  dost  not  rouse  these  drowsy  slaves ; 

The  foot-tramp  of  a  flying  steed, 

I  would  not,  that  the  prating  knaves 

Come  town- ward  rushing  on ; 

Had  cause  for  saying,  o'er  their  ale, 

First,  dead,  as  if  on  turf  it  trode, 

That  I  could  credit  such  a  tale." — 

Then,  clattering,  on  the  village  road, — 

Then  softly  down  the  steps  they  slid, 

In  other  pace  than  forth  he  yode,8 

Eustace  the  stable  door  undid, 

Return'd  Lord  Marmion. 

And,  darkling,  Marmion's  steed  array'd, 

Down  hastily  he  sprung  from  selle, 

While,  whispering,  thus  the  Baron  said : — 

And,  in  his  haste,  wellnigh  he  fell ; 

To  the  squire's  hand  the  rein  he  threw, 

XXIX. 

And  spoke  no  word  as  he  withdrew : 

"  Didst  never,  good  my  youth,  hear  tell, 

But  yet  the  moonlight  did  betray, 

That  on  the  hour  when  I  was  born, 

The  falcon-crest  was  soil'd  with  clay ; 

Saint  George,  who  graced  my  sire's  chapelle, 

And  plainly  might  Fitz-Eustace  see, 

Down  from  his  steed  of  marble  fell, 

By  stains  upon  the  charger's  knee, 

A  weary  wight  forlorn  ? 

And  his  left  side,  that  on  the  moor 

The  flattering  chaplains  all  agree, 

He  had  not  kept  his  footing  sure. 

The  champion  left  his  steed  to  me. 

Long  musing  on  these  wondrous  signs, 

I  would,  the  omen's  truth  to  show, 

At  length  to  rest  the  squire  reclines, 

That  I  could  meet  this  Elfin  Foe  I1 

Broken  and  short ;  for  still,  between, 

Blithe  would  I  battle,  for  the  right 

"Would  dreams  of  terror  intervene : 

To  ask  one  question  at  the  sprite : — 

Eustace  did  ne'er  so  blithely  mark 

Vain  thought  1  for  elves,  if  elves  there  be, 

The  first  notes  of  the  morning  lark. 

An  empty  race,  by  fount  or  sea, 

To  dashing  waters  dance  and  sing,8 

Or  round  the  green  oak  wheel  their  ring." 
Thus  speaking,  he  his  steed  bestrode, 

Aid  from  the  hostel  slowly  rode. 

JHctrmicrtt. 

XXX. 

Fitz-Eustace  follow'd  him  abroad, 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FOURTH. 

And  mark'd  him  pace  the  village  road, 
And  listen'd  to  his  horse's  tramp, 

Till,  by  the  lessening  sound, 
He  judged  that  of  the  Pictish  camp 

TO 

JAMES   SKENE,  ESQ.* 

Lord  Marmion  sought  the  round. 

Ashestiel,  Ettrick  Forest. 

"Wonder  it  seem'd,  in  the  squire's  eyes, 

An  ancient  minstrel  sagely  said, 

That  one,  so  wary  held,  and  wise, — 

"  "Where  is  the  life  which  late  we  led  ?" 

Of  whom  'twas  said,  he  scarce  received 

That  Motley  clown  in  Arden  wood, 

For  gospel,  what  the  church  believed, — 

Whom  humorous  Jacques  with  envy  view'd, 

Should,  stirr'd  by  idle  tale, 

Not  even  that  clown  could  amplify, 

Ride  forth  in  silence  of  the  night, 

On  this  trite  text,  so  long  as  I. 

As  hoping  half  to  meet  a  sprite, 

Eleven  years  we  now  may  tell, 

Array'd  in  plate  and  mail. 

Since  we  have  known  each  other  well ; 

For  little  did  Fitz-Eustace  know, 

Since,  riding  side  by  side,  our  hand 

That  passions,  in  contending  flow, 

First  drew  the  voluntary  brand  ;5 

Unfix  the  strongest  mind ; 

And  sure,  through  many  a  varied  scene, 

"Wearied  from  doubt  to  doubt  to  flee, 

Unkindness  never  came  between. 

"We  welcome  fond  credulity, 

Away  these  winged  years  have  flown, 

Guide  confident,  though  blind. 

To  join  the  mass  of  ages  gone ; 

And  though  deep  mark'd,  like  all  below, 

XXXI 

With  checker d  shades  of  joy  and  woe ; 

Little  for  this  Fitz-Eustace  cared, 

Though  thou  o'er  realms  and  seas  hast  ranged. 

But,  patient,  waited  till  he  heard, 

Mark'd  cities  lost,  and  empires  changed, 

At  distance,  prick'd  to  utmost  speed, 

While  here,  at  home,  my  narrower  ken 

l  MS. — "  I  would,  to  prove  the  omen  right, 

*  James  Skene,  Esq.,  of  Rubislaw,  Aberdeenshire,  was  Cor- 

That I  could  meet  this  Elfin  Knight !" 

net  in  the  Royal  Edinburgh  Light  Horse  Volunteers  ,  and  Su 

t  MS. — "  Dance  to  the  wild  waves'  murmuring." 

Walter  Scott  was  Quartermaster  of  the  same  corps. 

•  Yode,  used  by  old  poets  for  went 
15 

s  MS. — "  Unsheath'd  the  voluntary  brand." 

114 


SCOTT'S  rOETLOAJL   WORKS. 


CANTO  IV. 


Somewhat  of  manners  saw,  and  men ; 

Though  varying  wishes,  hopes,  and  fears, 

Fevor'd  the  progress  of  these  years, 

Yet  low,  days,  weeks,  and  months,  but  seem 

The  recollection  of  a  dream, 

iSo  still  we  glide  down  to  the  sea 

Of  fathomless  eternity. 

Even  now  it  scarcely  seems  a  day, 
Sime  first  I  tuned  this  idle  lay; 
A  task  so  often  thrown  aside, 
When  leisure  graver  cares  denied, 
That  now,  November's  dreary  gale, 
Whose  voice  inspired  my  opening  tale, 
That  same  November  gale  once  more 
Whirls  the  dry  leaves  on  Yarrow  shore. 
Their  vex'd  boughs  streaming  to  the  sky, 
Once  more  our  naked  birches  sigh, 
And  Blackhouse  heights,  and  Ettrick  Pen, 
Have  donn'd  their  wintry  shrouds  again : 
And  mountain  dark,  and  flooded  mead,1 
Bid  us  forsake  the  banks  of  Tweed. 
Earlier  than  wont  along  the  sky, 
Mix'd  with  the  rack,  the  snow  mists  fly ; 
The  shepherd,  who  in  summer  sun, 
Had  something  of  our  envy  won, 
As  thou  with  pencil,  I  with  pen, 
The  features  traced  of  hill  and  glen ; — 2 
He  who,  outstretch'd  the  livelong  day, 
At  ease  among  the  heath-flowers  lay, 
View'd  the  light  clouds  with  vacant  look, 
Or  slumber'd  o'er  his  tatter'd  book, 
Or  idly  busied  him  to  guide 
His  angle  o'er  the  lessen'd  tide  ; — 
At  midnight  now,  the  snowy  plain 
Finds  sterner  labor  for  the  swain. 

When  red  hath  set  the  beamless  sun,8 
Through  heavy  vapors  dark  and  dun ; 
When  the  tired  ploughman,  dry  and  warm, 
Hears,  half  asleep,  the  rising  storm 
Hurling  the  hail,  and  sleeted  rain, 
Against  the  casement's  tinkling  pane  ; 
The  sounds  that  drive  wild  deer,  and  fox, 
To  shelter  in  the  brake  and  rocks, 
Are  warnings  which  the  shepherd  ask 
To  dismal  and  to  dangerous  task. 

i  MS. — M  And  noon-tide  mist,  and  flooded  mead." 

2  Various  illustrations  of  the  Poetry  and  Novels  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  from  designs  by  Mr.  Skene,  have  since  been 
published. 

3  MS. — "  When  red  hath  set  the  evening  sun, 

And  loud  winds  speak  the  storm  begun." 

4  MS. — "  Till  thickly  drives  the  flaky  snow, 

And  forth  the  hardy  swain  must  go, 
While,  with  dejected  look  and  whine,"  &c. 
6  MS. — "  The  frozen  blast  that  sweeps  the  fells.' 
6  MS. — "  His  cottage  window  beams  a  star,— 


Oft  he  looks  forth,  and  hopes,  in  vain, 
The  blast  may  sink  in  mellowing  rain ; 
Till,  dark  above,  and  white  below,4 
Decided  drives  the  flaky  snow, 
And  forth  the  hardy  swain  must  go. 
Long,  with  dejected  look  and  whine, 
To  leave  the  hearth  his  dogs  repine  ; 
Whistling  and  cheering  them  to  aid, 
Around  liis  back  he  wreathes  the  plaid : 
His  flock  he  gathers,  and  he  guides, 
To  open  downs,  and  mountain-sides, 
Where  fiercest  though  the  tempest  blow, 
Least  deeply  lies  the  drift  below. 
The  blast,  that  whistles  o'er  the  fells,5 
Stiffens  his  locks  to  icicles ; 
Oft  he  looks  back,  while  streaming  far, 
His  cottage  window  seems  a  star, — 6 
Loses  its  feeble  gleam, — and  then 
Turns  patient  to  the  blast  again, 
And,  facing  to  the  tempest's  sweep, 
Drives   through   the   gloom   his   lagging 

sheep. 
If  fails  his  heart,  if  his  limbs  fail, 
Benumbing  death  is  in  the  gale : 
His  paths,  his  landmarks,  all  unknown, 
Close  to  the  hut,  no  more  his  own, 
Close  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain, 
The  morn  may  find  the  stiffen'd  swain :' 
The  widow  sees,  at  dawning  pale, 
His  orphans  raise  their  feeble  wail ; 
And,  close  beside  Mm,  in  the  snow, 
Poor  Yarrow,  partner  of  their  woe, 
Couches  upOn  his  master's  breast,8 
And  licks  his  cheek  to  break  his  rest. 

Who  envies  now  the  shepherd's  lot, 
His  healthy  fare,  his  rural  cot, 
His  summer  couch  by  greenwood  tree, 
His  rustic  kirn's9  loud  revelry, 
His  native  hill-notes,  tuned  on  high, 
To  Marion  of  the  blithesome  eye  ;10 
His  crook,  his  scrip,  his  oaten  reed 
And  all  Arcadia's  golden  creed  ? 

Changes  not  so  with  us,  my  Skene, 
Of  human  life  the  varying  scene  ? 
Our  youthful  summer  oft  we  see11 

But  soon  he  loses  it, — and  then 
Turns  patient  to  his  task  again." 

7  MS. — *'  The  morn  shall  find  the  stiffen'd  swain  : 
His  widow  sees,  at  morning  pale, 
His  children  rise,  and  raise  their  wail." 

Compare  the  celebrated  description  oi  a  man  perishing  in  i 
snow,  in  Thomson's  Winter. — See  Appendix,  Note  2  V 

s  MS. — "  Couches  upon  his  frozen  breast." 

9  The  Scottish  Harvest-home. 

io  MS. — "  His  native  wild-notes'  melody, 

To  Marion's  blithely  blinking  eye." 

11  MS  — "  Our  youthful  summer  oft  we  see 


!ANTO  IV. 


MAKM10N. 


lis 


Dance  by  on  wings  of  game  and  glee, 
While  the  dark  storm  reserves  its  rage, 
Against  the  winter  of  our  age : 
A.s  he,  the  ancient  Chief  of  Troy, 
fiis  manhood  spent  in  peace  and  joy  ; 
But  Grecian  fires,  and  loud  alarms, 
Call'd  ancient  Priam  forth  to  arms.1 
Then  happy  those,  since  each  must  drain 
H">  share  of  pleasure,  share  of  pain, — 
Then  happy  those,  beloved  of  Heaven, 
To  whom  the  mingled  cup  is  given  • 
Whose  lenient  sorrows  find  relief, 
Whose  joys  are  chasten'd  by  their  grief. 
And  such  a  lot,  my  Skene,  was  thine, 
When  thou  of  late,  wert  doom'd  to  twine, — 
Just  when  thy  bridal  hour  was  by, — 
The  cypress  with  the  myrtle  tie. 
Just  on  thy  bride  her  Sire  had  smiled,2 
And  bless'd  the  union  of  Ins  child, 
When  love  must  change  its  joyous  cheer, 
And  wipe  affection's  filial  tear. 
Nor  did  the  actions  next  his  end,3 
Speak  more  the  father  than  the  friend  : 
Scarce  had  lamented  Forbes4  paid 
The  tribute  to  his  Minstrel's  shade ; 
The  tale  of  friendship  scarce  was  told, 
Ere  the  narrator's  heart  was  cold — 
Far  may  we  search  before  we  find 
A  heart  so  manly  and  so  kind  ! 
But  not  around  his  honor'd  urn, 
Shall  friends  alone  and  kindred  mourn  ; 
The  thousand  eyes  his  care  had  dried, 
Pour  at  his  name  a  bitter  tide ; 
And  frequent  falls  the  grateful  dew, 
For  benefits  the  world  ne'er  knew. 
If  mortal  charity  dare  claim 
The  Almighty's  attributed  name, 
Inscribe  above  his  mouldering  clay, 
"  The  widow's  shield,  the  orphan's  stay." 
Nor,  though  it  wake  thy  sorrow,  deem 
My  verse  intrudes  on  this  sad  theme ; 
For  sacred  was  the  pen  that  wrote, 
"  Thy  father's  friend  forget  thou  not :" 
And  grateful  title  may  I  plead,8 
For  many  a  kindly  word  and  deed, 

Dance  by  on  wings  of  mirth  and  glee, 
While  the  dark  storm  reserves  its  rage, 
To  crush  the  winter  of  our  age." 
1  MS. — "  Call'd  forth  his  feeble  age  to  arms." 

*  MS. — "  Scarce  on  thy  bride  her  sire  had  smiled." 

*  MS. — "  But  even  the  actions  next  his  end, 

Spoke  the  fond  sire  and  faithful  friend." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  W. 

6  MS. — "  And  nearer  title  may  I  plead." 

6  MS. — "  Our  thoughts  in  social  silence  too." 

7  Camp  was  a  favorite  dog  of  the  Poet's,  a  bull-terrier  of  ex- 
traordinary sagacity.  He  is  introduced  in  Raeburn's  portrait 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  now  at  Dalkeith  Palace.— Ed. 

8  MS. — "  Till  oft  orr  voice  suppress'd  the  feud." 


To  bring  my  tribute  to  his  grave  : — 
'Tis  little — but  'tis  all  I  have. 

To  thee,  perchance,  this  rambling  rtrain 
Recalls  our  summer  walks  again  ; 
When,  doing  naught, — and,  to  speak  true, 
Not  anxious  to  find  aught  to  do, — 
The  wild  unbounded  hills  we  ranged, 
While  oft  our  talk  its  topic  changed, 
And,  desultory  as  our  way, 
Ranged,  unconfined,  from  grave  to  gay. 
Even  when  it  flagg'd,  as  oft  will  chance, 
No  effort  made  to  break  its  trance, 
We  could  right  pleasantly  pursue 
Our  sports  in  social  silence  too  ;6 
Thou  gravely  laboring  to  portray 
The  blighted  oak's  fantastic  spray; 
I  spelling  o'er,  with  much  delight, 
The  legend  of  that  antique  knight, 
Tirante  by  name,  yclep'd  the  White. 
At  either's  feet  a  trusty  squire, 
Pandour  and  Camp,7  with  eyes  of  fire, 
Jealous,  each  other's  motions  view'd, 
And  scarce  suppress'd  their  ancient  feud.8 
The  laverock  whistled  from  the  cloud ; 
The  stream  was  lively,  but  not  loud ; 
From  the  wliite  thorn  the  May-flower  shed 
Its  dewy  fragrance  round  our  head : 
Not  Ariel  lived  more  merrily 
Under  the  blossom'd  bough,  than  we. 

And  blithesome  nights,  too,  have  been  ours, 
When  Winter  stript  the  summer's  bowers. 
Careless  we  heard,  what  now  I  hear,9 
The  wild  blast  sighing  deep  and  drear, 
When  fires  were  bright,  and  lamps  beam'd 

And  ladies  tuned  the  lovely  lay ; 
And  he  was  held  a  laggard  soul, 
Who  shunn'd  to  quaff  the  sparkling  bowl. 
Then  he,  whose  absence  we  deplore,10 
Who  breathes  the  gales  of  Devon's  shore, 
The  longer  miss'd,  bewail'd  the  more  ; 

And  thou,  and  I,  and  dear-loved  R ,n 

And  one  whose  name  I  may  not  say,13 — 


9  MS. — "  When  light  we  heard  what  now  I  hear." 
io  Colin  Mackenzie,  Esq.,  of  Portmore,  one  of  the  Principa 
Clerks  of  Session  at  Edinburgh,  and  through  life  an  intimate 
friend  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  died  on  10th  September,  1830.— En. 

11  Sir  William  Rae  of  St.  Catharine's,  Bart.,  subsequently 
Lord  Advocate  of  Scotland,  was  a  distinguished  member  of 
the  volunteer  corps  to  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  belonged  ;  and 
he,  the  Poet,  Mr.  Skene,  Mr.  Mackenzie,  and  a  few  othei 
friends,  had  formed  themselves  into  a  little  semi-military  club, 
the  meetings  of  which  were  held  at  their  family  supper-tab'es 
in  rotation. — Ed. 

12  The  gentleman  whose  name  the  Poet  "  might  not  say," 
was  the  late  Sir  William  Forbes,  of  Pitsligo,  Bart.,  son  of  th« 
author  of  the  Life  of  Beattie,  and  brother-in-law  of  Mr.  Skewi 


116 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV. 


For  not  Mimosa's  tender  tree 

Shrinks  sooner  from  the  touch  than  he, — 

In  merry  chorus  well  combined. 

With  laughter  drown' d  the  whistling  wind. 

Mirth  was  within ;  and  Care  without 

Might  gnaw  her  nails  to  hear  our  shout. 

Not  but  amid  the  buxom  scene 

Some  grave  discourse  might  intervene — 

Of  th  j  good  horse  that  bore  him  best, 

His  shoulder,  hoof,  and  arching  crest : 

For,  like  mad  Tom's,1  our  chiefest  care, 

Was  horse  to  ride,  and  weapon  wear. 

Such  nights  we've  had ;  and,  though  the  game5 

Of  manhood  be  more  sober  tame, 

And  though  the  field-day,  or  the  drill, 

S3em  less  important  now — yet  still 

Such  may  we  hope  to  share  again. 

The  sprightly  thought  insj)ires  my  strain  1 

And  mark,  how,  like  a  horseman  true, 

Lord  Marmion's  march  I  thus  renew. 


M  a  x  m  t  o  n . 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


I. 

Eustace,  I  said,  did  blithely  mark 
The  first  notes  of  the  merry  lark. 
The  lark  sang  shrill,  the  cock  he  crew, 
And  loudly  Marmion's  bugles  blew, 
And  with  their  light  and  lively  call, 
Brought  groom  and  yeoman  to  the  stall. 

Whistling  they  came,  and  free  of  heart, 
But  soon  their  mood  was  changed  ; 

Complaint  was  heard  on  every  part, 
Of  something  disarranged. 
Some  clamor'd  loud  for  armor  lost ; 
Some  brawl'd  and  wrangled  with  the  host ; 
"  By  Becket's  bones,"  cried  one,  "  I  fear,8 
That  some  false  Scot  has  stolen  my  spear !" — 
Young  Blount,  Lord  Marmion's  second  squire 
Found  his  steed  wet  with  sweat  and  mire  ; 
Although  the  rated  horse-boy  sware, 
Last  night  he  dress'd  him  sleek  and  fair. 
While  chafed  the  impatient  squire  like  thunder, 
Old  Hubert  shouts,  in  fear  and  wonder, — 
"  Help,  gentle  Blount !  help,  comrades  all  1 
Bevis  lies  dying  in  his  stall : 
To  Marmion  who  the  plight  dare  tell, 

Jirough  life  an  intimate,  and  latterly  a  generous  friend  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott— died  24th  October,  1828.— Ed. 

i  See  King  Lear. 

2  MS. — "  Such  nights  we've  had  ;  and  though  our  game 
Advance  of  years  may  something  tame." 


Of  the  good  steed  he  loves  so  well  V* 
Gaping  for  fear  and  ruth,  they  saw 
The  charger  panting  on  his  straw  ;4 
Till  one,  who  would  seem  wisest,  cried, — 
"  What  else  but  evil  could  betide, 
With  that  cursed  Palmer  for  our  guide  ? 
Better  we  had  through  mire  and  bush 
Been  lantern-led  by  Friar  Rush."4 

II. 

Fitz-Eustace,  who  the  cause  but  guess'd, 

Nor  wholly  understood, 
His  comrades'  clamorous  plaints  suppresa'd 

He  knew  Lord  Marmion's  mood. 
Him,  ere  he  issued  forth,  he  sought, 
And  found  deep  plunged  in  gloomy  thought 

And  did  his  tale  display 
Simply  as  if  he  knew  of  naught 
To  cause  such  disarray. 
Lord  Marmion  gave  attention  cold, 
Nor  marvell'd  at  the  wonders  told, — 
Pass'd  them  as  accidents  of  course, 
And  bade  his  clarions  sound  to  horse. 

III. 
Young  Henry  Blount,  meanwhile,  the  cost 
Had  reckon' d  with  their  Scottish  host ; 
And,  as  the  charge  he  cast  and  paid, 
"  111  thou  deserv'st  thy  hire,"  he  said  ; 
"  Dost  see,  thou  knave,  my  horse's  plight  ? 
Fairies  have  ridden  him  all  the  night, 

And  left  him  in  a  foam  1 
I  trust  that  soon  a  conjuring  band, 
With  English  cross,  and  blazing  brand,' 
Shall  drive  the  devils  from  this  land, 

To  their  infernal  home  : 
For  in  this  haunted  den,  I  trow, 
All  night  they  trample  to  and  fro." — 
The  laughing  host  look'd  on  the  hire,— 
"  Gramercy,  gentle  southern  squire, 
And  if  thou  comest  among  the  rest, 
With  Scottish  broadsword  to  be  blest, 
Sharp  be  the  brand,  and  sure  the  blow, 
And  short  the  pang  to  undergo." 
Here  stay'd  their  talk, — for  Marmion 
Gave  now  the  signal  to  set  on. 
The  Palmer  showing  forth  the  way, 
They  journey'd  all  the  morning  day.7 

IV. 

The  green-sward  way  was  smooth  and  good, 
Through  Humbie's  and  through  Saltoun's  wood 
A  forest  glade,  wl  ich,  varying  still, 

*  MS. — '*  By  Becket's  bones,"  cried  one,  "  I  swear.  * 

*  MS. — "  The  good  horse  panting  on  the  straw." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  X. 

6  MS. — "  With  bloody  cross  and  fiery  brand." 

7  MS. — "  They  journey'd  till  the  middle  day. 


canto  iv.                                             MARMION.                                                        117 

Here  gave  a  view  of  dale  and  hill, 

In  painted  tabards,  proudly  showing 

There  narrower  closed,  till  over  head 

Gules,  Argent,  Or,  and  Azure  glowing, 

A  vaulted  screen  the  branches  made. 

Attendant  on  a  King-at-arms, 

"  A  pleasant  path,"  Fitz-Eustace  said ; 

Whose  hand  the  armorial  truncheon  held, 

"  Such  as  where  errant-knights  might  seo 

That  feudal  strife  had  often  quell' d, 

Adventures  of  high  chivalry ; 

When  wildest  its  alarms. 

Might  meet  some  damsel  flying  fast, 

With  hair  unbound,  and  looks  aghast ; 

VII. 

And  smooth  and  level  course  were  here, 

He  was  a  man  of  middle  age ; 

In  her  defence  to  break  a  spear. 

'In  aspect  manly,  grave,-and  sage, 

Here,  too,  are  twilight  nooks  and  dells ; 

As  on  King's  errand  come  ; 

And  oft,  in  such,  the  story  tells, 

But  in  the  glances  of  his  eye, 

The  damsel  kind,  from  danger  freed, 

A  penetrating,  keen,  and  sly 

Did  grateful  pay  her  champion's  meed." 

Expression  found  its  home ; 

He  spoke  to  cheer  Lord  Marmion's  mind : 

The  flash  of  that  satiric  rage, 

Perchance  to  show  his  lore  design'd ; 

Which,  bursting  on  the  early  stage, 

For  Eustace  much  had  pored 

Branded  the  vices  of  the  age, 

Upon  a  huge  romantic  tome,1 

And  broke  the  keys  of  Rome.4 

In  the  hall  window  of  his  home, 

On  milk-wlute  palfrey  forth  he  paced ; 

Imprinted  at  the  antique  dome 

His  cap  of  maintenance  was  graced 

Of  Caxton,  or  De  Worde.2 

With  the  proud  heron-plume 

Therefore  he  spoke, — but  spoke  in  vain, 

From  his  steed's  shoulder,  loin,  and  breast. 

For  Marmion  answer  d  naught  again. 

Silk  housings  swept  the  ground, 

With  Scotland's  arms,  device,  and  crest. 

V. 

Embroider'd  round  and  round. 

Now  sudden,  distant  trumpets  shrill, 

The  double  tressure  might  you  see, 

In  notes  prolong'd  by  wood  and  hill, 

First  by  Achaius  borne, 

Were  heard  to  echo  far ; 

The  thistle  and  the  fleur-de-lis, 

Each  ready  archer  grasp'd  his  bow, 

And  gallant  unicorn.5 

But  by  the  flourish  soon  they  know, 

So  bright  the  King's  armorial  coat, 

They  breathed  no  point  of  war. 

That  scarce  the  dazzled  eye  could  note, 

Yet  cautious,  as  in  foeman's  land, 

In  living  colors,  blazon'd  brave, 

Lord  Marmion's  order  speeds  the  band, 

The  Lion,  which  his  title  gave, 

Some  opener  ground  to  gain ; 

A  train,  which  well  beseem'd  his  state, 

And  scarce  a  furlong  had  they  rode, 

But  all  unarm' d,  around  him  wait. 

When  thinner  trees,  receding,  show'd 

Still  is  thy  name  in  high  account, 

A  little  woodland  plain. 

And  still  thy  verse  has  charms, 

Just  in  that  advantageous  glade, 

Sir' David  Lindesay  of  the  Mount, 

The  halting  troop  a  line  had  made, 

Lord  Lion  King-at-arms  !6 

As  forth  from  the  opposing  shade 

Issued  a  gallant  train. 

VIII. 

Down  from  his  horse  did  Marmion  spring, 

VI. 

Soon  as  he  saw  the  Lion-King ; 

First  came  the  trumpets,  a£  whose  clang 

For  well  the  stately  Baron  knew 

So  late  the  forest  echoes  rang ; 

To  him  such  courtesy  was  due, 

On  prancing  steeds  they  forward  press'd, 

Whom  royal  James  himself  had  crown'd, 

With  scarlet  mantle,  azure  vest ; 

And  on  his  temples  placed  the  round 

Each  at  Ins  trump  a  banner  wore, 

Of  Scotland's  ancient  diadem ; 

Which  Scotland's  royal  scutcheon3  bore  : 

And  wet  his  brow  with  hallow'd  wine, 

Heralds  and  pursuivants,  by  name 

And  on  Ins  finger  given  to  sliine 

Bute,  Islay,  Marchmount,  Rothsay,  came, 

The  emblematic  gem. 

i  MS. — "  Upon  a  Hack  and  ponderous  tome." 

"scarlet  tabards;"  and  in  line  12th,  "blazoned  truncheon" 

»  William  Caxton,  the  earliest  English  printer,  was  born  it 

*  MS.—"  The  flash  of  that  satiric  rage, 

Kent,  a.  D.  1412,  and  died  in  1491.     Wynken  de  Worde  wn.. 

Which,  bursting  from  the  early  stage, 

his  next  successor  in  the  production  of  those 

Lash'd  the  coarse  vices  of  the  age,"  &c. 

''Rare  volumes,  dark  with  tamish'd  gold," 

6  MS. — "  Silver  unicorn."     This,  and  the  seven  preceding 

which  are  now  the  delight  of  bibliomaniacs. 

lines,  are  interpolated  in  the  blank  page  of  the  MS 

9  The  MS.  has  "  Scotland's  royal  Lion"  here  ;  in  line  9th, 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 

118                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  iv. 

Their  mutual  greetings  duly  made, 

Thy  turrets  rude,  and  totter'd  Keep, 

The  Lion  thus  his  message  said  : — 

Have  been  the  minstrel's  loved  resort. 

"  Though  Scotland's  King  hath  deeply  swore1 

Oft  have  I  traced,  within  thy  fort, 

Ne'er  to  knit  faith  with  Henry  more, 

Of  mouldering  shields  the  mystic  sense, 

And  strictly  hath  forbid  resort 

Scutcheons  of  honor,  or  pretence, 

From  England  to  his  royal  court ; 

Quarter'd  in  old  armorial  sort, 

Yet,  for  he  knows  Lord  Marmion's  name, 

Remains  of  rude  magnificence. 

And  honors  much  his  warlike  fame, 

JSTor  wholly  yet  had  time  defaced 

My  liege  hath  deem'd  it  shame,  and  lack 

Thy  lordly  gallery  fair ; 

Of  courtesy,  to  turn  him  back  ; 

ISTor  yet  the  stony  cord  unbraced, 

And.  by  his  order,  I,  your  guide, 

Whose  twisted  knots,  with  roses  laced^ 

Must  lodging  fit  and  fair  provide, 

Adorn  thy  ruin'd  stair. 

Till  finds  King  James  meet  time  to  see 

Still  rises  unimpair'd  below, 

The  flower  of  English  chivalry." 

The  court-yard's  graceful  portico ; 

Above  its  cornice,  row  and  row 

IX. 

Of  fair  hewn  facets  richly  show 

Though  inly  chafed  at  this  delay, 

Their  pointed  diamond  form, 

Lord  Marmion  bears  it  as  he  may. 

Though  there  but  houseless  cattle  go, 

The  Palmer,  his  mysterious  guide, 

To  shield  them  from  the  storm. 

Beholding  thus  his  place  supplied!" 

And,  shuddering,  still  may  we  explore, 

Sought  to  take  leave  in  vain : 

Where  oft  whilom  were  captives  pent, 

Strict  was  the  Lion-King's  command, 

The  dai*kness  of  thy  Massy  Mure  f 

That  none,  who  rode  in  Marmion's  band, 

Or,  from  thy  grass-grown  battlement. 

-Should  sever  from  the  train ; 

May  trace,  in  undulating  line, 

"  England  has  here  enow  of  spies 

The  sluggish  mazes  of  the  Tyne. 

In  Lady  Heron's  witching  eyes :" 

To  Marchmount  thus,  apart,  he  said, 

XII. 

But  fair  pretext  to  Marmion  made. 

Another  aspect  Chrichtoun  show'd, 

The  right  hand  path  they  now  decline, 

As  through  its  portal  Marmion  roue , 

And  trace  against  the  stream  the  Tyne. 

But  yet  'twas  melancholy  ctate 

Received  him  at  the  outer  gate ; 

X. 

For  none  were  in  the  Castle  then,              • 

At  length  up  that  wild  dale  they  wind, 

But  women,  boys;  or  aged  men. 

Where  Crichtoun  Castle2  crowns  the  bank ; 

With  eyes  tcarce  dried,  the  sorrowing  daaflfe, 

For  there  the  Lion's  care  assign'd 

To  welcome  noble  Marmion,  came ; 

A  lodging  meet  for  Marmion's  rank. 

Her  con,  a  stripling  twelve  years  old, 

That  Castle  rises  on  the  steep 

Proffer'd  the  Baron's  rein  to  hold ; 

Of  the  green  vale  of  Tyne : 

For  each  man  that  could  draw  a  sword 

And  far  beneath,  where  slow  they  creep, 

Had  march'd  that  morning  with  their  lord, 

From  pool  to  eddy,  dark  and  deep, 

Earl  Adam  Hepburn, — he  who  died 

Where  alders  moist,  and  willows  weep, 

On  Flodden,  by  his  sovereign's  side.7 

You  hear  her  streams  repine.3 

Long  may  his  Lady  look  in  vain ! 

The  towers  in  different  ages  rose  ; 

She  ne'er  shall  see  his  gallant  train,8 

Their  various  arclutecture  shows 

Come  sweeping  back  through  Crichtoun-Denn 

The  builders'  various  hands ; 

'Twas  a  brave  race,  before  the  name 

A  mighty  mass,  that  could  oppose,* 

Of  hated  Bothwell  stain'd  th&ir  fame. 

When  deadliest  hatred  fired  its  foes,               » 

The  vengeful  Douglas  bands. 

XIII. 

And  here  two  days  did  Marmion  rest, 

XI. 

With  every  rite  that  honor  claims, 

Chrichtoun !  though  now  thy  miry  court 

Attended  as  the  King's  own  guest ; — 

But  pens  the  lazy  steer  and  sheep, 

Such  the  command  of  Royal  James, 

*  MS. — u  The  Lion-King  his  message  said  : — 

4  MS. — "  But  the  huge  mass  could  well  oppose." 

'  My  liege  hath  deep  and  deadly  swore,'  "  &c. 

6  MS. — "  Of  many  a  mouldering  shield  the  sense." 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z  ;  and,  for  a  fuller  description  of 

6  The  pit,  or  prison  vault. — See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 

Criehton   Castle,  see   Sir  Walter  Scott's  Miscellaneous  Prose 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  3  A.                                     * 

Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  157. 

8  MS. — "  Well  might  his  gentle  Lady  mourn, 

3  MS. — "  Her  lazy  streams  repine." 

Doom'd  ne'er  to  see  her  Lord's  return. 

CANTO  IV. 


MARMION. 


119 


Who  marshall'd  then  his  land's  array, 

Upon  the  Borough-moor  that  lay. 

Perchance  he  would  not  foeman's  eye 

Upon  his  gathering  host  should  pry, 

Till  full  prepared  was  every  band 

To  march  against  the  English  land. 

Here  while  they  dwelt,  did  Lindesay's  wit 

Oft  cheer  the  Baron's  moodier  fit ; 

And,  in  his  turn,  he  knew  to  prize 

Lord  Marmion's  powerful  mind,  and  wise  • — 

Train'd  in  the  lore  of  Rome  and  Greece, 

And  policies  of  war  and  peace.1 

XIV. 
It  chanced,  as  fell  the  second  night, 

That  on  the  battlements  they  walk'd, 
And,  by  the  slowly-fading  light, 

Of  varying  topics  talked ; 
And,  unaware,  the  Herald-bard2 
Said,  Marmion  might  his  toil  have  spared, 

In  travelling  so  far ; 
For  that  a  messenger  from  heaven 
In  vain  to  James  had  counsel  given 

Against  the  English  war  ;3 
And,  closer  question'd,  thus  he  told 
A  tale,  which  chronicles  of  old 
In  Scottish  story  have  enroll'd : — 

XV. 
.Sfr  ?^abfO  SLfnTiesas's  Sale. 
"  Of  all  the  palaces  so  fair,4 

Built  for  the  royal  dwelling, 
In  Scotland,  far  beyond  compare 

1  MS. — "  Nor  less  the  Herald  Monarch  knew 
The  Baron's  powers  to  value  true — 
Hence  confidence  between  them  grew." 

*  MS. — "  Then  fell  from  Lindesay,  unware, 

That  Marmion  might  i .  .    ,  ,  ,, 

„„  .  .      °  .,  >  his  labor  spare." 

Marmion  might  well  J 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 

4  "  In  some  places,  Mr.  Scott's  love  of  variety  has  betrayed 
him  into  strange  imitations.  This  is  evidently  formed  on  the 
school  of  Sternhold  and  Hopkins, — 

1  Of  all  the  palaces  so  fair,'  "  &c. 

Jeffrey. 

0  In  Scotland  there  are  about  twenty  palaces,  castles,  and 
remains,  or  sites  of  such, 

"  Where  Scotia's  kings  of  other  years" 
had  their  royal  home. 

"  Linlithgow,  distinguished  by  the  combined  strength  and 
beauty  of  its  situation,  must  have  been  early  selected  as  a 
royal  residence.  David,  who  bought  the  title  of  saint  by  his 
liberality  to  the  Church,  refers  several  of  his  charters  to  his 
town  of  Linlithgow  ;  and  in  that  of  Holyrood  expressly  be- 
stows on  the  new  monastery  all  the  skins  of  the  rams,  ewes, 
and  lambs,  belonging  to  his  castle  of  Linlitcu,  which  shall 
die  during  the  year.  .  .  .  The  convenience  afforded  for  the 
sport  of  falconry,  which  was  so  great  a  favorite  during  the 
peudal  ages,  was  probably  one  cause  of  the  attachment  of  the 


Linlithgow  is  excelling  ;6 
And  in  its  park  in  jovial  June, 
How  sweet  the  merry  linnet's  tune, 

How  blithe  the  blackbird's  lay  I 
The  wild-buck-bells8  from  ferny  brake, 
The  coot  dives  merry  on  the  lake, 
The  saddest  heart  might  pleasure  take 

To  see  all  nature  gay. 
But  June  is  to  our  Sovereign  dear 
The  heaviest  month  in  all  the  year : 
Too  well  liis  cause  of  grief  you  know 
June  saw  his  father's  overthrow.7 
Woe  to  the  traitors,  who  could  bring 
The  princely  boy  against  liis  King  1 
Still  in  liis  conscience  burns  the  sting. 
In  offices  as  strict  as  Lent, 
King  James's  June  is  ever  spent.8 


XVI. 

this  ruthful 


month 


"When  last 

come, 
And  in  Linlithgow's  holy  dome 

The  King,  as  wont,  was  praying ; 
While,  for  his  royal  father's  soul, 
The  chanters  sung,  the  bells  did  toll 

The  Bishop  mass  was  saying — 
For  now  the  year  brought  round  again9 
The  day  the  luckless  king  was  slain — 
In  Katharine's  aisle  the  Monarch  knelt, 
With  sackcloth-shirt,  and  iron  belt, 

And  eyes  with  sorrow  streaming ; 
Around  him  in  their  stalls  of  state, 
The  Thistle's  Knight  Companions  sate, 

ancient  Scottish  monarchs  to  Linlithgow  and  its  fine  lake. 
The  sport  of  hunting  was  also  followed  with  success  in  tlie 
neighborhood,  from  which  circumstance  it  probably  arises  that 
the  ancient  arms  of  the  city  represent  a  black  greyhound  bitch 
tied  to  a  tree.  .  .  .  The  situation  of  Linlithgow  Palace  is 
eminently  beautiful.  It  stands  on  a  promontory  of  some 
elevation,  which  advances  elmost  into  the  midst  of  the  lake. 
The  form  is  that  of  a  square  court,  composed  of  buildings  of 
four  stories  high,  with  towers  at  the  angles.  The  fronts  within 
the  square,  and  the  windows,  are  highly  ornamented,  and  the 
size  of  the  rooms,  as  well  as  the  width  and  character  of  the 
staircases,  are  upon  a  magnificent  scale.  One  banquet-room 
is  ninety-four  feet  long,  thirty  feet  wide,  and  thirty-three  feet 
high,  with  a  gallery  for  music.  The  king's  wardrobe  or 
dressing-room,  looking  to  the  west,  projects  over  the  walls,  sc 
as  to  have  a  delicious  prospect  on  three  sides,  and  is  one  of  the 
mcst  enviable  boudoirs  we  have  ever  seen." — Sir  Walter 
Scott's  Miscellaneous  Prose  Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  382,  &c. 

fl  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C. 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  D. 

8  MS. — "  In  offices  as  strict  as  Lent, 

And  penances  his  Junes  are  spent." 


was  slain- 


MS. — "  kor  now  the  year  brought  round  again 

The  very  day  that  he 

The  day  that  the  third  James 

In  Katharine's  aisle  the  Monarch  kneels, 

And  folded  hands  )   ,  ,     .    , 

....  ,         ,  }  show  what  he  feels 

And  hands  sore  clasoed  \ 


120                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                            cantc  n 

Their  banners  o'er  them  beaming. 

XVIII. 

I  too  was  there,  and,  sooth  to  tell, 

While  Lindesay  told  his  marvel  strange, 

Bedeafen'd  with  the  jangling  knell, 

The  twilight  was  so  pale, 

Was  watching  where  the  sunbeams  fell, 

He  mark'd  not  Marmion's  color  change, 

Through  the  stain'd  casement  gleaming ; 

Wltile  listening  to  the  tale  ; 

But,  while  I  mark'd  what  next  befell, 

But,  after  a  suspended  pause, 

It  seem'd  as  I  were  dreaming. 

The  Baron  spoke : — "  Of  Nature's  laws 

Stepp'd  from  the  crowd  a  ghostly  wight, 

So  strong  I  held  the  force, 

In  azure  gown,  with  cincture  wliite ; 

That  never  superhuman  cause 

His  forehead  bald,  his  head  was  bare, 

Could  e'er  control  their  course, 

Down  hung  at  length  his  yellow  hair. — 

And,  three  days  since,  had  judged  your  aim 

Now,  mock  me  not,  when,  good  my  Lord, 

Was  but  to  make  your  guest  your  game ; 

I  pledge  to  you  my  knightly  word, 

But  I  have  seen,  since  past  the  Tweed,3 

That,  when  I  saw  his  placid  grace, 

What  much  has  changed  my  skeptic  creed, 

His  simple  majesty  of  face, 

And  made  me  credit  aught." — He  staid, 

His  solemn  bearing,  and  his  pace 

And  seem'd  to  wish  his  words  unsaid : 

So  stately  gliding  on, — 

But,  by  that  strong  emotion  press' d, 

Seem'd  to  me  ne'er  did  limner  paint 

Wliich  prompts  us  to  unload  our  breast, 

So  just  an  image  of  the  Saint, 

Even  when  discovery's  pain, 

Who  propp'd  the  Virgin  in  her  faint, — 

To  Lindesay  did  at  length  unfold 

The  loved  Apostle  John ! 

The  tale  his  village  host  had  told, 

At  Gifford,  to  his  train. 

XVII. 

Naught  of  the  Palmer  says  he  there, 

"  He  stepp'd  before  the  Monarch's  chair, 

And  naught  of  Constance,  or  of  Clare  ; 

And  stood  with  rustic  plainness  there, 

The  thoughts  wliich  broke  his  sleep,  he  seemi 

And  little  reverence  made  ; 

To  mention  but  as  feverish  dreams. 

Nor  head  nor  body,  bow'd  nor  bent, 

But  on  the  desk  his  arm  he  leant, 

XIX. 

And  words  like  these  he  said, 

"  In  vain,"  said  he,  "  to  rest  I  spread 

In  a  low  voice,  but  never  tone1 

My  burning  limbs,  and  couch'd  my  head: 

So   thrill'd  through  vein,  and  nerve,  and 

Fantastic  thoughts  return'd ; 

bone : — 

And,  by  their  wild  dominion  led, 

*  My  mother  sent  me  from  afar, 

My  heart  within  me  burn'd.4 

Sir  King,  to  warn  thee  not  to  war, — 

So  sore  was  the  delirious  goad, 

Woe  waits  on  thine  array ; 

I  took  my  steed,  and  forth  I  rode 

If  war  thou  wilt,  of  woman  fair,' 

And,  as  the  moon  shone  bright  and  c*ld, 

Her  witching  wiles  and  wanton  snare, 

Soon  reach'd  the  camp  upon  the  wold. 

James  Stuart,  doubly  warn'd,  beware : 

The  southern  entrance  I  pass'd  through, 

God  keep  thee  as  he  may  !' 

And  halted,  and  my  bugle  blew. 

The  wondering  Monarch  seem'd  to  seek 

Methought  an  answer  met  my  ear, — 

For  answer,  and  found  none  ; 

Yet  was  the  blast  so  low  and  drear,6 

And  when  he  raised  liis  head  to  speak, 

So  hollow,  and  so  faintly  blown, 

The  monitor  was  gone. 

It  might  be  echo  of  my  own. 

The  Marshal  and  myself  had  cast 

To  stop  him  as  he  outward  pass'd  ; 

XX. 

But,  lighter  than  the  whirlwind's  blast, 

"  Thus  judging,  for  a  little  space 

He  vanish'd  from  our  eyes, 

I  listen'd,  ere  I  left  the  place ; 

Like  sunbeam  on  the  billow  cast, 

But  scarce  could  trust  my  eyes, 

That  glances  but,  and  dies." 

Nor  yet  can  think  they  served  me  true, 

1  MS. — "  In  a  low  voice — but  every  tone 

*  MS. — "  In  vain,"  said  he,  "  to  rest  I  laid 

Thrill'd  through  the  listener's  vein  and  bone." 

My  burning  limbs,  and  tlirobbing  head-' 

Fantastic  thoughts  return'd ; 

MS. — "  And  if  to  war  thou  needs  wilt  fare 

fled, 
And,  by  their  wild  dominion  <  sway'd, 
'  sped, 

Of  wanton  wiles  and  woman's  )  gn„re  » 

Of  woman's  wiles  and  wanton  S 

My  heart  within  me  burn'd." 

*  MS. — M  But  events,  since  I  cross'd  the  Tweed, 

Have  undermined  my  skeptic  creed." 

5  MS. — "  And  yet  it  was  so  slow  ana  drear." 

t 

S3 


canto  iv.                                             MARMION.                                                       121 

When  sudden  in  the  ring  I  view, 

Dead  or  alive,  good  cause  had  he 

Tn  form  distinct  of  shape  and  hue, 

To  be  my  mortal  enemy." 

A  mounted  champion  rise. — 

I've  fought,  Lord-Lion,  many  a  day,1 

XXII. 

In  single  fight,  and  mix'd  affray, 

Marvell'd  Sir  David  of  the  Mount ; 

And  ever,  I  myself  may  say, 

Then,  learn'd  in  story,  'gan  recount 

Have  borne  me  as  a  knight ; 

Such  chance  had  happ'd  of  old, 

But  when  this  unexpected  foe 

When  once,  near  Norham,  there  did  fight 

Seem'd  starting  from  the  gulf  below, — 

A  spectre  fell  of  fiendish  might, 

I  care  not  though  the  truth  I  show, — 

In  likeness  of  a  Scottish  knight, 

I  trembled  with  affright; 

With  Brian  Buhner  bold, 

And  as  I  plf;red  in  rest  my  spear, 

And  train'd  him  nigh  to  disallow 

My  hand  so  shook  with  very  fear, 

The  aid  of  his  baptismal  vow. 

I  scarce  could  couch  it  right. 

"  And  such  a  phantom  too,  'tis  said, 

With  Highland  broadsword,  targe,  and  plaid^ 

XXL 

And  fingers,  red  with  gore, 

"  Why  w  <»  1  my  tongue  the  issue  tell  ? 

Is  seen  in  Rothiemurcus  glade, 

We  ran  our  course, — my  charger  fell ; — 

Or  where  the  sable  pine-trees  shade 

What  could  he  'gainst  the  shock  of  hell  ? — 

Dark  Tomantoul,  and  Auchnaslaid, 

I  roll'd  upon  the  plain. 

Dromouchty,  or  Glenmore.4 

High  o'er  my  head,  with  threatening  hand, 

And  yet,  whate'er  such  legends  say, 

The  spectre  shook  his  naked  brand, — a 

Of  warlike  demon,  ghost,  or  fay, 

Yet  did  the  worst  remain : 

On  mountain,  moor,  or  plain, 

My  dazzled  eyes  I  upward  cast, — 

Spotless  in  faith,  in  bosom  bold,' 

Not  opening  hell  itself  could  blast 

True  son  of  chivalry  should  hold, 

Their  sight  like  what  I  saw ! 

These  midnight  terrors  vain ; 

Full  on  his  face  the  moonbeam  strook, — 

For  seldom  have  such  spirits  power 

A  face  could  never  be  mistook ! 

To  harm,  save  in  the  evil  hour, 

I  knew  the  stern  vindictive  look, 

When  guilt  we  meditate  within,8 

And  held  my  breath  for  awe. 

Or  harbor  unrepented  sin." — 

I  saw  the  face  of  one  who,  fled8 

Lord  Marmion  turn'd  him  half  aside, 

To  foreign  climes,  has  long  been  dead, — 

And  twice  to  clear  his  voice  he  tried, 

I  well  believe  the  last ; 

Then  press'd  Sir  David's  hand, — 

For  ne'er,  from  visor  raised,  did  stare 

But  naught,  at  length,  in  answer  said ; 

A  human  warrior,  with  a  glare 

And  here  their  farther  converse  staid, 

So  grimly  and  so  ghast. 

Each  ordering  that  his  band 

Thrice  o'er  my  head  he  shook  the  blade  : 

Should  bowne  them  with  the  rising  day, 

But  when  to  good  Saint  George  I  pray'd 

To  Scotland's  camp  to  take  their  way. — 

(The  first  time  e'er  I  ask'd  his  aid), 

Such  was  the  King's  command. 

He  plunged  it  in  the  sheath ; 

And,  on  his  courser  mounting  light, 

XXIII. 

He  seem'd  to  vanish  from  my  sight : 

Early  they  took  Dun-Edin's  road, 

The  moonbeam  droop' d,  and  deepest  night 

And  I  could  trace  each  step  they  trode : 

Sunk  down  upon  the  heath. — 

Hill,  brook,  nor  dell,  nor  rock,  nor  stone, 

'Twere  long  to  tell  what  cause  I  have 

Lies  on  the  path  to  me  unknown. 

To  know  his  face,  that  met  me  there, 

Much  might  it  boast  of  storied  lore  ; 

Call'd  by  his  hatred  from  the  grave, 

But,  passing  such  digression  o'er, 

To  cumber  upper  air  : 

Suffice  it  that  the  route  was  laid 

*  MS. — "  I've  been,  Lord-Lion,  many  a  day, 

I  knew  the  face  of  one  who,  fled 

In  combat  single,  or  melee." 

To  foreign  climes,  or  long  since  dead — 

3  MS. — "  The  spectre  shook  his  naked  brand, — 

I  well  may  judge  the  last." 

Yet  doth  the  worst  remain  : 

4  See  the  traditions  concerning   Bulmer,  and  the  spectni 

My  reeling  eyes  I  upward  cast, — 

called  Lhamdearg,  or  Bloody-hand,  in  a  note  on  canto  iii. 

But  opening  hell  could  never  blast 
Their  sight,  like  what  I  saw." 

Appendix,  Note  2  U. 

*  MS. — "  I  knew  the  face  of  one  long  dead, 

6  MS. — "  Of  spotless  faith,  and  bosom  bold." 

Or  who  to  foreign  climes  hath  fled  .  .  . 

8  MS. — "  When  mortals  meditate  within 

16* 

Fresh  guilt  or  unrepented  sin." 

122                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  iv. 

Across  the  furzy  hills  of  Braid. 

From  west  to  east,  from  north  to  south. 

They  pass'd  the  glen  and  scanty  rill, 

Scotland  sent  all  her  warriors  forth. 

And  climb'd  the  opposing  bank,  until 

Marmion  might  hear  the  mingled  hum 

They  gain'd  the  top  of  Blackford  Hill. 

Of  myriads  up  the  mountain  come : 

The  horses'  tramp,  and  tingling  clank, 

XXIV. 

Where  chiefs  review'd  their  vassal  rank, 

Blackford !  on  whose  uncultured  breast, 

And  charger's  shrilling  neigh ; 

Among  the  broom,  and  thorn,  and  whin, 

And  see  the  shifting  lines  advance, 

A  truant  boy,  I  sought  the  nest, 

While  frequent  flash'd,  from  shield  and  lance, 

Or  listed,  as  I  lay  at  rest, 

The  sun's  reflected  ray. 

While  rose,  on  breezes  thin, 

The  murmur  of  the  city  crowd, 

XXVII. 

And,  from  his  steeple  jangling  loud, 

Thin  curling  in  the  morning  air, 

Saint  Giles's  mingling  din. 

The  wreaths  of  failing  smoke  declare 

Now,  from  the  summit  to  the  plain, 

To  embers  now  the  brands  decay' d, 

Waves  all  the  hill  with  yellow  grain ; 

Where  the  night-watch  their  fires  had  made. 

And  o'er  the  landscape  as  I  look, 

They  saw,  slow  rolling  on  the  plain, 

Naught  do  I  see  unchanged  remain, 

Full  many  a  baggage-cart  and  wain, 

Save  the  rude  cliffs  and  chiming  brook. 

And  dire  artillery's  clumsy  car, 

To  me  they  make  a  heavy  moan, 

By  sluggish  oxen  tugg'd  to  war ; 

Of  early  friendships  past  and  gone. 

And  there  were  Borthwick's  Sisters  Seven,8 

And  culverins  which  France  had  given. 

XXV. 

Ill-omen'd  gift !  the  guns  remain 

But  different  far  the  change  has  been,1 

The  conqueror's  spoil  on  Flodden  plain. 

Since  Marmion,  from  the  crown 

Of  Blackford,  saw  that  martial  scene 

XXVIII. 

Upon  the  bent  so  brown : 

Nor  mark'd  they  less,  where  in  the  air 

Thousand  pavilions,  white  as  snow, 

A  thousand  streamers  flaunted  fair ; 

Spread  all  the  Borough-moor  below,2 

Various  hi  shape,  device,  and  hue, 

Upland,  and  dale,  and  down : — 

Green,  sanguine,  purple,  red,  and  blue, 

A  thousand  did  I  say  ?    I  ween,3 

Broad,  narrow,  swallow-tail'd,  and  square, 

Thousands  on  thousands  there  were  seen, 

Scroll,  pennon,  pensil,  bandrol,6  there 

That  checker'd  all  the  heath  between 

O'er  the  pavilions  flew.7 

The  streamlet  and  the  town ; 

Highest  and  midmost,  was  descried 

In  crossing  ranks  extending  far, 

The  royal  banner  floating  wide  ; 

Forming  a  camp  irregular  ;4 

The  staff,  a  pine-tree,  strong  and  straight,8 

Oft  giving  way,  where  still  there  stood 

Pitch'd  deeply  in  a  massive  stone, 

Some  relics  of  the  old  oak  wood, 

Which  still  in  memory  is  shown, 

That  darkly  huge  did  intervene, 

Yet  bent  beneath  the  standard's  weight 

And  tamed  the  glaring  white  with  green : 

Whene'er  the  western  wind  unroll' d, 

In  these  extended  lines  there  lay 

With  toil,  the  huge  and  cumbrous  fold, 

A  martial  kingdom's  vast  array. 

And  gave  to  view  the  dazzling  field, 

Where,  in  proud  Scotland's  royal  shield, 

XXVI. 

The  ruddy  Hon  ramp'd  in  gold.9 

For  from  Hebudes,  dark  with  rain, 

To  eastern  Lodon's  fertile  plain, 

XXIX. 

And  from  the  southern  Redswire  edge, 

Lord  Marmion  view'd  the  landscape  bright, — M 

To  farthest  Rosse's  rocky  ledge  ; 

He  view'd  it  with  a  chief's  delight,-— 

i  MS. — "  But,  oh  !  far  different  change  has  heen 

6  Each  of  these  feudal  ensigns  intimated  the  different  rank  »< 

Since  Marmion,  from  the  crown 

those  entitled  to  display  them. 

Of  Blackford-hill,  upon  the  scene 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  3  F. 

Of  Scotland's  war  look'd  d-  «vn." 

8  MS. — "  The  standard  staff,  a  mountain  pine, 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  E. 

Pitch'd  in  a  huge  memorial  stone, 

*  MS. — "  A  thousand  said  the  verse  ?  I  ween, 

Thousands  on  thousands  there  were  seen, 
That  whiten'd  all  the  heath  between." 

*  Here  ends  the  stanza  in  the  MS. 

That  still  in  monument  is  shown." 
9  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G. 

JO  MS. — "  Lord  Marmion's  large  dark  eye  flash'd  light, 
It  kindled  with  a  chief's  delight, 
For  glow'd  with  martial  joy  his  heart, 

•  Seven  culverius  so  called,  cast  by  one  Borthwick. 

As  upon  battle-day." 

canto  iv.                                               MARMION.                                                         123 

Until  within  him  burn'd  his  heart, 

As  if  to  give  his  rapture  vent, 

And  lightning  from  his  eye  did  part, 

The  spur  lie  to  his  charger  lent, 

As  on  the  battle-day  ; 

And  raised  his  bridle  hand, 

Such  glance  did  falcon  never  dart, 

And,  making  demi-volte  in  ah, 

When  stooping  on  his  prey. 

Cried,  "  Where's  the  coward  that  would  not  uar« 

u  Oh  !  well,  Lord-Lion,  hast  thou  said, 

To  fight  for  such  a  land !" 

Thy  King  from  warfare  to  dissuade 

The  Lindesay  smiled  his  joy  to  see  ;8 

Were  but  a  vain  essay : 

Nor  Marmion's  frown  rej^ress'd  his  glee. 

For,  by  Saint  George,  were  that  host  mine, 

Not  power  infernal  nor  divine, 

XXXI. 

Should  once  to  peace  my  soul  incline, 

Thus  while  they  look'd  a  flourish  proud, 

Till  I  had  dimm'd  their  armor's  shine 

Where  mingled  trump  and  clarion  loud, 

In  glorious  battle-fray !" 

And  fife,  and  kettle-drum, 

Answer'd  the  Bard,  of  milder  mood : 

And  sackbut  deep,  and  psaltery, 

"  Fair  is  the  sight, — and  yet  'twere  good, 

And  war-pipe  with  discordant  cry, 

That  kings  would  tliink  withal, 

And  cymbal  clattering  to  the  sky, 

When  peace  and  wealth  their  land  has  bless'd, 

Making  wild  music  bold  and  high, 

Tis  better  to  sit  still  at  rest,1 

Did  up  the  mountain  come  ; 

Than  rise,  perchance  to  fall." 

The  whilst  the  bells,  with  distant  chime, 

XXX. 

Merrily  toll'd  the  hour  of  prime, 

And  thus  the  Lindesay  spoke  :4 

Still  on  the  spot  Lord  Marmion  stay'd, 

"  Thus  clamor  still  the  war-notes  when 

For  fairer  scene  he  ne'er  survey'd. 

The  king  to  mass  his  way  has  ta'en. 

When  sated  with  the  martial  show 

Or  to  St.  Katharine's  of  Sienne,5 

That  peopled  all  the  plain  below, 

Or  Chapel  of  Saint  Rocque. 

The  wandering  eye  could  o'er  it  go, 

To  you  they  speak  of  martial  fame  ;6 

And  mark  the  distant  city  glow 

But  me  remind  of  peaceful  game, 

With  gloomy  splendor  red ; 

When  blither  was  their  cheer, 

For  on  the  smoke-wreaths,  huge  and  slow, 

Thrilling  in  Falkland-woods  the  air, 

That  round  her  sable  turrets  flow, 

In  signal  none  his  steed  should  spare, 

The  morning  beams  were  shed, 

But  strive  which  foremost  might  repair 

And  tinged  them  with  a  lustre  proud, 

To  the  downfall  of  the  deer. 

Like  that  which  streaks  a  thunder-cloud. 

Such  dusky  grandeur  clothed  the  height, 

XXXII. 

Where  the  huge  Castle  holds  its  state, 

"  Nor  less,"  he  said, — "  when  looking  forth, 

And  all  the  steep  slope  down, 

I  view  yon  Empress  of  the  North 

Whose  ridgy  back  heaves  to  the  sky, 

Sit  on  her  hilly  throne  ; 

Piled  deep  and  massy,  close  and  high, 

Her  palace's  imperial  bowers, 

Mine  own  romantic  town  !a 

Her  castle,  proof  to  hostile  powers, 

But  northward  far,  with  purer  blaze, 

Her  stately  halls  and  holy  towers — ' 

On  Ochil  mountains  fell  the  rays, 

Nor  less,"  he  said,  "  I  moan, 

And  as  each  heathy  top  they  kiss'd, 

To  think  what  woe  mischance  may  bring, 

It  gleam'd  a  purple  amethyst. 

And  how  these  merry  bells  may  ring 

Yonder  the  shores  of  Fife  you  saw ; 

The  death-dirge  of  our  gallant  king ; 

Here  Preston-Bay  and  Berwick-Law : 

Or  with  the  larum  call 

And,  broad  between  them  roll'd, 

The  burghers  forth  to  watch  and  ward, 

The  gallant  Frith  the  eye  might  note, 

'Gainst  southern  sack  and  fires  to  guard 

WL>se  islands  on  its  bosom  float, 

Dun-Edin's  leaguer'd  wall. — 

Like  emeralds  chased  in  gold. 

But  not  for  my  presaging  thought, 

Fitz-Eustace'  heart  felt  closely  pent ; 

Dream  conquest  sure,  or  cheaply  bought  1' 

l  MS.—"  'Tis  better  sitting  still  at  rest, 

3  MS. — "  The  Lion  smiled  his  joy  to  see." 

Than  rising  but  to  fall ; 

*  MS. — "  And  thus  the  Lion  spoke." 

"nd  while  these  words  they  did  exchange, 

6  MS.-1-"  Or  to  our  Lady's  of  Sienne." 

They  reached  the  camp' s  extremes  t  range" 

6  MS. — "  To  you  they  speak  of  martial  fame, 

The  Voe'c  appears  to  have  struck  his  pen  through  the  two 

To  me  of  mood  more  mild  and  tame — 

Ines  in  italics,  on  conceiving  the  magnificent  picture  which  re- 

Blither would  be  their  cheer." 

places  them  in  the  text. 

7  MS. — "  Her  stately  fanes  ami  holy  towers." 

*  MS  — "  Dun-Edin's  towers  and  town." 

8  MS. — "  Dream  of  a  conquest  cheaply  bought  " 

124 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V. 


Lord  Marmion,  I  say  nay : 
God  is  the  guider  of  the  field, 
He  breaks  the  champion's  spear  and  sliiela,— 

But  thou  thyself  shalt  say, 
When  joins  yon  host  in  deadly  stowre, 
That  England's  dames  must  weep  in  bower, 

Her  monks  the  death-mass  sing  -,1 
For  never  saw'st  thou  such  a  power 

Led  on  by  such  a  King." — 
And  now,  down  winding  to  the  plain, 
The  barriers  of  the  camp  they  gain, 

And  there  they  made  a  stay. — 
There  stays  the  Minstrel,  till  he  fling 
His'  hand  o'er  every  Border  string, 
And  fit  liis  harp  the  pomp  to  sing, 
Of  Scotland's  ancient  Court  and  King, 

In  the  succeeding  lay. 


iHarmton. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FIFTH.9 


TO 
GEORGE  ELLIS,  ESU.3 

Edinburgh. 
When  dark  December  glooms  the  day, 
And  takes  our  autumn  joys  away ; 
When  short  and  scant  the  sunbeam  throws, 
Upon  the  weary  waste  of  snows, 
A  cold  and  profitless  regard, 
Like  patron  on  a  needy  bard ; 
When  silvan  occupation's  done, 
And  o'er  the  chimney  rests  the  gun, 
And  hang,  in  idle  trophy,  near, 
The  game-pouch,  fishing-rod,  and  spear ; 
When  wiry  terrier,  rough  and  grim, 
And  greyhound,  with  his  length  of  limb, 
And  pointer,  now  employ'd  no  more, 
Cumber  our  parlor's  narrow  floor ; 
When  in  Ins  stall  the  impatient  steed 
Is  long  condemn'd  to  rest  and  feed  ; 
When  from  our  snow-encircled  home, 
Scarce  cares  the  hardiest  step  to  roam, 
Since  path  is  none,  save  that  to  bring 

IMS. — "  Their  monks  dead  masses  sing." 

a  "  These  Introductory  Epistles,  though  excellent  in  them- 
selves, are  in  fact  only  interruptions  to  the  fable,  and  accord- 
ingly, nine  readers  out  of  ten  have  perused  them  separately, 
either  before,  or  after  the  poem.  In  short,  the  personal  ap- 
pearance of  the  Minstrel,  who,  though  the  Last,  is  the  most 
charming  of  all  minstrels,  is  by  no  means  compensated  by  the 
idea  of  an  author  shorn  of  his  picturesque  beard,  and  writing 
letters  to  his  intimate  friends." — George  Ellis. 

3  This  accomplished  gentleman,  the  well-known  coadjutor 
of  Mr.  Canning  and  Mr.  Frere  in  the  "  Antijacobin,"  and  edi- 
tor of  "  Specimens  of  Ancient  English  Romances,"  &c,  died 


The  needful  water  from  the  spring ; 

When  wrinkled  news-page,  thrice  conn'd  o'er, 

Beguiles  the  dreary  hour  no  more, 

And  darkling  politician,  cross'd, 

Inveighs  against  the  lingering  post, 

And  answering  housewife  sore  complains 

Of  carriers'  snow-impeded  wains  ; 

When  such  the  country  cheer,  I  come, 

Well  pleased,  to  seek  our  city  home ; 

For  converse,  and  for  books,  to  change 

The  Forest's  melancholy  range, 

And  welcome,  with  renew'd  delight, 

The  busy  day  and  social  night. 

Not  here  need  my  desponding  rhyme 
Lament  the  ravages  of  time, 
As  erst  by  Newark's  riven  towers, 
And  Ettrick  stripp'd  of  forest  bowers.4 
True, — Caledonia's  Queen  is  changed,6 
Since  on  her  dusky  summit  ranged, 
Within  its  steepy  limits  pent, 
By  bulwark,  line,  and  battlement, 
And  flanking  towers,  and  laky  flood, 
Guarded  and  garrison'd  she  stood, 
Denying  entrance  or  resort, 
Save  at  each  tall  embattled  port : 
Above  whose  arch,  suspended,  hung 
Portcullis  spiked  with  iron  prong. 
That  long  is  gone, — but  not  so  long, 
Since,  early  closed,  and  opening  late, 
Jealous  revolved  the  studded  gate, 
Whose  task,  from  eve  to  morning  tide, 
A  wicket  churlishly  supplied. 
Stern  then,  and  steel-girt  was  thy  brow, 
Dun-Edin !  0,  how  alter'd  now, 
When  safe  amid  thy  mountain  court 
Thou  sit'st,  like  Empress  at  her  sport, 
And  liberal,  unconfined  and  free, 
Flinging  thy  white  arms  to  the  sea,* 
For  thy  dark  cloud,  with  umber'd  lower, 
That  hung  o'er  cliff,  and  lake,  and  tower, 
Thou  gleam' st  against  the  western  ray 
Ten  thousand  lines  of  brighter  day. 

Not  she,  the  Championess  of  old, 
In  Spenser's  magic  tale  enroll'd, 
She  for  the  charmed  spear  renown'd 

10th  April,  1815,  aged  70  years  ;  being  succeeded  in  his  estate* 
by  his  brother  Charles  Ellis,  Esq.,  created,  in  1827,  Lord  Sea 
ford.— Ed. 
*  See  Introduction  to  canto  ii. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  H. 

6  Since  writing  this  line,  I  find  I  have'inadvertently  borrow 
ed  it  almost  verbatim,  though  with  somewhat  a  different  mea» 
ing,  from  a  chorus  in  "  Caractacus  ;" 

"  Britain  heard  the  descant  bold. 

She  flung  her  white  arms  o'er  tne  sea, 
Proud  in  her  leafy  bosom  to  enfold 
The  freight  of  harmony." 


€  ANTO  V. 


MARMION. 


12* 


"Which  forced  each  knight  to  kiss  the  ground, — 

Not  she  more  changed,  when,  placed  at  rest, 

"What  time  she  was  Malbecco's  guest,1 

She  gave  to  flow  her  maiden  vest ; 

"When  from  the  corslet's  grasp  relieved, 

Free  to  the  sight  her  bosom  heaved ; 

Sweet  was  her  blue  eye's  modest  smile, 

Erst  hidden  by  the  aventayle ; 

And  down  her  shoulders  graceful  roll'd 

Her  locks  profuse,  of  paly  gold. 

They  who  whilom,  in  midnight  fight, 

Had  marvell'd  at  her  matchless  might, 

No  less  her  maiden  charms  approved, 

But  looking  liked,  and  liking  loved.2 

The  sight  could  jealous  pangs  beguile, 

And  charm  Malbecco's  cares  a  while ; 

And  he,  the  wandering  Squire  of  Dames, 

Forgot  his  Columbella's  claims, 

And  passion,  erst  unknown,  could  gain 

The  breast  of  blunt  Sir  Satyrane ; 

Nor  durst  light  Paridel  advance, 

Bold  as  he  was,  a  looser  glance. 

She  charm'd,  at  once,  and  tamed  the  heart, 

Incomparable  Britomarte ! 

So  thou,  fair  city !  disarray'd 
Of  battled  wall,  and  rampart's  aid, 
As  stately  seem'st,  but  lovelier  far 
Than  in  that  panoply  of  war. 
Nor  deem  that  from  thy  fenceless  throne 
Strength  and  security  are  flown ; 
Still,  as  of  yore,  Queen  of  the  North  1 
Still  canst  thou  send  thy  children  forth. 
Ne'er  readier  »i  alarm-bell's  call 
Thy  burghers  rose  to  man  thy  wall, 
Than  now,  in  danger,  shall  be  thine, 
Thy  dauntless  voluntary  line  ; 
For  fosse  and  turret  proud  to  stand, 
Their  breasts  the  bulwarks  of  the  land. 
Thy  thousands,  train'd  to  martial  toil, 
Full  red  would  stain  their  native  soil, 
Ere  from  thy  mural  crown  there  fell 
The  slightest  knosp,  or  pinnacle. 
And  if  it  come, — as  come  it  may, 
Dun-Edin !  that  eventful  day, — 
Renown' d  for  hospitable  deed, 
That  virtue  much  with  heaven  may  plead, 
In  patriarchal  times  whose  care 
Descending  angels  deign'd  to  share ; 
That  claim  may  wrestle  blessings  down 
On  those  who  fight  for  The  Good  Town, 

1  See  "  The  Fairy  Queen,"  Sook  iii.  canto  ix. 

2  "  For  every  one  her  l^ed    and  every  one  her  loved." 

Spenser,  as  above. 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  T. 

4  In  Tanua»7,  1796,  the  exiled  Count  d'Artois,  afterwards 
Chafes  X  jf  France,  took  up  his  residence  in  Ilolyrood,  where 


Destined  in  every  age  to  be 

Refuge  of  injured  royalty; 

Since  first,  when  conquering  York  arose, 

To  Henry  meek  she  gave  repose,3 

Till  late,  with  wonder,  grief,  and  awe, 

Great  Bourbon's  relics,  sad  she  saw.4 

Truce  to  these  thoughts  ! — for,  as  they  use. 
How  gladly  I  avert  mine  eyes, 
Bodings,  or  true  or  false,  to  change, 
For  Fiction's  fair  romantic  range, 
Or  for  tradition's  dubious  light, 
That  hovers  'twixt  the  day  and  night : 
Dazzling  alternately  and  dim, 
Her  wavering  lamp  I'd  rather  trim, 
Knights,  squires,  and  lovely  dames  to  see, 
Creation  of  my  fantasy, 
Than  gaze  abroad  on  reeky  fen,8 
And  make  of  mists  invading  men. 
"Who  loves  not  more  the  night  of  June 
Than  dull  December's  gloomy  noon  ? 
The  moonlight  than  the  fog  of  frost  ? 
And  can  we  say,  which  cheats  the  most  ? 

But  who  shall  teach  my  harp  to  gain 
A  sound  of  the  romantic  strain, 
"Whose  Anglo-Norman  tones  whilere 
Could  win  the  royal  Henry's  ear,6 
Famed  Beauclerc  call'd,  for  that  he  loved 
The  minstrel,  and  his  lay  approved  ? 
"Who  shall  these  lingering  notes  redeem, 
Decaying  on  Oblivion's  stream; 
Such  notes  as  from  the  Breton  tongue 
Marie  translated,  Blondel  sung  ? — 
0  !  born,  Time's  ravage  to  repair, 
And  make  the  dying  Muse  thy  care , 
"Who,  when  his  scythe  her  hoary  foe 
"Was  poising  for  the  final  blow, 
The  weapon  from  his  hand  could  wring, 
And  break  his  glass,  and  shear  his  wing, 
And  bid,  reviving  in  his  strain, 
The  gentle  poet  live  again ; 
Thou,  who  canst  give  to  lightest  lay 
An  unpedantic  moral  gay, 
Nor  less  the  dullest  theme  bid  flit 
On  wings  of  unexpected  wit ; 
In  letters  as  in  life  approved 
Example  honor'd,  and  beloved, — 
Dear  Ellis  !  to  the  bard  impart 
A  lesson  of  thy  magic  art, 
To  win  at  once  the  head  and  heart, — 

he  remained  until  August,  1799.  When  again  driven  from  hu 
country  by  the  Revolution  of  July,  1830,  the  same  unfortunate 
Prince,  with  all  the  immediate  members  of  his  family,  sought 
refuge  once  more  in  the  ancient  palace  of  the  Stuarts,  and  r» 
mained  there  until  18th  September,  1832. 

6  MS.—"  Than  gaze  out  on  the  foggy  fen  " 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  K. 


12G 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V 


At  once  to  charm,  instruct  and  mend, 

Upon  the  Southern  band  to  stare. 

My  guide,  my  pattern,  and  my  friend  I1 

And  envy  with  their  wonder  rose, 

To  see  such  well-appointed  foes ; 

Such  minstrel  lesson  to  bestow 

Such  length  of  shafts,  such  mighty  bows,4 

Be  long  thy  pleasing  task, — but,  0 ! 

So  huge,  that  many  simply  thought, 

No  more  by  thy  example  teach, 

But  for  a  vaunt  such  weapons  wrought ; 

— What  few  can  practise,  all  can  preach, — 

And  little  deem'd  their  force  to  feel, 

,     With  even  patience  to  endure 

Through  links  of  mail  and  plates  of  steel, 

Lingering  disease,  and  painful  cure, 

When  rattling  upon  Flodden  vale, 

Aid  boast  affliction's  pangs  subdued 

The  cloth-yard  arrows  flew  like  hail.8 

By  mild  and  manly  fortitude. 

Enough,  the  lesson  has  been  given : 

II. 

Forbid  the  repetition,  Heaven  1 

Nor  less  did  Marmion's  skilful  view 

Glance  every  line  and  squadron  through ; 

Come  listen,  then !  for  thou  hast  known, 

And  much  he  marvell'd  one  small  land 

And  loved  the  Minstrel's  varying  tone, 

Could  marshal  forth  such  various  band : 

Who,  like  his  Border  sires  of  old, 

For  men-at-arms  were  here, 

Waked  a  wild  measure  rude  and  bold, 

Heavily  sheathed  in  mail  and  plate, 

Till  Windsor's  oaks,  and  Ascot  plain, 

Like  iron  towers  for  strength  and  weight, 

With  wonder  heard  the  northern  strain.2 

On  Flemish  steeds  of  bone  and  height, 

Come  listen !  bold  hi  thy  applause, 

With  battle-axe  and  spear. 

The  Bard  shall  scorn  pedantic  laws ; 

Young  knights  and  squires,  a  lighter  train, 

And,  as  the  ancient  art  could  stain 

Practised  their  chargers  on  the  plain," 

Achievements  on  the  storied  pane, 

By  aid  of  leg,  of  hand,  and  rein, 

Irregularly  traced  and  plann'd, 

Each  warlike  feat  to  show, 

But  yet  so  glowing  and  so  grand, — 

To  pass,  to  wheel,  the  croupe  to  gain, 

So  shall  he  strive,  in  changeful  hue, 

And  high  curvett,  that  not  in  vain 

Field,  feast,  and  combat  to  renew, 

The  sword  sway  might  descend  amain 

And  loves,  and  arms,  and  harpers'  glee, 

On  foeman's  casque  below.7 

And  all  the  pomp  of  clhvalry. 

He  saw  the  hardy  burghers  there 

March  arm'd,  on  foot,  with  faces  bare,8 

For  visor  they  wore  none, 

ill  arm  ton. 

Nor  waving  plume,  nor  crest  of  knight ; 

But  burnish' d  were  their  corslets  bright, 

Their  brigantines,  and  gorgets  light, 

Like  very  silver  shone. 

CANTO  FIFTH. 

Long  pikes  they  had  for  standing  fight, 

Two-handed  swords  they  wore, 

2TJ)e  Court. 

And  many  wielded  mace  of  weight,9 

j. 

And  bucklers  bright  they  bore. 

The  train  has  left  the  hills  of  Braid ; 

III. 

The  barrier  guard  have  open  made 

On  foot  the  yeoman  too,  but  dress'd 

(So  Lindesay  bade)  the  palisade, 

In  his  steel-jack,  a  swarthy  vest, 

That  closed  the  tented  ground ; 

With  iron  quilted  well ; 

Their  men  the  warders  backward  drew, 

Each  at  his  back  (a  slender  store) 

And  carried  pikes  as  they  rode  through, 

His  forty  days'  provision  bore, 

Into  its  ample  bound.3 

As  feudal  statutes  tell. 

Fast  ran  the  Scottish  warriors  there, 

His  arms  were  halbert,  axe,  or  spear,10 

l   '  Come  then,  my  friend,  my  genius,  come  along, 

And  Marmion  with  his  train  rode  through, 

Oh  master  of  the  poet  and  the  song !" 

Across  its  ample  bound." 

Pope  to  Bolingbroke. 

4  MS. — "  So  long  their  shafts,  so  large  their  bows." 

a  At  Punning-hill,  Mr.  Ellis's  seat,  near  Windsor,  part  of  the 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  L. 

first  two  cantos  of  Marmion  were  written. 

6  MS. — "  There  urged  their  chargers  on  the  plain." 

»  MS. — "  The  barrier  guard  the  I, ion  knew, 

v  See  Appendix,  Note  3  M.                  8  Ibid.  Note  3  N 

Advanced  their  pikes,  and  soon  withdrew 
The  slender  palisades  and  few 

8  MS.—"  And  malls  did  many  \  WIeld  \  of  v  sight. 
(  bear     ) 

That  closed  the  te*  *ed  ground ; 

io  See  Appendix,  Note  3  0. 

canto  v                                                 MARMION.                                                         127 

A  crossbow  there,  a  hagbut  here, 

V. 

A  dagger-knife,  and  brand. 

Next,  Marmion  mark'd  the  Celtic  race, 

Sober  1.3  seem'd,  and  sad  of  cheer, 

Of  different  language,  form,  and  face. 

As  loth  to  leave  his  cottage  dear, 

A  various  race  of  man ; 

And  march  to  foreign  strand ; 

Just  then  the  Chiefs  their  tribes  array'd, 

Or  musing,  who  would  guide  his  steer, 

And  wild  and  garish  semblance  made, 

To  till  the  fallow  land. 

The  checker 'd  trews,  and  belted  plaid, 

Yet  deem  not  in  his  thoughtful  eye 

And  varying  notes  the  war-pipes  bray'd, 

Did  aught  of  dastard  ten  or  he  ; 

To  every  varying  clan ; 

More  dreadful  far  his  ire 

Wild  through  their  red  or  sable  hair 

Than  theirs,  who,  scorning  danger's  name, 

Look'd  out  their  eyes  with  eavage  stare,8 

In  eager  mood  to  battle  came, 

On  Marmion  as  he  pass'd ; 

Their  valor  like  light  straw  on  flame, 

Their  legs  above  the  knee  were  bare ; 

A  fierce  but  fading  fire. 

Their  frame  was  sinewy,  short,  and  spare, 

And  harden'd  to  the  blast; 

IV. 

Of  taller  race,  the  chiefs  they  own 

Not  so  the  Borderer : — bred  to  war, 

Were  by  the  eagle's  plumage  known. 

He  knew  the  battle's  din  afar, 

The  hunted  red-deer's  undress'd  hide 

And  joy'd  to  hear  it  swell. 

Their  hairy  buskins  well  supplied ; 

His  peaceful  day  was  slothful  ease ; 

The  graceful  bonnet  deck'd  their  head : 

Nor  harp,  nor  pipe,  his  ear  could  please 

Back  from  their  shoulders  hung  the  plaid 

Like  the  loud  slogan  yell. 

A  broadsword  of  unwieldy  length, 

On  active  steed,  with  lance  and  blade, 

A  dagger  proved  for  edge  and  strength, 

The  light-arm'd  pricker  plied  his  trade, — 

A  studded  targe  they  wore, 

Let  nobles  fight  for  fame ; 

And  quivers,  bows,  and  shafts, — but,  0 ! 

Let  vassals  follow  where  they  lead, 

Short  was  the  shaft,  and  weak  the  bow, 

Burghers  to  guard  their  townships  bleed, 

To  that  which  England  bore. 

But  war's  the  Borderer's  game. 

The  Isles-men  carried  at  their  backs 

Their  gain,  their  glory,  their  delight, 

The  ancient  Danish  battle-axe. 

To  sleep  the  day,  maraud  the  night, 

They  raised  a  wild  and  wondering  cry, 

O'er  mountain,  moss,  and  moor ; 

As  with  his  guide  rode  Marmion  by. 

Joyful  to  fight  they  took  their  way, 

Loud  were  their  clamoring  tongues,  as  when 

Scarce  caring  who  might  win  the  day, 

The  clanging  sea-fowl  leaves  the  fen, 

Their  booty  was  secure. 

And,  with  their  cries  discordant  mix'd, 

These,  as  Lord  Marmion's  train  pass'd  by, 

Grumbled  and  yell'd  the  pipes  betwixt. 

Look'd  on  at  first  with  careless  eye, 

Nor   marvell'd   aught,   well   taught   to 

VI. 

know 

Thus  through  the  Scottish  camp  they  pass'd, 

The  form  and  force  of  English  bow. 

And  reach' d  the  City  gate  at  last, 

But  when  they  saw  the  Lord  array'd 

Where  all  around,  a  wakeful  guard, 

In  splendid  arms  and  rich  brocade, 

Arm'd  burghers  kept  their  watch  and  ward. 

Each  Borderer  to  his  kinsman  said, — 

Well  had  they  cause  of  jealous  fear, 

"  Hist,  Ringan !  seest  thou  there  ! 

When  lay  encamp'd,  in  field  so  near, 

Canst  guess  which  road  they'll  homeward 

The  Borderer  and  the  Mountaineer. 

ride  ? — 

As  through  the  bustling  streets  they  go, 

0 !  could  we  but  on  Border  side, 

All  was  alive  with  martial  show  : 

By  Eusedale  gl?n,  or  Liddell's  tide, 

At  every  turn,  with  dinning  clang, 

Beset  a  prize  so  fair  ! 

The  armorer's  anvil  clash'd  and  rang : 

That  fangless  Lion,  too,  their  guide, 

Or  toil'd  the  swarthy  smith,  to  wheel 

Might  chance  to  lose  his  glistering  hide  j1 

The  bar  that  arms  the  charger's  heel ; 

Brown  Maudlin,  of  that  doublet  pied, 

Or  axe,  or  falchion,  to  the  side 

Could  make  a  kirtle  rare." 

Of  jarring  grindstone  was  applied. 

MS. — "  Hist,  Ringan  !  seest  thou  there ! 

The  fangless  Lion,  too,  his  guide, 

Canst  guess  what  homeward  road  they  take — 

Might  chance  to  lose  his  glittering  hide." 

By  Eusedale  glen,  or  Yetholm  lake? 

O  !  could  we  but  by  bush  or  brake 

2  MS. — "  Wild  from  their  red  and  swarthy  hail 

Beset  a  prize  so  fair  I 

Look'd  through  their  eyes  with  savage  start 

128                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               cakto  \ 

Page,  groom,  and  squire,  with  hurrying  pace, 

And  flinty  is  her  heart,  can  view 

Through  street,  and  lane,  and  market-place, 

To  battle  march  a  lover  true — 

Bore  lance,  or  casque,  or  sword ; 

Can  hear,  perchance,  his  last  adieu, 

While  burghers,  with  important  face, 

ISor  own  her  share  of  pain. 

Described  each  new-come  lord, 

Discuss'd  his  lineage,  told  his  name, 

VIIL 

His  following,1  and  his  warlike  fame. 

Through  this  mix'd  crowd  of  glee  and  ga 

The  Lion  led  to  lodging  meet, 

The  King  to  greet  Lord  Marmion  came, 

Which  high  o'erlook'd  the  crowded  street-; 

While,  revet  ent,  all  made  room. 

There  must  the  Baron  rest, 

An  easy  task  it  was,  I  trow, 

Till  past  the  hour  of  vesper  tide, 

King  James's  manly  form  to  know ; 

And  then  to  Holy-Rood  must  ride, — 

Although,  his  courtesy  ^o  show, 

Such  was  the  King's  behest. 

He  doff'd,  to  Marmion  bending  low, 

Meanwlule  the  Lion's  care  assigns 

His  broider'd  cap  and  plume. 

A  banquet  rich,  and  costly  wines, 

For  royal  was  his  garb  and  mien, 

To  Marmion  and  his  train  ;2 

His  cloak,  of  crimson  velvet  piled, 

And  when  the  appointed  hour  succeeds, 

Trimm'd  with  the  fur  of  martin  wild ; 

The  Baron  dons  his  peaceful  weeds, 

His  vest  of  changeful  satin  sheen, 

And  following  Lindesay  as  he  leads, 

The  dazzled  eye  beguiled ; 

The  palace-halls  they  gain. 

His  gorgeous  collar  hung  adown, 

Wrought  with  the  badge  of  Scotland's  crown,' 

VII. 

The  thistle  brave,  of  old  renown : 

Old  Holy-Rood  rung  merrily, 

His  trusty  blade,  Toledo  right,4 

That  night,  with  wassell,  mirth,  and  glee : 

Descended  from  a  baldric  bright ; 

King  James  within  her  princely  bower, 

White  were  his  buskins,  on  the  heel 

Feasted  the  Chiefs  of  Scotland's  power, 

His  spurs  inlaid  of  gold  and  steel ; 

Summon'd  to  spend  the  parting  hour ; 

His  bonnet,  all  of  crimson  fair, 

For  he  had  charged,  that  his  array 

Was  button'd  with  a  ruby  rare : 

Should  southward  march  by  break  of  day. 

And  Marmion  deem'd  he  ne'er  had  seen 

"Well  loved  that  splendid  monarch  aye 

A  prince  of  such  a  noble  mien. 

The  banquet  and  the  song, 

By  day  the  tourney,  and  by  night 

IX. 

The  merry  dance,  traced  fast  and  light, 

The  Monarch's  form  was  middle  size ; 

The  maskers  quaint,  the  pageant  bright, 

For  feat  of  strength,  or  exercise, 

The  revel  loud  and  long. 

Shaped  in  proportion  fair ; 

Tins  feast  outshone  his  banquets  past ; 

And  hazel  was  his  eagle  eye, 

It  was  his  blithest — and  Ins  last. 

And  auburn  of  the  darkest  dye 

The  dazzling  lamps,  from  gallery  gay, 

His  short  curl'd  beard  and  hair. 

Cast  on  the  Court  a  dancing  ray ; 

Light  was  Ins  footstep  in  the  dance, 

Here  to  the  harp  did  minstrels  sing ; 

And  firm  his  stirrup  in  the  lists ; 

There  ladies  touch'd  a  softer  string ; 

And,  oh !  he  had  that  merry  glance, 

With  long-ear'd  cap,  and  motley  vest, 

That  seldom  lady's  heart  resists. 

The  licensed  fool  retail'd  his  jest ; 

Lightly  from  fair  to  fair  he  flew, 

His  magic  tricks  the  juggler  plied  ; 

And  loved  to  plead,  lament,  and  sue  ;— 

At  dice  and  draughts  the  gallants  vied ; 

Suit  lightly  won,  and  short-lived  pain, 

While  some,  in  close  recess  apart, 

For  monarchs  seldom  sigh  in  vain. 

Courted  the  ladies  of  their  heart, 

I  said  he  joy'd  in  banquet  bower ; 

Nor  courted  them  in  vain ; 

But,  'mid  his  mirth,  'twas  often  strange, 

For  often,  in  the  parting  hour, 

How  suddenly  his  cheer  would  change, 

Victorious  Love  asserts  his  power 

His  look  o'ercast  and  lower, 

O'er  coldness  and  disdain ; 

If  in  a  sudden  turn,  he  felt 

l  Following-— Feudal  retainers. — This  word,   Dy  the  way, 

«  MS.—"  His  trusty  blade,  Toledo  right, 

nas  been,  since  the  Author  of  Marmion  used  it,  and  thought  it 

Descended  from  a  baldric  bright, 

called  for  explanation,  completely  adopted  into  English,  and 

And  dangled  at  his  knee  : 

especially  into  Parliamentary  parlance. — Ed. 

White  were  his  buskins  ;  from  their  heel 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P. 

His  spurs  inlaid    ) 

His  fretted  spurs  i  °f  gold  and  steel 

MS.—  '  Bearing  the  badge  of  Scotland's  crown." 

Were  jingling  merrily." 

canto  v.                                                MARMION.           ,                                             129 

The  pressure  of  his  iron  belt, 

Her  Monarch's  risk  in  battle  broil : — 

That  bound  his  breast  in  penance  pain, 

And  in  gay  Holy-Rood,  the  while, 

In  memory  of  his  father  slain.1 

Dame  Heron  rises  with  a  smile 

Even  so  'twas  strange  how,  evermore, 

Upon  the  harp  to  play. 

Soon  as  the  passing  pang  was  o'er, 

Fair  was  her  rounded  arm,  as  o'er 

Forward  he  rush'd,  with  double  glee, 

The  strings  her  fingers  flew ; 

Into  the  stream  of  revelry : 

And  as  she  touch'd  and  tuned  them  all, 

Thus,  dim-seen  object  of  affright 

Ever  her  bosom's  rise  and  fall 

Startles  the  courser  in  his  flight, 

"Was  plainer  given  to  view ; 

And  half  he  halts,  half  springs  aside ; 

For,  all  for  heat,  was  laid  aside 

But  feels  the  quickening  spur  applied, 

Her  wimple,  and  her  hood  untied.6 

And,  straining  on  the  tighten'd  rein, 

And  first  she  pitch'd  her  voice  to  sing, 

Scours  doubly  swift  o'er  hill  and  plain. 

Then  glanced  her  dark  eye  on  the  King, 

And  then  around  the  silent  ring ; 

X. 

And  laugh'd,  and  blush'd,  and  oft  did  say 

O'er  James's  heart,  the  courtiers  say, 

Her  pretty  oath,  by  Yea,  and  Nay, 

Sir  Hugh  the  Heron's  wife  held  sway  :2 

She  could  not,  would  not,  durst  not  play ' 

To  Scotland's  Court  she  came, 

At  length,  upon  the  harp,  with  glee, 

To  be  a  hostage  for  her  lord, 

Mingled  with  arch  simplicity, 

Who  Cessford's  gallant  heart  had  gored, 

A  soft,  yet  lively,  air  she  rung, 

And  with  the  King  to  make  accord, 

While  thus  the  wily  lady  sung : — 

Had  sent  his  lovely  dame. 

Nor  to  that  lady  free  alone 

XII. 

Did  the.  gay  King  allegiance  own ; 

LOCHINVAR.8 

For  the  fair  Queen  of  France 

HaTrg  heron's  Sonfl. 

Sent  him  a  turquois  ring  and  glove, 

0,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west, 

And  charged  him,  as  her  knight  and  love, 

Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was  the  best 

For  her  to  break  a  lance ; 

And  save  his  good  broadsword  he  weapons  had 

And  strike  three  strokes  with  Scottish  brand,3 

none, 

And  march  three  miles  on  Southron  land, 

He  rode  all  unarm'd,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 

And  bid  the  banners  of  his  band 

So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 

In  English  breezes  dance. 

There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

And  thus,  for  France's  Queen  he  drest 

His  manly  limbs  in  mailed  vest ; 

He  staid  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopp'd  not  for  stone, 

And  thus  admitted  English  fair 

He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was 

His  inmost  counsels  still  to  share ; 

none ; 

And  thus,  for  both,  he  madly  plann'd 

But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 

The  ruin  of  himself  and  land ! 

The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late : 

And  yet,  the  sooth  to  tell, 

For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war, 

Nor  England's  fair,  nor  France's  Queen,4 

Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

"Were  worth  one  pearl-drop,  bright  and  sheen, 

From  Margaret's  eye  that  fell, — 

So  boldly  he  enter'd  the  Netherby  Hall, 

His  own  Queen  Margaret,  who,  in  Lithgow's 

Among  bridesmen,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers,  and 

bower, 

all; 

All  lonely  sat,  and  wept  the  weary  hour. 

Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  liis  sword 

(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word), 

XI. 

"  0  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 

The  Queen  sits  lone  in  Lithgow  pile, 

Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar  ?"— 

And  weeps  the  weary  day, 

The  war  against  her  native  soil, 

"  I  long  woo'd  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied ; — 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  &. 

And  on  the  righted  harp  with  glee, 

i  Ibid.  Note  3  R.                               s  Ibid.  Note  3  S. 

Mingled  with  arch  simplicity, 

*  MS. — "  Nor  France's  Queen,  nor  England's  fair, 

A  soft,  yet  lively,  air  she  rang, 

Were  worth  one  pearl-drop,  passing  rare, 

While  thus  her  voice  attendant  sang." 

From  Margaret's  eyes  that  fell." 

6  The  ballad  of  Lochinvar  is  in  a  very  slight  degree  founded 

»  The  MS.  has  only— 

on  a  ballad  called  "  Katharine  Janfarie,"  which  may  be  found 

"  For,  all  for  heat,  was  laid  aside 

in  the  "Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  vol.  iii. 

Her  wimpled  hood  and  gorget's  pride  : 

17 

130                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  v 

Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its 

He  whisper'd  praises  in  her  ear. 

tide—1 

In  loud  applause  the  courtiers  viei ; 

And  now  am  I  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine, 

And  ladies  wink'd,  and  spoke  asidf*. 

To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 

The  witcliing  dame  to  Marmion  thr«w 

There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far, 

A  glance,  where  seem'd  to  reign 

That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochin- 

The  pride  that  claims  applauses  due. 

var." 

And  of  her  royal  conquest  too, 

A  real  or  feign'd  disdain : 

The  bride  kiss'd  the  goblet,  the  knight  took  it  up, 

Familiar  was  the  look,  and  told, 

He  quaff 'd  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the 

Marmion  and  she  were  friends  of  old. 

cup. 

The  King  observed  their  meeting  eyes, 

She  look'd  down  to  blush,  and  she  look'd  up  to 

With  something  like  displeased  surprise ; 

sigh, 

For  monarchs  ill  can  rivals  brook, 

"With  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 

Even  in  a  word,  or  smile,  or  look. 

He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could  bar, — 

Straight  took  he  forth  the  parchment  broad, 

*  Now  tread  we  a  measure  !"  said  young  Lochin- 

Which  Marmion's  high  commission  show'd : 

var.                                         i 

"  Our  Borders  sack'd  by  many  a  raid, 

Our  peaceful  liege-men  robb'd,"  he  said : 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 

"  On  day  of  truce  our  Warden  slain, 

That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace ; 

Stout  Barton  kill'd,  his  vassals  ta'en — 

While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did 

Unworthy  were  we  here  to  reign, 

fume, 

Should  these  for  vengeance  cry  in  vain ; 

And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and 

Our  full  defiance,  hate,  and  scorn, 

plume ; 

Our  herald  has  to  Henry  borne." 

And  the  bride-maidens  whisper' d,  "  'Twere  better 

by  far, 

XIV. 

To  have  match'd  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Loch- 

He  paused,  and  led  where  Douglas  stood. 

invar." 

And  with  stern  eye  the  pageant  view'd>: 

I  mean  that  Douglas,  sixth  of  yore, 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 

Who  coronet  of  Angus  bore, 

When  they  reach'd  the  hall-door,  and  the  charger 

And,  when  lus  blood  and  heart  were  hign,a 

stood  near ; 

Did  the  third  James  in  camp  defy, 

So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fan  lady  he  swung, 

And  all  his  minions  led  to  die 

So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! 

On  Lauder's  dreary  flat : 

"  She  is  won  I  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and 

Princes  and  favorites  long  grew  tame, 

scaur ; 

And  trembled  at  the  homely  name 

They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth  young 

Of  Archibald  Bell-the-  Cat  ;s 

Lochinvar. 

The  same  who  left  the  dusky  vale 

Of  Hermitage  in  Liddisdale, 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Neth- 

Its  dungeons,  and  its  towers, 

erby  clan ; 

Where  Bothwell's  turrets  brave  the  air, 

Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and 

And  Bothwell  bank  is  blooming  fair, 

they  ran : 

To  fix  his  princely  bowers. 

There  was  racing  and  chasing,  on  Cannobie  Lee, 

Though  now,  in  age,  he  had  laid  down 

But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see. 

His  armor  for  the  peaceful  gown, 

So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 

And  for  a  staff  his  brand, 

Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochin- 

Yet  often  would  flash  forth  the  fire, 

vai  J 

That  could,  in  youth,  a  monarch's  ire 

And  minion's  pride  withstand ; 

XIII 

And  even  that  day,  at  council  board, 

The  Monarch  o'er  the  siren  nung 

Unapt  to  soothe  his  sovereign's  mood, 

And  beal  the  measure  as  she  sung ; 

Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood. 

And,  pressing  closer,  and  more  near, 

And  chafed  lus  royal  lord.4 

i  See  the  novel  of  Redgauntlet,  for  a  detailed  picture  of  some 

King  James's  minions  led  to  dis, 

of  the  extraordinary  phenomena  of  the  spring-tides  in  the  Sol- 

On  Lauder's  dreary  flat." 

riy  Frith. 

»  Bell-the-Cat,  see  Appendix,  Note  3  T. 

s  MS. — "  And  when  his  blood  and  heart  were  high 
k                                                                                       , 

<  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U. 

CANTO  V. 


MARMION. 


131 


XV. 

His  giant-form,  like  ruin'd  tower, 
Though  fall'ii  its  muscles'  brawny  vaunt, 
Huge-boned,  and  tall,  and  grim,  and  gaunt, 

Seem'd  o'er  the  gaudy  scene  to  lower : 
His  locks  and  beard  in  silver  grew ; 
His  eyebrows  kept  their  sable  hue. 
Near  Douglas  when  the  Monarch  stood, 
His  bitter  speech  he  thus  pursued : 
"  Lord  Marmion,  since  these  letters  say 
That  in  the  North  you  needs  must  stay, 

While  slightest  hopes  of  peace  remain, 
Uncourteous  speech  it  were,  and  stern, 
To  say — Return  to*  Lindisfarne, 

Until  my  herald  come  again. — 
Then  rest  you  in  Tantallon  Hold  ;2 
Your  host  shall  be  the  Douglas  bold, — 
A  chief  unlike  his  sires  of  old. 
He  wears  their  motto  on  his  blade,2 
Their  blazon  o'er  his  towers  display'd ; 
Yet  loves  his  sovereign  to  oppose, 
More  than  to  face  his  country's  foes. 

And,  I  bethink  me,  by  St.  Stephen, 

But  e'en  this  morn  to  me  was  given3 
A  prize,  the  first  fruits  of  the  war, 
Ta'en  by  a  galley  from  Dunbar, 

A  bevy  of  the  maids  of  Heaven. 
Under  your  guard,  these  holy  maids 
Shall  safe  return  to  cloister  shades, 
And,  while  they  at  Tantallon  stay, 
Requiem  for  Cochran's  soul  may  say." 
And,  with  the  slaughter'd  favorite's  name, 
Across  the  Monarch's  brow  there  came 
A.  cloud  of  ire  remorse,  and  shame. 

XVI. 

In  answer  naught  could  Angus  speak ; 
His  proud  heart  swell'd  wellnigh  to  break : 
He  turn'd  aside,  and  down  his  cheek 

A  burning  tear  there  stole. 
His  hand  the  Monarch  sudden  took, 
That  sight  his  kind  heart  could  not  brook : 

"  Now,  by  the  Bruce's  soul,4 
Angus,  my  hasty  speech  forgive  ! 
For  sure  as  doth  his  spirit  live, 
As  he  said  of  the  Douglas  old, 

I  well  may  say  of  you, — 
That  never  king  did  subject  hold, 
In  speech  more  free,  in  war  more  bold, 
More  tender  and  more  true  :6 
Forgive  me,  Douglas,  once  again." 
And,  while  the  King  his  hand  did  strain, 
The  old  man's  tears  fell  down  like  rain, 

See  App-ndix,  Note  3  V. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  W. 

»  MS.—"  But  yester  morn  was  hither  driven." 

*  The  next  two  lines  are  not  in  the  original  MS. 


To  seize  the  moment  Marmion  tried, 
And  whisper'd  to  the  King  aside  : 
"  Oh !  let  such  tears  unwonted  plead 
For  respite  short  from  dubious  deed ! 
A  child  will  weep  a  bramble's  smart, 
A  maid  to  see  her  sparrow  part,6 
A  stripling  for  a  woman's  heart : 
But  woe  awaits  a  country,  when 
She  sees  the  tears  of  bearded  men. 
Then,  oh !  what  omen,  dark  and  high, 
When  Douglas  wets  his  manly  eye  1" 

XVII. 

Displeased  was  James,  that  stranger  view'd 

And  tamper'd  with  his  changing  mood. 

"  Laugh  those  that  can,  weep  those  that  may," 

Thus  did  the  fiery  Monarch  say, 

"  Southward  I  march  by  break  of  day ; 

And  if  within  Tantallon  strong, 

The  good  Lord  Marmion  tarries  long, 

Perchance  our  meeting  next  may  fall 

At  Tamworth,  in  his  castle-hall." — 

The  haughty  Marmion  felt  the  taunt, 

And  answer'd,  grave,  the  royal  vaunt : 

"  Much  honor'd  were  my  humble  home, 

If  in  its  halls  King  James  should  come ; 

But  Nottingham  has  archers  good, 

And  Yorkshire  men  are  stern  of  mood* 

Northumbrian  prickers  wild  and  rude. 

On  Derby  Hills  the  paths  are  steep ; 

In  Ouse  and  Tyne  the  fords  are  deep ; 

And  many  a  banner  will  be  torn, 

And  many  a  knight  to  earth  be  borne, 

And  many  a  sheaf  of  arrows  spent, 

Ere  Scotland's  King  shall  cross  the  Trent : 

Yet  pause,  brave  Prince,  while  yet  you  may  1"— ■ 

The  Monarch  lightly  turn'd  away, 

And  to  his  nobles  loud  did  call, — 

"  Lords,  to  the  dance, — a  hall !  a  hall  !"7 

Himself  his  cloak  and  sword  flung  by, 

And  led  Dame  Heron  gallantly ; 

And  minstrels,  at  the  royal  order, 

Rung  out — "  Blue  Bonnets  o'er  the  Border." 

XVIII. 
Leave  we  these  revels  now,  to  tell 
What  to  Saint  Hilda's  maids  befell 
Whose  galley,  as  they  sail'd  again 
To  Wlritby,  by  a  Scot  was  ta'en. 
Now  at  Dun-Edin  did  they  bide, 
Till  James  should  of  their  fate  decide ; 

And  soon,  by  his  command, 
Were  gently  summon'd  to  prepare 

6  "  O,  Dowglas  !  Dowglas ! 
Tendir  and  trew." 

The  Houlate. 
6  MS. — "  A  maid  to  see  her  love  depart." 
'  The  ancient  cry  to  make  room  for  a  dance  or  pageant 


132 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V, 


To  journey  under  Marmion's  care, 
As  escort  honor'd,  safe,  and  fair, 

Again  to  English  land. 
The  Abbess  told  her  chaplet  o'er, 
Nor  knew  which  saint  she  should  implore 
For,  when  she  thought  of  Constance,  sore 

She  fear'd  Lord  Marmion's  mood. 
And  judge  what  Clara  must  have  felt  1 
The  sword,  that  hung  in  Marmion's  belt, 

Had  drunk  De  Wilton's  blood. 
Unwittingly,  King  James  had  given, 

As  guard  to  Whitby's  shades, 
The  man  most  dreaded  under  Heaven 

By  these  defenceless  maids : 
Yet  what  petition  could  avail, 
Or  who  would  listen  to  the  tale 
Of  woman,  prisoner,  and  nun, 
'Mid  bustle  of  a  war  begun  ? 
They  deem'd  it  hopeless  to  avoid 
The  convoy  of  their  dangerous  guide. 

XIX. 

Their  lodging,  so  the  King  assign' d, 
To  Marmion's,  as  their  guardian,  join'd ; 
And  thus  it  fell,  that,  passing  nigh, 
The  Palmer  caught  the  Abbess'  eye, 

Who  warn'd  him  by  a  scroll, 
She  had  a  secret  to  reveal, 
That  much  concern'd  the  Church's  weal, 

And  health  of  sinner's  soul ; 
And,  with  deep  charge  of  secrecy, 

She  named  a  place  to  meet, 
Within  an  open  balcony, 
That  hung  from  dizzy  pitch,  and  high, 

Above  the  stately  street : 
To  which,  as  common  to  each  home, 
At  night  they  might  in  secret  come. 

XX. 

At  night,  in  secret,  there  they  came, 
The  Palmer  and  the  holy  Dame. 
The  moon  among  the  clouds  rose  high, 
And  all  the  city  hum  was  by. 
Upon  the  street,  where  late  before 
Did  din  of  war  and  warriors  roar, 

You  might  have  heard  a  pebble  fall, 
A  beetle  hum,  a  cricket  sing, 
An  owlet  flap  his  boding  wing 

On  Giles's  steeple  tall 
The  antique  buildings,  climbing  high, 
Whose  Gothic  frontlets  sought  the  sky, 

Were  here  wrapt  deep  in  shade ; 


»  "There  are  passages  in  which  the  flatness  and  tediousness 
ta*  the  narrative  is  relieved  by  no  sort  of  beauty  nor  elegance  of 
diction,  and  which  form  an  extraordinary  contrast  with  the 
more  animated  and  finished  portions  of  the  poem.  We  shall 
bet  ahMict  our  readers  with  more  than  one  specimen  of  this  fall- 


There    on    their    brows    the    moon-beam 

broke, 
Through  the  faint  wreaths  of  silvery  smoke. 
And  on  the  casements  play'd. 
And  other  light  was  none  to  see, 

Save  torches  gliding  far, 
Before  some  chieftain  of  degree, 
Who  left  the  royal  revelry, 
To  bowne  him  for  the  war. — 
A  solemn  scene  the  Abbess  chose  ; 
A  solemn  hour,  her  secret  to  disclose. 

XXI 

"  0,  holy  Palmer  I"  she  began, — 
"  For  sure  he  must  be  sainted  man, 
Whose  blessed  feet  have  trod  the  ground 
Where  the  Redeemer's  tomb  is  found, — 
For  his  dear  Church's  sake,  my  tale 
Attend,  nor  deem  of  light  avail, 
Though  I  must  speak  of  worldly  love, — 
How  vain  to  those  who  wed  above  ! — 
De  Wilton  and  Lord  Marmion  woo'd1 
Clara  de  Clare,  of  Gloster's  blood ; 
(Idle  it  were  of  Whitby's  dame, 
To  say  of  that  same  blood  I  came) ; 
And  once,  when  jealous  rage  was  high, 
Lord  Marmion  said  despiteously, 
Wilton  was  traitor  in  his  heart, 
And  had  made  league  with  Martin  Swart, 
When  he  came  here  on  Simnel's  part ; 
And  only  cowardice  did  restrain 
His  rebel  aid  on  Stokefield's  plain, — 
And  down  he  threw  his  glove : — the  thing 
Was  tried,  as  wont,  before  the  King ; 
Where  frankly  did  De  Wilton  own, 
That  Swart  in  Gueldres  he  had  known ; 
And  that  between  them  then  there  went 
Some  scroll  of  courteous  compliment. 
For  this  he  to  his  castle  sent ; 
But  when  his  messenger  return'd, 
Judge  how  De  Wilton's  fury  burn'd ! 
For  in  his  packet  there  was  laid 
Letters  that  claim'd  disloyal  aid, 
And  proved  King  Henry's  cause  betray'd. 
His  fame,  thus  blighted,  in  the  field 
He  strove  to  clear,  by  spear  and  shield ; — 
To  clear  his  fame,  hi  vain  he  strove, 
For  wondrous  are  His  ways  above  ! 
Perchance  some  form  was  unobserved ; 
Perchance  in  prayer,  or  faith,  he  swerved  ;* 
Else  how  could  guiltless  champion  quail, 
Or  how  the  blessed  ordeal  fail  ? 


ing  off.  We  select  it  from  the  Abbess's  explanation  to  D« 
Wilton  : — '  De  Wilton  and  Lord  Marmion  woo'd,'  &c.  (and 
twenty-two  following  lines)." — Jeffrey. 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 

3  Ibid.  Note  3  Y. 


<janto  v.                                                MARMION.                                                       133 

XXIL 

Traced  quaint  and  varying  character. 

"  His  squire,  w  ho  now  De  Wilton  saw 

Perchance  you  may  a  marvel  deem, 

As  recreant  doom'd  to  suffer  law,    . 

That  Marmion'8  paramour 

Repentant,  own'd  in  vain, 

(For  such  vile  thing  she  was)  should  scheme 

That,  wliile  he  had  the  scrolls  in  care, 

Her  lover's  nuptial  hour  ; 

A  stranger  maiden,  passing  fair, 

But  o'er  him  thus  she  hoped  to  gain. 

Had  drench'd  him  with  a  beverage  rare : 

As  privy  to  his  honor's  stain, 

His  words  no  faith  could  gain. 

Illimitable  power : 

"With  Clare  alone  he  credence  won, 

For  this  she  secretly  retain'd 

Who,  rather  than  wed  Marmion, 

Each  proof  that  might  the  plot  reveal, 

Did  to  Saint  Hilda's  shrine  repair, 

Instructions  with  his  hand  and  seal  ■ 

To  give  our  house  her  livings  fair 

And  thus  Saint  Hilda  deign'd, 

And  die  a  vestal  vot'ress  there. 

Tlirough  sinner's  perfidy  impure, 

The  impulse  from  the  earth  was  given, 

Her  house's  glory  to  secure, 

But  bent  her  to  the  paths  of  heaven. 

And  Clare's  immortal  weaL 

A  purer  heart,  a  lovelier  maid, 

Ne'er  shelter'd  her  in  Whitby's  shade, 

XXIV. 

No,  not  since  Saxon  Edelfled ; 

"  'Twere  long,  and  needless,  here  to  telL 

Only  one  trace  of  earthly  strain,    ' 

How  to  my  hand  these  papers  fell ; 

That  for  her  lover's  loss 

With  me  they  must  not  stay. 

She  cherishes  a  sorrow  vain, 

Saint  Hilda  keep  her  Abbess  true  1 

And  murmurs  at  the  cross. — 

Who  knows  what  outrage  he  might  do, 

And  then  her  heritage ; — it  goes 

Wliile  journeying  by  the  way  ? — 

Along  the  banks  of  Tame  ; 

0,  blessed  Saint,  if  e'er  again 

Deep  fields  of  grain  the  reaper  mows; 

I  venturous  leave  thy  calm  domain, 

In  meadows  rich  the  heifer  lows, 

To  travel  or  by  land  or  main, 

The  falconer  and  huntsman  knows 

Deep  penance  may  I  pay  ! — 

Its  woodlands  for  the  game. 

Now,  saintly  Palmer,  mark  my  prayer: 

Shame  were  it  to  Saint  Hilda  dear, 

I  give  this  packet  to  thy  care, 

And  I,  her  humble  vot'ress  here, 

For  thee  to  stop  they  will  not  dare ; 

Should  do  a  deadly  sin, 

And  0 !  with  cautious  speed, 

Her  temple  spoil'd  before  mine  eyes, 

To  Wolsey's  hand  the  papers  bring, 

If  this  false  Marmion  such  a  prize 

That  he  may  show  them  to  the  king : 

By  my  consent  should  win ; 

And,  for  thy  well-earn'd  meed, 

Yet  hath  our  boisterous  monarch  sworn 

Thou  holy  man,  at  Whitby's  shrine 

That  Clare  shall  from  our  house  be  torn ; 

A  weekly  mass  shall  still  be  thine, 

And  grievous  cause  have  I  to  fear, 

While  priests  can  sing  and  read. — 

Such  mandate  doth  Lord  Marmion  bear. 

What  ail'st  thou  ? — Speak  !" — For  as  he  took 

The  charge,  a  strong  emotion  shook 

XXIII. 

His  frame  ;  and,  ere  reply, 

"  Now,  prisoner,  helpless,  and  betray'd 

They  heard  a  faint,  yet  shrilly  tone, 

To  evil  power,  I  claim  thine  aid, 

Like  distant  clarion  feebly  blown, 

By  every  step  that  thou  hast  trod 

That  on  the  breeze  did  die  ; 

To  holy  shrine  and  grotto  dim, 

And  loud  the  Abbess  shriek'd  in  fear, 

By  every  martyr's  tortured  limb, 

"  Saint  Withold,  save  us ! — What  is  here  1 

By  angel,  saint,  and  serapliim, 

Look  at  yon  City  Cross ! 

And  by  the  Church  of  God ! 

See  on  its  battled  tower  appear 

For  mark : — When  Wilton  was  betray'd. 

Phantoms,  that  scutcheons  seem  to  real', 

And  with  his  squire  forged  letters  laid, 

And  blazon'd  banners  toss !" — 

She  was,  alas !  that  sinful  maid, 

By  whom  the  deed  was  done, — 

XXV. 

0  !  shame  and  horror  to  be  said ! — 

Dun-Edin's  Cross,  a  pillar'd  stone,1 

She  was  a  perjured  nun ! 

Rose  on  a  turret  octagon ; 

No  clerk  in  all  the  land,  like  her, 

(But  now  is  razed  that  monument 

'  MS. — "Dun-Edin's  Cross,  a  pillar'd  stone, 

On  its  destroyer's  drowsy  \  u  ad  1— 

Rose  on  a  turret  hexagon  : 

Upon  its  base  destroyer's  t 

(Dust  unto  dust,  lead  unto  lead, 

|            The  Minstrel's  malison  is  said."* 

134                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  v 

Whence  royal  edict  rang, 

Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye ; 

And  voice  of  Scotland's  law  was  sent 

De  Wilton,  erst  of  Aberley, 

In  glorious  trumpet-clang. 

The  self-same  thundering  voice  did  say. — • 

0 !  be  his  tomb  as  lead  to  lead, 

But  then  another  spoke : 

Upon  its  dull  destroyer's  head  ! — 

"  Thy  fatal  summons  I  deny, 

A  minstrel's  malison1  is  said.8) — 

And  thine  infernal  Lord  defy, 

Then  on  its  battlements  they  saw 

Appealing  me  to  Him  on  high, 

A  vision,  passing  Nature's  law, 

Who  burst  the  sinner's  yoke." 

Strange,  wild,  and  dimly  seen  ; 

At  that  dread  accent,  with  a  scream, 

Figures  that  seem'd  to  rise  and  die, 

Parted  the  pageant  like  a  dream, 

Gibber  and  sign,  advance  and  fly, 

The  summoner  was  gone. 

While  naught  confirm'd  could  ear  or  eye 

Prone  on  her  face  the  Abbess  fell, 

Discern  of  sound  or  mien. 

And  fast,  and  fast,  her  beads  did  tell ; 

Yet  darkly  did  it  seem,  as  there 

Her  nuns  came,  startled  by  the  yell, 

Heralds  and  Pursuivants  prepare, 

And  found  her  there  alone. 

With  trumpet  sound  and  blazon  fair, 

She  mark'd  not,  at  the  scene  aghast, 

A  summons  to  proclaim ; 

What  time,  or  how,  the  Palmer  pass'd. 

But  indistinct  the  pageant  proud, 

As  fancy  forms  of  midnight  cloud, 

XXVII. 

When  flings  the  moon  upon  her  shroud 

Shift  we  the  scene. — The  camp  doth  movej 

A  wavering  tinge  of  flame  ; 

Dun-Edin's  streets  are  empty  now, 

It  flits,  expands,  and  shifts,  till  loud, 

Save  when,  for  weal  of  those  they  love, 

From  midmost  of  the  spectre  crowd, 

To  pray  the  prayer,  and  vow  the  vow, 

This  awful  summons  came : — 3 

The  tottering  child,  the  anxious  fair, 

The  gray-hair'd  sire,  with  pious  care^ 

XXVI. 

To  chapels  and  to  shrines  repair — 

*  Prince,  prelate,  potentate,  and  peer, 

Where  is  the  Palmer  now  ?  and  where 

Whose  names  I  now  shall  call, 

The  Abbess,  Marmion,  and  Clare  ? — 

Scottish,  or  foreigner,  give  ear ; 

Bold  Douglas !  to  Tantallon  fair 

Subjects  of  him  who  sent  me  here, 

They  journey  in  thy  charge  : 

At  his  tribunal  to  appear, 

Lord  Marmion  rode  on  his  right  hand, 

I  summon  one  and  all : 

The  Palmer  still  was  with  the  band ; 

I  cite  you  by  each  deadly  sin, 

Angus,  like  Lindesay,  did  command, 

That  e'er  hath  soil'd  your  hearts  within : 

That  nuns  should  roam  at  large. 

I  cite  you  by  each  brutal  lust, 

But  in  that  Palmer's  alter'd  mien 

That  e'er  defiled  your  earthly  dust, — 

A  wondrous  change  might  now  be  «een 

By  wrath,  by  pride,  by  fear,4 

Freely  he  spoke  of  war, 

By  each  o'ermastering  passion's  tone, 

Of  marvels  wrought  by  single  haD<\ 

By  the  dark  grave,  and  dying  groan ! 

When  lifted  for  a  native  land ; 

When  forty  days  are  pass'd  and  gone,6 

And  still  look'd  high,  as  if  he  plana' £ 

I  cite  you,  at  your  Monarch's  throne, 

Some  desperate  deed  afar. 

To  answer  and  appear." 

His  courser  would  he  feed  and  stroka 

Then  thunder'd  forth  a  roll  of  names : 

And,  tucking  up  his  sable  frocke, 

The  first  was  thine,  unhappy  James ! 

Would  first  his  mettle  bold  provoke, 

Then  all  thy  nobles  came ; 

Then  sooth  or  quell  his  pride. 

Crawford,  Glencairn,  Montrose,  Argyle, 

Old  Hubert  said,  that  never  one 

Ross,  Bothwell,  Forbes,  Lennox,  Lyle, — 

He  saw,  except  Lord  Marmion, 

Why  should  I  tell  their  separate  style  ; 

A  steed  so  fairly  ride. 

Each  chief  of  birth  and  fame, 

Of  Lowland,  Highland,  Border,  Isle, 

XXVIII. 

Fore-doom'd  to  Flodden's  carnage  pile, 

Some  half-hour's  march  behind,  there  cato^ 

Was  cited  there  by  name  ; 

By  Eustace  govern'd  fair, 

And  Marmion,  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 

A  troop  escorting  Hilda's  Dame, 

t  i.  ••  Curse. 

6  MS. — "  Ere  twenty  days  are  pass'd  and  gone, 

Before  the  mighty  Monarch's  throne, 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Z.                      3  Ibid.  Note  4  A. 

I  cite  you  to  appear." 

*  MS. — "  By  wrath,  by  fraud,  by  fear."                         ♦ 

«  MS. — "  In  thundering  tone  the  voice  did  wy." 

1  W^J^adu/  ^/a^te/^ 


oanto  v.                                               MARMION.                                                       136 

"With  all  her  nuns  and  Clare. 

Commanding,  that,  beneath  his  care, 

No  audience  had  Lord  Marinion  sought; 

Without  delay,  you  shall  repair 

Ever  he  fear'd  to  aggravate 

To  your  good  kinsman,  Lord  Fitz-Clare.'' 

Clara  de  Clare's  suspicious  hate ; 

And  safer  'twas,  he  thought, 

XXX. 

To  wait  till,  from  the  nuns  removed, 

The  startled  Abbess  loud  exclaim'd ; 

The  influence  of  kinsmen  loved, 

But  she,  at  whom  the  blow  was  aim'd, 

And  suit  by  Henry's  self  approved, 

Grew  pale  as  death,  and  cold  as  lead, — 

Her  slow  consent  had  wrought. 

She  deem'd  she  heard  her  death-dcom  read. 

His  was  no  flickering  flame,  that  dies 

"  Cheer  thee,  my  child !"  the  Abbess  said, 

Unless  when  fann'd  by  looks  and  sighs, 

"  They  dare  not  tear  thee  from  my  hand, 

And  lighted  oft  at  lady's  eyes ; 

To  ride  alone  with  armed  band." — 

He  long'd  to  stretch  Ins  wide  command 

"  Nay,  holy  mother,  nay," 

O'er  luckless  Clara's  ample  land : 

Fitz-Eustace  said,  "the  lovely  Clare 

Besides,  when  Wilton  with  lum  vied, 

Will  be  in  Lady  Angus'  care, 

Although  the  pang  of  humbled  pride 

In  Scotland  while  we  stay ; 

The  place  of  jealousy  supplied, 

And,  when  we  move,  an  easy  ride 

Yet  conquest  by  that  meanness  won 

Will  brhig  us  to  the  English  side, 

He  almost  loath'd  to  tliink  upon, 

Female  attendance  to  provide 

Led  him,  at  times,  to  hate  the  cause, 

Befitting  Gloster's  heir : 

Which  made  Mm  burst  through  honor's  laws. 

Nor  thinks  nor  dreams  my  noble  lord, 

If  e'er  he  lov'd,  'twas  her  alone, 

By  slightest  look,  or  act,  or  word, 

Who  died  within  that  vault  of  stone. 

To  harass  Lady  Clare. 
Her  faithful  guardian  he  will  be, 

XXIX. 

Nor  sue  for  slightest  courtesy 

And  now,  when  close  at  hand  they  saw 

That  e'en  to  stranger  falls, 

North  Berwick's  town,  and  lofty  Law,1 

Till  he  shall  place  her,  safe  and  free, 

Fitz-Eustace  bade  them  pause  a  while, 

Within  her  kinsman's  halls." 

Before  a  venerable  pile,3 

He  spoke,  and  blush'd  with  earnest  grace  j 

Whose  turrets  view'd,  afar, 

His  faith  was  painted  on  Ins  face, 

The  lofty  Bass,  the  Lambie  Isle,8 

And  Clare's  worst  fear  relieved. 

The  ocean's  peace  or  war. 

The  Lady  Abbess  loud  exclaim'd 

At  tolling  of  a  bell,  forth  came 

On  Henry,  and  the  Douglas  blamed, 

The  convent's  venerable  Dame, 

Entreated,  threaten' d,  grieved ; 

And  pray'd  Saint  Hilda's  Abbess  rest 

To  martyr,  saint,  and  prophet  pray'd, 

With  her,  a  loved  and  honor'd  guest, 

Against  Lord  Marmion  inveigh' d, 

Till  Douglas  should  a  bark  prepare 

And  call'd  the  Prioress  to  aid, 

To  waft  her  back  to  Whitby  fair. 

To  curse  with  candle,  bell,  and  book. 

Glad  was  the  Abbess,  you  may  guess, 

Her  head  the  grave  Cistertian  shook : 

And  thank'd  the  Scottish  Prioress  • 

"  The  Douglas,  and  the  King,"  she  said, 

And  tedious  were  to  tell,  I  ween, 

"  In  their  commands  will  be  obey'd ; 

The  courteous  speech  that  pass'd  between. 

Grieve  not,  nor  dream  that  harm  can  fall 

O'erjoy'd  the  nuns  their  palfreys  leave ; 

The  maiden  in  Tantallon  halh" 

But  when  fair  Clara  did  intend, 

Like  them,  from  horseback  to  descend, 

XXXI. 

Fitz-Eustace  said, — "  I  grieve, 

The  Abbess,  seeing  stflfe  was  vain, 

Fair  lady,  grieve  e'en  from  my  heart, 

Assumed  her  wonted  state  again, — 

Such  gentle  company  to  part ; — 

For  much  of  state  she  had, — 

Tliink  not  discourtesy, 

Composed  her  veil,  and  raised  her  head, 

But  lords'  commands  must  be  obey'd ; 

And — "  Bid,"  in  solemn  voice  she  said, 

And  Marmion  and  the  Douglas  said, 

"  Thy  master,  bold  and  bad, 

That  you  must  wend  with  me. 

The  records  of  his  house  turn  o'er, 

Lord  Marmion  hath  a  letter  broad, 

And,  when  he  shall  there  written  see, 

Wkich  to  the  Scottish  Earl  he  show'd, 

That  one  of  his  own  ancestry 

MS. — "  North  Berwick's  town,  and  conic  Law." 

near  North  Berwick,  of  which  there  are  still  some  remairu.    it 
was  founded  by  Duncan,  Earl  of  Fife,  in  1216. 

The  convent,  alluded  to  is  a  foundation  of  Cistertian  nuns, 

s  MS. — "  The  lofty  Bass,  the  Lamb's  green  isl»  " 

136 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V 


Drove  the  monks  forth  of  Coventry,1 
Bid  him  his  fate  explore  ! 

Prancing  in  pride  of  earthly  trust, 

His  charger  hurl'd  him  to  the  dust, 

And,  by  a  base  plebeian  thrust, 
He  died  his  band  before. 

God  judge  'twixt  Marmion  and  me ; 

He  is  a  Chief  of  high  degree, 
And  I  a  poor  recluse : 

Yet  oft,  in  holy  writ,  we  see 

Even  such  weak  minister  as  me 
May  the  oppressor  bruise : 

For  thus,  inspired,  did  Judith  slay 
The  mighty  in  his  sin, 

And  Jael  thus,  and  Deborah" 

Here  hasty  Blount  broke  in : 
"  Fitz-Eust<ice,  we  must  march  our  band : 
St.  Anton  fire  thee  !  wilt  thou  stand 
All  day,  with  bonnet  in  thy  hand, 

To  hear  the  Lady  preach  ? 
By  this  good  light !  if  thus  we  stay, 
Lord  Marmion,  for  our  fond  delay, 

Will  sharper  sermon  teach. 
Come,  d'on  thy  cap,  and  mount  thy  horse ; 
The  Dame  must  patience  take  perforce." — 

XXXII. 

"  Submit  we  then  to  force,"  said  Clare, 
"  But  let  this  barbarous  lord  despair 

His  purposed  aim  to  win ; 
Let  him  take  living,  land,  and  life ; 
But  to  be  Marmion's  wedded  wife 

In  me  were  deadly  sin : 
And  if  it  be  the  King's  decree, 
That  I  must  find  no  sanctuary, 
In  that  inviolable  dome,2 
Where  even  a  homicide  might  come, 

And  safely  rest  his  head, 
Though  at  its  open  portals  stood, 
Thirsting  to  pour  forth  blood  for  blood, 

The  kinsmen  of  the  dead ; 
Y"et  one  asylum  is  my  own 

Against  the  dreaded  hour ; 
A  low,  a  silent,  and  a  lone, 

Where  kings  have  little  power. 
One  victim  is  before  ma  there. — 


i  See  Appendix,  Note  4  B. 

2  This  line,  necessary  to  the  rhyme,  is  now  for  the  first  time 
•estored  from  the  MS.  It  must  have  heen  omitted  by  an  over- 
light  in  the  original  printing. — Ed. 

3  For  the  origin  of  Marmion's  visit  to  Tantallon  Castle,  in 
the  Poem,  see  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  17. 

4  "  During  the  regency  (subsequent  to  the  death  of  James 
V.)  the  Dowager  Queen  Regent,  Mary  of  Guise,  became  desi- 
rous of  putting  a  French  garrison  into  Tantallon,  as  she  had 
into  Dunbar  and  Inchkeith,  in  order  the  better  to  bridle  the 
lords  and  barons,  who  inclined  to  the  reformed  faith,  and  to 
secure  by  citadels  the  sea-coast  of  the  Frith  of  Forth.  For 
this  purpose,  the  Regent,  to  use  the  phrase  of  the  time,  '  dealed 


Mother,  your  blessing,  and  in  prayer 
Remember  your  unhappy  Clare  !" 
Loud  weeps  the  Abbess,  and  bestows 

Kind  blessings  many  a  one : 
Weeping  and  wailing  loud  arose, 
Round  patient  Clare,  the  clamorous  woes 

Of  every  simple  nun. 
His  eyes  the  gentle  Eustace  dried, 
And  scarce  rude  Blount  the  sight  could  bida 

Then  took  the  squire  her  rein, 
And  gently  led  away  her  steed, 
And,  by  each  courteous  word  and  deed, 

To  cheer  her  strove  in  vain. 

XXXIII. 

Rut  scant  three  miles  the  band  had  rode, 

When  o'er  a  height  they  pass'd, 
And,  sudden,  close  before  them  show'd 

His  towers,  Tantallon  vast  ;s 
Broad,  massive,  high,  and  stretching  far, 
And  held  impregnable  in  war. 
On  a  projecting  rock  they  rose, 
And  round  three  sides  the  ocean  flows, 
The  fourth  did  battled  walls  enclose, 

And  double  mound  and  fosse.4 
Ry  narrow  drawbridge,  outworks  strong, 
Through  studded  gates,  an  entrance  long, 

To  the  main  court  they  cross. 
It  was  a  wide  and  stately  square : 
Around  were  lodgings,  fit  and  fair, 

And  towers  of  various  form, 
Which  on  the  court  projected  far, 
And  broke  its  lines  quadrangular. 
Here  was  square  keep,  there  turret  high. 
Or  pinnacle  that  sought  the  sky, 
Whence  oft  the  Warder  could  descry 

The  gathering  ocean-storm. 

XXXIV. 
Here  did  they  rest. — The  princely  care 
Of  Douglas,  why  should  I  declare, 
Or  say  they  met  reception  fair  ? 

Or  why  the  tidings  say, 
Winch,  varying,  to  Tantallon  came, 
By  hurrying  posts  or  fleeter  fame, 

With  ever- varying  day  ? 


with'  the  (then)  Earl  of  Angus  for  his  consent  to  the  proposed 
measure.  He  occupied  himself,  while  she  was  speaking,  u 
feeding  a  falcon  which  sat  upon  his  wrist,  and  only  replied  bj 
addressing  the  bird,  but  leaving  the  Queen  to  make  the  appli 
cation,  '  The  devil  is  in  this  greedy  gled — she  will  never  be 
fou.'  But  when  the  Queen,  without  appearing  to  notice  this 
hint,  continued  to  press  her  obnoxious  request,  Angus  replied, 
in  the  true  spirit  of  a  feudal  noble,  '  Yes,  Madam,  the  castle  is 
yours  :  God  forbid  else.  But  by  the  might  Oi  God,  Madam  !' 
such  was  his  usual  oath,  '  I  must  be  your  Captain  and  Keeper 
for  you,  and  I  will  keep  it  as  well  as  any  you  can  place 
there.'"  —  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Miscellaneous  Prose 
Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  436. 


oanto  vi.                                             MARMION.                                                       137 

And,  first  they  heard  King  James  had  won 

Even,  heathen  yet,  the  savage  Dane 

Etall,  and  Wark,  and  Ford ;  and  then, 

At  Iol  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain -a 

That  Norkam  Castle  strong  was  ta'ea 

High  on  the  beach  his  galleys  drew, 

At  that  sore  marvell'd  Marmion ; 

And  feasted  all  his  pirate  crew ; 

And  Douglas  hoped  his  Monarch's  hand 

Then  in  his  low  and  pine-built  hall, 

"Would  soon  subdue  Northumberland : 

Where  sliields  and  axes  deck'd  the  wall ; 

But  whisper'd  news  there  came, 

They  gorged  upon  the  half-dress'd  steer  ; 

That,  while  Iris  host  inactive  lay, 

Caroused  in  seas  of  sable  beer ; 

And  melted  by  degrees  away, 

While  round,  in  brutal  jest,  were  thrown 

King  James  was  dallying  off  the  day 

The  half-gnaw'd  rib,  and  marrow-bone : 

With  Heron's  wily  dame. 

Or  listen'd  all,  in  grim  delight, 

Such  acts  to  Chronicles  I  yield ; 

While  Scalds  yell'd  out  the  joys  of  fight. 

Go  seek  them  there,  and  see  ; 

Then  forth,  in  plirensy,  would  they  hie, 

Mine  is  a  tale  of  Flodden  Field, 

Wlrile  wildly -loose  their  red  locks  fly, 

And  not  a  history. — 

And  dancing  round  the  blazing  pile, 

At  length  they  heard  the  Scottish  host 

They  make  such  barbarous  mirth  the  while, 

On  that  high  ridge  had  made  their  post, 

As  best  might  to  the  mind  recall 

"Which  frowns  o'er  Millfield  Plain ; 

The  boisterous  joys  of  Odin's  hall 

And  that  brave  Surrey  many  a  band 

Had  gather'd  in  the  Southern  land, 

And  well  our  Christian  sires  of  old 

And  march'd  into  Northumberland, 

Loved  when  the  year  its  course  had  roll'd, 

And  camp  at  "Wooler  ta'en. 

And  brought  blithe  Christmas  back  again, 

Marmion,  like  charger  in  the  stall, 

With  all  his  hospitable  train. 

That  hears,  without,  the  trumpet-call, 

Domestic  and  religious  rite 

Began  to  chafe,  and  swear : — 

Gave  honor  to  the  holy  night ; 

"  A  sorry  thing  to  hide  my  head 

On  Christmas  eve  the  bells  were  rung ; 

In  castle,  like  a  fearful  maid, 

On  Christmas  eve  the  mass  was  sung  i 

"When  such  a  field  is  near ! 

That  only  night  in  all  the  year, 

Needs  must  I  see  this  battle-day : 

Saw  the  stoled  priest  the  chalice  rear.8 

Death  to  my  fame  if  such  a  fray 

The  damsel  donn'd  her  kirtle  sheen ; 

"Were  fought,  and  Marmion  away  1 

The  hall  was  dress'd  with  holy  green ; 

The  Douglas,  too,  I  wot  not  why, 

Forth  to  the  wood  did  merry -men  go, 

Hath  bated  of  his  courtesy : 

To  gather  in  the  misletoe. 

No  longer  in  his  halls  I'll  stay." 

Then  open'd  wide  the  Baron's  hall 

Then  bade  his  band  they  should  array 

To  vassal,  tenant,  serf,  and  all ; 

For  march  against  the  dawning  day. 

Power  laid  lus  rod  of  ride  aside, 

And  Ceremony  doff  'd  his  pride. 
The  heir,  with  roses  in  his  shoes, 

That  night  might  village  partner  choose ; 

Jttarmton. 

The  Lord,  undelegating,  share 

The  vulgar  game  of  "  post  and  pair." 

All  hail'd,  with  uncontroll'd  delight, 
And  general  voice,  the  happy  night, 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  SIXTH. 

That  to  the  cottage,  as  the  crown, 

Brought  tidings  of  salvation  down. 

TO 
RICHARD  HEBER,  ESd. 

The  fire,  with  well-dried  logs  supplied, 

Went  roaring  up  the  chimney  wide ; 

Mertoun-House,1  Christmas. 

The  huge  hall-table's  oaken  face, 

Heap  on  more  wood ! — the  wind  is  chill ; 

Scrubb'd  till  it  shone,  the  day  to  grace. 

But  let  it  whistle  as  it  will, 

Bore  then  upon  its  massive  board 

"We'll  keep  our  Christmas  merry  still. 

No  mark  to  part  the  squire  and  lord. 

Each  age  has  deem'd  the  new-born  year 

Then  was  brought  in  the  lusty  brawn, 

The  fittest  time  for  festal  cheer : 

By  old  blue-coated  serving-man ; 

i  Mertoun-House,  the  seat  of  Hugh  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Harden, 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  C. 

s  beautifully  situated  on  the  Tweed,  about  two  miles  below 

Oryburgh  Abbey. 

18 

s  Ibid.  Note  4  D 

138 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI, 


Then  the  grim  boar's  head  frown' d  on  high, 
Crested  with  bays  and  rosemary. 
"Well  can  the  green  garb'd  ranger  tell, 
How,  when,  and  where,  the  monster  fell ; 
What  dogs  before  his  death  he  tore, 
And  all  the  baiting  of  the  boar.1 
The  wassel  round,  in  good  brown  bowls, 
Garnish'd  with  ribbons,  blithely  trowls. 
There  the  huge  sirloin  reek' d ;  hard  by 
Plum-porridge  stood,  and  Christmas  pie  ; 
Nor  fail'd  old  Scotland  to  produce, 
At  such  high  tide,  her  savory  goose. 
Then  came  the  merry  maskers  in, 
And  carols  roar'd,  with  blithesome  din ; 
If  unmelodious  was  the  song, 
It  was  a  hearty  note,  and  strong. 
Who  lists  may  in  their  mumming  see 
Traces  of  ancient  mystery  ;2 
White  shirts  supplied  the  masquerade, 
And  smutted  cheeks  the  visors  made ; 
But,  0  !  what  maskers,  richly  dight, 
Can  boast  of  bosoms  half  so  light ! 
England  was  merry  England,  when 
Old  Christmas  brought  his  sports  again. 
'Twas  Christmas  broach'd  the  mightiest  ale ; 
'Twas  Christmas  told  the  merriest  tale ; 
A  Christmas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 
The  poor  man's  heart  through  half  the  year. 

Still  linger,  in  our  northern  clime, 
Some  remnants  of  the  good  old  time ; 
And  still,  within  our  valleys  here, 
We  hold  the  kindred  title  dear, 
Even  when,  perchance,  its  far-fetch'd  claim 
To  Southron  ear  sounds  empty  name ; 
For  course  of  blood,  our  proverbs  deem, 
Is  warmer  than  the  mountain-stream.3 
And  thus,  my  Christmas  still  I  hold 
Where  my  great-grandsire  came  of  old, 
With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair,4 
And  reverend  apostolic  air — 
The  feast  and  holy -tide  to  share, 
And  mix  sobriety  with  wine, 
And  honest  mirth  with  thoughts  divine : 
Small  thought  was  his,  in  after  time 

1  MS. — "  And  all  the  hunting  of  the  boar. 

Then  round  the  merry  wassel-bowl, 
Garnish'd  with  ribbons,  blithe  did  trowl, 
And  the  large  sirloin  steam'd  on  high, 
Plum-porridge,  hare,  and  savory  pie." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  E. 

3  «  Blood  is  warmer  than  water," — a  proverb  meant  to  vin- 
dicate our  family  predilections. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  F. 

6  MS. — "  In  these  fair  halls,  with  merry  cheer, 
Is  bid  iarewell  the  dying  year." 

e  "  A  lady  of  noble  German  descent,  born  Countess  Harriet 
Bruhl  of  Martinskirchen,  married  to  H.  Scott,  Esq.  of  Harden 
ijiov  Lord  Polwarth),  the  author's  relative  and  much-valued 


E'er  to  be  hitch'd  into  a  rhyme. 
The  simple  sire  could  only  boast, 
That  he  was  loyal  to  his  cost ; 
The  banish'd  race  of  kings  revered, 
And  lost  his  land, — but  kept  his  beard. 

In  these  deal'  halls,  where  welcome  kind* 
Is  with  fair  liberty  combined ; 
Where  cordial  friendship  gives  the  hand, 
And  flies  constraint  the  magic  wand 
Of  the  fair  dame  that  rules  the  land.9 
Little  we  heed  the  tempest  drear, 
While  music,  mirth,  and  social  cheer, 
Speed  on  their  wings  the  passing  year. 
And  Mertoun's  halls  are  fair  e'en  now, 
When  not  a  leaf  is  on  the  bough. 
Tweed  loves  them  well,  and  turns  again, 
As  loath  to  leave  the  sweet  domain, 
And  holds  his  mirror  to  her  face, 
And  clips  her  with  a  close  embrace : — 
Gladly  as  he,  we  seek  the  dome, 
And  as  reluctant  turn  us  home. 

How  just  that,  at  this  time  of  glee, 
My  thoughts  should,  Heber,  turn  to  thee ! 
For  maliy  a  merry  hour  we've  Imown, 
And  heard  the  chimes  of  midnigbfs  tone 
Cease,  then,  my  friend !  a  moment  cease> 
And  leave  these  classic  tomes  in  peace  I 
Of  Roman  and  of  Grecian  lore, 
Sure  mortal  brain  can  hold  no  more. 
These  ancients,  as  Noll  Bluff  might  say, 
"  Were  pretty  fellows  in  their  day  ;"8 
But  time  and  tide  o'er  all  prevail — 
On  Christmas  eve  a  Christmas  tale — 
Of  wonder  and  of  war — "  Profane ! 
What !  leave  the  lofty  Latisin  strain, 
Her  stately  prose,  her  verse's  charms, 
To  hear  the  clash  of  rusty  arms : 
In  Fairy  Land  or  Limbo  ltfjt, 
To  jostle  conjurer  and  gho>.t, 
Goblin  and  witch !" — Nay  Heber  dear, 
Before  you  touch  my  char  ';er,  hear : 
Though  Leyden  aids,  alas '  no  more, 
My  cause  with  many-langn\ged  lore," 

friend  almost  from  infancy." — Eirder  Minstrelsy,  vol.  iv. 
p.  59. 

7  The  MS.  adds  :— "  As  boasts  olo  Shallow  to  Sir  John." 

8  "  Hannibal  was  a  pretty  fellow,  sir— :>.  vecy  pretty  fellow 
in  his  day." — Old  Bachelor. 

9  MS. — "  With  all  his  many-languaged  kre.' 

John  Leydep  M.  D.,  who  had  been  of  great  s<*rice  to  Sh 
Walter  Scott  in  the  preparation  of  the  Border  Minstrelsy, 
sailed  for  India  in  April,  1803,  and  died  at  Ja/a  It  Augitst 
1811,  before  completing  his  36th  year. 

"  Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more ! 
His  brief  and  bright  career  is  o'er, 

And  mute  his  tuneful  strains  ; 
Q,uench'd  is  his  lamp  of  varied  lore, 


CANTO  VI. 


MARMION. 


I3H 


This  may  I  say : — in  realms  of  death 

Since  'twixt  them  first  the  strife  begun, 

Ulysses  meets  Alcides'  wraith  ; 

And  neither  yet  has  lost  nor  won. 

iEneas,  upon  Tliracia's  shore, 

And  oft  the  Conjurer's  words  will  make 

The  ghost  of  murder'd  Polydore ; 

The  stubborn  Demon  groan  and  quake ; 

For  omens,  we  in  Livy  cross, 

And  oft  the  bands  of  iron  break, 

At  every  turn,  locutus  Bos. 

Or  bursts  one  lock,  that  still  amain, 

As  grave  and  duly  speaks  that  ox, 

Fast  as  'tis  open'd,  shuts  again. 

As  if  he  told  the  price  of  stocks ; 

That  magic  strife  witliin  the  tomb, 

Or  held,  in  Rome  republican, 

May  last  until  the  day  of  doom, 

The  place  of  common-councilman. 

Unless  the  adept  shall  learn  to  tell 

The  very  word  that  clench'd  the  spell, 

All  nations  have  their  omens  drear, 

When  Franch'mont  lock'd  the  treasure  cell 

Their  legends  wild  of  woe  and  fear. 

An  hundred  years  are  pass'd  and  gone, 

To  Cambria  look — the  peasant  see, 

And  scarce  three  letters  has  he  won. 

Bethink  him  of  Glendowerdy, 

And  shun  "  the  spirit's  Blasted  Tree."1 

Such  general  superstition  may 

The  Highlander,  whose  red  claymore 

Excuse  for  old  Pitscottie  say ; 

The  battle  turn'd  on  Maida's  shore, 

Whose  gossip  history  ha3  given 

Will,  on  a  Friday  morn,  look  pale, 

My  song  the  messenger  from  Heaven,0 

If  ask'd  to  tell  a  fairy  tale  :2 

That  warn'd,  in  Lithgow,  Scotland's  King, 

He  fears  the  vengeful  Elfin  King, 

Nor  less  the  infernal  summoning  ;7 

Who  leaves  that  day  his  grassy  ring  : 

May  pass  the  Monk  of  Durham's  tale, 

Invisible  to  human  ken, 

Whose  demon  fought  in  Gothic  mail ; 

He  walks  among  the  sons  of  men. 

May  pardon  plead  for  Fordun  grave, 

Who  told  of  Clifford's  Goblin-Cavo 

Didst  e'er,  dear  Heber,  pass  along3 

But  why  such  instances  to  you, 

Beneath  the  towers  of  Franchemont, 

Who,  in  an  instant,  can  renew 

Which,  like  an  eagle's  nest  in  air, 

Your  treasured  hoards  of  various  lore, 

Hang  o'er  the  stream  and  hamlet  fair  ?4 

And  furnish  twenty  thousand  more  ? 

Deep  in  their  vaults,  the  peasants  say, 

Hoards,   not   like   theirs   whose   volumes* 

A  mighty  treasure  buried  lay, 

rest 

Amass'd  through  rapine  and  through  wrong 

Like  treasures  in  the  Franch'mont  chest, 

By  the  last  Lord  of  Franchemont.6 

While  gripple  owners  still  refuse 

The  iron  chest  is  bolted  hard, 

To  others  what  they  cannot  use  ; 

A  huntsman  sits,  its  constant  guard ; 

Give  them  the  priest's  whole  century, 

Around  his  neck  his  horn  is  hung, 

They  shall  not  spell  you  letters  three ; 

His  hanger  in  his  belt  is  slung  ; 

Then  pleasure  in  the  books  the  same 

Before  his  feet  his  blood-hounds  lie : 

The  magpie  takes  in  pilfer'd  gem. 

An  'twere  not  for  his  gloomy  eye, 

Thy  volumes,  open  as  thy  heart, 

Whose  withering  glance  no  heart  can  brook, 

Delight,  amusement,  science,  art, 

As  true  a  huntsman  doth  he  look, 

To  every  ear  and  eye  impart ; 

As  bugle  e'er  in  brake  did  sound, 

Yet  who  of  all  who  thus  employ  them, 

Or  ever  halloo'd  to  a  hound. 

Can  like  the  owner's  self  enjoy  them  ?— 

To  chase  the  fiend,  and  win  the  prize, 

But,  hark !  I  hear  the  distant  drum  I 

In  that  same  dungeon  ever  tries 

The  day  of  Flodden  Field  is  come. — 

An  aged  necromantic  priest ; 

Adieu,  dear  Heber !  fife  and  health, 

It  is  an  hundred  years  at  least, 

And  store  of  literary  wealth. 

That  loved  the  light  of  song  to  pour : 

8  This  paragraph  appears  interpolated  on  the  blank  prge  of 

A  distant  and  a  deadly  shore 

the  MS. 

Has  Lkydkn's  cold  remains  !" 

4  MS. — "  Which,  high  in  air,  like  eagle's  nest, 

Lord  of  the  Isles,  Canto  IV.  post. 

Hang  from  the  dizzy  mountain's  breast." 

See  a  notice  of  his  life  in  the  Author's  Miscellaneous  Prose 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  4  I. 

Works. 

e  Ibid.  Note  3  B. 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  4  G. 

»  Ibid.  Note  4  A.    The  four  lines  which  follow  are  not  i» 

a  Ibid.  Note  4  H. 

the  MS. 

140                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  vi 

Bulwark,  and  bartizan,  and  line, 

Maxmxon. 

And  bastion,  tower,  and  vantage-coign ; 

Above  the  booming  ocean  leant 

The  far-projecting  battlement ; 

CANTO  SIXTH. 

The  billows  burst,  in  ceaseless  flow, 
Upon  the  precipice  below. 

£fie  battle. 

Where'er  Tantallon  faced  the  land, 

Gate-works,  and  walls,  were  strongly  mar.n'd ; 

I 

No  need  upon  the  sea-girt  side ; 

While  great  events  were  on  the  gale, 

The  steepy  rock,  and  frantic  tide, 

And  each  hour  brought  a  varying  tale, 

Approach  of  human  step  denied ; 

And  the  demeanor,  changed  and  cold, 

And  thus  these  lines  and  ramparts  rude, 

Of  Douglas,  fretted  Marmion  bold, 

Were  left  in  deepest  solitude. 

And,  like  the  impatient  steed  of  war, 

He  snuff 'd  the  battle  from  afar ; 

III. 

And  hopes  were  none,  that  back  again, 

And,  for  they  were  so  lonely,  Clare 

Herald  should  come  from  Terouenne, 

Would  to  these  battlements  repair, 

Where  England's  King  in  leaguer  lay, 

And  muse  upon  her  sorrows  there, 

Before  decisive  battle-day ; 

And  list  the  sea-bird's  cry ; 

Whilst  these  things  were,  the  mournful  Clare 

Or  slow,  like  noontide  ghost,  would  glide 

Did  in  the  Dame's  devotions  share : 

Along  the  dark-gray  bulwark's  side, 

For  the  good  C<  omtess  ceaseless  pray'd 

And  ever  on  the  heaving  tide 

To  Heaven  and  Saints,  her  sons  to  aid, 

Look  down  with  weary  eye. 

And,  with  short  interval,  did  pass 

Oft  did  the  cliff  and  swelling  main, 

From  prayer  to  book,  from  book  to  mass, 

Recall  the  thoughts  of  Whitby's  fane, — 

And  all  in  high  Baronial  pride, — 

A  home  she  ne'er  might  see  again ; 

A  life  both  dull  and  dignified ; 

For  she  had  laid  adown, 

Yet  as  Lord  Marmion  nothing  press'd 

So  Douglas  bade,  the  hood  and  veil, 

Upon  her  intervals  of  rest, 

And  frontlet  of  the  cloister  pale, 

Dejected  Clara  well  could  bear 

And  Benedictine  gown : 

The  formal  state,  the  lengthen'd  prayer, 

It  were  unseemly  sight,  he  said, 

Though  dearest  to  her  wounded  heart 

A  novice  out  of  convent  shade. — 

The  hours  that  she  might  spend  apart. 

Now  her  bright  locks,  with  sunny  glow, 

Again  adorn'd  her  brow  of  snow ; 

II. 

Her  mantle  rich,  whose  borders,  round, 

I  said,  Tantallon's  dizzy  steep 

A  deep  and  fretted  broidery  bound, 

Hung  o'er  the  margin  of  the  deep. 

In  golden  foldings  sought  the  ground ; 

Many  a  rude  tower  and  rampart  there 

Of  holy  ornament,  alone 

Repell'd  the  insult  of  the  air, 

Remain' d  a  cross  with  ruby  stone ; 

Which,  when  the  tempest  vex'd  the  sky, 

And  often  did  she  look 

Half  breeze,  half  spray,  came  whistling  by. 

On  that  which  in  her  hand  she  bore, 

Above  the  rest,  a  turret  square 

With  velvet  bound,  and  broider'd  o'er, 

Did  o'er  its  Gothic  entrance  bear, 

Her  breviary  book. 

Of  sculpture  rude,  a  stony  shield  ; 

In  such  a  place,  so  lone,  so  grim, 

The  Bloody  Heart  was  in  the  Field, 

At  dawning  pale,  or  twilight  dim, 

.    And  in  the  chief  three  mullets  stood, 

It  fearful  would  have  been 

The  cognizance  of  Douglas  blo^d. 

To  meet  a  form  so  richly  dress'd,2 

The  turret  held  a  narrow  stair,1 

With  book  in  hand,  and  cross  on  breast, 

Which,  mounted,  gave  you  access  where 

And  such  a  woeful  mien. 

A  parapet's  embattled  row 

Fitz-Eustace,  loitering  with  his  bow, 

Did  seaward  round  the  castle  go. 

To  practice  on  the  gull  and  crow, 

Sometimes  in  dizzy  steps  descending, 

Saw  her,  at  distance,  gliding  slow, 

Sometimes  in  narrow  circuit  bending, 

And  did  by  Mary  swear, — 

Sometimes  in  platform  broad  extending, 

Some  love-lorn  Fay  she  might  have  been 

Its  varying  circle  did  combine 

Or,  in  Romance,  some  spell-bound  Queen 

MS. — "  The  tower  contam'd  a  narrow  stair, 

9  MS. — "  To  meet  a  form  so  fair,  and  dress'd 

A  ml  gave  an  open  access  where." 

In  antique  robes,  with  cross  on  breast" 

UANTO  VI. 


MARMION. 


141 


For  ne'er,  in  work-day  world,  was  seen 

It  might  have  seem'd  his  passing  ghost, 

A  form  so  witching  fair.1 

For  every  youthful  grace  was  lost , 

And  joy  unwonted,  and  surprise, 

IV. 

Gave  their  strange  wildness  to  his  eyes.— 

Once  walking  thus,  at  evening  tide, 

Expect  not,  noble  dames  and  lords, 

It  chanced  a  gliding  sail  she  spied, 

That  I  can  tell  such  scene  in  words : 

And,  sighing,  thought — "  The  Abbess,  there, 

What  skilful  limner  e'er  would  choose 

Perchance,  does  to  her  home  repair ; 

To  paint  the  rainbow's  varying  hues, 

Her  peaceful  rule,  where  Duty,  free, 

Unless  to  mortal  it  were  given 

Walks  hand  in  hand  with  Charity ; 

To  dip  his  brush  in  dyes  of  heaven  ? 

Where  oft  Devotion's  tranced  glow 

Far  less  can  my  weak  line  declare 

Can  such  a  glimpse  of  heaven  bestow, 

Each  changing  passion's  shade  ; 

That  the  enraptured  sisters  see 

Brightening  to  rapture  from  despair, 

High  vision  and  deep  mystery  ; 

Sorrow,  surprise,  and  pity  there, 

The  very  form  of  Hilda  fair, 

And  joy,  with  her  angelic  air, 

Hovering  upon  the  sunny  air, 

And  hope,  that  paints  the  future  fair, 

And  smiling  on  her  votaries'  prayer.3 

Their  varying  hues  display'd : 

0  !  wherefore,  to  my  duller  eye, 

Each  o'er  its  rival's  ground  extending, 

Did  still  the  Saint  her  form  deny ! 

Alternate  conquering,  shifting,  blending, 

Was  it,  that,  sear'd  by  sinful  scorn, 

Till  all,  fatigued,  the  conflict  yield, 

My  heart  could  neither  melt  nor  burn  ? 

And  mighty  Love  retains  the  field. 

Or  lie  my  warm  affections  low, 

Shortly  I  tell  what  then  he  said, 

With  him  that  taught  them  first  to  glow  ? 

By  many  a  tender  word  delay'd,4 

Yet,  gentle  Abbess,  well  I  knew, 

And  modest  blush,  and  bursting  sigh, 

To  pay  thy  kindness  grateful  due, 

And  question  kind,  and  fond  reply : — 

And  well  could  brook  the  mild  command, 

VI 

That  ruled  thy  simple  maiden  band. 

How  different  now  1  condemn'd  to  bide 

JBt  Wilton's  ^tstorg.8 

My  doom  from  this  dark  tyrant's  pride. — 

"  Forget  we  that  disastrous  day, 

But  Marmion  has  to  learn,  ere  long, 

When  senseless  in  the  lists  I  lay. 

That  constant  mind,  and  hate  of  wrong, 

Thence  dragg'd, — but  how  I  cannot  know 

Descended  to  a  feeble  girl, 

For  sense  and  recollection  fled, — 

From  Red  De  Clare,  stout  Gloster's  Earl: 

I  found  me  on  a  pallet  low, 

Of  such  a  stem,  a  sapling  weak,3 

Within  my  ancient  beadsman's  shed.6 

He  ne'er  lhall  bend,  although  he  break. 

Austin, — remember'st  thou,  my  Clare, 

How  thou  didst  blush,  when  the  old  man, 

V. 

When  first  our  infant  love  began, 

*  But  see  ! — what  makes  tins  armor  here  ?" — 

Said  we  would  make  a  matchless  pair  ?-  - 

For  in  her  path  there  lay 

Menials,  and  friends,  and  kinsmen  fled. 

Targe,  corslet,  helm ; — she  view'd  them  near. — 

From  the  degraded  traitor's  bed, — 7 

"  The  breast-plate  pierced ! — Ay,  much  I  fear, 

He  only  held  my  burning  head, 

Weak  fence  wert  thou  'gainst  foeman's  spear, 

And  tended  me  for  many  a  day, 

That  hath  made  fatal  entrance  here, 

While  wounds  and  fever  held  their  sway. 

As  these  dark  blood-gouts  say. — 

But  far  more  needful  was  his  care, 

Thus  Wilton  ! — Oh !  not  corslet's  ward, 

When  sense  return'd  to  wake  despair ; 

Not  truth,  as  diamond  pure  and  hard, 

For  I  did  tear  the  closing  wound, 

Could  be  thy  manly  bosom's  guard, 

And  dash  me  frantic  on  the  ground, 

On  yon  disastrous  day !" — 

If  e'er  I  heard  the  name  of  Clare. 

She  raised  her  eyes  in  mournful  mood, — 

At  length  to  calmer  reason  brought, 

Wilton  himself  before  her  stood ! 

Much  by  his  kind  attendance  wrought, 

i  MS. — "  A  form  so  sad  and  fair." 

charged  with  coloring  ;  and  yet  the  painter  is  so  fatigued  witn 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  4  K. 

his  exertion,  that  he  has  finally  thrown  away  the  brush,  and 

»  MS. — "  Of  such  a  stem,  or  branch,  \         °    I  weak, 

is  contented  with  merely  chalking  out  the  intervening  adven- 

tures of  De  Wilton,  without  bestowing  on  them  any  colors  at 

He  ne'er  shall  bend  me,  though  he  break." 

all." — Critical  Review. 

*  MS. — "  By  many  a  short  caress  delay'd." 

fl  MS.—"  Where  an  old  beadsman  held  my  head." 

6  "  When  the  surprise  at  meeting  a  lover  rescued  from  the 
dead  is  considered,  the  ab&r*  picture  will  not  be  thought  over- 

7  MS.—"  The  banish'd  traitor's  \  humble  \  bed 
t  lowly    > 

U2                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canton 

With  him  I  left  my  native  strand, 

And,  passing  from  a  postern  door, 

And,  in  a  palmer's  weeds  array'd, 

We  met,  and  'counter'd  hand  to  hand, — 

My  hated  name  and  form  to  shade, 

He  fell  on  Gifford  moor. 

I  journey'd  many  a  land ; 

For  the  death-stroke  my  brand  I  drew 

No  more  a  lord  of  rank  and  birth, 

(0  then  my  helmed  head  he  knew, 

But  mingled  with  the  dregs  of  earth. 

The  Palmer's  cowl  was  gone), 

Oft  Austin  for  my  reason  fear'd, 

Then  had  three  inches  of  my  blade 

When  I  would  sit,  and  deeply  brood 

The.  heavy  debt  of  vengeance  paid, — 

On  dark  revenge,  and  deeds  of  blood, 

My  hand  the  thought  of  Austin  staid  -,1 

Or  wild  mad  schemes  uprear'd. 

I  left  him  there  alone. — 

My  friend  at  length  fell  sick,  and  said, 

0  good  old  man !  even  from  the  grave 

God  would  remove  him  soon : 

Thy  spirit  could  thy  master  save : 

And  while  upon  his  dying  bed, 

If  I  had  slain  my  foeman,  ne'er 

He  begg'd  of  me  a  boon — 

Had  Whitby's  Abbess,  in  her  fear, 

If  e'er  my  deadliest  enemy 

Given  to  my  hand  this  packet  dear, 

Beneath  my  brand  should  conquer'd  lie, 

Of  power  to  clear  my  injured  fame, 

Even  then  my  mercy  should  awake, 

And  vindicate  De  Wilton's  name. — 

And  spare  his  life  for  Austin's  sake. 

Perchance  you  heard  the  Abbess  tell 

Of  the  strange  pageantry  of  Hell, 

VII. 

That  broke  our  secret  speech — 

"  Still  restless  as  a  second  Cain, 

It  rose  from  the  infernal  shade, 

To  Scotland  next  my  route  was  ta'en : 

Or  featly  was  some  juggle  play'd, 

Full  well  the  paths  I  knew. 

A  tale  of  peace  to  teach. 

Fame  of  my  fate  made  various  sound, 

Appeal  to  Heaven  I  judged  was  best, 

That  death  in  pilgrimage  I  found, 

When  my  name  came  among  the  rest. 

That  I  had  perish'd  of  my  wound, — 

None  cared  which  tale  was  true : 

IX. 

And  living  eye  could  never  guess 

"  Now  here,  within  Tantallon  Hold, 

De  Wilton  in  his  Palmer's  dress ; 

To  Douglas  late  my  tale  I  told, 

For  now  that  sable  slough  is  shed, 

To  whom  my  house  was  known  of  old. 

And  trimm'd  my  shaggy  beard  and  head, 

Won  by  my  proofs,  his  falchion  bright 

I  scarcely  know  me  in  the  glass. 

This  eve  anew  shall  dub  me  knight. 

A  chance  most  wondrous  did  provide, 

These  were  the  arms  that  once  did  turn 

That  I  should  be  that  Baron's  guide — 

The  tide  of  fight  on  Otterburne, 

I  will  not  name  his  name  ! — 

And  Harry  Hotspur  forced  to  yield, 

Vengeance  to  God  alone  belongs ; 

When  the  Dead  Douglas  won  the  field.* 

But,  when  I  think  on  all  my  wrongs, 

These  Angus  gave — his  armorer's  care, 

My  blood  is  liquid  flame  ! 

Ere  morn  shall  every  breach  repair ; 

And  ne'er  the  time  shall  I  forget, 

For  naught,  he  said,  was  in  his  halls, 

When,  in  a  Scottish  hostel  set, 

But  ancient  armor  on  the  walls, 

Dark  looks  we  did  exchange  : 

And  aged  chargers  in  the  stalls, 

What  were  his  thoughts  I  cannot  tell ; 

And  women,  priests,  and  gray-hair'd  men ; 

But  in  my  bosom  muster'd  Hell 

The  rest  were  all  in  Twisel  glen.3 

Its  plans  of  dark  revenge. 

And  now  I  watch  my  armor  here, 

By  law  of  arms,  till  midnight's  near ; 

VIII. 

Then,  once  again  a  belted  knight, 

"  A  word  of  vulgar  augury, 

Seek  Surrey's  camp  with  dawn  of  light. 

That  broke  from  me,  I  scarce  knew  why, 

Brought  on  a  village  tale  ; 

X. 

Which  wrought  upon  his  moody  sprite, 

"  There  soon  again  we  meet,  my  Clare  ! 

And  sent  him  armed  forth  by  night. 

This  Baron  means  to  guide  thee  there : 

I  borrow'd  steed  and  mail, 

Douglas  reveres  his  King's  command, 

And  weapons,  from  his  sleeping  band ; 

Else  would  he  take  thee  from  his  band. 

MS. — "But  thought  of  Austin  staid  my  hand, 

2  See  the  ballad  of  Otterbourne,  in  the  Border  Minstrelsy 

And  in  the  sheath  I  plunged  the  hrand, 

vol.  i.  p.  345. 

I  left  him  there  alone. — 

3  Where  James  encamped  before  taking  post  on  Flodden 

O  good  old  man  !  even  from  the  grave, 

The  MS.  has— 

Thy  spirit  could  De  Wilton  save." 

"  The  rest  were  all  on  Flodden  plain." 

canto  vi.                                              MARMION.                                                       143 

And  there  thy  kinsman,  Surrey,  too, 

He  wore  a  cap  and  sliirt  of  mail ; 

"Will  give  De  Wilton  justice  due. 

And  lean'd  liis  large  and  wrinkled  hand 

Now  meater  far  for  martial  broil, 

Upon  the  huge  and  sweeping  brand 

Firmer  my  limbs,  and  strung  by  toil, 

"Which  wont  of  yore  in  battle  fray, 

Once  more" — "  0  Wilton !  must  we  then 

His  foeman's  limbs  to  shred  away, 

Risk  new-found  happiness  again, 

As  wood-knife  lops  the  sapling  spray.' 

Tiust  fate  of  arms  once  more  ? 

He  seem'd  as,  from  the  tombs  around 

And  is  there  not  an  humble  glen, 

Rising  at  judgment-day, 

Where  we,  content  and  poor, 

Some  giant  Douglas  may  be  found 

Might  build  a  cottage  in  the  shade, 

In  all  liis  old  array ; 

A  shepherd  thou,  and  I  to  aid 

So  pale  his  face,  so  huge  his  limb, 

Thy  task  on  dale  and  moor  ? — 

So  old  his  arms,  his  look  so  grim. 

That  reddening  brow  1 — too  well  I  know, 

Wot  even  thy  Clare  can  peace  bestow, 

XII. 

"While  falsehood  stains  thy  name : 

Then  at  the  altar  "Wilton  kneels, 

Go  then  to  fight !  Clare  bids  thee  go  I 

And  Clare  the  spurs  bound  on  his  heels ; 

Clare  can  a  warrior's  feelings  know, 

And  think  what  next  he  must  have  felt, 

And  weep  a  warrior's  shame ; 

At  buckling  of  the  falcliion  belt ! 

Can  Red  Earl  Gilbert's  spirit  feel, 

And  judge  how  Clara  changed  her  hue, 

Buckle  the  spurs  upon  thy  heel, 

"While  fastening  to  her  lover's  side 

And  belt  thee  with  thy  brand  of  steel, 

A  friend,  which,  though  in  danger  tried, 

And  send  thee  forth  to  fame  1" 

He  once  had  found  untrue  ! 

Then  Douglas  struck  him  with  his  blade : 

XL 

"  Saint  Michael  and  Saint  Andrew  aid. 

That  night,  upon  the  rocks  and  bay, 

I  dub  thee  knight. 

The  midnight  moon-beam  slumbering  lay, 

Arise,  Sir  Ralph,  De  Wilton's  heir ! 

And  pour'd  its  silver  light,  and  pure, 

For  King,  for  Church,  for  Lady  fair, 

Through  loop-hole,  and  through  embrasure, 

,  See  that  thou  fight."— 4 

Upon  Tantallon  tower  and  hall ; 

And  Bishop  Gawain,  as  he  rose, 

But  chief  where  arched  windows  wide 

Said —  "  "Wilton !  grieve  not  for  thy  woes, 

Illuminate  the  chapel's  pride, 

Disgrace,  and  trouble ; 

The  sober  glances  fall. 

For  He,  who  honor  best  bestows, 

Much  was  there  need ;  though  seam'd  with  scars, 

May  give  thee  double." — 

Two  veterans  of  the  Douglas'  wars, 

De  Wilton  sobb'd,  for  sob  he  must — 

Though  two  gray  priests  were  there, 

"  Where'er  I  meet  a  Douglas,  trust 

And  each  a  blazing  torch  held  high, 

That  Douglas  is  my  brother  !" — 

You  could  not  by  their  blaze  descry1 

"  Nay,  nay,"  old  Angus  said,  "  not  so ; 

The  chapel's  carving  fair. 

To  Surrey's  camp  thou  now  must  go, 

Amid  that  dim  and  smoky  light, 

Thy  wrongs  no  longer  smother. 

Checkering  the  silver  moonshine  bright, 

I  have  two  sons  in  yonder  field  ; 

A  bishop  by  the  altar  stood,2 

And,  if  thou  meet'st  them  under  shield, 

A  noble  lord  of  Douglas  blood, 

Upon  them  bravely — do  thy  worst ; . 

With  mitre  sheen,  and  rocquet  white. 

And  foul  fall  him  that  blenches  first !" 

Yet  show'd  his  meek  and  thoughtful  eye 

But  little  pride  of  prelacy ; 

XIII. 

More  pleased  that,  in  a  barbarous  age, 

Not  far  advanced  was  morning  day, 

He  gave  rude  Scotland  Virgil's  page, 

When  Marmion  did  his  troop  array 

Than  that  beneath  his  rule  he  held 

To  Surrey's  camp  to  ride ; 

The  bishopric  of  fair  Dunkeld. 

He  had  safe  conduct  for  his  band, 

Beside  him  ancient  Angus  stood, 

Beneath  the  royal  seal  and  hand, 

Doff'd  his  furr'd  gown,  and  sable  hood : 

And  Douglas  gave  a  guide : 

O'er  his  huge  form  and  visage  pale, 

The  ancient  Earl,  with  stately  grace, 

l  MS. — "  You  might  not  by  their  shine  descry." 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  L. 

2  The  well-known  Gawain  Douglas,  Bishop  of  Dunkeld,  son 

of  Archibald  Bell-the-Cat,  Earl  of  Angus.     He  was  author  of 

4  "  The  following  (five  lines)  are  a  sort  of  mongrel   betweer. 

a  Scottish  metrical  version  of  the  iEneid,  and  of  many  other 

the  school  of  Sternhold  and  Hopkins,  and  the  later  one  of  Mr 

poetical  pieces  of  great  merit.     He  had  not  at  this  period  at- 

Wordsworth.' ' — Jeffrey. 

tained  the  mitre. 

144                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                            c-axto  vi 

Would  Clara  on  her  palfrey  place, 

Lord  Marmion  turn'd — well  was  his  need, 

And  whisper' d  in  an  under  tone, 

And  dash'd  the  rowels  in  lus  stood, 

"  Let  the  hawk  stoop,  his  prey  is  flown." — 

Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung, 

The  train  from  out  the  castle  drew,1 

The  ponderous  grate  behind  him  rung : 

But  Marmion  stopp'd  to  bid  adieu : — 

To  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room, 

"  Though  something  I  might  plain,"  he  said, 

The  bars,  descending,  razed  his  plume. 

"  Of  cold  respect  to  stranger  guest, 

Sent  hither  by  your  King's  behest, 

XV. 

While  ii  Tantallon's  towers  I  staid  ; 

The  steed  along  the  drawbridge  flies, 

Part  we  in  friendship  from  your  land, 

Just  as  it  trembled  on  the  rise ; 

And,  noble  Earl,  receive  my  hand." — 

Nor  fighter  does  the  swallow  skim 

But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak, 

Along  the  smooth  lake's  level  brim : 

Folded  liis  arms,  and  thus  he  spoke : — 

And  when  Lord  Marmion  reach'd  his  band, 

"  My  manors,  halls,  and  bowers,  shall  still 

He  halts,  and  turns  with  clenched  hand, 

Be  open,  at  my  Sovereign's  will, 

*  And  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours, 

To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 

And  shook  his  gauntlet  at  the  towers. 

Unmeet  to  be  the  owner's  peer.2 

"  Horse  1   horse  1"    the  Douglas  cried,  "  and 

My  castles  are  my  King's  alone, 

chase !" 

From  turret  to  foundation  stone — 

But  soon  he  rein'd  his  fury's  pace : 

The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own ; 

"  A  royal  messenger  he  came, 

And  never  shall  in  friendly  grasp 

Though  most  unworthy  of  the  name, — 

The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp." — 

A  letter  forged !  Saint  Jude  to  speed  1 

Did  ever  knight  so  foul  a  deed  l5 

XIV. 

At  first  in  heart  it  liked  me  ill, 

Burn'd  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire, 

When  the  King  praised  his  clerkly  skill. 

And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire, 

Tlianks  to  Saint  Botha  n,  son  of  mine,6 

And — "  This  to  me  !"  he  said, — 

Save  Gawain,  ne'er  could  pen  a  line : 

"  An  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 

So  swore  I,  and  I  swear  it  still, 

Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

Let  my  boy -bishop  fret  his  fill. — 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head ! 

Saint  Mary  mend  my  fiery  mood ! 

And,  first,  I  tell  thee,  haughty  Peer, 

Old  age  ne'er  cools  the  Douglas  blood, 

He,  who  does  England's  message  here, 

I  thought  to  slay  lrim  where  he  stood. 

Although  the  meanest  in  her  state, 

'Tis  pity  of  lum  too,"  he  cried : 

May  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate : 

"  Bold  can  he  speak,  and  fairly  ride, 

And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here, 

I  warrant  him  a  warrior  tried." 

Even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride, 

With  this  his  mandate  he  recalls, 

Here  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near 

And  slowly  seeks  his  castle  halls. 

(Nay,  never  look  upon  your  lord, 

And  lay  your  hands  upon  your  sword), 

XVI. 

I  tell  thee,  thou'rt  defied  ! 

The  day  in  Marmion's  journey  wore ; 

And  if  thou  said'st  I  am  not  peer 

Yet,  ere  his  passion's  gust  was  o'er, 

To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, 

They  cross'd  the  heights  of  Stanrig-moor 

Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near 

His  troop  more  closely  there  he  scann'd, 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied !" — 3 

And  miss'd  the  Palmer  from  the  band. — 

On  the  Earl's  cheek  the  flush  of  rage 

"  Palmer  or  not,"  young  Blount  did  say, 

O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age : 

"  He  parted  at  the  peep  of  day ; 

Fierce  he  broke  forth, — "  And  dar'st  thou  then 

Good  sooth,  it  was  in  strange  array." — 

To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den, 

"  In  what  array  ?"  said  Marmion,  quick. 

The  Douglas  in  lus  hall  ? 

"  My  Lord,  I  ill  can  spell  the  trick ; 

And  hopest  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ? 

But  all  night  long,  with  clink  and  bang, 

No,  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no  ? 

Close  to  my  couch  did  hammers  clang ; 

Up  drawbridge,  grooms — what,  Warder,  ho ! 

At  dawn  the  falling  drawbridge  rang, 

Let  the  portcullis  fall." — 4 

And  from  a  loop-hole  while  I  peep, 

l  MS. — "  T.ie  train  the  portal  arch  pass'd  through. " 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  4  N. 

»  MS. — "  Unmeet  they  be  to  harbor  here." 

6  MS. — "  Thanks  to  Saint  Bothan,  son  of  mine 

Could  never  pen  a  written  line, 

s  MS. — "  False  Douglas,  thou  hast  lied." 

So  swear  I,  and  I  swear  it  still, 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  M. 

Let  brother  Gawain  fret  his  fill  " 

canto  vi.                                               MARMION.                                                         145 

Old  Bell-the-Cat  came  from  the  Keep, 

XVIII. 

Wrapp'd  in  a  gown  of  sables  fair, 

Stung  with  these  thoughts,  he  urged  to  speed 

As  fearful  of  the  morning  air  ; 

His  troop,  and  reach'd,  at  eve,  the  Tweed, 

Beneath,  when  that  was  blown  aside, 

Where  Lennel's  convent2  closed  their  march 

A  rusty  shirt  of  mail  I  spied, 

(There  now  is  left  but  one  frail  arch, 

By  Arcliibald  won  in  bloody  work, 

Yet  mourn  thou  not  its  cells ; 

Agaiust  the  Saracen  and  Turk  : 

Our  time  a  fair  exchange  lias  made ; 

Last  night  it  hung  not  in  the  hall ; 

Hard  by,  in  hospitable  shade, 

I  thought  some  marvel  would  befall. 

A  reverend  pilgrim  dwells, 

And  next  I  saw  them  saddled  lead 

Well  worth  the  whole  Bernardine  brood, 

Old  Cheviot  forth,  the  Earl's  best  steed ; 

That  e'er  wore  sandal,  frock,  or  hood.) 

A  matchless  horse,  though  something  old, 

Yet  did  Saint  Bernard's  Abbot  there 

Prompt  in  his  paces,  cool  and  bold. 

Give  Marmion  entertainment  fair, 

I  heard  the  Sheriff  Sholto  say, 

And  lodging  for  his  train  and  Clare.8 

The  Earl  did  much  the  Master1  pray 

Next  morn  the  Baron  climb'd  the  tow"*". 

To  use  him  on  the  battle-day ; 

To  view  afar  the  Scottish  power, 

But  he  preferr'd" — "  Nay,  Henry,  cease ! 

Encamp'd  on  Flodden  edge  ; 

Thou  sworn  horse -courser,  hold  thy  peace. — 

The  white  pavilions  made  a  sj^ow, 

Eustace,  thou  bear'st  a  brain — I  pray, 

Like  remnants  of  the  winter  snow, 

What  did  Blount  see  at  break  of  day  ?" — 

Along  the  dusky  ridge. 

Long  Marmion  look'd : — at  length  his  eye 

XVII. 

Unusual  movement  might  descry 

'*  In  brief,  my  lord,  we  both  descried 

Amid  the  shifting  fines : 

(For  then  I  stood  by  Henry's  side) 

The  Scottish  host  drawn  out  appears, 

The  Palmer  mount,  and  outwards  ride, 

For,  flashing  on  the  hedge  of  spears 

Upon  the  Earl's  own  favorite  steed  : 

The  eastern  sunbeam  shines. 

All  sheathed  he  was  in  armor  bright, 

Their  front  now  deepening,  now  extending ; 

And  much  resembled  that  same  knight, 

Their  flank  inclining,  wheeling,  bending, 

Subdued  by  you  in  Cotswold  fight : 

Now  drawing  back,  and  now  descending, 

Lord  Angus  wish'd  him  speed." — 

The  skilful  Marmion  well  could  know, 

The  instant  that  Fitz-Eustace  spoke, 

They  watch'd  the  motions  of  some  foe, 

A  sudden  light  on  Marmion  broke  ; — 

Who  traversed  on  the  plain  below. 

"  All !  dastard  fool,  to  reason  lost !" 

He  mutter'd ;  "  'twas  nor  fay  nor  ghost 

XIX. 

I  met  upon  the  moonlight  wold, 

Even  so  it  was.     From  Flodden  ridge 

But  living  man  of  earthly  mould. — 

The  Scots  beheld  the  English  host 

0  dotage  blind  and  g. .  is ! 

Leave  Barmore-wood,  their  evening  post, 

Had  I  but  fought  as  wont,  one  thrust 

And  heedful  watch'd  them  as  they  cross'd 

Had  laid  De  Wilton  in  the  dust, 

The  Till  by  Twisel  Bridge.4 

My  path  no  more  to  cross. — 

High  sight  it  is,  and  haughty,  whilo 

How  stand  we  now  ? — he  told  his  tale 

They  dive  into  the  deep  defile  ; 

To  Douglas ;  and  with  some  avail ; 

Beneath  the  cavern'd  cliff  they  fall 

'Twas  therefore  gloom'd  his  rugged  brow. — 

Beneath  the  castle's  airy  wall. 

Will  Surrey  dare  to  entertain, 

By  rock,  by  oak,  by  hawthorn-tree, 

'Gainst  Marmion,  charge  disproved  and  vain  ? 

Troop  after  troop  are  disappearing  ; 

Small  risk  of  that,  I  trow. 

Troop  after  troop  their  banners  rearing, 

Yet  Clare's  sharp  questions  must  I  shun ; 

Upon  the  eastern  bank  you  see. 

Must  separate  Constance  from  the  Nun — 

Still  pouring  down  the  rocky  den, 

0,  what  a  tangled  web  wc  weave, 

Where  flows  the  sullen  Till, 

When  first  we  practise  to  deceive  ! 

And  rising  from  the  dim-wood  glen, 

A  Palmer  too ! — no  wonder  why 

Standards  on  standards,  men  on  men, 

I  felt  rebuked  beneath  his  eye : 

In  slow  succession  still, 

I  might  have  known  there  was  but  one, 

And  sweeping  o'er  the  Gothic  arch, 

Whose  look  could  quell  Lord  Marmion." 

And  pressing  on,  in  ceaseless  march, 

1  His  eldest  son,  the  Master  of  Angus. 

and  even  transcends  itself.     It  is  impossible  to  do  him  justice 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  4  0. 

by  making  extracts,  when  all  is  equally  attractive." — Monthly 

3  "  From   this  period   to  the  conclusion  of  the  poem,  Mr. 

Review. 

Scott's  genius,  so  long  overclouded,  bursts  forth  in  full  lustre, 
19 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  P. 

146                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  vi 

To  gain  the  opposing  hill. 

To  see  fair  England's  standards  fly." 

That  morn,  to  many  a  trumpet  clang, 

"  Stint  in  thy  prate,"  quoth  Blount,  "  thou'dst 

Twisel !  thy  rock's  deep  echo  rang ; 

best, 

And  many  a  chief  of  birth  and  rank, 

And  listen  to  our  lord's  behest." — 8 

Saint  Helen !  at  thy  fountain  drank. 

With  kindling  brow  Lord  Marmion  said, — 

Thy  hawthorn  glade,  which  now  we  see 

"  This  instant  be  our  band  array'd ; 

In  spring-tide  bloom  so  lavishly, 

The  river  must  be  quickly  cross'd, 

Had  then  from  many  an  axe  its  doom, 

That  we  may  join  Lord  Surrey's  host. 

To  give  the  marching  columns  room. 

If  fight  King  James, — as  well  I  trust, 

That  fight  he  will,  and  fight  he  must, — 

XX. 

The  lady  Clare  behind  our  lines 

And  why  stands  Scotland  idly  now, 

Shall  tarry  while  the  battle  joins." 

Dark  Flodden !  on  thy  airy  brow, 

Since  England  gams  the  pass  the  while, 

XXII. 

And  struggles  through  the  deep  defile  ? 

Himself  he  swift  on  horseback  threw, 

What  checks  the  fiery  soul  of  James  ? 

Scarce  to  the  Abbot  bade  adieu ; 

Why  sits  that  champion  of  the  dames 

Far  less  would  listen  to  Ins  prayer, 

Inactive  on^iis  steed, 

To  leave  behind  the  helpless  Clare. 

And  sees  between  lnm  and  his  land, 

Down  to  the  Tweed  his  band  he  drew, 

Between  him  and  Tweed's  southern  strand,, 

And  mutter'd  as  the  flood  they  view, 

His  host  Lord  Surrey  lead  ? 

*  The  pheasant  in  the  falcon's  claw, 

What  'vails  the  vain  knight-errant's  brand ! 

He  scarce  will  yield  to  please  a  daw : 

■ — 0,  Douglas,  for  thy  leading  wand  ! 

Lord  Angus  may  the  Abbot  awe, 

Fierce  Randolph,  -for  thy  speed ! 

So  Clare  shall  bide  with  me." 

0  for  one  hour  of  Wallace  wight, 

Then  on  that  dangerous  ford,  and  deep, 

Or  well-skill'd  Bruce,  to  rule  the  fight, 

Where  to  the  Tweed  Leafs  eddies  creep/ 

And  cry — "  Saint  Andrew  and  our  right !" 

He  ventured  desperately : 

Another  sight  had  seen  that  morn, 

And  not  a  moment  will  he  bide, 

From  Fate's  dark  book  a  leaf  been  torn, 

Till  squire,  or  groom,  before  him  ride 

And  Flodden  had  been  Bannockbourne  ! 

Headmost  of  all  he  stems  the  tide, 

The  precious  hour  has  pass'd  in  vain, 

And  steix  s  it  gallantly. 

And  England's  host  has  gain'd  the  plain ; 

Eustace  hek  Clare  upon  her  horse, 

Wheeling  their  march,  and  circling  still, 

Old  Huber  h  led  her  rein, 

Around  the  base  of  Flodden  hill. 

Stoutly  they  braved  the  current's  course, 

And,  though   far  downward  driven   per 

XXI. 

force, 

j^re  yet  the  bands  met  Marmion's  eye,1 

The  southern  bank  they  gain ; 

Fitz-Eustace  shouted  loud  and  high, 

Behind  them  straggling  came  to  shore, 

"  Hark !  hark  !  my  lord,  an  English  drum  I 

As  best  they  might,  the  train : 

And  see  ascending  squadrons  come 

Each  o'er  his  head  his  yew-bow  bore, 

Between  Tweed's  river  and  the  hill, 

A  caution  not  in  vain  : 

Foot,  horse,  and  cannon : — hap  what  hap, 

Deep  need  that  day  that  every  string, 

My  basnet  to  a  prentice  cap, 

By  wet  unharm'd,  should  sharply  ring. 

Lord  Surrey's  o'er  the  Till ! — 

A  moment  then  Lord  Marmion  stay'd, 

Yet  more  !  yet  more  ! — how  far  array'a 

And  breathed  his  steed,  his  men  array'd, 

They  file  from  out  the  hawthorr  shade, 

Then  forward  moved  his  band, 

And  sweep  so  gallant  by  !a 

Until,  Lord  Surrey's  rear-guard  won, 

With  all  their  banners  bravely  spread, 

He  halted  by  a  Cross  of  Stone, 

And  all  their  armor  flaslnng  high, 

That,  on  a  hillock  standing  lone, 

Saint  George  might  waken  from  the  dead, 

Did  all  the  field  command. 

i  MS. — "  Ere  first  they  met  Lord  Marmion's  eye." 

And, 

*  MS. — "  And  all  go  sweeping  by." 

'  Stint  in  thy  prate,1  quoth  Blount,   'thou'dst  lest, 

3  "  The  speeches  of  Squire  Blount  are  a  great  deal  too  un- 

And listen  to  our  lord's  behest.' 

polished  for  a  noble  youth  aspiring  to  knighthood.     On  two 

Neither  can  we  be  brought  to  admire  the  simple  dignity  of  Sh 
Hugh  the  Heron,  who  thus  encourageth  his  nephew, — 

occasions,  to  specify  no  more,  he  addresses  his  brother  squire 

hi  these  cacophonous  lines, — 

'  By  my  fay, 

1  St.  Anton  fire  thee  !  wilt  thou  stand 

Well  hast  thou  spoke — say  forth  thy  say.'  " — Jeffrey. 

All  day  with  bonnet  in  thy  hand  ;' 

* 

4  MS. — "  Where  to  the  Tweed  Leat's  tributes  creep  " 

C4NT0  VI. 


MAKM10N. 


14 


XXIII. 

Hence  might  they  see  the  full  array 

Of  either  host,  for  deadly  fray  •/ 

Their  marshall'd  lines  stretch'd  east  and  west,3 

And  fronted  north  and  south, 
And  distant  salutation  pass'd 

From  the  loud  cannon  mouth ; 
Not  in  the  close  successive  rattle, 
That  breathes  the  voice  of  modern  battle, 

But  slow  and  far  between. — 
The  hillock  gain'd,  Lord  Marmion  staid : 
1  Here,  by  this  Cross,"  he  gently  said, 

"  You  well  may  view  the  scene. 
Here  shalt  thou  tarry,  lovely  Clare : 
0  !  think  of  Marmion  in  thy  prayer  1 
Thou  wilt  not  ? — well, — no  less  my  care 
Shall,  watchful,  for  thy  weal  prepare. — 
You,  Blount  and  Eustace,  are  her  guard, 

With  ten  pick'd  archers  of  my  train ; 
"With  England  if  the  day  go  hard, 

To  Berwick  speed  amain. — ■ 
But  if  we  conquer,  cruel  maid, 
My  spoils  shall  at  your  feet  be  laid, 

When  here  we  meet  again." 
He  waited  not  for  answer  there, 
And  would  not  mark  the  maid's  despair,3 

Nor  heed  the  discontented  look 
From  either  squire ;  but  spurr'd  amain, 
And,  dashing  through  the'  battle  plain, 

His  way  to  Surrey  took. 

XXIV. 

•* The  good  Lord  Marmion,  by  my  life ! 

Welcome  to  danger's  hour ! — 

Short  greeting  serves  in  time  of  strife  : — 
Thus  have  I  ranged  my  power : 

Myself  will  rule  this  central  host, 
Stout  Stanley  fronts  their  right, 

My  sons  command  the  vaward  post, 
With  Brian  Tunstall,  stainless  knight  ;4 
Lord  Dacre,  with  his  horsemen  light, 
Shall  be  in  rear-ward  of  the  fight, 

ind  succor  those  that  need  it  most. 
Now,  gallant  Marmion,  well  I  know, 
Would  gladly  to  the  vanguard  go  1 

Edmund,  the  Admiral,  Tunstall  there, 

With  thee  their  charge  will  blithely  share ; 

There  fight  thine  own  retainers  too, 

Beneath  De  Burg,  thy  steward  true." — B 

"  Thanks,  noble  Surrey  !"  Marmion  said, 

Nor  farther  greeting  there  he  paid ; 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  4  Q,. 

fc  MS. — "  Their  lines  were  form'd,  stretch'd  east  and  west." 

*  MS. — "  Nor  mark'd  the  lady's  deep  despair, 

Nor  heeded  discontented  look." 
•■  See  Appendix,  Note  4  R. 

*  MS. — "  Beneath  thy  seneschal,  Fitz-Hugh." 

Of  all  the  poetical  battles  which  have  been  fought,  from 


But,  parting  like  a  thunderbolt, 
First  in  the  vanguard  made  a  halt, 

Where  such  a  shout  there  rose 
Of  "  Marmion  !  Marmion !"  that  the  cry 
Up  Flodden  mountain  shrilling  high, 

Startled  the  Scottish  foes. 

XXV. 

Blount  and  Fitz-Eustace  rested  still 
With  Lady  Clare  upon  the  lull ! 
On  which  (for  far  the  day  was  spent) 
The  western  sunbeams  now  were  bent. 
The  cry  they  heard,  its  meaning  knew, 
Could  plain  their  distant  comrades  view : 
Sadly  to  Blount  did  Eustace  say, 
"  Unworthy  office  here  to  stay ! 
No  hope  of  gilded  spurs  to-day. — 
But  see  !  look  up — on  Flodden  bent 
The  Scottish  foe  has  fired  his  tent." 

AW  sudden,  as  he  spoke, 
From  the  sharp  ridges  of  the  hill,6 
All  downward  to  the  banks  of  Till 

Was  wreathed  in  sable  smoke. 
Volumed  and  fast,  and  rolling  far, 
The  cloud  enveloped  Scotland's  war, 

As  down  the  hill  they  broke 
Nor  martial  shout,  nor  minstrel  tone, 
Announced  their  march ;  their  tread  alone 
At  times  one  warning  trumpet  blown. 

At  times  a  stifled  hum, 
Told  England,  from  his  mountain-throne 

King  James"  did  rushing  come. — 
Scarce  could  they  hear,  or  see  their  foes, 
Until  at  weapon-point  they  close. — T 
They  close,  in  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust, 
With  sword-sway,  and  with  lance's  thrust ; 

And  such  a  yell  was  there, 
Of  sudden  and  portentous  birth, 
As  if  men  fought  upon  the  earth, 

And  fiends  in  upper  air  ;8 
O  life  and  death  were  in  the  shout, 
Recoil  and  rally,  charge  and  rout, 

And  triumph  and  despair. 
Long  look'd  the  anxious  squires ;  their  eye 
Could  in  the  darkness  naught  descry. 

XXVI. 
At  length  the  freshening  western  blast 
Aside  the  sliroud  of  battle  cast ; 
And,  first,  the  ridge  of  mingled  spears' 
Above  the  brightening  cloud  appears ; 

the  days  of  Homer  to  those  of  Mr.  Southey,  there  is  none,  in 
our  opinion,  at  all  comparable,  for  interest  and  animation,—* 
for  breadth  of  drawing  and  magnificence  of  eifect,— with  thi 
of  Mr.  Scott's." — Jeffrey. 
i  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

8  The  next  three  lines  are  not  in  the  MS. 

9  MS. — "  And  firs*,  the  broken  ridge  of  J 


148 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  TI 


And  in  the  smoke  the  pennons  flew, 
As  in  the  storm  the  white  sea-mew. 
Then  mark'd  they,  dashing  broad  and  far, 
The  broken  billows  of  the  war, 
And  plumed  crests  of  chieftains  brave, 
Floating  like  foam  upon  the  wave  ; 

But  naught  distinct  they  see  : 
Wide  raged  the  battle  on  the  plain ; 
Spears  shook,  and  falchions  flash'd  amain; 
Fell  England's  arrow-flight  like  rain ; 
Crests  rose,  and  stoop'd,  and  rose  again, 

Wild  and  disorderly. 
Amid  the  scene  of  tumult,  high 
They  saw  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  fly : 
And  stainless  Tunstall's  banner  white, 
And  Edmund  Howard's  lion  bright, 
Still  bear  them  bravely  in  the  fight : 

Although  against  them  come, 
Of  gallant  Gordons  many  a  one,  # 

And  many  a  stubborn  Badenoch-man,1 
And  many  a  rugged  Border  clan, 

With  Huntly,  and  with  Home. 

XXVII. 
Far  on  the  left,  unseen  the  while, 
Stanley  broke  Lennox  and  Argyle  ; 
Though  there  the  western  mountaineer3 
Rush'd  with  bare  bosom  on  the  spear, 
And  flung  the  feeble  targe  aside, 
And  with  both  hands  the  broadsword  plied. 
'Twas  vain : — But  Fortune,  on  the  right, 
With  fickle  smile,  cheer  d  Scotland's  fight. 
Then  fell  that  spotless  banner  white,3 

The  Howard's  lion  fell ; 
Yet  still  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  flew 
With  wavering  flight,  while  fiercer  grew 

Around  the  battle-yell. 
The  Border  slogan  rent  the  sky ! 
A  Home  !  a  Gordon !  was  the  cry : 

Loud  were  the  clanging  blows  ; 
Advanced, — forced  back, — now  low,  now  high, 

The  pennon  sunk  and  rose  ; 
As  bends  the  bark's  mast  in  the  gale, 
When  rent  are  rigging,  shrouds,  and  sail, 

It  waver'd  'mid  the  foes. 
No  longer  Blount  the  view  could  bear : 
"  By  Heaven,  and  all  its  saints  1  I  swear 

I  will  not  see  it  lost ! 
Fitz-Eustace,  you  with  Lady  Clare4 
May  bid  your  beads  and  patter  prayer, — 


1  In  all  former  editions,  Highlandman.  Badenoch  is  the  cor- 
isction  of  the  Author's  interleaved  copy  of  the  edition  of  1830. 

2  MS. — "  Though  there  the  dauntless  mountaineer." 
8  MS. — "  Fell  stainless  Tunstall's  banner  white, 

Sir  Edmund's  lion  fell." 
*  MS. — "  Fitz-Eustace,  you  and  Lady  Clare 
May  for  its  safety  join  in  prayer." 


I  gallop  to  the  host." 
And  to  the  fray  he  rode  amain, 
Follow'd  by  all  the  archer  train. 
The  fiery  youth,  with  desperate  charge, 
Made,  for  a  space,  an  opening  large, — 

The  rescued  banner  rose, — 
But  darkly  closed  the  war  around, 
Like  pine-tree,  rooted  from  the  ground,6 

It  sunk  among  the  foes. 
Then  Eustace  mounted  too : — yet  staid 
As  loath  to  leave  the  helpless  maid, 

When,  fast  as  shaft  can  fly, 
Blood-shot  his  eyes,  his  nostrils  spread, 
The  loose  rein  dangling  from  his  head, 
Housing  and  saddle  bloody  red, 

Lord  Marmion's  steed  rush'd  by ; 
And  Eustace,  maddening  at  the  sight, 

A  look  and  sign  to  Clara  cast 

To  mark  he  would  return  in  haste,* 
Then  plunged  into  the  fight. 

XXVIII. 

Ask  me  not  what  the  maiden  feels, 
Left  in  that  dreadful  hour  alone : 
Perchance  her  reason  stoops,  or  reels ; 
Perchance  a  courage,  not  her  own, 
Braces  her  mind  to  desperate  tone. — 
The  scatter'd  van  of  England  wheels ; — * 
She  only  said,  as  loud  in  ah 
The  tumult  roar'd,  "  Is  Wilton  there  ?" — 
They  fly,  or,  madden'd  by  despair,    • 
Fight  but  to  die,—"  Is  Wilton  there  ?" 
With  that,  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 

Two  horsemen  drench'd  with  gore, 
And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 

A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 
His  hand  still  strain'd  the  broken  brand ; 
His  arms  were  smear'd  with  blood  and  sand ; 
Dragg'd  from  among  the  horses'  feet, 
With  dinted  shield,  and  helmet  beat, 
The  falcon-crest  and  plumage  gone, 
Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion !  .  .  .8 
Young  Blount  his  armor  did  unlace, 
And,  gazing  on  his  ghastly  face, 

Said — "  By  Saint  George,  he's  gone ! 
That  spear-wound  has  our  master  sped, 
And  see  the  deep  cut  on  Ms  head ! 

Good-night  to  Marmion." — 
"  Unnurtur'd  Blount !  thy  brawling  cease : 
He  opes  his  eyes,"  said  Eustace ;  "  peace  1" 


6  MS, 
«MS, 


Like  pine  up-rooted  from  the  ground.' 
And  cried  he  would  return  in  haste." 


*  MS.— "  Repulsed,  the  band  >    __     ,      ,     ,     , 
The  scatter'd  wing  5  <*  England  wheek 

s  MS.—"  Can  that  be  j  £™"e  J  Lord  Marmion  !" 


CANTO  VI. 


MARMION. 


148 


XXIX. 

She  stoop'd  her  by  the  runners  side,6 

When,  doff 'd  his  casque,  he  felt  free  air,1 

But  in  abhorrence  backward  drew ; 

Around  'gan  Marinion  wildly  stare : — 

For,  oozing  from  the  mountain's  side, 

"  Where's  Harry  Blount  ?  Fitz-Eustace  where  ? 

Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark-red  tide 

Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare  ! 

Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 

Redeem  my  pennon, — charge  again ! 

Where  shall  she  turn  ? — behold  her  mark 

Cry — '  Marmion  to  the  rescue  !' — Vain ! 

A  little  fountain  cell, 

Last  of  my  race,  on  battle-plain 

Where  water,  clear  as  diamond-spark, 

That  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again ! — 

In  a  stone  basin  fell. 

Yet  my  last  thought  is  England's — fly,2 

Above,  some  half-worn  letters  say, 

To  Dacre  bear  my  signet-ring : 

J^rmfe.  toearg.  m'larfm.  fcrfnft.  aim.  prag. 

Tell  him  his  squadrons  up  to  bring. — 

jfor.  tfie.  fcmtJ.  soul.  of.  <Sgbfl.  esreg. 

Fitz-Eustace,  to  Lord  Surrey  hie ; 

OT&o.  built,  tins,  cross.  an&.  toelh 

Tunstall  lies  dead  upon  the  field, 

She  fill'd  the  helm,  and  back  she  hied, 

His  life-blood  stains  the  spotless  shield : 

And  with  surprise  and  joy  espied 

Edmund  is  down : — my  life  is  reft ; 

A  monk  supporting  Marmion's  head : 

The  Admiral  alone  is  left. 

A  pious  man,  whom  duty  brought 

Let  Stanley  charge  with  spur  of  fire, — 

To  dubious  verge  of  battle  fought, 

With  Chester  charge,  and  Lancashire, 

T^  shrieve  the  dying,  bless  the  dead. 

Full  upon  Scotland's  central  host,3 

Or  victory  and  England's  lost. — 

XXXI. 

Must  1  bid  twice  ? — hence,  varlets  !  fly ! 

Deep  drank  Lord  Marmion  of  the  wave, 

Leave  Marmion  here  alone — to  die." 

And,  as  she  stoop'd  his  brow  to  lave- 

They  parted,  and  alone  he  lay : 

"  Is  it  the  hand  of  Clare,"  he  said, 

Clare  drew  her  from  the  sight  away, 

"  Or  injured  Constance,  bathes  my  head  V 

Till  pain  wrung  forth  a  lowly  moan, 

Then,  as  remembrance  rose, — 

And  half  he  murmur'd, — "  Is  there  none, 

"  Speak  not  to  me  of  shrift  or  prayer ! 

Of  all  my  halls  have  nurst, 

I  must  redress  her  woes. 

Page,  squire,  or  groom,  one  cup  to  bring 

Short  space,  few  words,  are  mine  to  spare 

Of  blessed  water  from  the  spring, 

Forgive  and  listen,  gentle  Clare  !"--  - 

To  slake  my  dying  thirst  1"        * 

"  Alas !"  she  said,  "  the  while, — 

0,  think  of  your  immortal  weal  ! 

XXX. 

In  vain  for  Constance  is  your  zeal ; 

0,  Woman !  in  our  hours  of  ease, 

She died  at  Holy  Isle."— 

Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 

Lord  Marmion  started  from  the  ground, 

And  variable  as  the  shade 

As  fight  as  if  he  felt  no  wound ; 

By  the  fight  quivering  aspen  made ; 

Though  in  the  action  burst  the  tide, 

When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 

In  torrents,  from  his  wounded  side. 

A  ministering  angel  thou ! — 

"  Then  it  was  truth," — he  said — "  I  knew 

Scarce  were  the  piteous  accents  said, 

That  the  dark  presage  must  be  true. — 

When,  with  the  Baron's  casque,  the  maid 

I  would  the  Fiend,  to  whom  belongs 

To  the  nigh  streamlet  ran : 

The  vengeance  due  to  all  her  wrongs, 

Forgot  were  hatred,  wrongs,  and  fears ; 

Would  spare  me  but  a  day ! 

The  plaintive  voice  alone  she  hears, 

For,  wasting  fire,  and  dying  groan,8 

Sees  but  the  dying  man.4 

And  priests  slain  on  the  altar  stone, 

1  MS. — "And  when  he  felt  the  fresher  air." 

from  the  discords  by  which  they  are  surrounded." — Critical 

*  MS. — "  Yet  my  last  thought's  for  England — hie, 

Review. 

To  Dacre  give  my  signet-ring.  .  .  . 

6  MS. — "  She  stoop'd  her  by  the  runnel's  tide, 

Fitz-Eustace,  to  Lord  Surrey  fly." 

But  in  abhorrence  soon  withdrew, 

3  MS. — "  Full  on  King  James's  central  host." 

For,  oozing  from  the  mountains  wide 
Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark-red  tide 

"  The  hero  of  the  piece,  Marmion,  who  has  been  guilty  of 

Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 

leducing  a  nun,  and  abandoning  her  to  be  buried  alive,  of 

Where  shall  she  turn  ?  behold,  she  marks 

forgery  to  ruin  a  friend,   and  of  perfidy  in  endeavoring  to 

A  little  vaulted  cell, 

seduce  away  from  him  the  object  of  his  tenderest  affections, 

Whose  water,  clear  as  diamond  sparks, 

fights  and  dies  gloriously,  and  is  indebted  to  the  injured  Clara 

In  a  rude  basin  fell. 

for  the  last  drop  of  water  to  cool  his  dying  thirst.     This  last 

Above,  some  half-worn  letters  say, 

act  of  disinterested    attention   extorts   from  the  Author  the 

Drink,  passing  pilgrim,  drink  and  pray.  ' 

smoothest,  sweetest,  and  tenderest  lines  in   the  whole  poem. 

*>  MS. — "  Fire,  sacrilege,  and  dying  groan, 

U  is  with  pleasure  that  we  extract  numbers  so  harmonious 

And  priests  gorged  on  the  altar  stone 

150                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  vi 

Might  bribe  him  for  delay. 

For  still  the  Scots,  around  their  King, 

It  may  not  be  ! — this  dizzy  trance — 

Unbroken,  fought  in  desperate  ring. 

Curse  on  yon  base  marauder's  lance, 

Where's  now  their  victor  vaward  wing, 

And  doubly  cursed  my  failing  brand  ! 

Where  Huntly,  and  where  Home  ? — 

A  sinful  heart  makes  feeble  hand." 

0,  for  a  blast  of  that  dread  horn, 

Then,  fainting,  down  on  earth  he  sunk, 

On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne, 

Supported  by  the  trembling  Monk. 

That  to  King  Charles  did  come, 

When  Rowland  brave,  and  Olivier, 

XXXII. 

And  every  paladin  and  peer, 

"With  fruitless  labor,  Clara  bound 

On  Roncesvalles  died ! 

And  strove  to  stanch  the  gushing  wound : 

Such  blast  might  warn  them,  not  in  vain, 

The  Monk,  with  unavailing  cares, 

To  quit  the  plunder  of  the  slain, 

Exhausted  all  the  Church's  prayers.    . 

And  turn  the  doubtful  day  again, 

Ever,  he  said,  that,  close  and  near, 

While  yet  on  Flodden  side, 

A  lady's  voice  was  in  his  ear, 

Afar,  the  Royal  Standard  flies, 

And  that  the  priest  he  could  not  hear ; 

And  round  it  toils,  and  bleeds,  and  dies, 

For  that  she  ever  sung, 

Our  Caledonian  pride ! 

*  In  the  lost  battle,  borne  down  by  the  flying, 

In  vain  the  wish — for  far  away, 

Where  mingles  war's  rattle  with  groanmof  the 

While  spoil  and  havoc  mark  their  way, 

dying  I" 

Near  Sybil's  Cross  the  plunderers  stray. — 

So  the  notes  rung ; — 

"  0,  Lady,"  cried  the  Monk,  "  away  !"4 

"  Avoid  thee,  Fiend ! — with  cruel  hand, 

And  placed  her  on  her  steed, 

Shake  not  the  dying  sinner's  sand ! — 

And  led  her  to  the  chapel  fair, 

0,  look,  my  son,  upon  yon  sign1 

Of  Tilmouth  upon  Tweed. 

Of  the  Redeemer's  grace  divine ; 

There  all  the  night  they  spent  in  prayer, 

0,  think  on  faith  and  bliss ! — 

And  at  the  dawn  of  morning,  there 

By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been, 

She  met  her  kinsman,  Lord  Fitz-Clare. 

And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen, 

But  never  aught  like  this." — 

XXXIV. 

The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail, 

But  as  they  left  the  dark'ning  heath,6 

Now  trebly  thundering  swell'd  the  gale, 

More  desperate  grew  the  strife  of  death. 

And — Stanley  !  was  the  cry ; 

The  English  shafts  in  volleys  hail'd, 

A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

In  headlong  charge  their  horse  assail'd ; 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye  f 

Front,  flank,  and  rear,  the  squadrons  sweep 

With  dying  hand,  above  his  head, 

To  break  the  Scottish  circle  deep, 

He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

That  fought  around  their  King. 

And  shouted  "  Victory  ! — 

But  yet,  though  thick  the  shafts  as  snow, 

Charge,  Chester,  charge !  On,  Stanley,  on ! " 

Though  charging  knights  like  whirlwinds  go, 

Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion.3 

Though  bill-men  ply  the  ghastly  blow, 

Unbroken  was  the  ring ; 

XXXIII. 

The  stubborn  spear-men  still  made  good8 

By  this,  though  deep  the  evening  fell, 

Their  dark  impenetrable  wood, 

Still  rose  the  battle's  deadly  swell, 

Each  stepping  where  his  comrade  stood, 

Might  bribe  him  for  delay, 

6  MS. — "  Ever  the  stubborn  spears  made  good 

And  all  by  whom  the  deed  was  done, 

Their  dark  impenetrable  wood  ;    ' 

Should  with  myself  become  his  own. 

Each  Scotstepp'd  where  his  comrade  stood, 

It  may  not  he" 

The  instant  that  he  fell, 

*  MS. — "  O  look,  my  son,  upon  this  cross, 

Till  the  last  ray  of  parting  light, 

O,  think  upon  the  grace  divine, 

Then  ceased  perforce  the  dreadful  fight, 

On  saints  and  heavenly  bliss  ! — 

And  sunk  the  battle's  yell. 

By  many  a  sinner's  bed  I've  been, 

The  skilful  Surrey's  sage  commands 

And  many  a  dismal  parting  seen, 

Drew  from  the  strife  his  shatter'd  bands. 

But  never  aught  like  this." 

Their  loss  his  foeman  knew  ; 

2  MS. — "  And  sparkled  in  his  eye." 

Their  King,  their  Lords,  their  mightiest  low, 

3  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  has  nothing  so  good  as  the  death  of 

They  melted  from  the  field  as  snow, 

Marmion. — Mackintosh. 

When  streams  are  swoln  and  south  winds  bio* 

4  MS. — "  In  vain  the  wish — for  far  they  stray, 

Melts  from  the  mountain  blue. 

And  spoil  and  havoc  mark'd  their  way. 

By  various  march  their  scatter'd  bands, 

'  O,  La<?v,'  cried  the  Monk,  'away  !'  " 

Disorder'd,  gain'd  the  Scottish  lands. — 

6  MS. — V  But  stil    ?pon  the  darkening  heath." 

Day  dawns  on  Flodden's  drearv  side. 

CANTO  VI. 


MARMION. 


151 


The  instant  that  he  fell. 
No  thought  was  there  of  dastard  flight ; 
Link'd  in  the  serried  phalanx  tight, 
Groom  fought  like  noble,  squire  like  knight, 

As  fearlessly  and  well ; 
Till  utter  darkness  closed  her  wing 
O'er  thsir  thin  host  and  wounded  King 
Then  skilful  Surrey's  sage  commands 
Led  back  from  strife  his  shatter'd  bands ; 
And  from  the  charge  they  drew, 
As  mountain-waves,  from  wasted  lands, 

Sweep  back  to  ocean  blue. 
Then  did  their  loss  his  foeman  know ; 
Their  King,  their  Lords,  their  mightiest  low, 
They  melted  from  the  field  as  snow, 
When  streams  are  swoln  and  south  winds  blow, 

Dissolves  in  silent  dg*v\ 
Tweed's  echoes  heard  the  ceaseless  plash, 

While  many  a  broken  band, 
Disorder'd,  through  her  currents  dash, 

To  gain  the  Scottish  land ; 
To  town  and  tower,  to  town  and  dale, 
To  tell  red  Flodden's  dismal  tale, 
And  raise  the  universal  wail.1 
Tradition,  legend,  tune,  and  song, 
Shall  many  an  age  that  wail  prolong : 
Still  from  the  sire  the  son  shall  hear 
Of  the  stern  strife,  and  carnage  drear, 

Of  Flodden's  fatal  field, 
Where  shiver'd  was  fair  Scotland's  spear, 

And  broken  was  her  shield ! 

XXXV. 

Day  dawns  upon  the  mountain's  side : — 9 
There,  Scotland !  lay  thy  bravest  pride, 
Chiefs,  knights,  and  nobles,  many  a  one : 
The  sad  survivors  all  are  gone. — 
View  not  that  corpse  mistrustfully, 
Defaced  and  mangled  though  it  be ; 
Nor  to  yon  Border  castle  high, 
Look  northward  with  upbraiding  eye ; 

Nor  cherish  hope  in  vain, 
That,  journeying  far  on  foreign  strand, 
The  Royal  Pilgrim  to  his  land 

May  yet  return  again. 
He  saw  the  wreck  his  rashness  wrought ; 

And  show'd  the  scene  of  carnage  wide  ; 

There,  Scotland,  lay  thy  bravest  pride  I" 
i  "  The  powerful  poetry  of  these  passages  can  receive  no  il- 
nstration  from  any  praises  or  observations  of  ours.  It  is  supe- 
rior, in  our  apprehension,  to  all  that  this  author  has  hitherto 
produced  ;  and,  with  a  few  faults  of  diction,  equal  to  any 
Jiing  that  has  ever  been  written  upon  similar  subjects.  From 
the  moment  the  author  gets  in  sight  of  Flodden  Field,  indeed, 
to  the  end  of  the  poem,  there  is  no  tame  writing,  and  no  inter- 
vention of  ordinary  passages.  He  does  not  once  flag  or  grow 
*edious  ;  and  neither  stops  to  describe  dresses  and  ceremonies, 
nor  to  commemorate  the  harsh  names  of  feudal  barons  from  the 
Border.  There  is  a  flight  of  five  or  six  hundred  lines,  in  short, 
in  which  he  never  stoops  his  wing,  nor  wavers  in  his  course  ; 


Reckless  of  life,  he  desperate  fought, 

And  fell  on  Flodden  plain : 
And  well  in  death  his  trusty  brand, 
Firm  clench'd  within  his  manly  hand, 

Beseem'd  the  monarch  slain.3 
But,  0 !    how   changed   since   yon   blithe 

night ! — 
Gladly  I  turn  me  from  the  sight, 

Unto  my  tale  again.  i 

XXXVI. 

Short  is  my  tale : — Fitz-Eustace'  care 

A  pierced  and  mangled  body  bare 

To  moated  Lichfield's  lofty  pile ; 

And  there,  beneath  the  southern  aisle 

A  tomb,  with  Gothic  sculpture  fair, 

Did  long  Lord  Marmion's  image  bear 

(Now  vainly  for  its  sight  you  look ; 

'Twas  levell'd  when  fanatic  Brook 

The  fair  cathedral  storm'd  and  took ; 

But,  thanks  to  Heaven  and  good  Saint  Chad, 

A  guerdon  meet  the  spoiler  had  !)4 

There  erst  was  martial  Marmion  found, 

His  feet  upon  a  couchant  hound, 

His  hands  to  heaven  upraised  ; 
And  all  around,  on  scutcheon  rich, 
And  tablet  carved,  and  fretted  niche, 

His  arms  and  feats  were  blazed. 
And  yet,  though  all  was  carved  so  fair, 
And  priest  for  Marmion  breathed  the  prayer 
The  last  Lord  Marmion  lay  not  there. 
From  Ettrick  woods  a  peasant  swain 
Follow'd  his  lord  to  Fl-  >dden  plain, — 
One  of  those  flowers,  whom  plaintive  lay 
In  Scotland  mourns  as  "  wede  away :" 
Sore  wounded,  Sybil's  Cross  he  spied, 
And  dragg'd  him  to  its  foot,  and  died, 
Close  by  the  noble  Marmion's  side. 
The  spoilers  stripp'd  and  gash'd  the  slain, 
And  thus  their  corpses  were  mista'en ; 
And  thus,  in  the  proud  Baron's  tomb, 
The  lowly  woodsman  took  the  room. 

XXXVII. 

Less  easy  task  it  were,  to  show 

Lord  Marmion's  nameless  grave,  and  low.6 

but  carries  the  reader  forward  with  a  more  rapid,  sustained, 
and  lofty  movement,  than  any  epic  bard  that  we  can  at  present 
remember." — Jeffrey. 

a  "  Day  glimmers  on  the  dying  and  the  dead, 

The  cloven  cuirass,  and  the  helmless  head,"  &c. 

Byron's  Lara. 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  4  S.  *  Ibid.  Note  4  T. 

6  "  A  corpse  is  afterwards  conveyed,  as  that  of  Marmion,  to 
the  Cathedral  of  Lichfield,  where  a  magnificent  tomb  is  erected 
to  his  memory,  and  masses  are  instituted  for  the  repose  of  his 
soul ;  but,  by  an  admirably-imagined  act  of  poetical  justice,  we 
are  informed  that  a  peasant's  body  was  placed  beneath  that 
costly  monument,  while  the  haughty  Baron  himself  was  buried 
like  a  vulgar  corpse,  on  the  spot  on  which  he  died.    -  -  Jilon.  Rev 


J52 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI 


They  dug  his  grave  e'en  where  he  lay,1 

But  3very  mark  is  gone ; 
Time'a  wasting  hand  has  done  away 
The  simple  Cross  of  Sybil  Grey, 

And  broke  her  font  of  stone : 
But  yet  from  out  the  little  hill2 
Oozes  the  slender  springlet  still. 

Oft  halts  the  stranger  there, 
For  thence  may  best  his  curious  eye 
The  memorable  field  descry  ; 

And  shepherd  boys  repair 
To  seek  the  water-flag  and  rush, 
And  rest  them  by  the  hazel  bush, 

And  plait  their  garlands  fair ; 
Xor  dream  they  sit  upon  the  grave, 
That  holds  the  bones  of  Marmion  brave. — 
When  thou  shalt  find  the  little  hill," 
With  thy  heart  commune,  and  be  still. 
If  ever,  in  temptation  strong, 
Thou  left'st  the  right  path  for  the  wrong ; 
If  every  devious  step,  thus  trod, 
Still  led  thee  farther  from  the  road ; 
Dread  thou  to  speak  presumptuous  doom 
On  noble  Marmion's  lowly  tomb ; 
But  say,  "  He  died  a  gallant  knight, 
With  sword  in  hand,  for  England's  right." 

XXXVIII. 
I  do  not  rhyme  to  that  dull  elf, 
Who  cannot  image  to  himself, 
That  all  through  Flodden's  dismal  night,         . 
Wilton  was  foremost  in  the  fight ; 
That,  when  brave  Surrey's  steed  was  slain, 
'Twas  Wilton  mounted  him  again ; 
'Twas  Wilton's  brand  that  deepest  hew'd,4 
Amid  the  spearmen's  stubborn  wood : 
Unnamed  by  Hollinshed  or  Hall, 
He  was  the  living  soul  of  all : 
That,  after  fight,  his  faith  made  plain, 
He  won  his  rank  and  lands  again : 
And  charged  his  old  paternal  shield 

*  MS. — "  They  dug  his  bed  e'en  where  he  lay." 
'  MS. — "  But  yet  where  swells  the  little  hill." 

3  MS. — "  If  thou  shouldst  find  this  little  tomb, 

Beware  to  speak  a  hasty  doom." 

4  MS. — "  He  hardest  press'd  the  Scottish  ring  ; 

'Twas  thought  that  he  struck  down  the  King." 

*  Used  generally  for  tale  or  discourse. 

6  "  We  have  dwelt  longer  on  the  beauties  and  defects  of 
Ihis  poem,  than,  we  are  afraid,  will  be  agreeable  either  to  the 
•partial  or  the  indifferent ;  not  only  because  we  look  upon  it  as 
a  misapplication,  in  some  degree,  of  very  extraordinary  talents, 
but  because  we  cannot  help  considering  it  as  the  foundation 
of  a  new  school,  which  may  hereafter  occasion  no  little  an- 
noyance both  to  us  and  to  the  public  Mr.  Scott  has  hitherto 
filled  the  whole  stage  himself;  and  the  very  splendor  of  his 
success  has  probably  operated  as  yet  rather  to  deter  than  to 
encourage  the  herd  of  rivals  and  imitators  ;  but  if,  by  the  help 
of  the  good  parts  of  his  poem,  he  succeeds  in  suborning  the 
verdict  of  the  public  in  favor  of  the  bad  parts  also,  and  es- 
tablishes ar  indiscriminate  taste   for   chivalrous   legends  and 


With  bearings  won  on  Flodden  Field. 

Nor  sing  I  to  that  simple  maid. 

To  whom  it  must  in  terms  be  said, 

That  King  and  kinsmen  did  agree, 

To  bless  fair  Clara's  constancy ; 

Who  cannot,  unless  I  relate, 

Paint  to  her  mind  the  bridal's  state  ; 

That  Wolsey's  voice  the  blessing  spoke, 

More,  Sands,  and  Denny,  pass'd  the  joke  \ 

That  bluff  King  Hal  the  curtain  drew, 

And  Catherine's  hand  the  stocking  threw ; 

And  afterwards  for  many  a  day, 

That  it  was  held  enough  to  say, 

In  blessing  to  a  wedded  pair, 

"  Love  they  like  Wilton  and  like  Clare f" 


3L*3Snbo». 


Why  then  a  final  note  prolong, 

Or  lengthen  out  a  closing  song, 

Unless  to  bid  the  gentles  speed, 

Who  long  have  listed  to  my  rede  ?8 

To  Statesmen  grave,  if  such  may  deign 

To  read  the  Minstrel's  idle  strain, 

Sound  head,  clean  hand,  and  piercing  wit, 

And  patriotic  heart — as  Pitt  1 

A  garland  for  the  hero's  crest, 

And  twined  by  her  he  loves  the  best ; 

To  every  lovely  lady  bright, 

What  can  I  wish  but  faithful  knight  ? 

To  every  faithful  lover  too, 

What  can  I  wish  but  lady  true  ? 

And  knowledge  to  the  studious  sage  ; 

And  pillow  to  the  head  of  age. 

To  thee,  dear  schoolboy,  whom  my  lay 

Has  cheated  of  thy  hour  of  play, 

Light  task,  and  merry  holiday  ! 

To  all,  to  each,  a  fair  good-night, 

And  pleasing  dreams,  and  slumbers  light  !8 

romances  in  irregular  rhyme,  he  may  depend  upon  having  a* 
many  copyists  as  Mrs.  Radeliffe  or  Schiller,  and  upon  becoming 
the  founder  of  a  new  schism  in  the  catholic  poetica.  church 
for  which,  in  spite  of  all  our  exertions,  there  will  probably  be 
no  cure,  but  in  the  extravagance  of  the  last  and  lowest  of  its 
followers.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  we  conceive  it  to  be  o  lr 
duty  to  make  one  strong  effort  to  bring  back  the  great  apcstle 
of  the  heresy  to  the  wholesome  creed  of  his  instructors,  and  to 
stop  the  insurrection  before  it  becomes  desperat!  and  sense- 
less, by  persuading  the  leader  to  return  to  his  duty  apd  alle- 
giance. We  admire  Mr.  Scott's  genius  as  much  as  any  ot 
those  who  may  be  misled  by  its  perversion  ;  and,  like  the 
curate  and  the  barber  in  Don  Quixote,  lament  the  day  when  a 
gentleman  of  such  endowments  was  corrupted  by  the  wicked 
tales  of  knight-errantry  and  enchantment." — Jeffrey. 

"  We  do  not  flatter  ourselves  that  Mr.  Scott  will  pay  to  oi-.r 
advice  that  attention  which  he  has  refused  to  his  acute  friend 
Mr.  Erskine  ;  but  it  is  possible  that  his  own  good  sense  may  in 
time  persuade  him  not  to  abandon  his  'oved  fairy  ground  (a 
province  over  which  we  wish  him  a  long  and  prosperou*  gov 


CANTO  VI. 


MARMION. 


lftd 


ernment),  but  to  combine  the  charms  of  lawful  poetry  with 
tiiose  of  wild  and  romantic  fiction.  As  the  first  step  to  this 
desirable  end,  we  would  beg  him  to  reflect  that  his  Gothic 
models  will  not  bear  him  out  in  transferring  the  loose  and 
shuffling  ballad  metre  to  a  poem  of  considerable  length,  and 
of  complicated  interest  like  the  present.  It  is  a  very  easy  thing 
to  write  five  hundred  ballad  verses,  stans  pede  in  uno  ;  but 
Mr.  Scott  needs  not  to  be  told,  that  five  hundred  verses  writ- 
ten on  one  foot  have  a  very  poor  chance  for  immortality." — 
Monthly  Review. 


"  Ihe  story,"  writes  Mr.  Southey,  "  is  made  of  better  mate- 
rials than  the  Lay,  yet  they  are  not  so  well  fitted  together. 
As  a  whole,  it  has  not  pleased  me  so  much, —  in  parts,  it  has 
pleased  me  more.  There  is  nothing  so  finely  conceived  in 
your  former  poem  as  the  death  of  Marmion  :  there  is  nothing 
finer  in  its  conception  anywhere.  The  introductory  epistles 
I  did  not  wish  away,  because,  as  poems,  they  gave  me  great 
pleasure  ;  but  I  wished  them  at  the  end  of  the  volume,  or  at 
the  beginning, — anywhere  except  where  they  were.  My  taste 
is  perhaps  peculiar  in  disliking  all  interruptions  in  narrative 
poetry.  When  the  poet  lets  his  story  sleep,  and  talks  in  his 
own  person,  it  has  to  me  the  same  sort  of  unpleasant  effect 
that  is  produced  at  the  end  of  an  act.  You  are  alive  to  know 
what  follows,  and  lo- — down  comes  the  curtain,  and  the  fiddlers 
begin  with  their  abominations.  The  general  opinion,  however, 
is  with  me,  in  [his  particular  instance." — Life  of  Scott,  vol. 
iii.  p.  44. 

"Thank  you,"  says  Mr.  Wordsworth,  "for  Marmion.  I 
think  your  end  ha3  been  attained.  That  it  is  not  the  end 
which  I  should  wish  you  to  propose  to  yourself,  you  will  be 
well  aware,  from  what  you  know  of  my  notions  of  composi- 
tion, both  as  to  matter  and  manner.  In  the  circle  of  my  ac- 
quaintance, it  seems  as  well  liked  as  the  Lay,  though  I  have 
heard  that  in  the  world  it  is  not  so.  Had  the  poem  been 
much  better  than  the  Lay,  it  could  scarcely  have  satisfied  the 
public,  which  has  too  much  of  the  monster,  the  moral  monster, 
in  its  composition." — Ibid.  p.  45. 

"My  own  opinion,"  says  Mr.  George  Ellis,  "is,  that  both 
the  productions  are  equally  good  in  their  different  ways  : 
yet,  upon  the  whole,  I  had  rather  be  the  author  of  Marmion 
than  of  the  Lay,  because  I  think  its  species  of  excellence  of 
much  more  difficult  attainment.  What  degree  of  bulk  may 
be  essentially  necessary  to  the  corporeal  part  of  an  Epic  poem, 
I  know  not ;  but  sure  I  am  that  the  story  of  Marmion  might 
have  furnished  twelve  books  as  easily  as  six — that  the  mas- 
terly •  baracter  of  Constance  would  not  have  been  less  be- 
witch ng  had  it  been  much  more  minutely  painted — and  that 
De  Wilton  might  have  been  dilated  with  great  ease,  and  even 
to  considerable  advantage; — in  short,  that  had  it  been  your 
intention  merely  to  exhibit  a  spirited  romantic  story,  instead 
nf  making  that  story  subservient  to  the  delineation  of  the 
manners  which  prevailed  at  a  certain  period  of  our  history, 
,he  cumber  and  variety  of  your  characters  woui'l  have  suited 
30 


any  scale  of  painting.  On  the  whole,  1  can  sincerely  assure 
you,  that  had  I  seen  Marmion  without  knowing  the  author, 
I  should  have  ranked  it  with  Theodore  and  Honoria, — that 
is  to  say,  on  the  very  top  shelf  of  English  poetry." — Ibid.vo\. 
iii.  p.  46. 

"  I  shall  not,  after  so  much  of  and  about  criticism,  say  any 
thing  more  of  Marmion  in  this  place,  than  that  I  have  always 
considered  it  as,  on  the  whole,  the  greatest  of  Scott's  poems. 
There  is  a  certain  light,  easy,  virgin  charm  about  the  Lay, 
which  we  look  for  in  vain  through  the  subsequent  volumes  of 
his  verse  ;  but  the  superior  strength,  and  breadth,  and  bold- 
ness, both  of  conception  and  execution,  in  the  Marmion,  ap- 
pear  to  me  indisputable.  The  great  blot,  the  combination  of 
mean  felony  with  so  many  noble  qualities  in  the  character  of 
the  hero,  was,  as  the  poet  says,  severely  commented  on  at  the 
time  by  the  most  ardent  of  his  early  friends,  Leyden ;  but 
though  he  admitted  the  justice  of  that  criticism,  he  chose  '  to 
let  the  tree  lie  as  it  had  fallen.'  He  was  also  sensible  that 
many  of  the  subordinate  and  connecting  parts  of  the  narra- 
tive are  fiat,  harsh,  and  obscure— but  would  never  make  any 
serious  attempt  to  do  away  with  these  imperfections ;  and 
perhaps  they,  after  all,  heighten  by  contrast  the  effect  of  the 
passages  of  high-wrought  enthusiasm  which  alone  he  con- 
sidered, in  after  days,  with  satisfaction.  As  for  the  '  episto- 
lary dissertations,'  it  must,  I  take  it,  be  allowed  that  they  in- 
terfered with  the  flow  of  the  story,  when  readers  were  turn- 
ing the  leaves  with  the  first  ardor  of  curiosity  ;  and  they 
were  not,  in  fact,  originally  intended  to  be  interwoven  in  any 
fashion  with  the  romance  of  Marmion.  Though  the  author 
himself  does  not  allude  to,  and  had  perhaps  forgotten  the 
circumstance,  when  writing  the  Introductory  Essay  of  1830 
— they  were  announced,  by  an  advertisement  early  in  1807,  aa 
1  Six  Epistles  from  Ettrick  Forest,'  to  be  published  in  a  sepa- 
rate volume,  similar  to  that  of  the  Ballads  and  Lyrical  Pieces  ; 
and  perhaps  it  might  have  been  better  thai  this  first  plan  had 
been  adhered  to.  But  however  that  may  be,  are  there  any 
pages,  among  all  he  ever  wrote,  that  one  would  be  more  sorry 
he  should  not  have  written  ?  They  are  among  the  most  de- 
licious portraitures  that  genius  ever  painted  of  itself, — buoyant, 
virtuous,  happy  genius — exulting  in  its  own  energies,  yet  pos- 
sessed and  mastered  by  a  clear,  calm,  modest  mind,  and  happy 
only  in  diffusing  happiness  around  it. 

"  With  what  gratification  those  Epistles  were  read  by  the 
friends  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  it  would  be  superfluous 
to  show.  He  had,  in  fact,  painted  them  almost  as  fully  aa 
himself;  and  who  might  not  have  been  proud  to  find  a  place 
in  such  a  gallery  ?  The  tastes  and  habits  of  six  of  those  men, 
in  whose  intercourse  Scott  found  the  greatest  pleasure  when  his 
fame  was  approaching  its  meridian  splendor,  are  thus  preserved 
for  posterity  ;  and  when  I  reflect  with  what  avidity  we  catch 
at  the  least  hint  which  seems  to  afford  us  a  glimpse  of  the  in- 
timate circle  of  any  great  poet  of  former  ages,  I  cannot  but 
believe  that  posterity  would  have  held  this  record  precious, 
even  had  the  individuals  been  in  themselves  far  less  remark 
able  than  a  Rose,  an  Ellis,  a  Heber,  a  Skene,  a  Marriott,  and 
an  Erskine." — Lockhart,  vol.  iii.  p.  55. 


1M 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

As  when  the  Chamjrion  of  the  Lake 

Enters  Morgana' s  fated  house, 

Or  in  the  Chapel  Perilous, 

Desp.  *ing  spells  and  demons'1  force, 

Holds  converse  with  the  unburied  corse. — P.  86. 

The  romance  of  the  Morte  Arthur  contains  a  sort  of  abridg- 
ment of  the  most  celebrated  adventures  of  the  Round  Table ; 
and,  being  written  in  comparatively  modern  language,  gives 
the  general  reader  an  excellent  idea  of  what  romances  of 
chivalry  actually  were.  It  has  also  the  merit  of  being  written 
In  pure  old  English  ;  and  many  of  the  wild  adventures  which 
it  contains  are  told  with  a  simplicity  bordering  upon  the  sublime. 
Several  of  these  are  referred  to  in  the  text  ;  and  I  would  have 
illustrated  them  by  more  full  extracts,  but  as  this  curious  work 
is  about  to  be  republished,  I  confine  myself  to  the  tale  of  the 
Chapel  Perilous,  and  of  the  quest  of  Sir  Launcelot  after  the 
Sangreal. 

"  Right  so  Sir  Launcelot  departed,  and  when  he  came  to 
the  Chapell  Perilous,  he  alighted  downe,  and  tied  his  horse  to 
a  little  gate.  And  as  soon  as  he  was  within  the  church-yard, 
he  saw,  on  the  front  of  the  chapell,  many  faire  rich  shields 
turned  upside  downe  ;  and  many  of  the  shields  Sir  Launcelot 
had  seene  knights  have  before  ;  with  that  he  saw  stand  by  him 
thirtie  great  knights,  more,  by  a  yard,  than  any  man  that  ever 
he  had  seene,  and  all  those  grinned  and  gnashed  at  Sir  Laun- 
celot ;  and  when  he  saw  their  countenance,  hee  dread  them 
sore,  and  so  put  his  shield  afore  him,  and  tooke  his  sword  in  his 
hand,  ready  to  doe  battaile ;  and  they  were  all  armed  in  black 
harneis,  ready,  with  their  shields  and  swords  drawn.  And 
when  Sir  Launcelot  would  have  gone  through  them,  they  scat- 
tered on  every  side  of  him,  and  gave  him  the  way  ;  and  there- 
with he  waxed  all  bold,  and  entered  into  the  chapell,  and  then 
hee  saw  no  light  but  a  dimine  lampe  burning,  and  then  was  he 
ware  of  a  corps  covered  with  a  cloath  of  silke  ;  then  Sir  Laun- 
celot stooped  downe,  and  cut  a  piece  of  that  cloth  away,  and 
then  it  fared  under  him  as  the  earth  had  quaked  a  little,  whereof 
he  was  afeard,  and  then  hee  saw  a  faire  sword  lye  by  the  dead 
knight,  and  that  he  gat  in  his  hand,  and  hied  him  out  of  the 
chappell.  As  soon  as  he  was  in  the  chappell-yerd,  all  the 
knights  spoke  to  him  with  a  grimly  voice,  and  said,  '  Knight, 
Sir  Launcelot,  lay  that  sword  from  thee,  or  else  thou  shilt  die.' 
— -'  Whether  I  live  or  die,'  said  Sir  Launcelot,  '  witli  no  great 
words  get  yee  it  again,  therefore  fight  i'or  it  and  yee  list.' 
Therewith  he  passed  through  them  ;  and,  beyond  the  chappell- 
yerd,  there  met  him  a  faire  damosell,  and  said,  '  Sir  Launcelot, 
eave  that  sword  behind  thee,  or  thou  wilt  die  for  it.' — '  I  will 
not  leave  it,'  said  Sir  Launcelot.  'or  no  threats.' — 'No?' 
said  she,  '  and  ye  did  leave  th»t  sword,  Queen  Guenever  should 
ye  neve,  see.' — '  Then  were  I  a  fool  and  I  would  leave  this 
sword,'  said  Sir  Launcelot.  '  Now,  gentle  knight,'  said  the 
damosell,  'I  require  thee  to  kiss  me  once.' — 'Nay,'  said  Sir 
Launcelot,  'that  God  forbid!' — 'Well,  sir,'  said  she,  'and 
thou  haddest  kissed  me  thy  life  dayes  had  been  done,  but  now, 
alas  !'  said  she,  '  I  have  lost  all  my  labour  ;  for  I  ordeined  this 
chappell  for  thy  sake,  and  for  Sir  Gawaine :  and  once  I  had 
Sir  Gawaine  within  it ;  and  at  that  time  he  fought  with  that 
knight  which  there  lieth  deaci  in  yonder  chappell,  Sir  Gilbert 
the  bastrid,  and  at  that  time  hee  smote  off  Sir  Gilbert  the 
bastard's  left  hand,     And  so,  Sir  Launcelot,  now  I  tell  thee, 


that  I  have  loved  thee  this  seaven  yeare  ;  but  there  maj  m  w ty 
man  have  thy  love  but  Queene  Guenever ;  but  sithen  F  may 
not  rejoyiee  thee  to  have  thy  body  alive,  I  had  kept  no  more 
joy  in  this  world  but  to  have  had  thy  dead  body  ;  and  I  would 
have  balmed  it  and  served,  and  so  have  kept  it  in  my  life  daies, 
and  daily  I  should  have  clipped  thee,  and  kissed  thee,  in  the 
despite  of  Queen  Guenever.' — '  Ye  say  well,'  said  Sir  Launce- 
lot ;  'Jesus  preserve  me  from  your  subtill  craft.'  And  there- 
with he  took  his  horse,  and  departed  from  her." 


Note  B. 

A  sinful  man,  and  unconfest'd, 

He  took  the  Sangreal's  holy  quest, 

And,  slumbering,  saw  the  vision  high, 

He  might  not  view  with  waking  eye. — P.  87. 

One  day,  when  Arthur  was  holding  a  high  feast  with  his 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  the  Sangreal,  or  vessel  out  of 
which  the  last  passover  vyas  eaten  (a  precious  relic,  which  had 
long  remained  concealed  from  human  eyes,  because  of  the  sins 
of  the  land),  suddenly  appeared  to  him  and  all  his  chivalry. 
The  consequence  of  this  vision  was,  that  all  the  knights  took 
on  them  a  solemn  vow  to  seek  the  Sangreal.  But,  alas  !  it 
could  only  be  revealed  to  a  knight  at  once  accomplished  in 
earthly  chivalry,  and  pure  and  guiltless  of  evil  conversation. 
All  Sir  Launcelot's  noble  accomplishments  were  therefore  ren- 
dered vain  by  his  guilty  intrigue  with  Queen  Guenever,  01 
Ganore ;  and  in  his  holy  quest  he  encountered  only  such  dis- 
graceful disasters  as  that  which  follows  : — 

"  But  Sir  Launcelot  rode  overthwart  and  endlong  in  a  wild 
forest,  and  held  no  path  but  as  wild  adventure  led  him  ;  and 
at  the  last,  he  came  unto  a  stone  crosse,  which  departed  twe 
wayes,  in  wast  land  ;  and,  by  the  crosse,  was  a  stone  that  was 
of  marble  ;  but  it  was  so  dark,  that  Sir  Launcelot  might  not 
well  know  what  it  was.  Then  Sir  Launcelot  looked  by  him, 
and  saw  an  old  chappell,  and  there  he  wend  to  have  found 
people.  And  so  Sir  Launcelot  tied  his  horse  to  a  tree,  and 
there  he  put  off  his  shield,  and  hung  it  upon. a  tree,  and  then 
hee  went  unto  the  chappell  doore,  and  found  it  wasted  and 
broken.  And  within  he  found  a  faire  altar,  full  richly  arrayed 
with  cloth  of  silk,  and  there  stood  a  faire  candlestick,  which 
beare  six  great  candles,  and  the  candiesticke  was  of  silver. 
And  when  Sir  Launcelot  saw  this  light,  hee  had  a  great  wil. 
for  to  enter  into  the  chappell,  but  he  could  find  no  place  where 
hee  might  enter.  Then  was  he  passing  heavie  and  dismaied. 
Then  lie  returned,  and  carne  againe  to  his  horse,  and  tooke  ofl 
his  sad  ile  and  his  bridle,  and  let  him  pasture,  and  unlaced  his 
helme,  »nd  ungirded  his  sword,  and  laid  him  down  to  sleepe 
upon  his  shield,  before  the  crosse. 

"  And  so  hee  fell  on  sleepe ;  and,  halfe  waking  and  halte 
sleeping,  he  saw  come  by  him  two  palfreys,  both  faire  and 
white,  the  which  beare  a  litter,  therein  lying  a  sicke  knight. 
And  when  he  was  nigh  the  crosse,  he  there  abode  still.  All 
this  Sir  Launcelot  saw  and  beheld,  for  hee  slept  not  verily,  and 
hee  heard  him  say,  '  O  sweete  Lord,  when  shall  this  sorrow 
leave  me,  and  when  shall  the  holy  vessell  come  by  me,  where 
through  I  shall  be  blessed,  for  I  have  endured  thus  long  for  lit- 
tle trespasse  !'  And  thus  a  great  while  complained  the  knight, 
and  allwaies  Sir  Launcelot  heard  it.  With  that  Sir  Launcelot 
saw  the  candiesticke,  with  the   fire  tapers,  come  before  thi 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMlOJSf. 


165 


"rosse  ;  but  he  could  see  nobody  that  brought  it.  Also  there 
came  a  table  of  silver,  and  the  holy  vessell  of  the  Sancgreall,  the 
which  Fir  Launcelot  had  seen  before  that  time  in  King  Pet- 
chour's  house.  And  therewithall  the  sicke  knight  set  him  up- 
right, and  held  up  both  his  hands,  and  said,  '  Faire  swoete 
Lord,  which  is  here  within  the  holy  vessell,  take  heede  to  mee, 
that  I  may  bee  hole  of  this  great  malady  !'  And  therewith 
upon  his  hands,  and  upon  his  knees,  he  went  so  nigh,  that  he 
touched  the  holy  vessell,  and  kissed  it :  And  anon  he  was  hole, 
and  then  he  said,  '  Lord  God,  I  thank  thee,  for  I  am  healed  of 
this,  malady.'  Soo  when  the  holy  vessell  had  been  there  a 
great  while,  it  went  into  the  chappelle  againe,  with  the  can- 
dlesticke  and  the  light,  so  that  Sir  Launcelot  wist  not  where  it 
became,  for  he  was  overtaken  with  sinne,  that  hee  had  no 
power  to  arise  against  the  holy  vessell,  wherefore  afterward 
many  man  said  of  him  shame.  But  he  tooke  repentance  after- 
ward. Then  the  sicke  knight  dressed  him  upright,  and  kissed 
the  crosse.  Then  anon  his  squire  brought  him  his  amies,  and 
asked  his  lord  how  he  did.  '  Certainly,'  said  liee,  '  I  thanke 
God  right  heartily,  for  through  the  holy  vessell  I  am  healed : 
But  I  have  right  great  mervaile  of  this  sleeping  knight,  which 
hath  had  neither  grace  nor  power  to  awake  during  the  time 
that  this  holy  vessell  hath  beene  here  present.' — '  I  dare  it  right 
well  say,'  said  the  squire,  'that  this  same  knight  is  defouled 
with  some  manner  of  deadly  sinne,  whereof  he  has  never  con- 
fessed.'— 'By  my  faith,'  said  the  knight,  '  whatsoever  he  be, 
he  is  unhappie  ;  for,  as  I  deeme,  hee  is  of  the  fellowship  of  the 
Round  Table,  the  which  is  entered  into  the  quest  of  the  Sane- 
greall.' — 'Sir,'  said  the  squire,  'here  I  have  brought  you  all 
your  armes,  save  your  helme  and  your  sword  ;  and,  therefore, 
by  mine  assent,  now  may  ye  take  this  knight's  helme  and  his 
sword  ;'  and  so  he  did.  And  when  he  was  cleane  armed,  he 
took  Sir  Launcelot's  horse,  for  he  was  better  than  his  owne, 
and  so  they  departed  from  the  crosse. 

"  Then  anon  Sir  Launcelot  awaked,  and  set  himselfe  up- 
right, and   he   thought  him    what  hee   had  there   seene,  and 
whether  it  were  dreames  or  not ;  right  so  he  heard  a  voice  that 
'  Sir  Launcelot,  more  hardy  than  is  the  stone,  and  more 
than  is  the  wood,  and  more  naked  and  bare  than  is  the 
of  the  fig-tree,  therefore  go  thou  from  hence,  and  with- 
draw  thee   from   this  holy  place;'  and  when  Sir  Launcelot 
heard  this,  he  was  passing  heavy,  and  wist  not  what  to  doe. 
And  so  he  departed  sore  weeping,  and  cursed  the  time  that  he 
was  borne  ;  for  then  he  deemed  never  to  have  had  more  wor- 
ship ;  for  the  words    went  unto  his  heart,  till  that  he  knew 
wherefore  that  hee  was  so  called." 


Note  C. 


And  Dryden,  in  immortal  strain, 
Had  raised  the  Table  Round  again. 


-P.  87. 


Dryden's  melancholy  account  of  his  projected  Epic  Poem, 
blasted  by  the  selfish  and  sordid  parsimony  of  his  patrons,  is 
contained  in  an  "  Essay  on  Satire,"  addressed  to  the  Earl  of 
Dorset,  and  prefixed  to  the  Translation  of  Juvenal.  After 
mentioning  a  plan  of  supplying  machinery  from  the  guardian 
angels  of  kingdoms,  mentioned  in  the  Book  of  Daniel,  he 
adds : — 

"  Thus,  my  lord,  I  have,  as  briefly  as  I  could,  given  your 
lordship,  ar.d  by  you  the  world,  a  rude  draught  of  what  I  have 
been  long  laboring  in  my  imagination,  and  what  I  had  intended 
to  have  put  in  practice  (though  far  unable  for  the  attempt  of 
such  a  poem)  ;  and  to  have  left  the  stage,  to  which  my  genius 
never  much  inclined  me,  for  a  work  which  would  have  taken 
up  my  life  in  the  performance  of  it.  This,  too,  I  had  intended 
chiefly  for  the  honor  of  my  native  country,  to  which  a  poet  is 
particularly  oW!ig°d.  Of  two  subjects,  both  relating  to  it,  I 
was  doubtful  whether  I  should  choose  that  of  King  Arthur 
conquering  the  Saxons,  which,  being  farther  distant  in  time, 
gives  \he  greater  scope  to  my  invention  ;  or  that  of  Edward  the 


Black  Prince,  in  subduing  Spain,  and  restoring  it  to  the  law 
ful  prince,  though  a  great  tyrant,  Don  Pedro  the  Cruel ;  which, 
for  the  compass  of  time,  including  only  the  expedition  of  one 
year,  for  the  greatness  of  the  action,  and  its  answerable  event, 
for  the  magnanimity  of  the  English  hero,  opposed  to  the  in- 
gratitude of  the  person  whom  he  restored,  and  for  the  many 
beautiful  episodes  which  I  had  interwoven  with  the  principal 
design,  together  with  the  characters  of  the  chiefest  English  per- 
sons (wherein,  after  Virgil  and  Spenser,  I  would  have  taken 
occasion  to  represent  my  living  friends  and  patrons  of  the  no- 
blest families,  and  also  shadowed  the  events  of  future  ages  it. 
the  succession  of  our  imperial  line), — with  these  helps,  and 
those  of  the  machines  which  I  have  mentioned,  I  might  per- 
haps have  done  as  well  as  some  of  my  predecessors,  or  at  least 
chalked  out  a  way  for  others  to  amend  my  errors  in  a  like  de 
sign ;  but  being  encouraged  only  with  fair  words  by  King 
Charles  II.,  my  little  salary  ill  paid,  and  no  prospect  of  a  future 
subsistence,  I  was  then  discouraged  in  the  beginning  of  my 
attempt ;  and  now  age  has  overtaken  me,  and  want,  a  more 
insufferable  evil,  through  the  change  of  the  times,  has  wholly 
disabled  me." 


Note  D. 


Their  theme  the  merry  minstrels  made, 
Of  Ascapart,  and  Bevis  bold. — P.  87. 

The  "  History  of  Bevis  of  Hampton"  is  abridged  by  my  friend 
Mr.  George  Ellis,  with  that  liveliness  which  extracts  amuse- 
ment even  out  of  the  most  rude  and  unpromising  of  our  old 
tales  of  chivalry.  Ascapart,  a  most  important  personage  in  the 
romance,  is  thus  described  in  an  extract : — 

11  This  geaunt  was  mighty  and  strong 

And  full  thirty  foot  was  long, 

He  was  bristled  like  a  sow  ; 

A  foot  he  had  between  each  brow  ; 

His  lips  were  great,  and  hung  aside  ; 

His  eyen  were  hollow,  his  mouth  was  wide ; 

Lothly  he  was  to  look  on  than, 

And  liker  a  devil  than  a  man. 

His  staff  was  a  young  oak, 

Hard  and  heavy  was  his  stroke." 

Specimens  of  Metrical  Romances,  vol.  ii.  p.  136 

I  am  happy  to  say,  that  the  memory  of  Sir  Bevis  is  still  fra 

grant  in  his  town  of  Southampton  ;  the  gate  of  which  is  senti 

nelled  by  the  effigies  of  that  doughty  knight-errant  and  his  gi 

g&ntic  associate. 


Note  E. 


Day  set  on  Norham's  castled  steep, 

And  Tweed's  fair  river,  broad  and  deep,  Src— P.  87. 
The  ruinous  castle  of  Norham  (anciently  called  Ubbanford) 
is  situated  on  the  southern  bank  of  the  Tweed,  about  six  mile* 
above  Berwick,  and  where  that  river  is  still  the  boundary  be- 
tween England  and  Scotland.  The  extent  of  its  ruins,  as  weD 
as  its  historical  importance,  shows  it  to  have  been  a  place  of 
magnificence,  as  well  as  strength.  Edward  I.  resided  there 
when  he  was  created  umpire  of  the  dispute  concerning  the 
Scottish  succession.  It  was  repeatedly  taken  and  retaken  du- 
ring the  wars  between  England  and  Scotland  ;  and,  indeed 
scarce  any  happened,  in  which  it  had  not  a  principal  share 
Norham  Castle  is  situated  on  a  steep  bank,  which  overhangs 
the  river.  The  repeated  sieges  which  the  castle  had  sustained, 
rendered  frequent  repairs  necessary.  In  1164,  it  was  almost 
rebuilt  by  Hugh  Pudsey,  Bishop  of  Durham,  who  added  a  huge 
keep,  or  donjon  ;  notwithstanding  which,  King  Henry  II.,  in 
1174,  took  the  castle  from  the  bishop,  and  committed  the  keep 
ing  of  it  to  William  de  Neville.     After  this  period  it  seems  to 


150 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


have  been  chiefly  garrisoned  by  the  King,  and  considered  as  a 
royal  fortress.  The  Greys  of  Chillingham  Castle  were  fre- 
quently the  castellans,  or  captains  of  the  garrison  :  yet,  as  the 
castle  was  situated  in  the  patrimony  of  St.  Cuthbert,  the  prop- 
erty was  in  the  see  of  Durham  till  the  Reformation.  After 
that  period,  it  passed  through  various  hands.  At  the  union  of 
the  crowns,  it  was  in  the  possession  of  Sir  Robert  Carey  (after- 
wards Earl  of  Monmouth),  for  his  own  life,  and  that  of  two 
of  his  sons.  After  King  James's  accession,  Carey  sold  Nor- 
ham  Castle  to  George  Home,  Earl  of  Dunbar,  for  £6000.  See 
his  curious  Memoirs,  published  by  Mr.  Constable  of  Edinburgh. 

According  to  Mr.  Pinkerton,  there  is,  in  the  British  Museum, 
Cal.  B.  6,  216,  a  curious  memoir  of  the  Dacres  on  the  state  of 
Norham  Castle  in  1522,  not  long  after  the  battle  of  Flodden. 
The  inner  ward,  or  keep,  is  represented  as  impregnable  : — 
"  The  provisions  are  three  great  vats  of  salt  eels,  forty-four  kine, 
three  hogsheads  of  salted  salmon,  forty  quarters  of  grain,  be- 
sides many  cows,  and  four  hundred  sheep,  lying  under  the  cas- 
tle-wall nightly  ;  but  a  number  of  the  arrows  wanted  feathers, 
and  a  good  Fletcher  [i.  e.  maker  of  arrows]  was  required." — 
History  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  20J,  note. 

The  ruins  of  the  castle  are  at  present  considerable,  as  well 
as  picturesque.  They  consist  of  a  large  shattered  tower,  with 
many  vaults,  and  fragments  of  other  edifices,  enclosed  within 
an  outward  wall  of  great  circuit. 


Note  F. 


The  battled  towers,  the  donjon  keep. — P.  87. 

It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  ro  remind  my  readers,  that  the 
donjon,  in  its  proper  signification,  means  the  strongest  part  of 
a  feudal  castle ;  a  high  square  tower,  with  walls  of  tremen- 
dous thickness,  situated  in  the  centre  of  the  other  buildings, 
from  which,  however,  it  was  usually  detached.  Here,  in  case 
of  the  outward  defences  being  gained,  the  garrison  retreated 
to  make  their  last  stand.  The  donjon  contained  the  great  hall, 
and  principal  rooms  of  state  for  solemn  occasions,  and  also  the 
prison  of  the  fortress  ;  from  which  last  circumstance  we  derive 
the  modern  and  restricted  use  of  the  word  dungeon.  Ducange 
(voce  D(jnjo)  conjectures  plausibly,  that  the  name  is  derived 
from  these  keeps  being  usually  built  upon  a  hill,  which  in  Cel- 
lic  is  called  Dun.  Borlase  supposes  the  word  came  from  the 
darkness  of  the  apartments  in  these  towers,  which  were  thence 
figuratively  called  Dungeons  ;  thus  deriving  the  ancient  word 
from  the  modern  application  of  it. 


Note  G-. 


Well  was  he  arm'd  from  head  to  heel, 
In  mail  and  plate  of  Milan  steel. — P.  88. 

The  artists  of  Milan  were  famous  in  the  middle  ages  for  their 
skill  in  armory,  as  appears  from  the  following  passage,  in 
which  Froissart  gives  an  account  of  the  preparations  made  by 
Henry,  Earl  of  Hereford,  afterwards  Henry  IV.,  and  Thomas, 
Duke  of  Norfolk,  Earl  Marischal,  for  their  proposed  combat  in 
the  lists  at  Coventry  : — "  These  two  lords  made  ample  provi- 
sion of  all  things  necessary  for  the  combat ;  and  the  Earl  of 
Derby  sent  oft'  messengers  to  Lombardy,  to  have  armor  from 
Sir  Galeas,  Duke  of  Milan.  The  Duke  complied  with  joy,  and 
gave  the  knight,  called  Sir  Francis,  who  had  brought  the  mes- 
sage, the  choice  of  all  his  armor  for  the  Earl  of  Derby.  When 
he  had  selected  what  he  wished  for  in  plated  and  mail  armor, 
the  Lord  of  Milan,  out  of  his  abundant  love  for  the  Earl,  or- 
dered four  of  the  best  armorers  in  Milan,  to  accompany  the 
knight  to  England,  that  the  Earl  of  Derby  might  be  more  com- 
pletely armed." — Johnes'  Froissart,  vol.  iv.  p.  597. 


Note  H. 

Who  checks  at  me,  to  death  is  dight. — P.  88. 

The  crest  and  motto  of  Marmion  are  borrowed  from  the  fo. 
lowing  story  : — Sir  David  de  Lindsay,  first  Earl  of  Cranford 
was,  among  other  gentlemen  of  quality,  attended,  during  a 
visit  to  London,  in  1390,  by  Sir  William  Dalzell,  who  was,  ac- 
cording to  my  authority,  Bower,  not  only  excelling  in  wisdom 
but  also  of  a  lively  wit.  Chancing  to  be  at  the  court,  he  there 
saw  Sir  Piers  Courtenay,  an  English  knight,  famous  for  skilfin 
tilting,  and  for  the  beauty  of  his  person,  parading  the  palace, 
arrayed  in  a  new  mantle,  bearing  for  device  an  embioitlered 
falcon,  with  this  rhyme, — 

"  I  bear  a  falcon,  fairest  of  flight, 
Whoso  pinches  at  her,  his  death  is  dight,* 
In  graith."a 

The  Scottish  knight,  being  a  wag,  appeared  next  day  in  a 
dress  exactly  similar  to  that  of  Courtenay,  but  bearing  a  mag- 
pie instead  of  the  falcon,  with  a  motto  ingeniously  contrived 
to  rhyme  to  the  vaunting  inscription  of  Sir  Piers  : — 

"  I  bear  a  pie  picking  at  a  piece, 
Whoso  picks  at  her,  I  shall  pick  at  his  nese,3 
In  faith." 

This  affront  could  only  be  expiated  by  a  just  with  sharp 
lances.  In  the  course,  Dalzell  left  his  helmet  unlaced,  so  that 
it  gave  way  at  the  touch  of  his  antagonist's  lance,  and  he  thus 
avoided  the  shock  of  the  encounter.  This  happened  twice  : — 
in  the  third  encounter,  the  handsome  Courtenay  lost  two  of  his 
front  teeth.  As  the  Englishman  complained  bitterly  of  Dal- 
zell's  fraud  in  not  fastening  his  helmet,  the  Scottishman  agreed 
to  run  six  courses  more,  each  champion  staking  in  the  hand  of 
the  King  two  hundred  pounds,  to  be  forfeited,  if,  on  entering 
the  lists,  any  unequal  advantage  should  be  detected.  This  be- 
ing agreed  to,  the  wily  Scot  demanded  that  Sir  Piers,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  loss  of  his  teeth,  should  consent  to  the  extinction  of 
one  of  his  eyes,  he  himself  having  lost  an  eye  in  the  fight  of 
Otterburn.  As  Courtenay  demurred  to  this  equalization  of  op 
tical  powers,  Dalzell  demanded  the  forfeit ;  which,  after  much 
altercation,  the  King  appointed  to  be  paid  to  him,. saying,  he 
surpassed  the  English  both  in  wit  and  valor.  This  must  ap- 
pear to  the  reader  a  singular  specimen  of  the  humor  of  that 
time.  I  suspect  the  Jockey  Club  would  have  given  a  different 
decision  from  Henry  IV. 


Note  I. 


They  hail'd  Lord  Marmion  ; 
They  haiVd  him  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye, 

Of  Tamworth  tower  and  town. — P.  89. 

Lord  Marmion,  the  principal  character  of  the  present  ro- 
mance, is  entirely  a  fictitious  personage.  In  earlier  times,  in 
deed,  the  family  of  Marmion,  Lords  of  Fontenay,  in  Normandy 
was  highly  distinguished.  Robert  de  Marmion,  Lord  of  Fon 
tenay,  a  distinguished  follower  of  the  Conqueror,  obtained  a 
grant  of  the  castle  and  town  of  Tamworth,  and  also  of  the 
manor  of  Scrivelby,  in  Lincolnshire.  One,  or  both,  of  these 
noble  possessions,  was  held  by  the  honorable  service  of  being 
the  royal  champion,  as  the  ancestors  of  Marmion  had  formerly 
been  to  the  Dukes  of  Normandy.  But  after  the  castle  and 
demesne  of  Tamworth  had  passed  through  four  successive 
barons  from  Robert,  the  family  became  extinct  in  the  person 
of  Philip  de  Marmion,  who  died  in  20th  Edward  I.  without 
issue  male.  He  was  succeeded  in  his  castle  of  Tamworth  by 
Alexander  de  Freville,  who  married  Mazera,  his  grand-daugh- 
ter.    Baldwin  de  Freville,  Alexander's  descendant,  in  the  reign 


Prepared.- 


2  Armor. 


No.e. 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


157 


uf  Richard  I.,  by  the  supposed  tenure  of  his  castle  of  Tam- 
worth,  claimed  the  office  of  royal  champion,  and  to  do  the 
service  appertaining ;  namely,  on  the  day  of  coronation,  to 
lide,  completely  armed,  upon  a  barbed  horse,  into  Westmin- 
ster Hall, 'and  there  to  challenge  the  combat  against  any  who 
would  gainsay  the  King's  title.  But  this  office  was  adjudged 
to  Sir  John  Dymoke,  to  whom  the  manor  of  Scrivelby  had  de- 
scended by  another  of  the  co-heiresses  of  Robert  de  Marmion  ; 
and  it  remains  in  that  family,  whose  representative  is  Heredi- 
tary Champion  of  England  at  the  present  day.  The  family 
and  possessions  of  Freville  have  merged  in  the  Earls  of  Fer- 
rars.  I  have  not,  therefore,  created  a  new  family,  but  only 
revived  the  titles  of  an  old  one  in  an  imaginary  personage. 

It  was  one  of  the  Marmion  family,  who,  in  the  reign  of  Ed- 
ward II.,  performed  that  chivalrous  feat  before  the  very  castle 
of  Norham,  which  Bishop  Tercy  has  woven  into  his  beautiful 
ballad,  "  The  Hermit  of  Warkworth." — The  story  is  thus  told 
by  Leland  : — 

"  The  Scottes  cam  yn  to  the  marches  of  England,  and  de- 
stroyed the  castles  of  Werk  and  Herbotel,  and  overran  much 
of  Northumberland  marches. 

"  At  this  tyme,  Thomas  Gray  and  his  friendes  defended 
Norham  from  the  Scott es. 

"  It  were  a  wonderful  processe  to  declare,  what  mischefes 
cam  by  hungre  and  asseges  by  the  space  of  xi  yeres  in  Nor- 
thumberland ;  for  the  Scottes  became  so  proude,  after  they  had 
got  Berwick,  that  they  nothing  esteemed  the  Englishmen. 

"  About  this  tyme  there  was  a  greate  feste  made  yn  Lincoln- 
shir,  to  which  came  many  gentlemen  and  ladies  ;  and  amonge 
them  one  lady  brought  a  heaulme  for  a  man  of  were,  with  a 
very  rich  creste  of  gold,  to  William  Marmion,  knight,  with  a 
letter  of  commandement  of  her  lady,  that  he  should  go  into 
the  daungerest  place  in  England,  and  ther  to  let  the  heaulme 
be  seene  and  known  as  famous.  So  he  went  to  Norham  ; 
whither,  within  4  days  of  cumming,  cam  Philip  Moubray, 
guardian  of  Berwicke,  having  yn  his  bande  40  men  of  armes, 
the  very  flour  of  men  of  the  Scottish  marches. 

"  Thomas  Gray,  capitayne  of  Norham,  seynge  this,  brought 
his  garison  afore  the  barriers  of  the  castel,  behind  whom  cam 
William,  richly  arrayed,  as  al  glittering  in  gold,  and  wearing 
the  heaulme,  his  lady's  present. 

"  Then  said  Thomas  Gray  to  Marmion,  '  Sir  Knight,  ye  be 
cum  hither  to  fame  your  helmet :  mount  up  on  yowr  horse, 
and  ride  lyke  a  valiant  man  to  yowr  foes  even  here  at  hand, 
and  I  forsake  God  if  I  rescue  not  thy  body  deade  or  alyve,  or 
I  myself  wyl  dye  for  it.' 

"  Whereupon  he  toke  his  cursere,  and  rode  among  the  throng 
of  ennemyes  ;  the  which  layed  sore  stripes  on  him,  and  pulled 
him  at  the  last  out  of  his  sadel  to  the  grounde. 

"  Then  Thomas  Gray,  with  al  the  hole  garrison,  lette  prick 
yn  among  the  Scottes,  and  so  wondid  them  and  their  horses, 
that  they  were  overthrowan ;  and  Marmion,  sore  beten,  was 
horsid  agayn,  and,  with  Gray,  persewed  the  Scottes  yn  chase. 
There  were  taken  50  horse  of  price  ;  and  the  women  of  Nor- 
ham brought  them  to  the  foote  men  to  follow  the  chase." 


Note  K. 


-P.  89. 


—  Largesse,  largesse. 
This  was  the  cry  with  which  heralds  and  pursuivants  were 
wont  to  acknowledge  the  bounty  received  from  the  knights. 
Stewart  of  Lorn  distinguishes  a  ballad,  in  which  he  satirizes 
the  narrowness  of  James  V.  and  his  courtiers,  by  the  ironical 
burden — 

"  Lerges,  lerges,  lerges,  hay, 
Lerges  of  this  new-yeir  day. 
First  lerges  of  the  King,  my  chief, 
Q.uhilk  come  als  quiet  as  a  theif, 


a  Two. 


2  Proof. 


And  in  my  hand  slid  schillingis  tway,« 
To  put  his  lergnes  to  the  prief,2 
For  lerges  of  this  new-yeir  day." 

The  heralds,  like  the  minstrels,  were  a  race  allowed  to  hav« 
great  claims  upon  the  liberality  of  the  knights,  of  whose  fea'i 
they  kept  a  record,  and  proclaimed  them  aloud,  as  in  the  ttx 
unon  suitable  occasions. 

At  Berwick,  Norham,  and  other  Border  fortresses  of  impo 
tance,  pursuivants  usually  resided,  whose  inviolable  characU 
rendered  them  the  only  persons  that  could,  with  perfect  assii 
ranee  of  safety,  be  sent  on  necessary  embassies  into  Scotland 
This  is  alluded  to  in  stanza  xxi.  p.  91. 


Note  L. 


Sir  Hugh  the  Heron  bold, 
Baron  of  Twisell,  and  of  Ford, 
And  Captain  of  the  Hold.—?.  90. 

Were  accuracy  of  any  consequence  in  a  fictitious  narrative, 
this  castellan's  name  ought  to  have  been  William  ;  for  Wil- 
liam Heron  of  Ford  was  husband  to  the  famous  Lady  Ford, 
whose  siren  charms  are  said  to  have  cost  our  James  IV.  so  dear. 
Moreover,  the  said  William  Heron,  was,  at  the  time  supposed, 
a  prisoner  in  Scotland,  being  surrendered  by  Henry  VIII.,  on 
account  of  his  share  in  the  slaughter  of  Sir  Robert  Ker  oi 
Cessford.  His  wife,  represented  in  the  text  as  residing  at  the 
Court  of  Scotland,  was,  in  fact,  living  in  her  own  Castle  at 
Ford. — See  Sir  Richard  Heron's  curious  Genealogy  of  tin 
Heron  Family. 


Note  M. 

The  whiles  a  Northern  harper  rude 

Chanted  a  rhyme  of  deadly  feud, — 

"  How  the  fierce  Thirwalls,  and  Ridleys  all,7'  f,~c. — P.  90. 

This  old  Northumhrian  ballad  was  taken  down  from  the 
recitation  of  a  wijman  eighty  years  of  age,  mother  of  one  of  the 
miners  of  Alston-moor,  by  an  agent  for  the  lead  mines  there 
who  communicated  it  to  my  friend  and  correspondent,  R.  Sur- 
tees,  Esquire,  of  Mainsforth.  She  had  not,  she  said,  heard  it. 
for  many  years  ;  but,  when  she  was  a  girl,  it  used  to  be  sung 
at  the  merry-makings  "  till  the  roof  rung  again."  To  preserve 
this  curious,  though  rude  rhyme,  it  is  here  inserted.  The  ludi- 
crous turn  given  to  the  slaughter  marks  that  wild  and  disorderly 
state  of  society,  in  which  a  murder  was  not  merely  a  casual  cir- 
cumstance, but,  in  some  cases,  an  exceedingly  good  jest.  Thti 
structure  of  the  ballad  resembles  the  "  Fray  of  Suport,"3  hav- 
ing the  same  irregular  stanzas  and  wild  chorus. 

I. 
Hoot  awa',  lads,  hoot  awa', 

Ha'  ye  heard  how  the  Ridleys,  and  Thirwalls,  and  a 
Ha'  set  upon  Albany4  Featherstonhaugh, 
And  taken  his  life  at  the  Deadmanshaugh  ? 

There  was  Willimoteswick, 

And  Hardriding  Dick, 
And  Hughie  of  Hawden,  and  Will  of  the  VVt 

I  canno'  tell  a',  I  canno'  tell  a', 
And  mony  a  mair  that  the  deil  may  knavV. 

II. 

The  auld  man  went  down,  but  Nicol,  his  son, 
Ran  away  afore  the  fight  was  begun J 

And  he  run,  and  he  run, 

And  afore  they  were  done, 


3  See  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish.  Border,  vol 
•i  Pronounced  Aicbony, 


p.  194. 


158 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


There  was  many  a  Featherston  gat  sic  a  stun, 
As  never  was  seen  since  the  world  begun. 

III. 

I  canno'  tell  a',  I  canno'  tell  a' ; 

Some  gat  a  skelp,1  and  some  gat  a  claw  ; 

But  they  gard  the  Featherstons  haud  their  jaw, — a 

Nicol,  and  Alick,  and  a'. 
Some  gat  a  hurt,  and  some  gat  nane ; 
Some  had  harness,  and  some  gat  sta'en.8 

IV. 

Ane  gat  a  twist  o'  the  craig  ;* 
Ane  gat  a  bunch5  o'  the  wame  ;e 
Symy  Haw  gat  lamed  of  a  leg, 
And  syne  ran  wallowing7  hame. 

V. 

Hjot,  hoot,  the  old  man's  slain  outright ! 

Lay  him  now  wi'  his  face  down  : — he's  a  sorrowful  sight. 

Janet,  thou  donot,8 

I'll  lay  my  best  bonnet, 
Thou  gets  a  new  gude-man  afore  it  be  night. 

VI. 

IIoo  away  lads,  hoo  away, 
We's  a'  be  hangid  if  we  stay. 

Tak  up  the  dead  man,  and  lay  him  ahint  the  biggin. 
Here's  the  Bailey  o'  Haltwhistle,» 
Wi'  his  great  bull's  pizzle, 

That  sup'd  up  the  broo', — and  syne in  the  piggin.™ 

In  explanation  of  this  ancient  ditty,  Mr.  Surtees  has  fur- 
nished me  with  the  following  local  memorandum  : — Willi- 
moteswick,  the  chief  seat  of  the  ancient  family  of  Ridley,  is 
situated  two  miles  above  the  confluence  of  the  Allon  and 
Tyne.  It  was  a  house  of  strength,  as  appears  from  one  ob- 
long tower,  still  in  tolerable  preservation.11  It  has  been  long 
in  possession  of  the  Blacket  family.  Hardriding  Dick  is  not 
an  epithet  referring  to  horsemanship,  but  means  Richard  Rid- 
ley of  Hardriding,12  the  seat  of  another  family  of  that  name, 
which,  in  the  time  of  Charles  I.,  was  sold  on  account  of  ex- 
penses incurred  by  the  loyalty  of  the  proprietor,  the  imme- 
diate ancestor  of  Sir  Matthew  Ridley.  Will  of  the  Wa'  seems 
to  be  William  Ridley  of  Walltown,  so  called  from  its  situa- 
tion on  the  great  Roman  wall.  Thirlwall  Castle,  whence 
the  clan  of  Thirlwalls  derived  their  name,  is  situated  on  the 
small  river  of  Tippel,  near  the  western  boundary  of  Northum- 
berland. It  is  near  the  wall,  and  takes  its  name  from  the 
rampart  having  been  thirled,  i.  e.  pierced,  or  breached,  in  its 
vicinity.  Featherston  Castle  lies  south  of  the  Tyne,  towards 
\lston-moor.  Albany  Featherstonhaugh,  the  chief  of  that 
ancient  family,  made  a  figure  in  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  A 
feud  did  certainly  exist  between  the  Ridleys  and  Feather- 
stons, productive  of  such  consequences  as  the  ballad  narrates. 
24  Oct.  22do  HcnriciQoi.  Inquisitio  capt.  apud  Hautwhis- 
tle,  sup  visum  corpus  Alexandra  Featherston,  Gen.  apud 
Grensilhaugh  felonice  intcrfecti,  22  Oct.  per  Jficolaiun 
Ridley  de  Unthankc,  Oen.  Hugon  Ridle,  Nicolaum  Ridle, 
et  alios  ejusdem  nominis.  Nor  were  the  Featherstons  without 
iheir  revenge  ;  for  36to  Henrici  8vi,  we  have —  Utlagatio  Nico- 
iai  Fctherston,  ac  Thome  Nyzson,  frc.  frc.  pro  homicidio 
Will.  Ridle  de  Morale. 

1  Skelp  signifies  slap,  or  rather  is  the  same  word  which  was  originally 
spelled  -  '  lap. 

2  Hold  their  jaw,  a  vulgar  expression  still  in  use. 

3  Got  stolen,  or,  were  plundered ;  a  very  likely  termination  of  the 
I  ray. 

4  Neck.  5  Punch.  6  Belly.  7  Bellowing. 

8  Silly  slut.  The  border  bard  calls  hor  so,  because  she  was  weeping 
for  her  slain  husband ;  a  loss  which  he  t eems  to  think  might  be  soon 
rex  aired. 

The  Bailiff  of  Haltwhistle  seems  to  have  arrived  when  the  fray  was 


Note  N. 

James  back'd  the  cause  of  that  mock  prince, 
Warbeck,  that  Flemish  counterfeit, 
Who  on  the  gibbet  paid  the  cheat. 
Then  did  I  march  with  Surrey's  power, 
What  time  we  razed  old  Ayton  tower. — P.  91. 

The  story  of  Perkin  Warbeck,  or  Richard,  Duke  of  York, 
is  well  known.     In  1496,  he  was  received  honorably  in  Scot 
land  ;  and  James  IV.,  after  conferring  upon  him  in  marriag« 
his  own  relation,  the  Lady  Catharine  Gordon,  made  war  on 
England  in  behalf  of  his  pretensions.     To  retaliate  an  inva- 
sion of  England,  Surrey  advanced  into  Berwickshire  at  the 
head  of  considerable  forces,  but  retreated,  after  taking  the  in- 
considerable fortress  of  Ayton.     Ford,  in  his  Dramatic  Chroni- 
cle of  Perkin  Warbeck,  makes  the  most  of  this  inroad  : 
"  Surrey. 
"  Are  all  our  braving  enemies  shrunk  back, 
Hid  in  the  fogges  of  their  distemper'd  climate, 
Not  daring  to  behold  our  colors  wave 
In  spight  of  this  infected  ayre  ?     Can  they 
Looke  on  the  strength  of  Cundrestine  defac't ; 
The  glorie  of  Heydonhall  devasted  ;  that 
Of  Edington  cast  downe  ;  the  pile  of  Fulden 
Orethrowne  :  And  this,  the  strongest  of  their  forts, 
Old  Ayton  Castle,  yeelded  and  demolished, 
And  yet  not  peepe  abroad  ?     The  Scots  are  bold, 
Hardie  in  battayle,  but  it  seems  the  cause 
They  undertake  considered,  appeares 
Unjoynted  in  the  frame  on't." 


Note  0. 


/  trow, 


Nnrham  can  find  you  guides  enow  ; 

For  here  be  some  have  prick' d  as  far, 

On  Scottish  ground,  as  to  Dunbar  ; 

Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale, 

And  driven  the  beeves  of  Lauderdale  ; 

Harried  the  wives  of  Greenlaw' s  goods, 

And  given  them  light  to  set  their  hoods. — ?.  91. 

TJie  garrisons  of  the  English  castles  of  Wark,  Forham,  and 
Berwick,  were,  as  may  be  easily  supposed,  very  U*  atlesome 
neighbors  to  Scotland.  Sir  Richard  Maitland  of  J  jdington 
wrote  a  poem,  called  "The  Blind  Baron's  Comfort,"  when 
his  barony  of  Blvthe,  in  Lauderdale,  was  harri.d  jy  Rowland 
Foster,  tiie  English  captain  of  Wark,  with  his  CMrvany,  to  the 
number  of  300  men.  They  spoiled  the  poet'^j?.!  '.night  of  5000 
sheep,  200  nolt,  30  horses  and  mares  ;  the  wh-jle  furniture  of 
his  house  of  Blythe,  worth  100  pounds  Scots  (£8  3s.  8d.),  and 
every  thing  else  that  was  portable.  "  This  spoil  was  committed 
the  16th  day  of  May,  1570  (and  the  said  Sir  Richard  was  three- 
score and  fourteen  yews  of  age,  and  grown  blind),  in  time  of 
peace  ;  when  nane  of  that  country  lippened  [expected]  such  a 
thing." — "  The  Blind  Baron's  Comfort"  consists  in  a  string />( 
puns  on  the  word  Blythe,  the  name  of  the  lands  thus  despoiled. 
Like  John  Littlewit,  he  had  "  A  conceit  left  in  his  nrjery-  a 
miserable  conceit." 

The  last  line  of  the  text  contains  a  phrase,  by  wnich  the 
Borderers  jocularly  intimated  the   burning  a  houz.s.     Whwfl 


over.    This  supporter  of  social  order  is  treats  with  characteristic  irrever-  - 
ence  by  the  moss-trooping  poet. 

10  An  iron  pot  with  two  ears. 

lj  Willimoteswick  was,  in  prior  edition*),  r,<  n*bundr.d  with  Ridley  Hall, 
situated  two  miles  lower,  on  the  same  side  of  the  Tyne,  the  hereditary 
seat  of  William  C.  Lowes,  Esq. 

12  Ridley,  the  bishop  and  martyr,  v»i  v.cording  to  some  authorities 
bom  at  Hardriding,  where  a  chair  win  /► »^rved,  called  the  Bishop* 
Chair.  Others,  and  particularly  his  bioj  rrit  it  and  namesake,  Dr.  Glocet 
ter  Ridley,  assign  the  honor  of  the  mar.yr''.  birth  to  WillLnoteswick. 


AJ/FENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


159 


the  Maxwells,  in  1G85,  burned  the  Castle  of  Lochwood,  they 
vdd  tliey  did  so  to  give  the  Lady  Johnstone  "  light  to  set  ner 
hood."  Nor  was  the  phrase  inapplicable  ;  for,  in  a  letter,  to 
winch  I  have  mislaid  the  reference,  the  Earl  of  Northumbar- 
and  writes  to  the  King  and  Council,  that  he  dressed  himself 
it  midnight,  at  Warkworth,  by  the  blaze  of  the  neighboring 
villages  burned  by  the  Scottish  marauders.  • 


Note  P. 

The  priest  of  Shorcswood — he  could  rein 
The  wildest  war-horse  in  your  train. — P.  91. 
This  churchman  seems  to  have  been  akin  to  Welsh,  the 
vicar  of  St.  Thomas  of  Exeter,  a  leader  among  the  Cornish 
msurgents  in  1549.  "This  man,"  says  Hollinshed,  "had 
many  good  things  in  him.  He  was  of  no  great  stature,  but 
well  set,  and  mightilie  compact :  He  was  a  very  good  wrest- 
ler ;  shot  well,  both  in  the  long  bow  and  also  in  the  cross- 
now  ;  he  handled  his  hand-gun  and  peece  very  well ;  he  was 
a  very  good  woodman,  and  a  hardie,  and  such  a  one  as  would 
not  give  his  head  for  the  polling,  or  his  beard  for  the  washing. 
He  was  a  companion  in  any  exercise  of  aetivitie,  and  of  a 
courteous  and  gentle  behaviour.  He  descended  of  a  good  honest 
parentage,  being  borne  at  Peneverin  in  Cornwall ;  and  yet,  in 
this  rebellion,  an  arch-captain  and  a  principal  doer." — Vol.  iv. 
p.  958,  4to.  edition.  This  model  of  clerical  talents  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  hanged  upon  the  steeple  of  his  own  church.1 


Note  Q. 

— that  grot  where  Olives  nod, 

Where,  darling  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
Prom  all  the  youth  of  Sicily, 

Saint  Rosalie  retired  to  God. — P.  92. 
"  Sante  Rosalia  was  of  Palermo,  and  born  of  a  very  noble 
family,  and,  when  very  young,  abhorred  so  much  the  vanities 
of  this  world,  and  avoided  the  converse  of  mankind,  resolving 
to  dedicate  herself  wholly  to  God  Almighty,  that  she,  by 
divine  inspiration,  forsook  her  father's  house,  and  never  was 
more  heard  of  till  her  body  was  found  in  that  cleft  of  a  rock, 
on  that  almost  inaccessible  mountain,  where  now  the  chapel 
is  built  ;  and  they  affirm  she  was  carried  up  there  by  the 
hands  of  angels  ;  for  that  place  was  not  formerly  so  accessible 
(as  now  it  is)  in  the  days  of  the  Saint ;  and  even  now  it  is  a 
very  bad,  and  steepy,  and  breakneck  way.  In  this  frightful 
place,  this  holy  woman  lived  a  great  many  years,  feeding  only 
on  what  she  found  growing  on  that  barren  mountain,  and 
creeping  into  a  narrow  and  dreadful  cleft  in  a  rock,  which 
(vas  always  dropping  wet,  and  was  her  place  of  retirement  as 
well  as  prayer  ;  having  worn  out  even  the  rock  with  her  knees 
in  a  certain  place,  which  is  now  open'd  on  purpose  to  show  it 
t<?  those  who  come  here.  This  chapel  is  very  richly  adorn'd  ; 
and  on  the  spot  where  the  Saint's  dead  body  was  discover'd, 
which  is  just  beneath  the  hole  in  the  rock,  which  is  open'd 
on  purpose,  as  I  said,  there  is  a  very  fine  statue  of  marble, 
representing  her  in  a  lying  posture,  railed  in  all  about  with 
fine  iron  and  brass  work ;  and  the  altar,  on  which  they  say 
mass,  is  built  just  over  it." — Voyage  to  Sicily  and  Malta, 
by  Mr.  John  Dryden  (son  to  the  poet),  p»  107. 


Note  R. 


Friar  John ■ 

Himself  still  sleeps  before  his  beads 
Have  mark'd  ten  aves  and  two  creeds. — P.  92. 
Friar  Join  understood  the  soporific  virtue  of  his  beads  and 
*  eviary,  as  well  as  his  namesake  in  Rabelais.     "But  Gar- 

i  The  reader  needs  hardly  to  be  reminded  of  Ivanhoe. 


gantua  could  not  sleep  by  any  means,  on  which  side  soevei 
he  turned  himself.  Whereupon  the  monk  said  to  him,  *  I 
never  sleep  soundly  but  when  I  am  at  sermon  or  prayers : 
Let  us  therefore  begin,  you  and  I,  the  seven  penitential  psalms, 
to  try  whether  you  shall  not  quickly  fall  asleep.'  The  conceit 
pleased  Gargantua  very  well ;  and  beginning  the  first  of  these 
psalms,  as  soon  as  they  came  to  Beati  quorum,  they  fell  asleep 
both  the  one  and  the  other." 


Note  S. 


The  summon' d  Palmer  came  in  place. — P   ifZ 

A  Palmer,  opposed  to  a  Pilgrim,  was  one  who  made  it  his 
sole  business  to  visit  different  holy  shrines  ;  travelling  incessant- 
ly, and  subsisting  by  charity  ;  whereas  the  Pilgrim  retired  to  his 
usual  home  and  occupations,  when  he  had  paid  his  devotions 
at  the  particular  spot  which  was  the  object  of  his  pilgrimage. 
The  Palmers  seem  to  have  been  the   Questionarii  of  the  an- 
cient Scottish  canons  1242  and  1296.     There  is  in  the  Banna- 
tyne  MS.  a  burlesque  account  of  two  such  persons,  entitled, 
"  ^imrny  and  his  brother."    Their  accoutrements  are  thus  ludi- 
crously described  (I  discard  the  ancient  spelling) — 
"  Syne  shaped  them  up,  to  loup  on  leas, 
Two  tabards  of  the  tartan  ; 
They  counted  naught  what  their  clouts  were 

When  sew'd  them  on,  in  certain. 
Syne  clampit  up  St.  Peter's  keys, 

Made  of  an  old  red  gartane  ; 
St.  James's  shells,  on  t'other  s'de,  shows 
As  pretty  as  a  partane 

Toe, 
On  Symmye  and  his  brother.'' 


To  fair  St.  Andrews  bound, 
Within  the  ocean-cave  to  pray, 
Where  good  Saint  Rule  his  holy  lay, 
From  midnight  to  the  dawn  of  day. 
Sung  to  the  billows'  sound. — P.  93. 
St.  Regulus  (Scotticc,  St.  Rule),  a  monk  of  Patrre,  in  Acha- 
ia,  warned  by  a  vision,  is  said,  A.D.  370,  to  have  sailed  west- 
ward, until  he  landed  at  St.  Andrews  in  Scotland,  where  he 
founded  a  chapel  and  tower.    The  latter  is  still  standing  ;  and, 
though  we  may  doubt  the  precise  date  of  its  foundation,  is  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  most  ancient  edifices  in  Scotland.     A  cave, 
nearly  fronting  the  ruinous  castle  of  the  Archbishops  of  St.  An- 
drews, bears  the  name  of  this  religious  person.     It  is  difficult  of 
access ;  and  the  rock  in  which  it  is  hewed  is  washed  by  the 
German  Ocean.    It  is  nearly  round,  about  ten  feet  in  diameter, 
and  the  same  in  height.     On  one  side  is  a  sort  of  stone  altar , 
on  the  other  an  aperture  into  an  inner  den,  where  the  miserable 
ascetic,  who  inhabited  tins  dwelling,  probably  slept.     At  full 
tide,  egress  and  regress  are  hardly  practicable.    As  Regulus  first 
colonized  the  metropolitan  see  of  Scotland,  and  convertad  the 
inhabitants  in  the  vicinity,  he  has  some  reason  to  complain, 
that  the  ancient  name  of  Killrule  (Ccila  Reguli)  should  have 
been  superseded,  even  in  favor  of  the  tutelar  saint  of  Scotland. 
The  reason  of  the  change  was,  that  St.  Rule  is  said  to  hava 
brought  to  Scotland  the  relics  of  Saint  Andrew. 


Note  U. 

Sai?\t  Fillan's  blessed  well, 

Whose  spring  can  phrensied  dreams  dispel, 
And  the  crazed  brain  restore. — P.  93. 

St.  Fillan  was  a  Scottish  saint  of  some  reputation.    Although 


160 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Popery  is,  with  us,  matter  of  abomination,  yet  the  common 
people  still  retain  some  of  the  superstitions  connected  with  it. 
There  are  in  Perthshire  several  wells  and  springs  dedicated  to 
St.  Fillan,  which  are  still  places  of  pilgrimage  and  offerings, 
even  among  the  Protestants.  They  are  held  powerful  in  cases 
of  madness  ;  and,  in  some  of  very  late  occurrence,  lunatics  have 
been  left  all  night  bound  to  the  holy  stone,  in  confidence  that 
the  saint  would  cure  and  unloose  them  before  morning. — [See 
various  notes  to  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border. ~] 


Note  V. 
The  scenes  are  desert  note,  and  bare, 
Where  flourish' d  once  a  forest  fair. — P.  94. 

Ettrick  Forest  now  a  range  of  mountainous  sheep-walks, 
was  anciently  reserved  for  the  pleasure  of  the  royal  chase. 
Since  it  was  disparked,  the  wood  has  been,  by  degrees,  almost 
totally  destroyed,  although,  wherever  protected  from  the  sheep, 
copses  soon  arise  without  any  planting.  When  the  King  hunt- 
ed there,  he  often  summoned  the  array  of  the  country  to  meet 
and  assist  his  sport.  Thus,  in  1528,  James  V.  "  made  procla- 
mation to  all  lords,  barons,  gentlemen,  landward-men,  and 
freeholders,  that  they  should  compear  at  Edinburgh,  with  a 
month's  victuals,  to  pass  with  the  King  where  he  pleased,  to 
danton  the  thieves  of  Tiviotdale,  Annandale,  Liddisdale,  and 
other  parts  of  that  country  ;  and  also  warned  all  gentlemen  that 
had  good  dogs  to  bring  them,  that  he  might  hunt  in  the  said 
country  as  he  pleased  :  The  whilk  the  Earl  of  Argyle,  the  Earl 
of  Huntley,  the  Earl  of  Athole,  and  so  all  the  rest  of  the  gen- 
tlemen of  the  Highland,  did,  and  brought  their  hounds  with 
them  in  like  manner,  to  hunt  with  the  King,  as  he  pleased. 

"  The  second  day  of  June  the*  King  past  out  of  Edinburgh 
to  the  hunting,  with  many  of  the  nobles  and  gentlemen  of 
Scotland  with  him,  to  the  number  of  twelve  thousand  men ; 
and  then  past  to  Meggitland,  and  hounded  and  hawked  all  the 
country  and  bounds  ;  that  is  to  say,  Crammat,  Pappertlaw,  St. 
Mary-laws,  Carlavrick,  Chapel,  Ewindoores,  and  ^„nghope. 
I  heard  say,  he  slew,  in  these  bounds,  eighteen  score  of  harts,  "i 

These  huntings  had,  of  course,  a  military  character,  and  at- 
tendance upon  them  was  a  part  of  the  duty  of  a  vassal.  The 
act  for  abolishing  ward  or  military  tenures  in  Scotland,  enu- 
merates the  services  of  hunting,  hosting,  watching,  and  ward- 
ing, as  those  which  were  in  future  to  be  illegal. 

Taylor,  the  water-poet,  has  given  an  account  of  the  mode  in 
which  these  huntings  were  conducted  in  the  Highlands  of  Scot- 
land, in  the  seventeenth  century,  having  been  present  at  Brce- 
mar  upon  such  an  occasion  : — 

"  There  did  I  find  the  truly  noble  and  right  honourable 
.ords,  John  Erskine,  Earl  of  Mar ;  James  Stuart,  Earl  of  Mur- 
ray ;  George  Gordon,  Earl  of  Engye,  son  and  heir  to  the  Mar- 
quis of  Huntley  ;  James  Erskine,  Earl  of  Buchan  ;  and  John, 
Lord  Erskine,  son  and  heir  to  the  Earl  of  Mar,  and  their  Count- 
esses, with  my  much  honoured,  and  my  last  assured  and  ap- 
proved friend,  Sir  William  Murray,  knight  of  Abercarney,  and 
hundreds  of  others,  knights,  esquires,  and  their  followers  ;  all 
and  every  man,  in  general,  in  one  habit,  as  if  Lycurgus  had 
been  there,  and  made  laws  of  equality  ;  for  once  in  the  year, 
which  is  the  whole  month  of  August,  and  sometimes  part  of 
September,  many  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  the  kingdom 
(for  their  pleasure)  do  come  into  these  Highland  countries  to 
hunt ;  where  they  do  conform  themselves  to  the  habit  of  the 
Highlandmen,  who,  for  the  most  part,  speak  nothing  but  Irish  ; 
and,  in  former  time,  were  those  people  w  tich  were  called  the 
Red-shanks.  Their  habit  is — shoes,  with  but  one  sole  a-piece  ; 
stockings  (which  they  call  short  hose),  made  of  a  warm  stuff 
of  diverse  colours,  which  they  call  tartan  ;  as  for  breeches, 
many  of  them,  nor  their  forefathers,  never  wore  any,  but  a  jer- 
kin of  the  same  stuff  that  their  hose  is.  of;  their  garters  beiiv 
kands  or  wreaths  of  hay  or  straw ;  with  a  plaid  about  their 

1  Pitscottie's  Wintory  of  Scotland,  folio  edition,  p.  142. 


shoulders  ;  which  is  a  mantle  of  diverse  colours,  much  finer  and 
lighter  stuff  than  their  hose  ;  with  blue  flat  c;,ps  on  their  heads  ; 
a  handkerchief,  knit  with  two  knots,  aboui  their  necks  :  and 
thus  are  they  attired.  Now  their  weapons  are— long  bowes 
and  forked  arrows,  swords  and  targets,  harquebusses,  muskeg, 
durks,  and  Lochaber  axes.  With  these  arms  I  found  many  of 
them  armed  for  the  hunting.  As  for  their  attire,  any  man,  ol 
what  degree  soever,  that  comes  amongst  them,  must  not  dis- 
dain to  wear  it ;  for,  if  they  do,  then  they  will  disdain  to  hunt 
or  willingly  to  bring  in  their  dogs  ;  but  if  men  be  kind  unto 
them,  and  be  in  their  habit,  then  are  they  conquered  with  kind- 
ness, and  the  sport  will  be  plentiful.  This  was  the  reason  that 
I  found  so  many  noblemen  and  gentlemen  in  those  shapes 
But  to  proceed  to  the  hunting  : — 

41  My  good  Lord  of  Marr  having  put  me  into  that  shape,  1 
rode  with  him  from  his  house,  where  I  saw  the  ruins  of  an  old 
castle,  called  the  Castle  of  Kindroghit.  It  was  built  by  King 
Malcolm  Canmore  (for  a  hunting-house),  who  reigned  in  Scot- 
land when  Edward  the  Confessor,  Harold,  and  Norman  Wil- 
liam, reigned  in  England.  I  speak  of  it,  because  it  was  the 
last  house  I  saw  in  those  parts  ;  for  I  was  the  space  of  twelve 
days  after,  before  I  saw  either  house,  corn-field,  or  habitation 
for  any  creature,  but  deer,  wild  horses,  wolves,  and  such  like 
creatures, — which  made  me  doubt  that  I  should  never  have 
seen  a  house  again. 

"  Thus,  the  first  day,  we  travelled  eight  miles,  where  there 
were  small  cottages,  built  on  purpose  to  lodge  in,  which  they 
call  Lonquhards.  I  thank  my  good  Lord  Erskine,  he  com- 
manded that  I  should  always  be  lodged  in  his  lodging:  the 
kitchen  being  always  on  the  side  of  a  bank  :  many  kettles  and 
pots  boiling,  and  many  spits  taming  and  winding,  with  great 
variety  of  cheer, — as  venison  baked  ;  sodden,  rost,  and  stewed 
beef;  mutton,  goats,  kid,  hares,  fresh  salmon,  pigeons,  hens, 
capons,  chickens,  partridges,  muir-coots,  heath-cocks,  caper- 
kellies,  and  termagants  ;  good  ale,  sacke,  white  and  claret, 
tent  (or  allegant),  with  most  potent  aquavitae. 

"  All  these,  and  more  than  these,  we  had  continually  in  su 
perfluous  abundance,  caught  by  falconers,  fowlers,  fishers,  ant" 
brought  by  my  lord's  tenants  and  purveyors  to  victual  out 
camp,  which  consisteth  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  handled  men  and 
horses.  The  manner  of  the  hunting  is  this:  Five  or  six  hun- 
dred men  do  rise  early  in  the  morning,  and  they  do  disperse  them- 
selves divers  ways,  and  seven,  eight,  or  ten  miles  compass,  they 
do  bring,  or  chase  in,  the  deer  in  many  herds  (two,  three,  or 
four  hundred  in  a  herd),  to  such  or  such  a  place,  as  the  noble- 
men shall  appoint  them  ;  then,  when  day  is  come,  the  lords 
and  gentlemen  of  their  companies  do  ride  or  go  to  the  said 
places,  sometimes  wading  up  to  the  middles,  through  burns 
and  rivers  ;  and  then,  they  being  come  to  the  place,  do  lie  down 
on  the  ground,  till  those  foresaid  scouts,  which  are  called  the 
Tinkhell,  do  bring  down  the  deer ;  but,  as  the  proverb  says  of 
the  bad  cook,  so  these  tinkhell  men  do  lick  their  own  fingers  ; 
for,  besides  their  bows  and  arrows,  which  they  carry  with  them, 
we  can  hear,  now  and  then,  a  harquebuss  or  a  musket  go  off, 
which  they  do  seldom  discharge  in  vain.  Then,  after  we  had 
staid  there  three  hours,  or  thereabouts,  we  might  perceive  the 
deer  appear  on  the  hills  round  about  us  (their  heads  making  a 
show  like  a  wood),  which,  being  followed  close  by  the  tinkhell, 
are  chased  down  into  the  valley  where  we  lay  ;  then  all  the 
valley,  on  each  side,  being  way-laid  with  a  hundred  couple  of 
strong  Irish  greyhounds,  they  are  all  let  loose,  as  occasion 
serves,  upon  the  herd  of  deer,  that  with  dogs,  guns,  arrows, 
durks,  and  daggers,  in  the  space  of  two  hours,  fourscore  fal 
deer  were  slain  ;  which  after  are  disposed  of,  some  one  way, 
and  some  another,  twenty  and  thirty  miles,  and  more  than 
enough  left  for  us,  to  make  merry  withall,  at  our  rendezvous." 


Note  W. 
By  lone  Saint  Manfs  silent  lake. — P.  95 
This  beautiful  sheet  of  water  forms  the  reservoir  from  which 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


161 


the  Yarrow  takes  its  source.  It  is  connected  with  a  smaller 
lake,  called  the  Loch  of  the  Lowes,  and  surrounded  by  moun- 
tains In  the  winter,  it  is  still  frequented  by  flights  of  wild 
swans  ;  hence  my  friend  Mr.  Wordsworth's  lines  : — 

"  The  swan  on  sweet  St.  Mary's  lake 
Floats  double,  swan  and  shadow." 

N  ^ar  the  lower  extremity  of  the  lake,  are  the  ruins  of  Dry- 
hope  tower,  the  birth-place  of  Mary  Scott,  daughter  of  Philip 
Scott,  of  Dryhope,  and  famous  by  the  traditional  name  of  the 
Flower  of  Yarrow.  She  was  married  to  Walter  Scott  of  Har- 
den, no  less  renowned  for  his  depredations,  than  his  bride  for 
her  beauty.  Her  romantic  appellation  was,  in  later  days,  with 
equal  justice,  conferred  on  Miss  Mary  Lilias  Scott,  the  last  of 
the  elder  branch  of  the  Harden  family.  The  author  well  re- 
members the  talent  and  spirit  of  the  latter  Flower  of  Yarrow, 
though  age  had  then  injured  the  charms  which  procured  her 
the  name.  The  words  usually  sung  to  the  air  of  "  Tweedside," 
beginning,  "What  beauties  does  Flora  disclose,"  were  com- 
posed in  her  honor. 


Note  X. 


in  feudal  strife,  a  foe, 

Hath  laid  Our  Lady's  chapel  low. — P.  96. 

The  chapel  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes  (de  lacuous)  was  situ- 
ated on  the  eastern  side  of  the  lake,  to  which  it  gives  name. 
It  was  injured  by  the  clan  of  Scott,  in  a  feud  with  the  Cran- 
stouns ;  but  continued  to  be  a  place  of  worship  during  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  vestiges  of  the  building  can  now 
scarcely  be  traced  ;  but  the  burial-ground  is  still  used  as  a  cem- 
etery. A  funeral,  in  a  spot  so  very  retired,  has  an  uncommon- 
ly striking  effect.  The  vestiges  of  the  chaplain's  house  are  yet 
visible.  Being  in  a  high  situation,  it  commanded  a  full  view 
of  the  lake,  with  the  opposite  mountain  of  Bourhope,  belong- 
ing, with  the  lake  itself,  to  Lord  Napier.  On  the  left  hand  is 
the  tower  of  Dryhope,  mentioned  in  a  preceding  note. 


Note  Y. 


the  Wizard'1 s  grave ; 

That  Wizard  Priest's,  whose  bones  are  thrust 
From  company  of  holy  dust. — P.  96. 

At  one  corner  of  the  burial-ground  of  the  demolished  chapel, 
but  without  its  precincts,  is  a  small  mound,  called  Binram's 
Corse,  where  tradition  deposits  the  remains  of  a  necromantic 
priest,  the  former  tenant  of  the  chaplainry.  His  story  much 
resembles  that  of  Ambrosio  in  "The  Monk,"  and  has  been 
made  the  theme  of  a  ballad,  by  my  friend  Mr.  James  Hogg, 
more  poetically  designed  the  Ettrick  Shepherd.  To  his  vol- 
ume, entitled  "The  Mountain  Bard,"  which  contains  this, 
and  many  other  legendary  stories  and  ballads  of  great  merit,  1 
refer  the  curious  reader. 


Note  Z. 


Some  ruder  and  more  savage  scene, 

Like  that  which  frowns  round  dark  Loch-skene. — P.  96. 

Loch  skene  is  a  mountain  lake,  of  considerable  size,  at  the 
head  of  the  Moffat-water.  The  character  of  the  scenery  is 
uncommonly  savage  ;  and  the  earn,  or  Scottish  eagle,  has,  for 
many  ages,  built  its  nest  yearly  upon  an  islet  in  the  lake. 
Loch-skens  discharges  itself  into  a  brook,  which,  after  a  short 
and  precipitate  course,  falls  from  a  cataract  of  immense  height, 
and  gloomy  grandeur,  called,  from  its  appearance,  the  "  Gray 
21 


Mare's  Tail."  The  "  Giant's  Grave,"  afterwards  mentioned, 
is  a  sort  of  trench,  which  bears  that  name,  a  little  way  from 
the  foot  of  the  cataract.  It  has  the  appearance  of  a  battery, 
designed  to  command  the  pass. 


Note  2  A. 


high  Whitby's  cloister' d  pile. — P.  97. 

The  Abbey  of  Whitby,  in  the  Archdeaconry  of  Cleaveland, 
on  the  coast  of  Yorkshire,  was  founded  A.  D.  657,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  vow  of  Oswy,  King  of  Northumberland.  It  con- 
tained both  monks  and  nuns  of  the  Benedictine  order ;  but, 
contrary  to  what  was  usual  in  such  establishments,  the  abbess 
was  superior  to  the  abbot.  The  monastery  was  afterwards 
ruined  by  the  Danes,  and  rebuilt  by  William  Percy,  in  the 
reign  of  the  Conqueror.  There  were  no  nuns  there  in  Henry 
the  Eighth's  time,  nor  long  before  it.  The  ruins  of  Whitby 
Abbey  are  very  magnificent. 


Note  2  B. 


St. 


Cuthbert's  Holy  Isle.—?.  97. 

Lindisfarne,  an  isle  on  the  coast  of  Northumberland,  was 
called  Holy  Island,  from  the  sanctity  of  its  ancient  monastery, 
and  from  its  having  been  the  episcopal  seat  of  the  see  of  Dur- 
ham during  the  early  ages  of  British  Christianity.  A  succes- 
sion of  holy  men  held  that  office  ;  but  their  merits  were  swal 
lowed  up  in  the  superior  fame  of  St.  Cuthbert,  who  was  sixth 
Bishop  of  Durham,  and  who  bestowed  the  name  of  his  "  patri- 
mony" upon  the  extensive  property  of  the  see.  The  ruins  of 
the  monastery  upon  Holy  Island  betoken  great  antiquity.  The 
arches  are,  in  general,  strictly  Saxon ;  and  the  pillars  which 
support  them,  short,  strong,  and  massy  In  some  places 
however,  there  are  pointed  windows,  which  indicate  that  the 
building  has  been  repaired  at  a  period  long  subsequent  to  the 
original  foundation.  The  exterior  ornaments  of  the  building, 
being  of  a  light  sandy  stone,  have  been  wasted,  as  described 
in  the  text.  Lindisfarne  is  not  properly  an  island,  but  rather, 
as  the  venerable  Bede  has  termed  it,  a  semi-isle  ;  for,  although 
surrounded  by  the  sea  at  full  tide,  the  ebb  leaves  the  sands  dry 
between  it  and  the  opposite  coast  of  Northumberland,  from 
which  it  is  about  three  miles  distant. 


Note  2  C. 


Then  Whitby's  nuns  exulting  told 
How  to  their  house  three  Barons  bold 
Must  menial  service  do. — P.  99. 

The  popular  account  of  this  curious  service,  which  was 
probably  considerably  exaggerated,  is  thus  given  in  "  A  True 
Account,"  printed  and  circulated  at  Whitby:  "In  the  fifth 
year  of  the  reign  of  Henry  II.,  after  the  conquest  of  England 
by  William,  Duke  of  Normandy,  the  Lord  of  Uglebarnby, 
then  called  William  de  Bruce ;  the  Lord  of  Smeaton,  called 
Ralph  de  Percy  ;  with  a  gentleman  and  freeholder  called  Al- 
latson,  did,  on  the  16th  of  October,  1159,  appoint  to  meetanc" 
hunt  the  wild  boar,  in  a  certain  wood,  or  desert  place,  belong- 
ing to  the  Abbot  of  Whitby  ;  the  place's  name  was  Eskdale- 
side ;  and  the  abbot's  name  was  Sedman.  Then,  these  young 
gentlemen  being  met,  with  their  hounds  and  boar-staves,  in  the 
place  before  mentioned,  and  there  having  found  a  great  wild- 
boar,  the  hounds  ran  him  well  near  about  the  chapel  and  her 
mitage  of  Eskdale-side,  where  was  a  monk  of  Whitby,  who 
was  an  hermit.  The  boar,  being  very  sorely  pursued,  and 
dead-run,  took  in  at  the  chapel  door,  there  laid  him  down,  and 
presently  died.    The  hermit  shut  the  hounds  out  of  the  chapel 


162 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


and  kept  himself  within  at  his  meditations  and  prayers,  the 
hoi nds  standing  at  bay  without.  The  gentlemen,  in  the  thick 
of  the  wood,  being  just  behind  their  game,  followed  the  cry  of 
their  hounds,  and  so  came  to  the  hermitage,  calling  on  the  her- 
mit, who  opened  the  door  and  came  forth  ;  and  within  they 
found  the  boar  lying  dead  :  for  which,  the  gentlemen,  in  a  very 
great  fury,  because  the  hounds  were  put  from  their  game,  did 
most  violently  and  cruelly  run  at  the  hermit  with  their  boar- 
eta  ves,  whereby  he  soon  after  died.  Thereupon  the  gentle- 
men, perceiving  and  knowing  that  they  were  in  peril  of  death, 
took  sanctuary  at  Scarborough  :  But  at  that  time  the  abbot 
being  in  very  great  favor  with  the  King,  removed  them  out  of 
the  sanctuary  ;  whereby  they  came  in  danger  of  the  law,  and 
not  to  be  privileged,  but  likely  to  have  the  severity  of  the  law, 
which  was  death  for  death.  But  the  hermit,  being  a  holy  and 
devout  man,  and  at  the  point  of  death,  sent  for  the  abbot,  and 
desired  him  to  send  for  the  gentlemen  who  had  wounded  him. 
The  abbot  so  doing,  the  gentlemen  came ;  and  the  hermit, 
being  very  sick  and  weak,  said  unto  them,  '  I  am  sure  to  die 
of  those  wounds  you  have  given  me.' — The  abbot  answered, 
'They  shall  as  surely  die  for  the  same.' — But  the  hermit  an- 
swered, '  Not  so,  for  1  will  freely  forgive  them  my  death,  if 
they  will  be  content  to  be  enjoined  the  penance  I  shall  lay  on 
them  for  the  safeguard  of  their  souls.'  The  gentlemen  being 
present,  bade  him  save  their  lives.  Then  said  the  hermit, 
•  You  and  yours  shall  hold  your  lands  of  the  Abbot  of  Whitby, 
and  his  successors,  in  this  manner :  That,  upon  Ascension-day, 
you,  or  some  of  you,  shall  come  to  the  wood  of  the  Stray- 
heads,  which  is  in  Eskdale-side,  the  same  day  at  sun-rising, 
and  there  shall  the  abbot's  officer  blow  his  horn,  to  the  intent 
that  you  may  know  where  to  find  him  ;  and  lie  shall  deliver 
unto  you,  William  de  Bruce,  ten  stakes,  eleven  strout  stowers, 
and  eleven  yethers,  to  be  cut  by  you,  or  some  of  you,  with  a 
knife  of  one  penny  price :  and  you.  Ralph  de  Percy,  shall  take 
twenty-one  of  each  sort,  to  be  cut  in  the  same  manner ;  and 
you,  Allatson,  shall  take  nine  of  each  sort,  to  be  cut  as  afore- 
said, and  to  be  taken  on  your  backs  and  carried  to  the  town  of 
Whitby,  and  to  be  there  before  nine  of  the  clock  the  same  day 
before  mentioned.  At  the  same  hour  of  nine  of  the  clock,  if 
it  be  full  sea,  your  labor  and  service  shall  cease  ;  and  if  low 
water,  each  of  you  shall  set  your  stakes  to  the  brim,  each 
Btake  one  yard  from  the  other,  and  so  yether  them  on  each  side 
with  your  yethers  ;  and  so  stake  on  each  side  with  your  strout 
stowers,  that  they  may  stand  three  tides  without  removing  by 
the  force  thereof.  Each  of  you  shall  do,  make,  and  execute 
the  said  service,  at  that  very  hour,  every  year,  except  it  be  full 
sea  at  that  hour :  but  when  it  shall  so  fall  out,  this  service 
shall  cease.  You  shall  faithfully  do  this,  in  remembrance 
that  you  did  most  cruelly  slay  me  ;  and  that  you  may  the  bet- 
ter call  to  God  for  mercy,  repent  unfeignedly  of  your  sins,  and 
do  good  works.  The  officer  of  Eskdale-side  shall  blow,  Out  on 
you!  Out  on  you!  Out  on  you!  for  this  heinous  crime.  If 
you,  or  your  successors,  shall  refuse  this  service,  so  long  as  it 
shall  not  be  full  sea  at  the  aforesaid  hour,  you  or  yours  shall 
forfeit  your  lands  to  the  Abbot  of  Whitby,  or  his  successors. 
This  I  entreat,  and  earnestly  beg,  that  you  may  have  lives  and 
goods  preserved  for  this  service  :  and  I  request  of  you  to  prom- 
ise, by  your  parts  in  Heaven,  that  it  shall  be  done  by  you  and 
your  successors,  as  is  aforesaid  requested  :  and  I  will  confirm 
it  by  the  faith  of  an  honest  man.' — Then  the  hermit  said, '  My 
«oul  longeth  for  the  Lord  :  and  I  do  as  freely  forgive  these 
•men  my  death  as  Christ  forgave  the  thieves  on  the  cross.'  And, 
in  the  presence  of  the  abbot  and  the  rest,  he  said  moreover 
these  words  :• '  In  manus  tuos,  JDomine,  commendo  spiritum 
meum,  a  vinculis  enirn  mortis  redemisti  me,  Domine  verita- 
tis.  Amen.1 — So  he  yielded  up  the  ghost  the  eighth  day  of 
December,  anno  Domini  1159,  whose  soul  God  have  mercy 
upon.     Amen. 

"This  service,"  it  is  added,  "  still  continues  to  be  performed 
with  the  prescribed  ceremonies,  though  not  by  the  proprietors 
in  person.  Part  of  the  lands  charged  therewith  are  now  held 
"y  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Herbert. ' ' 


Note  2  D. 
—  in  their  convent  cell 


A  Saxon  princess  once  did  dwell, 
The  lovely  Edelfled.—Y.  99. 
She  was  lie  daughter  of  King  Oswy,  who,  in  gratitude  to 
Heaven  for  the  great  victory  which  lie  won  in  635,  against 
Penda,  the  Pagan  King  of  Mercia,  dedicated  Edelfleda,  then 
but  a  year  old,  to  the  service  of  God,  in  the  monastery  of 
Wliitby,  of  which  St.  Hilda  was  then  abbess.  She  afterward! 
adorned  the  place  of  her  education  with  great  magnificence 


Note  2  E 


of  thousand  snakes,  each  one 

Was  changed  into  a  coil  of  stone, 

When  holy  Hilda  pray'' d  ; 
They  told,  how  sea-fowls1  pinions  fail, 

As  over  Whitby's  towers  they  sail. — P.  99. 

These  two  miracles  are  much  insisted  upon  by  all  ancient 
writers  who  have  occasion  to  mention  either  Whitby  or  St. 
Hilda.  The  relics  of  the  snakes  which  infested  the  precincts 
of  the  convent,  and  were,  at  the  abbess's  prayer,  not  only  be- 
headed, but  petrified,  are  still  found  about  the  rocks,  and  are 
termed  by  Protestant  fossil ists,  Ammonites. 

The  other  miracle  is  thus  mentioned  by  Camden:  "It  is 
also  ascribed  to  the  power  of  her  sanctity,  that  these  wild 
geese,  which,  in  the  winter,  fly  in  great  flocks  to  the  lakes  and 
rivers  unfrozen  in  the  southern  parts,  to  the  great  amazement 
of  every  one,  fall  down  suddenly  upon  the  ground,  when 
they  are  in  their  flight  over  certain  neighboring  fields  here- 
abouts :  a  relation  I  should  not  have  made,  if  I  had  not  re- 
ceived it  from  some  credible  men.  But  those  who  are  less  in- 
clined to  heed  superstition,  attribute  it  to  some  occult  quality 
in  the  ground,  and  to  somewhat  of  antipathy  between  it  and 
the  geese,  such  as  they  say  is  betwixt  wolves  and  scyllaroots  : 
For  that  such  hidden  tendencies  and  aversions,  as  we  call 
sympathies  and  antipathies,  are  implanted  in  many  things  by 
provident  Nature  for  the  preservation  of  them,  is  a  thing  so 
evident  that  everybody  grants  it."  Mr.  Charlton,  in  his  His- 
tory of  Whitby,  points  out  the  true  origin  of  the  fable,  from 
the  number  of  sea-gulls  that,  when  flying  from  a  storm,  often 
alight  near  Whitby  ;  and  from  the  woodcocks,  and  other  birds 
of  passage,  who  do  the  same  upon  their  arrival  on  shore,  after 
a  long  flight. 


Note  2  F. 


His  body's  resting-place,  of  old, 

How  oft  their  Patron  changed,  they  told. — P.  99. 

St.  Cuthbert  was,  in  the  choice  of  his  sepulchre,  one  of  the 
most  mutable  and  unreasonable  saints  in  the  Calendar.  He 
died  a.  d.  688,  in  a  hermitage  upon  the  Fame  Islands,  having 
resigned  the  bishopric  of  Lindisfarne,  or  Holy  Island,  about 
two  years  before.1  His  body  was  brought  to  Lindisfarne, 
where  it  remained  until  a  descent  of  the  Danes,  about  793, 
when  the  monastery  was  nearly  destroyed.  The  monks  fled 
to  Scotland  with  what  they  deemed  their  chief  treasure,  the 
relics  of  St.  Cuthbert.  The  Saint  was,  however,  a  most  capri- 
cious fellow-traveller;  which  was  the  more  intolerable,  as, 
like  Sinbad's  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  he  journeyed  upon  the 
shoulders  of  his  companions.  They  paraded  him  through 
Scotland  for  several  years,  and  came  as  far  west  as  Whithern, 
in  Galloway,  whence  they  attempted  to  sail  for  Ireland,  but 
were  driven  back  by  tempests.  He  at  length  made  a  halt  at 
Norham  ;  from  thence  he  went  to  Melrose,  where  he  remained 

1  He  resumed  the  bishopric  of  Lindisfarne,  which,  owing  to  bad  health, 
he  E^ain  relinquished  within  less  than  three  months  before  his  death.— 
Kaeve's  St.  Cuthbert, 


APPENDIX  TO  MAKMION. 


163 


«'.a"  nnary  for  a  short  time,  and  then  caused  himself  to  be 
launched  upon  the  Tweed  in  a  stone  coffin,  which  landed  him 
at  Tilmouth,  in  Northumberland.  This  boat  is  finely  shaped, 
ten  feet  long,  three  feet  and  a  half  in  diameter,  and  only  four 
inches  thick  ;  so  tha.%  with  very  little  assistance,  it  might  cer- 
tainly have  swam  :  it  still  lies,  or  at  least  did  so  a  few  years 
ago,  in  two  pieces,  beside  the  ruined  chapel  of  Tilmouth. 
From  Tilmouth,  Cuthbert  wandered  Into  Yorkshire  ;  and  at 
length  made  a  long  stay  at  Chester- -.e-street,  to  which  the 
bishop's  set  was  transferred.  At  length,  the  Danes,  continu- 
ing to  infest  the  country,  the  monks  removed  to  Rippon  for  a 
MUM  ;  ano  it  was  in  return  from  thence  to  Chester-le-street, 
thV;,  passing  through  a  forest  called  Dunholme,  the  Saint  and 
his  carriage  became  immovable  at  a  place  named  Wardlaw, 
or  Wardilaw.  Here  the  Saint  chose  his  place  of  residence  ; 
and  all  who  have  seen  Durham  must  admit,  that,  if  difficult 
in  his  choice,  he  evinced  taste  in  at  length  fixing  it.  It  is  said 
that  the  Northumbrian  Catholics  still  keep  secret  the  precise 
spot  of  the  Saint's  sepulture,  which  is  only  intrusted  to  three 
persons  at  a  time.  When  one  dies,  the  survivors  associate  to 
them,  in  his  room,  a  person  judged  fit  to  be  the  depository  of 
so  valuable  a  secret.  • 

[The  resting-place  of  the  remains  of  this  saint  is  not  now 
matter  of  uncertainty.  So  recently  as  17th  May,  1827,  1139 
years  after  his  death,  their  discovery  and  disinterment  were 
effected.  Under  a  blue  stone,  in  the  middle  of  the  shrine  of 
St.  Cuthbert,  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  choir  of  Durham 
Cathedral,  there  was  then  found  a  walled  grave,  containing 
the  coffins  of  the  Saint.  The  first,  or  outer  one,  was  ascer- 
tained to  be  that  of  1541,  the  second  of  1041 ;  the  third,  or  in- 
ner one,  answering  in  every  particular  to  the  description  of 
that  of  693,  was  found  to  contain,  not  indeed,  as  had  been 
averred  then,  and  even  until  1539,  the  incorruptible  body,  but 
the  entire  skeleton  of  the  Saint ;  the  bottom  of  the  grave  being 
perfectly  dry,  free  from  offensive  smell,  and  without  the  slight- 
est symptom  that  a  human  body  had  ever  undergone  decom- 
position within  its  walls.  The  skeleton  was  found  swathed  in 
five  silk  robes  of  emblematical  embroidery,  the  ornamental 
parts  laid  with  gold  leaf,  and  these  again  covered  with  a  robe 
of  liiv  a.  Beside  the  skeleton  were  also  deposited  several  gold 
and  silver  insignia,  and  other  relics  of  the  Saint. 

The  Roman  Catholics  now  allow  that  the  coffin  was  that  of 
St.  Cuthbert. 

The  bones  of  the  Saint  were  again  restored  to  the  grave  in 
a  new  coffin,  amid  the  fragments  of  the  former  ones.  Those 
portions  of  the  inner  coffin  which  could  bo  preserved,  inclu- 
ding one  of  its  rings,  with  the  silver  altar,  golden  cross,  stole, 
comb,  two  maniples,  bracelets,  girdle,  gold  wire  of  the  skele- 
ton, and  fragments  of  the  five  silk  robes,  and  some  of  the  rings 
of  the  outer  coffin  made  in  1541,  were  deposited  in  the  library 
of  the  Dean  and  Chapter,  where  they  are  now  preserved. 

Fee  ample  details  of  the  life  of  St.  Cuthbert, — his  coffin- 
jomneys, — an  account  of  the  opening  of  his  tomb,  and  a  de- 
sck  otion  of  the  silk  robes  and  other  relics  found  in  it.  the  reader 
interested  in  such  matters  is  referred  to  a  work  entitled  "  Saint 
Cuthbert,  by  James  Raine,  M.  A."  (4to,  Durham.  1828), 
where  he  will  find  much  of  antiquarian  history,  ceremonies, 
aad  superstitions,  to  gratify  his  curiosity.] — Ed. 


Note  2  G-. 

Even  Scotland1  s  dauntless  king  and  heir,  $rc. 
Before  his  standard  fled. — P.  100. 

Every  one  has  heard,  that  when  David  I.,  with  his  son 
Henry,  invaded  Northumberland  in  1 136,  the  English  host 
marched  against  them  under  the  holy  banner  of  St.  Cuthbert ; 
lo  the  efficacy  of  which  was  imputed  the  great  victory  which 
,hey  obtained  in  the  bloody  battle  of  Northallerton,  or  Cuton- 
onooi      The  conquerors  were  at  least  as  much  indebted  to  the 


jealousy  and  intractability  of  the  different  tnhes  who  composed 
David's  army  ;  among  whom,  as  mentioned  in  the  text,  were 
the  Galwegians,  the  Britons  of  Strath-Clyde,  the  men  of  Te- 
viotdale  and  Lothian,  with  many  Norman  a  A  German  war- 
riors, who  asserted  the  cause  of  the  Empress  Maud.  See 
Chalmers'  Caledonia,  vol.  i.  p.  022  ;  a  most  laborious,  cu 
rious,  and  interesting  publication,  from  which  considerable 
defects  of  style  and  manner  ought  not  to  turn  aside  the  Scot 
tish  antiquary. 


Note  2  H. 


'  Twas  he,  to  vindicate  his  reign, 

Edged  Alfred' s  falchion  on  the  Dane, 

And  turned  the  Conqueror  back  again. — P.  100. 

Cuthbert,  we  have  seen,  had  no  great  reason  to  spare  the 
Danes,  when  opportunity  offered.  Accordingly,  I  find,  in 
Simeon  of  Durham,  that  the  Saint  appeared  in  a  vision  to 
Alfred,  when  lurking  in  the  marshes  of  Glastonbury,  and 
promised  him  assistance  and  victory  over  his  heathen  enemies ; 
a  consolation,  which,  as  was  reasonable,  Alfred,  after  the  vic- 
tory of  Ashendown,  rewarded,  by  a  royal  offering  at  the  shrine 
of  the  Saint.  As  to  William  the  Conqueror,  the  terror  spread 
before  his  army,  when  he  marched  to  punish  the  revolt  of  the 
Northumbrians,  in  1096,  had  forced  the  monks  to  fly  once 
more  to  Holy  Island  with  the  body  of  the  Saint.  It  was,  how- 
ever, replaced  before  William  left  the  north  ;  and,  to  balance 
accounts,  the  Conqueror  having  intimated  an  indiscreet  curios- 
ity to  view  the  Saint's  body,  he  was,  while  in  the  act  of  com- 
manding the  shrine  to  be  opened,  seized  with  heat  and  sickness, 
accompanied  with  such  a  panic  terror,  that,  notwithstanding 
there  was  a  sumptuous  dinner  prepared  for  him,  he  fled  with- 
out eating  a  morsel  (which  the  monkish  historian  seems  to  have 
thought  no  small  part  both  of  the  miracle  and  the  penance),, 
and  never  drew  his  bridle  till  he  got  to  the  river  Tees. 


Note  2  I. 


Saint  Cuthbert  sits,  and  toils  to  frame 

The  sea-born  beads  that  bear  his  name. — P.  100. 

Although  we  do  not  learn  that  Cuthbert  was,  during  his  life, 
such  an  artificer  as  Dunstan,  his  brother  in  sanctity,  yet,  since 
his  death,  he  has  acquired  the  reputation  of  forging  those  En- 
trochi  which  are  found  among  the  rocks  of  Holy  Island,  and 
pass  there  by  the  name  of  St.  Cuthbert's  Beads.  While  at 
this  task,  he  is  supposed  to  sit  during  the  night  upon  a  certain 
rock,  and  use  another  as  his  anvil.  This  story  was  perhaps 
credited  in  former  days  ;  at  least  the  Saint's  legend  contains 
some  not  more  probable. 


Note  2  K. 

Old  Colwulf —Y.  100. 

Ceolwulf,  or  Colwulf,  King  of  Northumberland,  flourisTiea 
in  the  eighth  century.  He  was  a  man  of  some  learning  ;  for 
the  venerable  Bede  dedicates  to  him  his  "  Ecclesiastical  His- 
tory." He  abdicated  the  throne  about  738,  and  retired  to 
Holy  Island,  where  he  died  in  the  odoi  of  sanctity.  Saint  a* 
Colwulf  was,  however,  I  fear  the  foundation  of  the  penance 
vault  does  not  correspond  with  his  character  ;  for  it  is  recorded 
among  his  memorabilia,  that,  finding  the  air  of  the  island  raw 
and  cold,  he  indulged  the  monks,  whose  rule  had  hitherto  con- 
fined them  to  milk  or  water,  with  the  comfortable  privilege  of 
using  wine  or  ale.  If  any  rigid  antiquary  insists  on  this  objec- 
tion, he  is  welcome  to  suppose  the  penance-vault  was  intended, 
by  the  founder,  for  the  more  genial  purposes  of  a  cellar. 


164 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


These  penitential  vaults  were  the  Oeissel-gewolbe  of  Ger- 
man convents.  In  the  earlier  and  more  rigid  times  of  monastic 
discipline,  they  were  sometimes  used  as  a  cemetery  for  the  lay 
benefactors  of  the  convent,  whose  unsanctified  corpses  were 
then  seldom  permitted  to  pollute  the  choir.  They  also  served 
as  places  of  meeting  for  the  chapter,  when  measures  of  uncom- 
mon severity  were  to  be  adopted.  But  their  most  frequent 
use,  as  implied  by  the  name,  was  as  places  for  performing  pen- 
ances, or  undergoing  punishment. 


Note  2  L. 

Tynemouth^ 's  haughty  Prioress. — P.  100. 

That  there  was  an  ancient  priory  at  Tynemouth  is  certain. 
Its  ruins  are  situated  on  a  high  rocky  point ;  and,  doubtless, 
many  a  vow  was  made  to  the  shrine  by  the  distressed  mariners 
who  drove  towards  the  iron-bound  coast  of  Northumberland 
in  stormy  weather.  It  was  anciently  a  nunnery  ;  for  Virca, 
abbess  of  Tynemouth,  presented  St.  Cuthbert  (yet  alive)  with 
a  rare  winding-sheet,  in  emulation  of  a  holy  lady  called  Tuda, 
who  had  sent  him  a  coffin  :  But,  as  in  the  case  of  Whitby,  and 
of  Holy  Island,  the  introduction  of  nuns  at  Tynemouth,  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  is  an  anachronism.  The  nunnery  at 
Holy  Island  is  altogether  fictitious.  Indeed,  St.  Cuthbert  was 
unlikely  to  permit  such  an  establishment ;  for,  notwithstand- 
ing his  accepting  the  mortuary  gifts  above  mentioned,  and  his 
carrying  on  a  visiting  acquaintance  with  the  Abbess  of  Col- 
dingham,  he  certainly  hated  the  whole  female  sex  ;  and,  in 
revenge  of  a  slippery  trick  played  to  him  by  an  Irish  princess, 
he,  after  death,  inflicted  severe  penances  on  sucli  as  presumed 
to  approach  within  a  certain  distance  of  his  shriue. 


Note  2  M. 


On  those  the  wall  was  to  enclose, 
Jilive,  within  the  tomb.—Y.  102. 

It  is  well  known,  that  the  religious,  who  broke  their  vows 
of  chastity,  were  subjected  to  the  same  penalty  as  the  Roman 
vestals  in  a  similar  case.  A  small  niche,  sufficient  to  enclose 
their  bodies,  was  made  in  the  massive  wall  of  the  convent ;  a 
slender  pittance  of  food  and  water  was  deposited  in  it,  and  the 
awful  words,  Va.de  in  Pace,  were  the  signal  for  immuring 
the  criminal.  It  is  not  likely  that,  in  latter  times,  this  punish- 
ment was  often  resorted  to  ;  but  among  the  ruins  of  the  Abbey 
of  Coldingham,  were  some  years  ago  discovered  the  remains 
of  a  female  skeleton,  which,  from  the  shape  of  the  niche,  and 
position  of  the  figure,  seemed  to  be  that  of  an  immured  nun. 

[The  Edinburgh  Reviewer,  on  st.  xxxii.  post,  suggests  that 
the  proper  reading  of  the  sentence  is  vade  in  pacem — not  part 
in  peace,  but  go  into  peace,  or  into  eternal  rest,  a  pretty  intel- 
ligible mittimus  to  another  world.] 


Note  2  N. 


The  village  inn.—Y.  107. 

The  accommodations  of  a  Scottish  hostelrie,  or  inn,  in  the 
16th  century,  may  be  collected  from  Dunbar's  admirable  tale 
of  "The  Friars  of  Berwick."  Simon  Lawder,  "the  gay 
ostlier,"  seems  to  have  lived  very  comfortably  ;  and  his  wife 
decorated  her  person  with  a  scarlet  kirtle,  and  a  belt  of  silk 
and  si'ver,  and  rings  upon  her  fingers ;  and  feasted  her  para- 
mour with  rabbits,  capons,  partridges,  and  Bordeaux  wine. 
At  least,  if  the  Scottish  inns  were  not  good,  it  was  not  for 
want  of  encouragement  from  the  legislature  ;  who,  so  early  as 
the  reign  of  James  I.,  not  only  enacted,  that  in  all  boroughs 
«ud  fairs  there  be  hostellaries,  having  stable!  and  chambers, 


and  provision  for  man  and  horse,  but  by  another  statute,  or 
dained  that  no  man,  travelling  on  horse  or  foot,  should  pre- 
sume to  lodge  anywhere  except  in  these  hostellaries  ;  and  that 
no  person,  save  innkeepers,  should  receive  such  travellers,  un 
der  the  penalty  of  forty  shillings,  for  exercising  such  hospital- 
ity.1  But,  in  spite  of  these  provident  enactments,  the  Scottisn 
hostels  are  but  indifferent,  and  strangers  continue  to  find  re- 
ception in  the  houses  of  individuals. 


Note  2  O. 


The  death  of  a  dear  friend.—?.  109. 

Among  other  omens  to  which  faithful  credit  is  given  among 
the  Scottish  peasantry,  is  what  is  called  the  "dead-bell,"  ex- 
plained by  my  friend  James  Hogg,  to  be  that  tinkling  in  the 
ears  which  the  country  people  regard  as  the  secret  intelligence 
of  some  friend's  decease.  He  tells  a  story  to  the  purpose  in 
the  "Mountain  Bard,"  p.  26. 

["  O  lady,  'tis  dark,  an'  I  heard  the  dead-bell ! 
An'  I  darena  gae  yonder  for  gowd  nor  fee." 

"  By  the  dead-bell  is  meant  a  tinkling  in  the  ears,  which  our 
peasantry  in  the  country  regard  as  the  secret  intelligence  of 
some  friend's  decease.  Thus  this  natural  occurrence  strikes 
many  with  a  superstitious  awe.  This  reminds  me  of  a  trifling 
anecdote,  which  I  will  here  relate  as  an  instance : — Our  two 
servant-girls  agreed  to  go  on  an  errand  of  their  own,  one  nigiit 
after  supper,  to  a  considerable  distance,  from  which  I  strove 
to  persuade  them,  but  could  not  prevail.  So,  after  going  to 
the  apartment  where  I  slept,  I  took  a  drinking-glass,  and, 
coming  close  to  the  back  of  the  door,  made  two  or  three  sweeps 
round  the  lips  of  the  glass  with  my  finger,  which  caused  a  loud 
shrill  sound.  I  then  overheard  the  following  dialogue: — 
1  B.  Ah,  mercy  !  the  dead-bell  went  through  my  head  just 
now  with  such  a  knell  as  I  never  heard.' — '  /.  I  heard  it  too.' 
— '  B.  Did  you  indeed  ?  That  is  remarkable.  I  never  knew 
of  two  hearing  it  at  the  same  time  before.' — '  /.  We  will  not 
go  to  Midgehope  to-night.' — '  B.  I  would  not  go  for  all  the 
world  !  I  shall  warrant  it  is  my  poor  brother  Wat ;  who 
knows  what  these  wild  Irishes  may  have  done  to  him?'  " — 
Hogg's  Mountain  Bard,  3d  Edit.  pp.  31-2.] 


Note  2  P. 

The  Goblin-Hall.— P.  110. 

A  vaulted  hall  under  the  ancient  castle  of  Gifford  or  Yester 
(for  it  bears  either  name  indifferently),  the  construction  of 
which  has  from  a  very  remote  period  been  ascribed  to  magic. 
The  Statistical  Account  of  the  Parish  of  Garvald  and  Baro 
gives  the  following  account  of  the  present  state  of  this  castle 
and  apartment  :  "  Upon  a  peninsula,  formed  by  the  water  of 
Hopes  on  the  east,  and  a  large  rivulet  on  the  west,  stands  the 
ancient  castle  of  Yester.  Sir  David  Dalrymple,  in  his  Annals, 
relates,  that  '  Hugh  Gifford  de  Yester  died  in  1267 ;  that  in 
his  castle  there  was  a  capacious  cavern,  formed  by  magical 
art,  and  called  in  the  country  Bo-Hall,  i.  e.  Hobgoblin  Hall.' 
A  stair  of  twenty-four  steps  led  down  to  this  apartment,  which 
is  a  large  and  spacious  hall,  with  an  arched  roof;  and  though 
it  hath  stood  for  so  many  centuries,  and  been  exposed  to  the 
external  air  for  a  period  of  fifty  or  sixty  years,  it  is  still  as  firm 
and  entire  as  if  it  had  only  stood  a  few  years.  From  the  floor 
of  this  hall,  another  stair  of  thirty-six  steps  leads  down  to  a 
pit  which  hath  a  communication  with  Hopes-water.  A  great 
part  of  the  walls  of  this  large  and  ancient  castle  are  still  stand- 
ing. There  is  a  tradition,  that  the  castle  of  Yester  was  th* 
last  fortification,  in  this  country,  that  surrendered  to  Genera 

1  James  I.  Par'  nment  I.  cap.  24 ;  Parliament  III.  cap.  56. 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


165 


Gray,  sent  into  Scotland  by  Protector  Somerset."  Statisti- 
cal Account,  vol.  xiii. — I  have  only  to  add,  that,  in  1737,  the 
Goblin  Hall  was  tenanted  by  the  Marquis  of  Tweeddale's  fal- 
coner, as  I  learn  from  a  poem,  by  Boyse,  entitled  "  Retire- 
ment," writter  upon  visiting  Yester.  It  is  now  rendered  in- 
accessible by  tho  fall  of  the  stair. 

Sir  David  Daltymple's  authority  for  the  anecdote  is  in  For- 
dun,  whose  words  are, — "  A.  D.  mcclxvii.  Hugo  Oiffard 
de  Yester  moritur ;  cujus  castrum,  vel  saltern  caveam,  et 
dongionem,  arte  dwmonicd  antiqum  relationes  ferunt  fabri- 
f actus  :  nam  ibidem  habetur  mirabilis  specus  subterraneus, 
opere  mirifico  constructus,  magno  t.crrarum  spatio  prote- 
latus,  qui  communiter  d&Q^JQ till  appellatus  est."  Lib. 
X.  cap.  21. — Sir  David  conjectures  that  Hugh  deGiffbrd  must 
either  have  been  a  very  wise  man,  or  a  great  oppressor. 


Note  2  Q. 

There  floated  Haw's  banner  trim 
Above  JVorweyan  warriors  grim. — 110. 

In  1263,  Haco,  King  of  Norway,  came  into  the  Frith  of 
Clyde  with  a  powerful  armament,  and  made  a  descent  at 
Largs,  in  Ayrshire.  Here  he  was  encountered  and  defeated, 
on  the  2d  October,  by  Alexander  III.  Haco  retreated  to  Ork- 
ney, where  he  died  soon  after  this  disgrace  to  his  arms.  There 
are  still  existing,  near  the  place  of  battle,  many  barrows,  some 
of  which,  having  been  opened,  were  found,  as  usual,  to  con- 
tain bones  and  urns. 


Note  2  R. 


Fhe  wizard  habit  strange. — P.  111. 

"  Magicians,  as  is  well  known,  were  very  curious  in  the 
choice  and  form  of  their  vestments.  Their  caps  are  oval,  or 
like  pyramids,  with  lappets  on  each  side,  and  fur  within. 
Their  gowns  are  long,  and  furred  with  fox-skins,  under  which 
they  have  a  linen  garment  reaching  to  the  knee.  Their  girdles 
are  three  inches  broad,  and  have  many  cabalistical  names, 
with  crosses,  trines,  and  circles  inscribed  on  them.  Their 
shoes  should  be  of  new  russet  leather,  with  a  cross  cut  upon 
them.  Their  knives  are  dagger-fashion ;  and  their  swords 
have  neither  guard  nor  scabbard." — See  these,  and  many  other 
particulars,  in  the  Discourse  concerning  Devils  and  Spirits,  an- 
nexed to  Reginald  Scott's  Discovery  of  Witc/tcraft,  edi- 
tion 1665. 


Note  2  S. 


Upon  his  breast  a  pentacle. — P.  111. 

"A  pentacle  is  a  piece  of  fine  linen,  folded  with  five  corners, 
according  to  the  five  senses,  and  suitably  inscribed  with  char- 
acters. This  the  magician  extends  towards  the  spirits  which 
he  invokes,  when  they  are  stubborn  and  rebellious,  and  refuse 
to  be  conformable  unto  the  ceremonies  and  rites  of  magic. " — 
See  the  Discourses,  &c.  above  mentior"d,  p.  66. 


Note  2  T. 


As  born  upon  that  blessed  night, 

When  yawning  graves  and  dying  groan 

Proclaimed  Hell's  empire  overthrown. — P.  111. 

It  is  a  popular  article  of  faith,  that  those  who  are  born  on 
Christmas,  or  Good  Friday   have  the  power  of  seeing  spirits, 


and  even  of  commanding  them.  The  Spaniards  imputed  the 
haggard  and  downcast  looks  of  their  Philip  II.  to  the  Jisagree- 
able  visions  to  which  this  privilege  subjected  him. 


Note  2  U. 


Yet  still  the  knightly  spear  and  shield 
The  Elfin  warrior  doth  wield 

Upon  the  brown  hill's  breast. — P.  112. 

The  following  extract  from  the  Essay  upon  the  Fairy  Super- 
stitions, in  the  "Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  vol.  ii., 
will  show  whence  many  of  the  particulars  of  the  combat  be- 
tween Alexander  III.  and  the  Goblin  Knight  are  derived  : — 

Gervaseof  Tilbury  Otia  Imperial  ap.  Script,  rer.  Brunsvic 
(vol.  i.  p.  797),  relates  the  following  popular  story  concerning  a 
fairy  knight:  "  Osbert,  a  bold  and  powerful  baron,  visited  a 
noble  family  in  the  vicinity  of  Wandlebury,  in  the  bishopric  of 
Ely.  Among  other  stories  related  in  the  social  circle  of  his 
friends,  who,  according  to  custom,  amused  each  other  by  re- 
peating ancient  tales  and  traditions,  he  was  informed,  that  if 
any  knight,  unattended,  entered  an  adjacent  plain  by  moon- 
light, and  challenged  an  adversary  to  appear,  he  would  be  im- 
mediately encountered  by  a  spirit  in  the  form  of  a  knight.  Os- 
bert resolved  to  make  the  experiment,  and  set  out,  attended  by 
a  single  squire,  whom  he  ordered  to  remain  without  the  limits 
of  the  plain,  which  was  surrounded  by  an  ancient  entrench- 
ment. On  repeating  the  challenge,  he  was  instantly  assailed 
by  an  adversary,  whom  he  quickly  unhorsed,  and  seized  the 
reins  of  his  steed.  During  this  operation,  his  ghostly  opponent 
sprung  up,  and  darting  his  spear,  like  a  javelin,  at  Osbert. 
wounded  him  in  the  thigh.  Osbert  returned  in  triumph  with 
the  horse,  which  he  committed  to  the  care  of  his  servants.  The 
horse  was  of  a  sable  color,  as  well  as  his  whole  accoutrements, 
and  apparently  of  great  beauty  and  vigor.  He  remained  with 
his  keeper  till  cock-crowing,  when,  with  eyes  flashing  fire,  he 
reared,  spurned  the  ground,  and  vanished.  On  disarming  him- 
self, Osbert  perceived  that  he  was  wounded,  and  that  one  of 
his  steel  boots  was  full  of  blood."  Gervase  adds,  that,  "as 
long  as  he  lived,  the  scar  of  his  wound  opened  afresh  on  the 
anniversary  of  the  eve  on  which  he  encountered  the  spirit." 
Less  fortunate  was  the  gallant  Bohemian  knight,  who,  travel- 
ling by  night  with  a  single  companion,  "  came  in  sight  of  a 
fairy  host,  arrayed  under  displayed  banners.  Despising  the  re- 
monstrances of  his  friend,  the  knight  pricked  forward  to  break 
a  lance  with  a  champion,  who  advanced  from  the  ranks  appa- 
rently in  defiance.  His  companion  beheld  the  Bohemian  over- 
thrown, horse  and  man,  by  his  aerial  adversary  ;  and  returning 
to  the  spot  next  morning,  he  found  the  mangled  corpses  of  the 
knight  and  steed." — Hierarchy  of  Blessed  Angels,  p.  554. 

Besides  these  instances  of  Elfin  chivalry  above  quoted,  many 
others  might  be  alleged  in  support  of  employing  fairy  machine- 
ry in  this  manner.  The  forest  of  Glenmore,  in  the  North  High- 
lands, is  believed  to  be  haunted  by  a  spirit  called  IJiam-dcarg, 
in  the  array  of  an  ancient  warrior,  having  a  bloody  hand,  from 
which  he  takes  his  name.  He  insists  upon  those  with  whora 
he  meets  doing  battle  with  him  ;  and  the  clergyman,  who 
makes  up  an  account  of  the  district,  extant  in  the  Macfarlane 
MS.  in  the  Advocates'  Library,  gravely  assures  us,  that,  in  his 
time,  IJiam-dearg  fought  with  three  brothers  whom  he  met  in 
his  walk,  none  of  whom  long  survived  the  ghostly  conflict. 
Barclay,  in  his  "  Euphormion,"  gives  a  singular  account  of  an 
officer  who  had  ventured,  with  his  servant,  rather  to  intrude 
upon  a  haunted  house  in  a  town  in  Flanders,  than  to  put  up 
with  worse  quarters  elsewhere.  After  taking  the  usual  precau- 
tions of  providing  fires,  lights,  and  arms,  they  watched  till  mid- 
night, when  behold  !  the  severed  arm  of  a  man  dropped  from  , 
the  ceiling  ;  this  was  followed  by  the  legs,  the  other  arm,  the 
trunk,  and  the  head  of  the  body,  all  separately.  The  members 
rolled  together,  united  themselves  in  the  presence  of  the  aston 
ished  soldiers,  and  formed  a  gigantic  warrior,  who  defied  thein 


166 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


both  to  combat.  Their  blows,  although  they  penetrated  the 
body  and  amputated  the  limbs  of  their  strange  antagonist,  had, 
as  the  reader  may  easily  believe,  little  effect  on  an  enemy  who 
possessei1  such  powers  of  self-union  ;  nor  did  his  efforts  make 
mort  effectual  impression  upon  them.  How  the  combat  ter- 
minated I  do  not  exactly  remember,  and  have  not  the  book  by 
me  ;  but  I  think  the  spirit  made  to  the  intruders  on  his  mansion 
the  usual  proposal,  that  they  should  renounce  their  redemption  ; 
which  being  declined,  he  was  obliged  to  retract. 

Tne  most  singular  tale  of  the  kind  is  contained  in  an  extract 
communicated  to  me  by  my  friend  Mr.  Surtees  of  Mainsforth, 
in  the  Bishopric,  who  copied  it  from  a  MS.  note  in  a  copy  of 
Burthogge,  "On  the  Nature  of  Spirits,  8vo.  1694,"  which 
had  been  the  property  of  the  late  Mr.  Gill,  attorney-general  to 
Egerton,  Bishop  of  Durham.  "  It  was  not,"  says  my  obliging 
correspondent,  "in  Mr.  Gill's  own  hand,  but  probably  an 
hundred  years  older,  and  was  said  to  be,  E  libro  Convent. 
Dunelm.  per  T.  C.  extract.,  whom  I  believe  to  have  been 
Thomas  Cradocke,  Esq.  barrister,  who  held  several  offices  un- 
der the  See  of  Durham  a  hundred  years  ago.  Mr.  Gill  was 
possessed  of  most  of  his  manuscripts."  The  extract,  which,  in 
fact,  suggested  the  introduction  of  the  tale  into  the  present 
poem,  runs  thus  : — 

"  Rem  miram  hujusmodi  quae  nostris  temporibus  evenit, 
teste  viro  nobili  ac  fide  dignissimo,  enarrare  hand  pigebit. 
Radulphus  Bulmer,  cum  e  castris,  qua  tunc  temporis  prope 
Nor/iam  posita  erant,  oblectationis  causa,  exiisset,  ac  in 
ulteriore  Tuedce  ripd  prcedam  cum  canibus  leporariis  inse- 
queretur,  forte  cum  Scoto  quodam  nobili,  sibi  antehac,  ut 
videbatur,  familiariter  cognito,  congressus  est ;  ac,  ut  fas 
erat  inter  inimicos,  flagrante  bcllo,  brevissimd  interroga- 
tionis  mord  interpositd,  alter  ulros  invicem  incitato  cursu 
infestis  animis  petiere.  Noster,  primo  occur su,  equo  prma- 
cerrimo  hostis  impetu  labante,  in  terrain  eversus  pectore  et 
capite  laso,  sanguinem,  mortuo  similis,  evomebat.  Quern 
ut  se  agre  habentem  comiter  allocutus  est  alter,  pollicitus- 
que,  modo  auxilium  non  abnegaret,  monitisque  obtemperans 
ab  omni  rerum  sacrarum  cogitationc  abstincrct,  nee  Deo, 
Deipara  Virgini,  Sanctove  ullo,  precrs  aut  vota  efferret  vel 
r'nter  sese  conciperet,  se  brevi  eum  sanum  validumque  resti- 
tuturum  esse.  Prm  angore  oblata  conditio  accepta  est  ;  ac 
veterator  ille  nescio  quid  obscmni  murmuris  insusurrans, 
prehensa  manu,  dicto  citiu*  in  pedes  sanum  ut  antea  suble- 
vavit.  JYoster  autem,  maxima  pm  rei  inaaditd  novitate 
eormidine  perculsus,  Mi  Jesu  !  exclamat,  vel  quid  simile ; 
ac  subito  respiciens  nee  hostem  nee  ullam  alium  conspicit, 
equum  solum  gravissimo  nuper  casu  affiictum,  per  summam 
vacem  in  rioofluvii  pascentem.  Ad  castra  itaquc  mirabun- 
dus  r  ever  tens,  fidei  dubius,  rem  primo  occultavit,  dcin,  con- 
*ecto  bello,  Confcssori  suo  totam  asseruit.  Delusoria  pro. 
cul  dubio  res  tota,  ac  mala  veteratoris  illius  aperitur  fraus, 
qua  homincm  Christianum  ad  vetitum  tale  auxilium  pellice- 
ret.  Nomen  utcunque  illius  (nobilis  alias  ac  clari)  reticen- 
dum  duco,  cum  haud  dubium  sit  quin  Diabolus,  Deo  permit- 
tente,  formam  quam  libuerit,  immo  angeli  lucis,  sacro  oculo 
Dei  teste,  posse  assumere."  The  MS.  chronicle,  from 
whicn  Mr.  Cradocke  took  this  curious  extract,  cannot  now 
be  round  in  the  Chapter  Library  of  Durham,  or,  at  least, 
has  hitherto  escaped  the  researches  of  my  friendly  correspon- 
dent. 

Lindesay  is  made  to  allude  to  this  adventure  of  Ralph  Bul- 
mer,  as  a  well-known  story,  ic.  the  4th  Canto,  Stanza  xxii.  p. 
121. 

The  northern  champions  of  old  were  accustomed  peculiarly 
to  search  for,  and  delight  in,  encounters   with  such  military 


1  I  beg  leave  to  quote  a  sinple  instance  from  a  very  interesting 
Mr  David,  recounting  his  attention  to  King  James  V.  in  his  infancy,  is 
made,  by  the  learned  editor's  punctuation,  to  say, — 

'  Tho  first  sillabis,  that  thou  did  mute, 
Was  pa,  da,  lyn,  upon  the  lute  : 


spectres.     See  a  whole  chapter  on  the  subject,  in  Bartholi 
nus,  De  Causis  contemptce  Mortis  a  Danis,  p.  253. 


Note  2  V. 


Close  to  the  hut,  no  more  his  own, 
Close  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain, 
The  morn  may  find  the  stiffened  swain.— P.  114. 

I  cannot  help  here  mentioning,  that,  on  the  night  in  which 
these  lines  were  written,  suggested,  as  they  were,  by  a  suddm 
fall  of  snow,  beginning  after  sunset,  an  unfortunate  man  per 
ished  exactly  in  the  manner  here  described,  and  his  body  w« 
next  morning  found  close  to  his  own  house.  The  accident 
happened  within  five  miles  of  the  farm  of  Ashestiel. 


Note  2  W. 


Forbes.— P.  115. 

Sir  William  Forbes  of  Pitsligo,  Baronet;  unequalled,  per- 
haps, in  the  degree  of  individual  affection  entertained  for  him 
by  his  friends,  as  well  as  in  the  general  respect  and  esteem  of 
Scotland  at  large.  His  "  Life  of  Beattie,"  whom  he  befriended 
and  patronized  in  life,  as  well  as  celebrated  after  his  decease, 
was  not  long  published,  before  the  benevolent  and  affectionate 
biographer  was  called  to  follow  the  subject  of  his  narrative. 
This  melancholy  event  very  shortly  succeeded  the  marriage  ol 
the  friend,  to  whom  this  introduction  is  addressed,  with  one  ol 
Sir  William's  daughters. 


Note  2  X. 
Friar  Rush.—T.  116. 

Alias,  "Will  o'  the  Wisp."  This  personage  is  a  strolling 
demon,  or  esprit  follet,  who,  once  upon  a  time,  got  admittance 
into  a  monastery  as  a  scullion,  and  played  the  monks  many 
pranks.  He  was  also  a  sort  of  Robin  Goodfellow,  and  Jack  o' 
Lanthern.  It  is  in  allusion  to  this  mischievous  demon  that 
Milton's  clown  speaks, — 

"  She  was  pinched,  and  pulled,  she  said, 
And  he  by  Friar's  lanthern  led." 

"  The  history  of  Friar  Rush"  is  of  extreme  rarity,  and,  for 
some  time,  even  the  existence  of  such  a  book  was  doubted, 
although  it  is  expressly  alluded  to  by  Reginald  ScottJ  in  his 
"Discovery  of  Witchcraft."  I  have  perused  a  copy  in  the 
valuable  library  of  my  friend  Mr.  Heber  ;  and  I  observe,  from 
Mr.  Beloe's  "  Anecdotes  of  Literature,"  that  there  is  one  in 
the  excellent  collection  of  the  Marquis  of  Stafford. 


Note  2  Y. 

Sir  Davit  Lindesay  of  the  Mount, 

Lord  Lion  King-at-arms. — P.  117. 

The  late  elaborate  edition  of  Sir  David  Lindesay'"  Woma, 

by  Mr.  George  Chalmers,  has  probably  introduced  him  tomah/ 

of  my  readers.     It  is  perhaps  to  be  regretted,  that  the  learned 

Editor  had  not  bestowed  more  pains  in  elucidating  his  author, 

even  although  he  should  have  omitted,  or  at  least  reserved,  his 

disquisitions  on  the  origin  of  the  language  used  by  the  poet  :j 


Then  played  I  twenty  springis  perqueir, 
Quhilk  was  great  plesour  for  to  bear." 

Vol.  i.  p.  7,  25T. 

Mr.  Chalmers  d"«s  not  inform  us,  ^  note  or  glossary,  whp-t  is  meant  by 
the  King  "  muting  pa,  da.  lyn,  upon  the  I  uu ;"  but  any  old 


APPENDX  TO  MARMION. 


161 


But,  with  all  his  faults,  his  work  is  an  acceptable  present  to 
Scottish  antiquaries.  Sir  David  Lindesay  was  well  known  for 
his  early  efforts  in  favor  of  the  Reformed  doctrines ;  and,  in- 
deed, his  play,  coarse  as  it  now  seems,  must  have  had  a  pow- 
erful effect  upon  the  people  of  his  age.  I  am  uncertain  if  I 
abuse  poetical  license,  by  introducing  Sir  David  Lindesay  in 
the  character  of  Lion-Herald,  sixteen  years  before  he  obtained 
that  office.  At  any  rate,  I  am  not  the  first  who  has  been 
guilty  of  this  anachronism  ;  for  the  author  of"  Flodden  Field" 
dispatches  Dallamoant,  which  can  mean  nobody  but  Sir  Da- 
vid de  la  Mont,  to  France,  on  the  message  of  defiance  from 
James  IV.  to  Henry  VIII.  It  was  often  an  office  imposed  on 
the  Lion  King-at-arms,  to  receive  foreign  ambassadors  ;  and 
Lindesay  himself  did  this  honor  to  Sir  Ralph  Sadler  in  1539-40. 
Indeed,  the  oath  of  the  Lion,  in  its  first  article,  bears  reference 
to  his  frequent  employment  upon  royal  messages  and  embas- 
sies. 

The  office  of  heralds,  in  feudal  times,  being  held  of  the  ut- 
most importance,  the  inauguration  of  the  Kings-at-arms,  who 
presided  over  their  colleges,  was  proportionally  solemn.  In 
fact,  it  was  the  mimicry  of  a  royal  coronation,  except  that  the 
unction  was  made  with  wine  instead  of  oil.  In  Scotland,  a 
namesake  and  kinsman  of  Sir  David  Lindesay,  inaugurated  in 
1592,  "was  crowned  by  King  James  with  the  ancient  crown 
of  Scotland,  which  was  used  before  the  Scottish  kings  assumed 
a  close  crown  ;  and,  on  occasion  of  the  same  solemnity,  dined 
at  the  King's  table,  wearing  the  crown.  It  is  probable  that 
the  coronation  of  his  predecessor  was  not  less  solemn.  So 
sacred  was  the  herald's  office,  that,  in  1515,  Lord  Drummond 
was  by  Parliament  declared  guilty  of  treason,  and  his  lands 
forfeited,  because  he  had  struck  with  his  fist  the  Lion  King- 
»t-arms,  when  he  reproved  him  for  his  follies.1  Nor  was  he 
stored,  but  at  the  Lion's  earnest  solicitation. 


Note  2  Z. 


Crtc/itoun  Castle.—?.  118. 

A  large  ruinous  castle  on  the  banks  of  the  Tyne,  about  ten 
miles  from  Edinburgh.  As  indicated  in  the  text,  it  was  built 
at  different  times,  and  with  a  very  differing  regard  to  splendor 
and  accommodation.  The  oldest  part  of  the  building  is  a  nar- 
row keep,  or  tower,  such  as  formed  the  mansion  of  a  lesser 
Scottish  baron ;  but  so  many  additions  have  been  made  to  it, 
that  there  is  now  a  large  court-yard,  surrounded  by  buildings 
of  different  ages.  The  eastern  front  of  the  court  is  raised  above 
a  portico,  and  decorated  with  entablatures,  bearing  anchors. 
All  the  stones  of  this  front  are  cut  into  diamond  facets,  the 
angular  projections  of  which  have  an  uncommonly  rich  appear- 
ance. The  inside  of  this  part  of  the  building  appears  to  have 
contained  a  gallery  of  great  length  and  uncommon  elegance. 


Scotland  will  bear  witness,  that  pa,  da,  lyn,  are  the  first  efforts  of  a  child 
to  6ay,  "  JPhare's  David  Lindesay P'3  and  that  the  subsequent  words 
begin  another  sentence — 


Upon  the  lute 


Then  played  I  twenty  springis  perqueir,"  Ac. 

In  another  place,  "justing  lumis,"  i.  e.  looms,  or  implements  of  tilting, 
'*  facetiously  interpreted  "  playful  limbs."  Many  such  minute  errors  could 
be  pointed  out ;  but  these  are  only  mentioned  incidentally,  and  not  as  di- 
minishing the  real  merit  of  the  edition. 

1  The  record  expresses,  or  rather  is  said  to  have  expressed,  the  cause  of 
forfeiture  to  be, — "  Eo  quod  Leonem,  armorum  Regem  pugno  violasset 
dum  turn  de  ineptiis  suis  admonet."See  Nisbbt's  Heraldry^  Part  iv. 
chap.  xvi. ;  and  Leslai  Historia  ad  Annum  1515. 

2  ["  In  Scotland,  formerly,  as  still  in  some  parts  of  Greece,  the  great 
chieftains  required,  as  an  acknowledgment  of  their  authority,  that  those 
who  passed  through  their  lands  should  repair  to  their  castle,  to  explain  the 
purpose  of  their  journey,  and  receive  the  hospitality  suited  to  their  rank. 

3  It  is  suggested  by  an  ingenious  correspondent,  that  Pa,  da,  lyn,  ought 
mtW  to  be  interpreted,  play,  Davy  Lindesay. 


Access  was  given  to  it  by  a  magnificent  staircase,  now  quite 
destroyed.  The  soffits  are  ornamented  with  twining  cordage 
and  rosettes  ;  and  the  whole  seems  to  have  been  far  more 
splendid  than  was  usual  in  Scottish  castles.  The  castle 
belonged  originally  to  the  Chancellor,  Sir  William  Crichton, 
and  probably  owed  to  him  its  first  enlargement,  as  well  as  its 
being  taken  by  the  Earl  of  Douglas,  who  imputed  to  Crichton's 
counsels  the  death  of  his  predecessor,  Earl  William,  beheaded 
in  Edinburgh  Castle,  with  his  brother,  in  1440.  It  is  said  tc 
have  been  totally  demolished  on  that  occasion  ;  but  tie  present 
state  of  the  ruin  shows  the  contrary.  In  1483,  it  was  garrisoned 
by  Lord  Crichton,  then  its  proprietor,  against  King  James  I II., 
whose  displeasure  he  had  incurred  by  seducing  his  sister  Marga- 
ret, in  revenge,  it  is  said,  for  the  Monarch  having  dishonored  his 
bed.  From  the  Crichton  family  the  castle  passed  to  that  of  the 
Hepburns,  Earls  Bothwell ;  and  when  the  forfeitures  of  Stew- 
art, the  last  Earl  of  Bothwell,  were  divided,  the  barony  and 
castle  of  Crichton  fell  to  the  share  of  the  Earl  of  Buccleuch. 
They  were  afterwards  the  property  of  the  Pringles  of  Clifton, 
and  are  now  that  of  Sir  John  Callender,  Baronet.  It  were  to 
be  wished  the  proprietor  would  take  a  little  pains  to  preserve 
these  splendid  remains  of  antiquity,  which  are  at  present  used 
as  a  fold  for  sheep,  and  wintering  cattle  ;  although,  perhaps, 
there  are  very  few  ruins  in  Scotland  which  display  so  well 
the  style  and  beauty  of  ancient  castle-architecture.  The  cas- 
tle of  Crichton  has  a  dungeon  vault,  called  the  Massy  More. 
The  epithet,  which  is  not  uncommonly  applied  to  the  prisons 
of  other  old  castles  in  Scotland,  is  of  Saracenic  origin.  It  oc- 
curs twice  in  the  "  Epistolce  Itineraria"  of  Tollius.  "  Car- 
eer subterraneus ,  sive,  ut  Mauri  appellant,  Mazmorr," 
p.  147  ;  and  again,  "  Coguntur  omnes  Captivi  sub  noctcm  in 
ergastula  subterranea,  qua  Turcm  Algezerani  vocant  Maz- 
morras,"  p.  243.  The  same  word  applies  to  the  dungeons  of 
the  ancient  Moorish  castles  in  Spain,  and  serves  to  show  from 
what  nation  the  Gothic  style  of  castle-building  was  originally 
derived.* 


Note  3  A. 


Earl  Adam  Hepburn.—?.  118. 

He  was  the  second  Earl  of  Bothwell,  and  fell  in  the  field  of 
Flodden,  where,  according  to  an  ancient  English  poet,  he  dis 
tinguished  himself  by  a  furious  attempt  to  retrieve  the  day  > 

"  Then  on  the  Scottish  part,  right  proud, 
The  Earl  of  Bothwell  then  out  brast, 

And  stepping  forth,  with  stomach  good, 
Into  the  enemies'  throng  he  thrast ; 

And  Bothwell!  Bothwell!  cried  bold, 
To  cause  his  souldiers  to  ensue, 


To  neglect  this  was  held  discourtesy  in  the  great,  and  insolence  in  th« 
inferior  traveller ;  and  so  strictly  was  the  etiquette  insisted  on  by  some 
feudal  lords,  that  the  Lord  Oliphant  is  said  to  have  planted  guns  at  his 
castle  of  Newtyle  in  Angus,  so  as  to  command  the  high  roaa,  and  compel 
all  restive  passengers  to  do  this  act  of  homage. 

"  It  chanced  when  such  ideas  were  predominant,  that  the  Lord  of  Crich- 
ton Castle  received  intelligence  that  a  Southern  chieftain  of  high  rank, 
some  say  Scott  of  Buccleuch,  was  to  pass  his  dwelling  on  his  return  from 
court.  The  Lord  of  Crichton  made  great  preparation  to  banquet  Ins 
expected  guest,  who  nevertheless  rode  past  the  castle  without  paying  the 
expected  visit.  In  his  first  burst  of  indignation,  the  Baron  pursued  the 
discourteous  traveller  with  a  body  of  horse,  made  him  prisoner,  and  confined 
him  in  the  dungeon,  while  he  himself  and  his  vassals  feasted  upon  the  gouo. 
cheer  which  had  been  provided.  With  the  morning,  however,  cam< 
reflection,  and  anxiety  for  the  desperate  feud  which  impended,  as  the 
necessary  consequence  of  his  rough  proceeding.  It  is  said,  that,  by  way  of 
amende  honorable^  the  Baron,  upon  the  second  day,  placed  his  compelled 
guest  in  his  seat  of  honor  in  the  hall,  while  he  himself  retired  into  his  owp 
dungeon,  and  thus  did  at  once  penance  for  his  rashness,  Mtisfied  the  honoi 
of  the  stranger  chief,  and  put  a  stop  tc  the  feud  which  mnat  otherwise 
have  taken  place  between  them."— Sir  Waller  Scott's  Miscellaneour 
Prost  Works,  vol.  vii.  pp.  192-3.1— Ed. 


loci 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


But  there  he  caught  a  wellcome  cold, 

The  Englishmen  straight  down  him  threw. 
Ti) us  Haburn  through  his  hardy  heart 
His  fatal  fine  in  conflict  found,"  &c. 

Flodden  Field,  a  Poem  ;  edited  by 
H.  Weber.    Edin.  1808. 

Adam  was  grandfather  to  James,  Earl  of  Bothwell,  too  well 
known  in  the  history  of  Queen  Mary. 


Note  3  B. 


For  that  a  messenger  from  heaven, 
In  vain  to  James  had  counsel  given, 
Against  the  English  war. — P.  119. 

This  story  is  told  by  Pitscottie  with  characteristic  simpli- 
city : — "  The  King,  seeing  that  France  could  get  no  support  of 
him  for  that  time,  made  a  proclamation,  full  hastily,  through 
all  the  realm  of  Scotland,  both  east  and  west,  south  and  north, 
as  well  in  the  isles  as  in  the  firm  land,  to  all  manner  of  men 
between  sixty  and  sixteen  years,  that  they  should  be  ready, 
within  twenty  days,  to  pass  with  him,  with  forty  days  victual, 
and  to  meet  at  the  Burrow-muir  of  Edinburgh,  and  there  to 
pass  forward  where  he  pleased.  His  proclamations  were  hastily 
obeyed,  contrary  to  the  Council  of  Scotland's  will ;  but  every 
man  loved  his  prince  so  well  that  they  would  on  no  ways 
lisobey  him  ;  but  every  man  caused  make  his  proclamation  so 
nastily,  conform  to  the  charge  of  the  King's  proclamation. 

"  The  King  came  to  Lithgow,  where  he  happened  to  be 
for  the  time  at  the  Council,  very  sad  and  dolorous,  makitig  his 
devotion  to  God,  to  send  him  good  chance  and  fortune  in  his 
voyage.  In  this  mean  time  there  came  a  man,  clad  in  a  blue 
gown,  in  at  the  kirk  door,  and  belted  about  him  in  a  roll  of 
linen  cloth  ;  a  pair  of  brotikings1  on  his  feet,  to  the  great  of 
his  legs  ;  with  all  other  hose  and  clothes  conform  thereto  :  but 
he  had  nothing  on  his  head,  but  syde2  red  yellow  hair  behind, 
and  on  his  haffets,3  which  wan  down  to  his  shoulders  ;  but 
his  forehead  was  bald  and  bare.  He  seemed  to  be  a  man  of 
two-and-fifty  years,  with  a  great  pike-staff"  in  his  hand,  and 
came  first  forward  among  the  lords,  crying  and  ipeirinf*  for  the 
King,  saying,  he  desired  to  speak  with  him.  While,  at  the 
last,  he  came  where  the  king  was  sitting  in  the  desk  at  his 
prayers ;  but  when  he  saw  the  King,  he  made  him  little 
reverence  or  salutation,  but  leaned  down  groriiing  on  the  desk 
before  him,  and  said  to  him  in  this  manner,  as  after  follows: 
Sir  King,  my  mother  hath  sent  me  to  you,  desiring  you  not  to 
pass,  at  this  time,  where  thou  art  purposed  ;  for  if  thou  does, 
thou  wilt  not  fare  well  in  thy  journey,  nor  none  that  passeth 
with  thee.  Further,  she  bade  thee  mell5  with  no  woman,  nor 
use  their  counsel,  nor  let  them  touch  thy  body,  nor  thou 
theirs  ;  for,  if  thou  do  it,  thou  wilt  be  confounded  and  brought 
to  shame.' 

"  By  this  man  had  spoken  thir  words  unto  the  King's  grace, 
the  evening-song  was  near  done,  and  the  King  paused  on  thir 
words,  studying  to  give  him  an  answer  ;  but,  in  the  meantime, 
before  the  King's  eyes,  and  in  the  presence  of  all  the  lords  that 
were  about  him  for  the  time,  this  man  vanished  away,  and 
could  no  ways  be  seen  or  comprehended,  but  vanished  away 
as  he  had  been  a  blink  of  the  sun,  or  a  whip  of  the  whirlwind, 
and  could  wo  more  be  seen.  I  heard  say,  Sir  David  Lindesay 
Lyon-herauld,  and  John  Inglis  the  marshal,  who  were,  at  that 
time,  young  men,  and  special  servants  to  the  King's  grace, 
were  standing  presently  beside  the  King,  who  thought  to  have 
laid  lianas  on  this  man,  that  they  might  have  speired  further 
tidings  at  him:  But  all  for  naught;  they  could  not  touch 
nim ;  for  he  vanished  away  betwixt  them,  and  was  no  more 
*een." 

Buchanan,    m   more   elegant,   though  not  more  impressive 


language,  tells  the  same  story,  and  quotes  the  personal  informa- 
tion of  our  Sir  David  Lindesay  :  "  In  Us  (i.  e.  qui  propius 
astiterant),  fait  David  Lindcsius,  Montanus,  homo  spectata 
fidei  et  probitatis,  nee  a  litcrarum  studiis  alicnus,  et  cujus 
totius  vita  tenor  logissime  a  mentiendo  aberrat ;  a  quo  nisi 
ego  hcec  uti  tradidi,  pro  certis  accepissem,  ut  vulgatam  va- 
nis  rumoribus  fabulum,  omissurus  eram.1' — Lib.  xiii.  The 
King's  throne,  in  St.  Catherine's  aisle,  which  lie  had  con 
structed  for  himself,  with  twelve  stalls  for  the  Knights  Com 
panions  of  the  Order  of  the  Thistle,  is  still  shown  as  the  place 
where  the  apparition  was  seen.  [  know  not  by  what  means 
St.  Andrew  got  the  credit  of  having  been  the  celebrated  rnoni 
tor  of  James  IV.  ;  for  the  expression  in  Lindesay's  narrative, 
"  My  mother  has  sent  me,"  could  only  be  used  by  St.  John, 
the  adopted  son  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  The  whole  story  is  so 
well  attested,  that  we  have  only  the  choice  between  a  miracle 
or  an  imposture.  Mr.  Pinkerton  plausibly  argues,  from  the 
caution  against  incontinence,  that  the  Queen  was  privy  to  the 
scheme  of  those  who  had  recourse  to  this  expedient  to  det*r 
King  James  from  his  impolitic  war. 


Buski 


2  Long. 


Note  3  C. 

The  wild-buck  bells.— P.  119. 

I  am  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  describe  the  cry  of  the  deei 
by  another  word  than  braying,  although  the  latter  has  been 
sanctified  by  the  use  of  the  Scottish  metrical  translation  of 
the  Psalms.  Bell  seems  to  be  an  abbreviation  of  bellow. 
This  sylvan  sound  conveyed  great  delight  to  our  ancestors, 
chiefly,  I  suppose,  from  association.  A  gentle  knight  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  Sir  Thomas  Wortley,  built  Wantley 
Lodge,  in  Wuncliffe  Forest,  for  the  pleasure  (as  an  ancient 
inscription  testifies)  of  "  listening  to  the  hart's  bell  " 


Note  3  D. 


June  saw  his  father's  overthrow. — P.  119. 

The  rebellion  against  James  III.  was  signalized  by  the 
cruel  circumstance  of  his  son's  presence  in  the  hostile  army. 
When  the  King  saw  his  own  banner  displayed  against  him, 
and  his  son  in  the  faction  of  his  enemies,  he  lost  the  little 
courage  he  had  ever  possessed,  fled  out  of  the  field,  fell  from 
his  horse  as  it  started  at  a  woman  and  water-pitcher,  and 
was  slain,  it  is  not  well  understood  by  whom.  James  IV., 
after  the  battle,  passed  to  Stirling,  and  hearing  the  monks  ol 
the  chapel-royal  deploring  the  death  of  his  father,  their  founder, 
he  was  seized  with  deep  remorse,  which  manifested  itself  in 
severe  penances.  See  a  following  note  on  stanza  ix.  of  canto 
v.  The  battle  of  Sauchie-burn,  in  which  James  III.  fell,  was 
fought  18th  June,  1488. 


Note  3  E. 
The  Borough-moor. — P.  122. 

The  Borough,  or  Common  Moor  of  Edinburgh,  was  of  very 
great  extent,  reaching  from  the  southern  walls  of  the  city  to 
the  bottom  of  Braid  Hills.  It  was  anciently  a  forest ;  and,  in 
that  state,  wa3  so  great  a  nuisance,  that  the  inhabitants  of 
Edinburgh  had  permission  granted  to  them  of  building  wooden 
galleries,  projecting  over  the  street,  in  order  to  encourage 
them  to  consume  the  timber,  which  they  seem  to  have  done 
very  effectually.  When  James  IV.  mustered  the  array  of  the 
kingdom  there,  in  1513,  the  Borough-moor  was,  according  to 
Hawthornden,  "  a  field  spacious,  and  delightful  by  the  shade 
of  many  stately  and  aged  oaks."      Upon  that,  and  uimiia 

4  Asking.  5  MnddK 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


169 


occasions,  the  royal  standard  is  traditionally  said  to  have  been 
displayed  from  the  Hare-Stane,  a  high  stone,  now  built  into 
the  wall,  on  the  left  hand  of  the  highway  leading  towards 
Braid,  not  far  from  the  head  of  Burntsfield  Links.  The  Hare- 
Stane  probably  derives  its  name  from  the  British  word  Har, 
signifying  an  army. 


Note  3  F. 


Pavilions.— P.  122. 

I  do  not  exactly  know  the  Scottish  mode  of  encampment  in 
1513,  but  Patten  gives  a  curious  description  of  that  which  he 
3aw  after  the  battle  of  Pinkey,  in  1547  : — "  Here,  now,  to  say 
somewhat  of  the  manner  of  their  camp.  As  they  had  no  pavil- 
ions, or  round  houses,  of  any  commendable  compass,  so  wear 
there  few  other  tentes  with  posts,  as  the  used  manner  of  mak- 
ing is  ;  and  of  these  few  also,  none  of  above  twenty  foot  length  ; 
but  most  far  under  ;  for  the  most  part  all  very  sumptuously  be- 
»et  (after  their  fashion),  for  the  love  of  France,  with  fleur-de- 
lys,  some  of  blue  buckeram,  some  of  black,  and  some  of  some 
other  colours.  These  white  ridges,  as  I  call  them,  that,  as  we 
stood  on  Fauxsyde  Bray,  did  make  so  great  muster  toward  us, 
which  I  did  take  then  to  be  a  number  of  tentes,  when  we  came, 
we  found  it  a  linen  drapery,  of  the  coarser  cambryk  in  dede, 
for  it  was  all  of  canvas  sheets,  and  wear  the  tenticles,  or  rather 
cabyns  and  couches  of  their  soldiers  ;  the  which  (much  after 
the  common  building  of  their  country  beside)  had  they  framed 
of  four  sticks,  about  an  ell  long  a  piece,  whearof  two  fastened 
together  at  one  end  aloft,  and  the  two  endes  beneath  stuck  in 
the  ground,  an  ell  asunder,  standing  in  fashion  like  the  bowes 
of  a  sowes  yoke ;  over  two  such  bowes  (one,  as  it  were,  at 
their  head,  the  other  at  their  feet),  they  stretched  a  sheet  down 
on  both  sides,  whereby  their  cabin  became  roofed  like  a  ridge, 
but  skant  shut  at  both  ends,  and  not  very  close  beneath  on  the 
sides,  unless  their  sticks  were  the  shorter,  or  their  wives  the 
more  liberal  to  lend  them  larger  napery  ;  howbeit,  when  they 
had  lined  them,  and  stuff'd  them  so  thick  with  straw,  with  the 
weather  as  it  was  not  very  cold,  when  they  wear  ones  couched, 
they  were  as  warm  as  they  had  been  wrapt  in  horses  dung." — 
Patten's  Account  of  Somerset's  Expedition. 


Note  3  G-. 

in  proud  Scotland's  royal  shield, 

The  ruddy  lion  ramp'd  in  gold. — P.  122. 

The  well-known  arms  of  Scotland.  If  you  will  believe  Boe- 
thius  and  Buchanan,  the  double  tressure  round  the  shield,  men- 
tioned, counter  Jleur-de-lysed  or  lingued  and  armed  azure, 
was  first  assumed  by  Echaius,  King  of  Scotland,  contemporary 
of  Charlemagne,  and  founder  of  the  celebrated  League  with 
France  ;  but  later  antiquaries  make  poor  Eochy,  or  Achy,  lit- 
tle better  than  a  sort  of  King  of  Brentford,  whom  old  Grig 
(who  has  also  swelled  into  Gregorius  Magnus)  associated  with 
h.mself  in  the  important  duty  of  governing  some  part  of  the 
northeastern  coast  of  Scotland. 


Note  3  H. 

Caledonia's  Queen  is  changed. — P.  124. 

The  Old  Town  of  Edinburgh  was  secured  on  the  north  side 
by  a  lake,  now  drained,  and  on  the  south  by  a  wall,  which 
there  was  some  attempt  to  make  defensible  even  so  late  as  1745. 
The  gates,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  wall,  have  been  pulled 
down,  in  the  course  of  the  late  extensive  and  beautiful  enlarge- 
ment of  the  city.  My  ingenious  and  valued  friend,  Mr.  Tho- 
mas Campbell,  proposed  to  celebrate  Edinburgh  under  the  epi- 
22 


thet  here  borrowed.  But  the  "  Queen  of  the  North"  has  not 
been  so  fortunate  as  to  receive  from  so  eminent  a  pen  the  pro- 
posed distinction 


Note  3  I. 


Since  first,  when  conquering  York  arose, 
To  Henry  meek  she  gave  repose. — P.  125. 

Henry  VI.,  with  his  Queen,  his  heir,  and  the  chiefs  of  Ml 
family,  fled  to  Scotland  after  the  fatal  battle  of  Tnwton.  In 
this  note  a  doubt  was  formerly  expressed,  whether  Henry  VI 
came  to  Edinburgh,  though  his  (iueen  certainly  did  ;  Mr.  Pis* 
kerton  inclining  to  believe  that  he  remained  at  Kirkcudbright. 
But  my  noble  friend,  Lord  Napier,  has  pointed  out  to  me  a 
grant  by  Henry,  of  an  annuity  of  forty  marks  to  his  Lordship's 
ancestor,  John  Napier,  subscribed  by  the  King  himself,  at 
Edinburgh,  the  28th  day  of  August,  in  the  thirty-ninth  year  of 
his  reign,  which  corresponds  to  the  year  of  God,  14(51.  This 
grant,  Douglas,  with  his  usual  neglect  of  accuracy,  dates  in 
1368.  But  this  error  being  corrected  from  the  copy  in  Macfar- 
lane's  MSS.,  p.  119,  20,  removes  all  skepticism  on  the  subject 
of  Henry  VI.  being  really  at  Edinburgh.  John  Napier  was 
son  and  heir  of  Sir  Alexander  Napier,  and  about  this  time  wai 
Provost  of  Edinburgh.  The  hospitable  reception  of  the  dis 
tressed  monarch  and  his  family,  called  forth  on  Scotland  the 
encomium  of  Molinet,  a  contemporary  poet.  The  English 
people,  he  says, — 

"  Ung  nouveau  roy  creerent 

Par  despiteux  vouloir, 

Le  viel  en  dcboutercnt, 

Et  son  legitime  hoir, 

Qui  fuytyf  alia  prendre, 

D'  Escosse  le  gar  and, 

De  tous  siecles  le  mendre, 

Et  le  plus  toller  ant." 

Recollection  des  Avantures. 


Note  3  K. 

the  romantic  strain, 

Whose  Anglo-Norman  tones  whilcre 
Could  win  the  royal  Henry's  ear. — P.  125. 

Mr.  Ellis,  in  his  valuable  Introduction  to  the  "  Specimens 
of  Romance,  has  proved,  by  the  concurring  testimony  of  La 
Ravaillere,  Tressan,  but  especially  the  Abbe  de  la  Rue,  that 
the  courts  of  our  Anglo-Norman  Kings,  rather  than  those  of  the 
French  monarch,  produced  the  birth  of  Romance  literature. 
Marie,  soon  after  mentioned,  compiled  from  Armorican  origi- 
nals, and  translated  into  Norman-French,  or  romance  language, 
the  twelve  curious  Lays,  of  which  Mr.  Ellis  has  given  us  a 
precis  in  the  Appendix  to  his  Introduction.  The  story  of  Blon- 
del,  the  famous  and  faithful  minstrel  of  Richard  I.,  needs  no 
commentary. 


Note  3  L. 


The  cloth-yard  arrows. — P.  126. 

This  is  no  poetical  exaggeration.  In  some  of  the  counties  of 
England,  distinguished  for  archery,  shafts  of  this  extraordinary 
length  were  actually  used.  Thus,  at  the  battle  of  Blackheath, 
between  the  troops  of  Henry  VII.,  and  the  Cornish  insurgents, 
in  1496,  the  bridge  of  Dartford  was  defended  by  a  picked  band 
of  archers  from  the  rebel  army,  "  whose  arrows,"  says  Hollin- 
shed,  "  were  in  length  a  full  cloth  yard."  The  Scottish,  ac- 
cording to  Ascham,  had  a  proverb,  that  every  English  archei 


170 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


carried  under  his  belt  twenty-four  Scots,  in  allusion  to  his  bun- 
dle of  unerring  shafts. 


Note  3  M. 


To  pass,  to  wheel,  the  croupe  to  gair\ 
And  high  curvett,  that  not  in  vain 
The  sword  sway  might  descend  amain 
Onfoeman's  casque  below. — P.  126. 

**  The  most  useful  air,  as  the  Frenchmen  term  it,  is  terri- 
ttrr ;  the  courbettes,  cabrioles,  or  un  pas  et  un  sault,  being 
fitter  for  horses  of  parade  and  triumph  than  for  soldiers  :  yet  1 
cannot  deny  but  a  demivolte  with  courbettes,  so  that  they  be 
not  too  high,  may  be  useful  in  a  fight  or  meslee  ;  for,  as  La- 
broue  hath  it,  in  his  Book  of  Horsemanship,  Monsieur  de 
Montmorency  having  a  horse  that  was  excellent  in  performing 
the  demivolte,  did,  with  his  sword,  strike  down  two  adversaries 
from  their  horses  in  a  tourney,  where  divers  of  the  prime  gal- 
lants of  France  did  meet ;  for,  taking  his  time,  when  the  horse 
was  in  the  height  of  his  courbette,  and  discharging  a  blow 
then,  his  sword  fell  with  such  weight  and  force  upon  the  two 
cavaliers,  one  after  another,  that  he  struck  them  from  their 
horses  to  the  ground." — Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury's  Life, 
p.4« 


Note  3  N. 


He  saw  the  hardy  burghers  there 

March  arm'd  on  foot  with  faces  bare. — P.  126. 

The  Scottish  burgessess  were,  like  yeomen,  appointed  to  be 
armed  with  bows  and  sheaves,  sword,  buckler,  knife,  spear,  or 
a  good  axe  instead  of  a  bow,  if  worth  .£100  ;  their  armor  to  be 
of  white  or  bright  harness.  They  wore  white  hats,  i.  e.  bright 
steel  caps,  without  crest  or  visor.  By  an  act  of  James  IV. 
their  weapon-schawings  are  appointed  to  be  held  four  times  a 
year,  under  the  alderman  or  bailiffs. 


Note  3  0. 

On  foot  the  yeoman  too 

Each  at  his  back  (a  slender  store) 

His  forty  days'  provision  bore, 

His  arms  were  halbert,  axe,  or  spear. — P.  126. 

Bows  and  quivers  were  in  vain  recommended  to  the  pea- 
santry of  Scotland,  by  repeated  statutes  ;  spears  and  axes  seem 
universally  to  have  been  used  instead  of  them.  Their  defen- 
sive armor  was  the  plate-jack,  hauherk,  or  brigantine ;  and 
their  missile  weapons  crossbows  and  culverins.  All  wore 
swords  of  excellent  temper,  according  to  Patten  ;  and  a  volu- 
minous handkerchief  round  their  neck,  "  not  for  cold,  but  for 
cutting."  The  mace  also  was  much  used  in  the  Scottish 
army :  The  old  poem  on  the  battle  of  Flodden  mentions  a 
band — 

"  Who  manfully  did  meet  their  foes, 
With  leaden  maules,  and  lances  long." 

When  the  feudal  array  of  the  kingdom  was  called  forth, 
•.uch  man  was  obliged  to  appear  with  forty  days'  provision. 
When  this  was  expended,  which  took  place  before  the  battle 
of  Flodden,  the  army  melted  away  of  course.  Almost  all  the 
Scottish  forces,  except  a  few  knights,  men-at-arms,  and  the 
Border-prickers,  who  formed  excellent  light  cavalry,  acted 
upon  loot . 


Note  3  P. 
A  banquet  rich,  and  costly  wines. — P.  128. 
In  all  transactions  of  great  or  petty  importance,  and  among 
whomsoever  taking  place,  it  would  seem  that  a  present  of  wine 
was  a  uniform  and  indispensable  preliminary.  It  was  sot  to 
Sir  John  FalstafT  alone  that  such  an  introductory  preface  was 
necessary,  however  well  judged  and  acceptable  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Brook  ;  for  Sir  Ralph  Sadler,  while  on  an  embassy  to 
Scotland  in  1539-40,  mentions,  with  complacency,  "  the  same 
night  came  Rothesay  (the  herald  so  called)  to  me  again,  and 
brought  me  wine  from  the  King,  both  white  and  red." — Clif 
ford's  Edition,  p.  39. 


Note  3  Q. 


-his  iron-belt, 


That  bound  his  breast  in  penance  pain, 
In  memory  of  his  father  slain. — P.  129. 

Few  readers  need  to  be  reminded  of  this  belt,  to  the  weight 
of  which  James  added  certain  ounces  every  year  that  he  lived. 
Pitscottie  founds  his  belief,  that  James  was  not  slain  in  the  bat- 
tle of  Flodden,  because  the  English  never  had  this  token  of  the 
iron-belt  to  show  to  any  Scottish  man.  The  person  and  char- 
acter of  James  are  delineated  according  to  our  best  historians. 
His  romantic  disposition,  which  led  him  highly  to  relish  gayety, 
approaching  to  license,  was,  at  the  same  time,  tinged  with  en- 
thusiastic devotion.  These  propensities  sometimes  formed  a 
strange  contrast.  He  was  wont,  during  his  fits  of  devotion,  to 
assume  the  dress,  and  conform  to  the  rules,  of  the  order  of  Fran- 
ciscans ;  and  when  he  had  thus  done  penance  for  some  time  in 
Stirling,  to  plunge  again  into  the  tide  ot'  pleasure.  Probably, 
too,  with  no  unusual  inconsistency,  he  sometimes  laughed  at 
the  superstitious  observances  to  which  he  at  other  times  sub- 
jected himself.  There  is  a  very  singular  poem  by  Dunbar, 
seemingly  addressed  to  James  IV.,  on  one  of  these  occasions  of 
monastic  seclusion.  It  is  a  most  daring  and  profane  parody  on 
the  services  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  entitled, — 

"  Dunbar'1 s  Dirige  to  the  King, 
Byding  ower  lang  in  Striviling. 

We  that  are  here,  in  heaven's  glory, 
To  you  that  are  in  Purgatory, 
Commend  us  on  our  hearty  wise  ; 
I  mean  we  folks  in  Paradise, 
In  Edinburgh,  with  all  merriness, 
To  you  in  Stirling,  with  distress, 
Where  neither  pleasure  nor  delight  is, 
For  pity  this  epistle  writis,"  &c. 

See  the  whole  in  Sibbald's  Collection,  vol.  i.  p.  234. 


Note  3  R. 

Sir  Hugh  the  Heron's  wife. — P.  129. 

It  has  been  already  noticed  [see  note  to  stanza  xiii.  of  canto 
i.],  that  King  James's  acquaintance  with  Lady  Heron  of  Ford 
did  not  commence  until  he  inarched  into  England.  Our  his- 
torians impute  to  the  King's  infatuated  passion  the  delays 
which  led  to  the  fatal  defeat  of  Flodden.  The  author  of 
"The  Genealogy  of  the  Heron  Family"  endeavors,  with  laud- 
able anxiety,  to  clear  the  Lady  Ford  from  this  scaniial :  hat 
she  came  and  went,  however,  between  the  armies  of  Jame.  and 
Surrey,  is  certain.  See  Pinkerton's  History,  and  the  au- 
thorities he  refers  to,  vol.  ii.  p.  99.  Heron  of  Ford  had  been, 
in  1511,  in  some  sort  accessory  to  the  slaughter  of  Sir  Robert 
Kerr  of  Cessford,  Warder  of  the  Middle  Marches.     It  wai 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


171 


committed  Ly  his  brother  the  bastard,  Lilburn,  and  Ftarked, 
thr.se  Borderers.  Lilburn  and  Heron  of  Ford  were  delivered 
up  by  Henry  to  James,  and  were  imprisoned  in  the  fortress  of 
Fasteastle,  where  the  former  died.  Part  of  the  pretence  of 
Lady  Ford's  negotiation  with  James  was  the  liberty  of  her  hus- 
band 


Note  3  S. 


The  fair  Queen  of  France 
Sent  him  a  turquois  ring  and  glove, 
And  charged  him,  as  her  knight  and  love, 

For  her  to  break  a  lance. — P.  129. 

M  Also  the  Queen  of  France  wrote  a  love-letter  to  the  King 
of  Scotland,  calling  him  her  love,  showing  him  that  she  had 
suffered  much  rebuke  in  France  for  the  defending  of  his  honor. 
She  believed  surely  that  he  would  recompense  her  again  with 
some  of  bis  kingly  support  in  her  necessity  ;  that  is  to  say,  that 
he  would  raise  her  an  army,  and  come  three  foot  of  ground  on 
English  ground,  for  her  sake.  To  that  effect  she  sent  him  a 
ring  off  her  finger,  with  fourteen  thousand  French  crowns  to 
pay  his  expenses."  Pitscottie,  p.  110. — A  turquois  ring; 
probably  this  fatal  gift  is,  with  James's  sword  and  dagger,  pre- 
•erved  in  the  College  of  Heralds,  London. 


Note  3  T. 


Archibald  Bcli-the-Cat.—V.  130. 

Archibald  Douglas,  Earl  of  Angus,  a  man  remarkable  for 
rtrength  of  body  and  mind,  acquired  the  popular  name  of 
Bell-the-Cat,  upon  the  following  remarkable  occasion  : — James 
the  Third,  of  whom  Pitscottie  complains,  that  he  delighted 
more  in  music,  and  "  policies  of  building,"  than  in  hunting, 
hawking,  and  other  noble  exercises,  was  so  ill  advised,  as  to 
make  favorites  of  his  architects  and  musicians,  whom  the  same 
historian  irreverently  terms  masons  and  fiddlers.  His  nobility, 
who  did  not  sympathize  in  the  King's  respect,  for  the  fine  arts, 
were  extremely  incensed  at  the  honors  conferred  on  those^er- 
Bons,  particularly  on  Cochrane,  a  mason,  who  had  been  crerrted 
Earl  of  Mar  ^  and,  seizing  the  opportunity,  when,  in  1482, 
the  King  had  convoked  the  whole  array  of  the  country  to 
march  against  the  English,  they  held  a  midnight  council  in  the 
church  of  Lauder,  for  the  purpose  of  forcibly  removing  these 
minions  from  the  King's  person.  When  all  had  agreed  on  the 
propriety  of  this  measure,  Lord  Gray  told  the  assembly  the 
apologue  of  the  Mice,  who  had  formed  a  resolution  that  it 
wouid  be  highly  advantageous  to  their  community  to  tie  a  bell 
round  the  cat's  neck,  that  they  might  hear  her  approach  at  a 
distance  ;  but  which  public  measure  unfortunately  miscarried, 
*n>m  no  mouse  being  willing  to  undertake  the  task  of  fastening 
tne  bell.  "  I  understand  the  moral,"  said  Angus,  "  and,  that 
what  we  propose  may  not  lack  execution,  I  will  bcll-the-cat." 
The  rest  of  the  strange  scene  is  thus  told  by  Pitscottie  : — 

"  By  this  was  advised  and  spoken  by  thir  lords  foresaid, 
Cochran,  the  Earl  of  Mar,  came  from  the  King  to  the  council 
('which  council  was  holden  in  the  kirk  of  Lauder  for  the  time), 
who  was  well  accompanied  with  a  band  of  men  of  war,  to  the 
number  of  three  hundred  light  axes,  all  clad  in  white  livery, 
and  black  bends  thereon,  that  they  might  be  known  for 
Cochran  the  Earl  of  Mar's  men.  Himself  was  clad  in  a 
riding-pie  of  black  velvet,  with  a  great  chain  of  gold  about  his 
neck,  to  the  value  of  five  hundred  crowns,  and  four  blowing 
norns,  with  both  the  ends  of  gold  and  silk,  set  with  a  precious 
stone,  called  a  berry]  hanging  in  the  midst.  This  Cochran 
had  his  heumont  borne  before  him,  overgilt  with  gold,  and  so 
were  all  the  rest  of  his  horns,  and  all  his  pallions  were  of  fine 
canvas  of  silk,  and  the  cords  thereof  fine  twined  silk,  and  the 
thains  upon  his  pallions  were  double  overgilt  with  gold. 


"  This  Cochran  was  so  proud  in  his  conceit,  that  he  counted 
no  lords  to  be  marrows  to  him,  therefore  he  rushed  rudely  at 
the  kirk-door.  The  council  inquired  who  it  was  that  perturbed 
them  at  that  time.  Sir  Robert  DoueJas,  Laird  of  Lochleven, 
was  keeper  of  the  kirk-door  at  that  time,  who  inquired  who 
that  was  that  knocked  so  rudely  1  and  Cochran  answered, 
'This  is  I,  the  Earl  of  Mar.'  The  which  news  pleased  well 
the  lords,  because  they  were  ready  boun  to  cause  take  him,  as 
is  before  rehearsed.  Then  the  Earl  of  Angus  passed  hastily  to 
the  door,  and  with  him  Sir  Robert  Douglas  of  Lochleveo, 
there  to  receive  in  the  Earl  of  Mar,  and  so  many  cf  his  com- 
plices who  were  there,  as  they  thought  good.  And  the  Eari 
of  Angus  met  with  the  Earl  of  Mar,  as  he  came  in  at  the  door, 
and  pulled  the  golden  chain  from  his  craig,  and  said  to  him,  a 
tovvi  would  set  him  better.  Sir  Robert  Douglas  syne  pulled 
the  blowing  horn  from  him  in  like  manner,  and  said,  '  He  had 
been  the  hunter  of  mischief  over  long.'  This  Cochran  asked, 
'  My  lords,  is  it  mows,2  or  earnest  V  They  answered,  and 
said,  '  It  is  good  earnest,  and  so  thou  shalt  find  ;  for  thou  and 
thy  complices  have  abused  our  prince  this  long  time  ;  of  whom 
thou  shalt  have  no  more  credence,  but  shalt  have  thy  reward 
according  to  thy  good  service,  as  thou  hast  deserved  in  limes 
by  past ;  right  so  the  rest  of  thy  followers.' 

"  Notwithstanding,  the  lords  held  them  quiet  till  they  caused 
certain  armed  men  to  pass  into  the  King's  pallion,  and  two  or 
three  wise  men  to  pass  with  them,  and  give  the  King  fair 
pleasant  words,  till  they  laid  hands  on  all  the  King's  servants, 
and  took  them  and  hanged  them  before  his  eyes  over  the  bridge 
of  Lawder.  Incontinent  they  brought  forth  Cochran,  and  his 
hands  bound  with  a  tow,  who  desired  them  to  take  one  of  his 
own  pallion  tows  and  bind  his  hands,  for  he  thought  shame  to 
have  his  hands  bound  with  such  tow  of  hemp,  like  a  thief. 
The  lords  answered,  he  was  a  traitor,  he  deserved  no  better , 
and,  for  despight,  they  took  a  hair  tether,3  and  hanged  him 
over  the  bridge  of  Lawder,  roove  the  rest  of  his  complices." — 
Pitscottie,  p.  78,  folio  edit. 


Note  3  U. 


Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood, 
And  chafed  his  royal  Lord. — P.  130. 

Angus  was  an  old  man  when  the  war  against  England  was 
resolved  upon.  He  earnestly  spoke  against  that  measure  from 
its  commencement ;  and,  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Flodden, 
remonstrated  so  freely  upon  the  impolicy  of  fighting,  that  the 
King  said  to  him,  with  scorn  and  indignation,  "if  he  was 
afraid  he  might  go  home."  The  Earl  burst  into  tears  at  this 
insupportable  insult,  and  retired  accordingly,  leaving  his  sons 
George,  Master  of  Angus,  and  Sir  William  of  Glenbervie,  to 
command  his  followers.  They  were  both  slain  in  the  battle, 
with  two  hundred  gentlemen  of  the  name  of  Douglas.  The 
aged  Earl,  broken-hearted  at  the  calamities  of  his  house  and 
his  country,  retired  into  a  religious  house,  where  he  died  about 
a  year  after  the  field  of  Flodden. 


Note  3  V. 

Tantallon  hold.—?.  131. 

The  ruins  of  Tantallon  Castle  occupy  a  high  rock  projecting 
into  the  German  Ocean,  about  two  miles  east  of  North  Ber- 
wick. The  building  is  not  seen  till  a  close  approach,  as  there 
is  rising  ground  betwixt  it  and  the  land.  The  circuit  is  of 
large  extent,  fenced  upon  three  sides  by  the  precipice  which 
overhangs  the  sea,  and  on  the  fourth  by  a  double  ditch  and 
very  strong  outworks.  Tantallon  was  a  principal  casne  o( 
the  Douglas  family,  and  when  the  Earl  of  Angus  was  banished 
1  Rope.  2  Jest.  3  Halter. 


172 


8C0TTS  POETICAL  WORKS. 


in  15?7  it  continued  to  hold  out  against  James  V.  The  King 
went  in  person  against  it,  and  for  its  reduction,  borrowed  from 
the  Castle  of  Dunbar,  then  belonging  to  the  Duke  of  Albany, 
two  great  cannons,  whose  names,  as  Pitscottie  informs  us  with 
laudable  minuteness,  were  "  Thrawn-mouth'd  Meg  and  her 
Marrow;"  also,  "two  great  botcards,  and  two  moyan,  two 
double  falcons,  and  four  quarter  falcons  ;"  for  the  safe  guiding 
and  re-delivery  of  which,  three  lords  were  laid  in  pawn  at 
Dunbar.  Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this  apparatus,  James  was 
<brced  to  raise  the  siege,  and  only  afterwards  obtained  pos- 
session of  Tantallon  by  treaty  with  the  governor,  Simon  Pa- 
nango.  When  the  Earl  of  Angus  returned  from  banishment, 
upon  the  death'of  James,  he  again  obtained  possession  of  Tan- 
tallon, and  it  actually  afforded  refuge  to  an  English  ambassa- 
dor, under  circumstances  similar  to  those  described  in  the 
text.  This  was  no  other  than  the  celebrated  Sir  Ralph  Sadler, 
who  resided  there  for  some  time  under  Angus's  protection, 
after  the  failure  of  his  negotiation  for  matching  the  infant 
Mary  with  Edward  VI.  He  says,  that  though  this  place  was 
poorly  furnished,  it  was  of  such  strength  as  might  warrant 
him  against  the  malice  of  his  enemies,  and  that  he  now  thought 
himself  out  of  danger.1 

Thtre  is  a  military  tradition,  that  the  old  Scottish  March 
was  meant  to  express  the  words, 

Ding  down  Tantallon, 
Mak  a  brig  to  the  Bass. 

Tantallon  was  at  length  "dung  down"  and  ruined  by  the 
Covenanters  ;  its  lord,  the  Marquis  of  Douglas,  being  a  favorer 
of  the  royal  cause.  The  castle  and  barony  were  sold  in  the 
beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century  to  President  Dalrymple  of 
North  Berwick,  by  the  then  Marquis  of  Douglas. 


Note  3  W. 


Their  motto  on  his  blade. — P.  131. 

A  very  ancient  sword,  in  possession  of  Lord  Douglas,  bears, 
among  a  great  deal  of  flourishing,  two  hands  pointing  to  a 
heart,  which  is  placed  betwixt  them,  and  the  date  1329,  being 
the  year  in  which  Bruce  charged  the  Good  Lord  Douglas  to 
irry  his  heart  to  the  Holy  Land.  The  following  lines  (the 
n"rst  couplet  of  which  is  quoted  by  Godscroft  as  a  popular 
saying  in  his  time)  are  inscribed  around  the  emblem  : 

"  So  mony  guid  as  of  ye  Dovglas  beinge 
Of  ane  surname  was  ne'er  in  Scotland  seine. 

I  will  ye  charge,  efter  yat  I  depart. 

To  holy  grawe,  and  thair  bury  my  hart ; 

Let  it  remane  ever  bothe  tyme  and  howr, 

To  ye  last  day  I  sie  my  Saviour. 

I  do  protest  in  tyme  of  al  my  ringe, 

Ye  lyk  subject  had  never  ony  keing." 

This  curious  and  valuable  relic  was  nearly  lost  during  the 
civil  war  of  1745-6,  being  carried  away  from  Douglas-Castle 
by  some  of  those  in  arms  for  Prince  Charles.  But  great  inter- 
ert  having  been  made  by  the  Duke  of  Douglas  among  the  chief 
partisans  of  the  Stuart,  it  was  at  length  restored.  It  resembles 
a  Highland  claymore,  of  the  usual  size,  is  of  an  excellent  tem- 
iej;  and  admirably  poised. 


Note  3  X. 

Martin  Swart— P.  132. 

A  German  general,  who  commanded  the  auxiliaries  sent  by 
Hie  Duchess  of  Burgundy  with  Lambert  Simnel.     He  was  de- 

1  The  very  curious  State  Papers  of  this  able  negotiator  were,  in  1810, 
|>uMi»hed  by  Mr.  Clifford,  with  scree  notes  by  the  Author  of  Marmion. 


feated  and  killed  at  Stokefield.  The  name  of  this  German 
general  is  preserved  by  that  of  the  field  of  battle,  which  is 
called,  after  him,  Swart-moor. — There  were  songs  about  him 
long  current  in  England. — See  Dissertation  prefixed  to  RiT 
son's  Ancient  Songs,  1792,  p.  lxi. 


Note  3  Y. 


Perchance  some  form  was  unobserved ; 

Perchance  in  prayer,  or  faith,  he  swerved. — P.  132. 

It  was  early  necessary  for  those  who  felt  themselves  obliged 
to  believe  in  the  divine  judgment  being  enunciated  in  the  trial 
by  duel,  to  find  salvos  for  the  strange  and  obviously  preearious 
chances  of  the  combat.  Various  curious  evasive  shifts,  used 
by  those  who  took  up  an  unrighteous  quarrel,  were  supposed 
sufficient  to  convert  it  into  a  just  one.  Thus,  in  the  romance 
of  "  Amvs  and  Amelion,"  the  one  brother-in-arms  fighting 
for  the  other,  disguised  in  his  armor,  swears  that  he  did  not 
commit  the  crime  of  which  the  Steward,  his  antagonist,  truly, 
though  maliciously,  accused  him  whom  he  represented.  Bran- 
tome  tells  a  story  of  an  Italian,  who  entered  the  lists  upon  an 
unjust  quarrel,  but,  to  make  his  cause  good,  fled  from  his  ene- 
my at  the  first  onset.  "Turn,  coward!"  exclaimed  his  an- 
tagonist. "  Thou  liest,"  said  the  Italian,  "  coward  am  I  none  ; 
and  in  this  quarrel  will  I  fight  to  the  death,  but  my  first  cause 
of  combat  was  unjust,  and  I  abandon  it."  "  Je  vous  laisse 
a  penser,"  adds  Brantome,  "  s'il  n'y  a  pas  de  I'abus  la." 
Elsewhere  he  says,  very  sensibly,  upon  the  confidence  which 
those  who  had  a  righteous  cause  entertained  of  victory  :  "  Un 
autre  abus  y  avoit-il,  que  ceux  qui  avoient  un  juste  subjet 
de  querclle,  et  qu'on  les  faisoit  jurer  avant  entrer  au  camp, 
pensoient  estre  aussitost  vainqueurs,  voire  s'cn  assuroient- 
t-ils  du  tout,  mesmcs  que  leurs  confesseurs,  parrnins  et  con- 
fidants leurs  en  respondoient  tout-a-fait,  comme  si  Dieu 
leur  en  eust  donne  une  patente ;  et  ne  regardant  point  a 
d'  autrcs  fautes  passees,  et  que  Dieu  en  garde  la  punition  a 
ce  coup  la  pour  plus  grande,  despiteuse,  et  exemplaire."— 
Disc^irs  sur  les  Duels. 


Note  3  Z. 

The  Cross— P.  134. 

The  Cross  of  Edinburgh  was  an  ancient  and  carious  struc- 
ture. The  lower  part  was  an  octagonal  tower,  sixteen  teet  in 
diameter,  and  about  fifteen  feet  high.  At  each  angle  there 
was  a  pillar,  and  between  them  an  arch,  of  the  Grecian  shape. 
Above  these  was  a  projecting  battlement,  with  a  turret  *.1 
each  corner,  and  medallions,  of  rude  but  curious  workman- 
ship, between  them.  Above  this  rose  the  proper  Cross,  a 
column  of  one  stone,  upwards  of  twenty  feet  high,  surmount- 
ed with  a  unicorn.  This  pillar  is  preserved  in  the  grounds  ol 
the  property  of  Drum,  near  Edinburgh.  The  Magistrates  ol 
Edinburgh,  in  1756,  with  consent  of  the  Lords  of  Session  ( proh 
pudor .')  destroyed  this  curious  monument,  under  a  wanton 
pretext  that  it  encumbered  the  street ;  while,  on  the  one  hand 
they  left  an  ugly  mass  called  the  Luckenbooths,  and,  on  the 
other,  an  awkward,  long,  and  low  guard-house,  which  were 
fifty  times  more  encumbrance  than  the  venerable  and  inoffen- 
sive Cross. 

From  the  tower  of  the  Cross,  so  long  as  it  remained,  the  her- 
alds published  the  acts  of  Parliament ;  and  its  site,  marked  by 
radii,  diverging  from  a  stone  centre,  in  the  High  Street,  is  still 
the  place  where  proclamations  are  made. 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


173 


Note  4  A. 

This  awful  summons  came. — P.  134. 

This  supernatural  citation  is  mentioned  by  all  our  Scottish 
historians.  It  was,  probably,  like  the  apparition  at  Linlithgow, 
an  attempt,  by  those  averse  to  the  war,  to  impose  upon  the 
superstitious  temper  of  James  IV.  The  following  account  from 
Pitscottie  is  characteristically  minute,  and  furnishes,  besides, 
some  curious  particulars  of  the  equipment  of  the  army  of  James 
IV.  I  need  only  add  to  it,  that  Plotcock,  or  Plutock,  is  no 
other  than  Pluto.  The  Christians  of  the  middle  ages  by  no 
means  misbelieved  in  the  existence  of  the  heathen  deities  ;  they 
only  considered  them  as  devils  ;'<■  and  Plotcock,  so  far  from 
implying  any  thing  fabulous,  was  a  synonyme  of  the  grand 
enemy  of  mankind.  "  Yet  all  thir  warnings,  and  uncouth 
tidings,  nor  no  good  counsel,  might  stop  the  King,  at  this  pres- 
ent, from  his  vain  purpose,  and  wicked  enterprize,  but  hasted 
him  fast  to  Edinburgh,  and  there  to  make  his  provision  and 
furnishing,  in  having  forth  his  army  against  the  day  appointed, 
that  they  should  meet  in  the  Burrow-muir  of  Edinburgh  : 
That  is  to  say,  seven  cannons  that  he  had  forth  of  the  Castle 
of  Edinburgh,  which  were  called  the  Seven  Sisters,  casten  by 
Robert  Borthwick,  the  master-gunner,  with  other  small  artille- 
ry, bullet,  powder,  and  all  manner  of  order,  as  the  master-gun- 
ner could  devise. 

"  In  this  meantime,  when  they  were  taking  forth  their  artil- 
lery, and  the  King  being  in  the  Abbey  for  the  time,  there  was 
a  cry  heard  at  the  Market-cross  of  Edinburgh,  at  the  hour  of 
midnight,  proclaiming  as  it  had  been  a  summons,  which  was 
named  and  called  by  the  proclaimer  thereof,  The  Summons 
of  Plotcock  ;  which  desired  all  men  to  compear,  both  Earl,  and 
Lord,  and  Baron,  and  all  honest  gentlemen  within  the  town 
(every  man  specified  by  his  own  name;,  to  compear,  within 
the  space  of  forty  days,  before  his  master,  where  it  should  hap- 
pen him  to  appoint,  and  be  for  the  time,  under  the  pain  of  dis- 
obedience. But  whether  this  summons  was  proclaimed  by 
vain  persons,  night-walkers,  or  drunken  men,  for  their  pastime, 
or  if  it  was  a  spirit,  I  cannot  tell  truly  ;  but  it  was  shewn  to 
me,  that  an  indweller  of  the  town,  Mr.  Richard  Lawson,  being 
evil-disposed,  ganging  in  his  gallery-stair  foreanent  the  Cross, 
hearing  this  voice  proclaiming  this  summons,  thought  marvel 
what  it  should  be,  cried  on  his  servant  to  bring  him  his  purse ; 
and  when  he  had  brought  him  it,  he  took  out  a  crown,  and 
cast  over  the  stair,  saying,  '  I  appeal  from  that  summons, 
judgment,  and  sentence  thereof,  and  takes  me  all  whole  in  the 
mercy  of  God,  and  Christ  Jesus  his  son.'  Verily,  the  author 
of  this,  that  caused  me  write  the  manner  of  this  summons,  was 
a  landed  gentleman,  who  was  at  that  time  twenty  years  of  age, 
and  was  in  the  town  the  time  of  the  said  summons  ;  and  there- 
after, when  the  held  was  stricken,  he  swore  to  me,  there  was  no 
man  that  escaped  that  was  called  in  this  summons,  but  that  one 
man  alone  which  made  his  protestation,  and  appealed  from  the 
said  summons  ;  but  all  the  lave  were  perished  in  the  field  with 
the  king." 


Note  4  B. 


One  of  his  own  ancestry, 

Drove  the  Monks  forth  of  Coventry.— P.  136. 

This  relates  to  the  catastrophe  of  a  real  Robert  de  Marmion 
in  the  reign  of  King  Stephen,  whom  William  of  Newbury  de- 
scribes with  some  attributes  of  my  fictitious  hero  :  "Homo  bel- 
licosus,  ferocia,  et  astucia,  fere  nuilo  suo  tempore  impar." 
This  Baron,  having  expelled  the  Monks  from  the  church  of 
Coventry,  was  not  long  of  experiencing  the  divine  judgment, 


1  See,  on  this  curious  subject,  the  Essay  on  Fairies,  in  the  "  Border  Min- 
strelsy," vol.  ii.  under  the  fourth  head:  also  Jackson  on  Unbelief,  p.  175. 
Chaucer  calls  Pluto  the  "  King  of  Faerie  ;"  and  Dunbar  names  him,  "  Pluto, 
that  eh  ich  incubus."     If  he  was  not  actually  the  devil,  he  must  be  consid- 


as  the  same  monks,  no  doubt,  termed  his  disaster.  Having 
waged  a  feudal  war  with  the  Earl  of  Chester.  Marmion's  horfa 
fell,  as  he  charged  in  the  van  of  his  troop,  against  a  body  of 
the  Earl's  followers  :  the  rider's  thigh  being  broken  by  the  fall, 
his  head  was  cut  off  by  a  common  foot-soldier,  ere  he  could 
receive  any  succor.  The  whole  story  is  told  by  William  of 
Newbury. 


Note  4  0. 


the  savage  Dane 

At  Iol  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain. — P.  137. 

The  Iol  of  the  heathen  Danes  (a  word  still  applied  to  Christ- 
mas in  Scotland)  was  solemnized  with  great  festivity.  The 
humor  of  the  Danes  at  table  displayed  itself  in  pelting  each 
other  with  bones  ;  and  Torfaeus  tells  a  long  and  curious  story, 
in  the  History  of  Hrolfe  Kraka,  of  one  Hottus,  an  inmate  of 
the  Court  of  Denmark,  who  was  so  generally  assailed  with 
these  missiles,  that  he  constructed,  out  of  the  bones  with  which 
he  was  overwhelmed,  a  very  respectable  intrenchment,  against 
those  who  continued  the  raillery.  The  dances  of  the  northern 
warriors  round  the  great  fires  of  pine-trees,  are  commemorated 
by  Olaus  Magnus,  who  says,  they  danced  with  such  fury 
holding  each  other  by  the  hands,  that,  if  the  grasp  of  any  fail- 
ed, he  was  pitched  into  the  fire  with  the  velocity  of  a  sling. 
The  sufferer,  on  such  occasions,  was  instantly  plucked  out, 
and  obliged  to  quaff  off  a  certain  measure  of  ale,  as  a  penalty 
for  "  spoiling  tiie  king's  fire." 


Note  4  D. 
On  Christmas  eve.—?.  137. 

In  Roman  Catholic  countries,  mass  is  never  said  at  night, 
except  on  Christmas  eve.  Each  of  the  frolics  with  which  that 
holiday  used  to  be  celebrated,  might  admit  of  a  long  and  cu- 
rious note  ;  but  I  shall  content  myself  with  the  following  de- 
scription of  Christmas,  and  his  attributes,  as  personified  in  one 
of  Ben  Jonson's  Masques  for  the  Court. 

"  Enter  Christmas  with  two  or  three  of  the  Guard.  He 
is  attired  in  round  hose,  long  stockings,  a  close  doublet,  a  high- 
crowned  hat,  with  a  brooch,  a  long  thin  beard,  a  truncheon, 
little  ruffs,  white  shoes,  his  scan's  and  garters  tied  cross,  and  his 
drum  beaten  before  him. —  T\e  names  of  his  children,  wall 
their  attires  :  Miss-Rule,  in  a  velvet  cap,  with  a  sprig,  a  short 
cloak,  great  yellow  ruff,  like  a  reveller  ;  his  torch-bearer,  bear- 
ing a  rope,  a  cheese,  and  a  basket ; — Caroll,  a  long  tawny  coat, 
with  a  red  cap,  and  a  flute  at  his  girdle  ;  his  torch-bearer  car- 
rying a  song-book,  open  ; — Minc'd-pie,  like  a  fine  cook's  wife, 
drest  neat,  her  man  carrying  a  pie,  dish,  and  spoons  ; — Gam- 
boll,  like  a  tumbler,  with  a  hoop  and  bells ;  his  torch-bearer 
arm'd  with  cole-staff,  and  blinding  cloth ; — Post  and  Pair, 
with  a  pair-royal  of  aces  in  his  hat,  his  garment  all  done  otei 
with  pairs  and  purs ;  his  squire  carrying  a  box,  cards,  and 
counters  ; — New-year' s-Gift,  in  a  blue-coat,  serving-man  like 
with  an  orange,  and  a  sprig  of  rosemary  gilt  on  his  head,  his 
hat  full  of  brooches,  with  a  collar  of  gingerbread  ;  his  torch- 
bearer  carrying  a  march-pain,  with  a  bottle  of  wine  on  either 
arm  ; — Mumming',  in  a  masquing  pied  suit,  with  a  visor ;  his 
torch-bearer  carrying  the  box,  and  ringing  it ; —  fVassal,  like  a 
neat  sempster  and  songster  ;  her  page  bearing  a  brown  bowl, 
drest  with  ribbands,  and  rosemary,  before  her ; — Offering,  in 
a  short  gown,  with  a  porter's  staff  in  his  hand  ;  a  wyth  borne 
before  hint,  and  a  bason,  by  his  torch-bearer ; — Baby  Cocke, 


ered  as  the  "prince  of  the  power  of  the  air."  The  most  remarkable  in- 
stance of  these  surviving  classical  superstitions,  is  that  of  the  Germans,  con 
cerning  the  Hill  of  Venus,  into  which  she  attempts  to  entice  all  galliwl 
kuiglits,  and  detains  them  there  in  a  sort  of  Fool's  P  iradise. 


174 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ireet  BTce  a  boy,  in  a  fine  long  coat,  biggin,  bib,  rnuckender, 
►  ttrtd  i,  tittle  dagger ;  his  usher  bearing  a  great  cake,  with  a  bean 
and  a.  pease." 


No  -x  4  E. 


Who  lists  may  in  their  mumming  see 
Traces  of  ancient  mystery. — P.  138. 

Tt  seems  certain,  that  the  Mummers  of  England,  who  (in 
Northumberland  at  least)  used  to  go  about  in  disguise  to  the 
iifcigh  boring  houses,  bearing  the  then  useless  ploughshare  ;  and 
tie  Quisards  of  Scotland,  not  yet  in  total  disuse,  present,  in 
KSiie  indistinct  degree,  a  shadow  of  the  old  mysteries,  which 
*«re  the  origin  of  the  English  drama.  In  Scotland  {me  ipso 
lisle),  we  were  wont,  during  my  boyhood,  to  take  the  charae- 
lers  of  the  apostles,  at  least  of  Peter,  Paul,  and  Judas  Iscariot ; 
the  first  had  the  keys,  the  second  carried  a  sword,  and  the  last 
the  bag,  in  which  the  dole  of  our  neighbors'  plumb-cake  was 
deposited.  One  played  a  champion,  and  recited  some  tradi- 
tional rhymes ;  another  was 

.     .     .     .     "  Alexander,  King  of  Macedon, 
Who  conquer'd  all  the  world  but  Scotland  alone  : 
When  he  came  to  Scotland  his  courage  grew  cold, 
To  see  a  little  nation  courageous  and  bold." 

these,  and  many  such  verses,  were  repeated,  but  by  rote,  and 
Tinconnectedly.  There  was  also,  occasionally,  I  believe,  a 
Saint  George.  In  all,  there  was  a  confused  resemblance  of  the 
ancient  mysteries,  in  which  the  characters  of  Scripture,  the 
Nine  Worthies,  and  other  popular  personages,  were  usually 
exhibited.  It  were  much  to  be  wished  that  the  Chester  Mys- 
teries were  published  from  the  MS.  in  the  Museum,  with  the 
annotations  which  a  diligent  investigator  of  popular  antiquities 
might  still  supply.  The  late  acute  and  valuable  antiquary, 
Mr.  Ritson,  showed  me  several  memoranda  towards  such  a 
task,  which  are  probably  now  dispersed  or  lost.  See,  however, 
his  Remarks  on  Slwkspeare,  1783,  p.  38. 

Since  the  first  edition  of  Marmion  appeared,  this  subject  has 
received  much  elucidation  from  the  learned  and  extensive  la- 
bors of  Mr.  Douce  ;  and  the  Chester  Mysteries  [edited  by  J. 
H.  Markland,  Esq.]  have  been  printed  in  a  style  of  great  ele- 
gance and  accuracy  (in  1818),  by  Bensley  and  Sons,  London, 
for  the  Roxburghe  Club.     1830. 


JS"oTE  4  F. 

Where  my  great-grandsire  came  of  old. 
With  amber  beard  and  flaxen  hair. — P.  138. 

Mr.  Scott  of  Harden,1  my  kind  and  affectionate  friend,  and 
distant  relation,  has  the  original  of  a  poetical  invitation,  ad- 
dressed from  his  grandfather  to  my  relative,  from  which  a  few 
lines  in  the  text  are  imitated.  They  are  dated,  as  the  epistle 
'.n  the  text,  from  Mertoun-house,  the  seat  of  the  Harden  fam- 
Jy. 

''  With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair, 

And  reverend  apostolic  air, 

Free  of  anxiety  and  care, 

Come  hither,  Christmas-day,  and  dine  ; 

We'll  mix  sobriety  with  wine, 

And  easy  mirth  with  thoughts  divine. 

We  Christians  think  it  holiday, 

On  it  no  sin  to  feast  or  play  ; 

Others,  in  spite,  may  fast  and  pray. 

No  superstition  in  the  use 

Our  ancestors  made  of  a  goose  ; 

*  Now  J-iOrd  Polwarth. 

tThe  old  gentleman  was  an  intimate  of  this  celebrated  genius.  By 
the  favor  nf  the  late  Earl  of  Kellie,  who  was  descended  on  the  maternal 


Why  may  not  we,  as  well  as  they, 
Be  innocently  blithe  that  day, 
On  goose  or  pie,  on  wine  or  ale, 
And  scorn  enthusiastic  zeal  ? — 
Pray  come,  and  welcome,  or  plague  rott 
Your  friend  and  landlord,  Walter  Scott. 
"  Mr.  Walter  Scott,  /^essuden.,t 

The  venerable  old  gentleman,  to  whom  the  lines  are  address- 
ed, was  the  younger  brother  of  William  Scott  of  Raeburn. 
Being  the  cadet  of  a  cadet  of  the  Harden  family,  he  had  very 
little  to  lose  ;  yet  liJB  contrived  to  lose  the  small  ,-roperty  he 
had,  by  engaging  in  the  civil  wars  and  intrigues  of  the  house 
of  Stuart.  His  veneration  for  the  exiled  family  was  so  great, 
that  he  swore  he  would  not  shave  his  beard  till  they  were  re- 
stored :  a  mark  of  attachment,  which,  I  suppose,  had  been 
common  during  Cromwell's  usurpation ;  for,  in  Cowley's 
"  Cutter  of  Coleman  Street,"  one  drunken  cavalier  upbraids 
another,  that,  when  he  was  not  able  to  afford  to  pay  a  barber, 
he  affected  to  "  wear  a  beard  for  the  King."  I  sincerely  hope 
this  was  not  absolutely  the  original  reason  of  my  ancestor's 
beard  ;  which,  as  appears  from  a  portrait  in  the  possession  of 
Sir  Henry  Hay  Macdougal,  Bart.,  and  another  painted  for  the 
famous  Dr.  Pitcairn,2  was  a  beard  of  a  most  dignified  and 
venerable  appearance. 


Note  4  G. 
The  Spirit's  Blasted  Tree.— P.  139. 

I  am  permitted  to  illustrate  this  passage,  by  inserting  "  Ceu. 
bren  yr  Eilyll,  or  the  Spirit's  Blasted  Tree,"  a  legendary  tale, 
by  the  Reverend  George  Warrington  : — 

"  The  event,  on  which  this  tale  is  founded,  is  preserved  by 
tradition  in  the  family  of  the  Vaughans  of  Hengwyrt ;  nor  is 
it  entirely  lost,  even  among  the  common  people,  who  still 
point  out  this  oak  to  the  passenger.  The  enmity  between  the 
two  Welsh  chieftains,  Howel  Sele,  and  Owen  Glendwr,  was 
extreme*  and  marked  by  vile  treachery  in  the  one,  and  fero- 
cious cruelty  in  the  other.3  The  story  is  somewhat  changed 
and  softened,  as  more  favorable  to  the  character  of  the  two 
chiefs,  and  as  better  answering  the  purpose  of  poetry,  by  ad- 
mitting the  passion  of  pity,  and  a  greater  degree  of  sentiment 
in  the  description.  Some  trace  of  Howel  Sele's  mansion  was 
to  be  seen  a  few  years  ago,  and  may  perhaps  be  still  visible,  in 
the  park  of  Nannau,  now  belonging  to  Sir  Robert  Vaughan, 
Baronet,  in  the  wild  and  romantic  tracks  of  Merionethshire. 
The  abbey  mentioned  passes  under  two  names,  Vener  and 
Cymmer.     The  former  is  retained,  as  more  generally  used. 

THE  SPIRIT'S  BLASTED  TREE. 

Ceubren  yr  Eilyll 

"  Through  Nannau's  Chase,  as  Howel  pass'd, 
A  chief  esteem'd  both  brave  and  kind, 
Far  distant  borne,  the  stag-hounds'  cry 
Came  murmuring  on  the  hollow  wind. 

"  Starting,  he  bent  an  eager  ear, — 

How  should  the  sounds  return  again  ? 
His  hounds  lay  wearied  from  the  chase, 
And  all  at  home  his  hunter  train. 

"  Then  sudden  anger  flashed  his  eye. 
And  deep  revenge  he  vow'd  to  take 
On  that  bold  man  who  dared  to  force 
His  red-deer  from  the  forest  brake 

side  from  Dr.  Pitcairn,  my  father  became  possessed  of  the  portrait  in  que*, 
tion. 
S  The  history  of  their  feud  maybe  found  in  Pennant's  Tour  in  Wale*. 


APPENDIX  TO  MAKMiOiN". 


17ft 


"Unhappy  Chief!  would  naught  avail, 
No  signs  impress  thy  heart  with  fear, 
Thy  lady's  dark  mysterious  dream, 
Thy  warning  from  the  hoary  seer  ? 

"  'Twas  now  November's  cheerless  hour, 
Which  drenching  rain  and  clouds  deface 
Dreary  hleak  RobelPs  tract  appear'd, 
And  dull  and  dank  each  valley's  space 

*  Three  ravens  gave  the  note  of  death, 

As  through  mid-air  they  wing'd  their  way  ; 
Then  o'er  his  head,  in  rapid  flight, 

They  croak, — they  scent  their  destined  prey. 

u  Loud  o'er  the  weir  the  hoarse  flood  fell, 
And  dash'd  the  foaming  spray  on  high  ; 
The  west  wind  bent  the  forest  tops, 
And  angry  frown'd  the  evening  sky. 

"  Ill-omen'd  bird  !  as  legends  say, 

Who  hast  the  wondrous  power  to  know, 

While  health  fills  higli  the  throbbing  veins, 

The  fated  hour  when  hlood  must  flow. 

"  A  stranger  pass'd  Llanelltid's  bourne, 

His  dark-gray  steed  with  sweat  besprent, 
Which,  wearied  with  the  lengthen'd  way, 
Could  scarcely  gain  the  hill's  ascent. 

"  Blinded  by  rage,  alone  he  pass'd, 
Nor  sought  his  ready  vassals'  aid  : 
But  what  his  fate  lay  long  unknown, 
For  many  an  anxious  year  delay'd. 

"The  portal  reach'd, — the  iron  bell 

Loud  sounded  round  the  outward  wall ; 
Quick  sprang  the  warder  to  the  gate, 
To  know  what  meant  the  clam'rous  call 

"  A  peasant  mark'd  his  angry  eye, 

He  saw  him  reach  the  lake's  dark  bourne, 
He  saw  him  near  a  Blasted  Oak, 
But  never  from  that  hour  return. 

"  '  0  !  lead  me  to  your  lady  soon  ; 
Pay, — it  is  my  sad  lot  to  tell, 
To  clear  the  fate  of  that  brave  knight, 
She  long  has  proved  she  loved  so  well 

**  Three  days  pass'd  o'er,  no  tidings  came  ; — 
Where  should  the  Chief  his  steps  delay  1 
With  wild  alarm  the  servants  ran, 
Yet  knew  not  where  to  point  their  way. 

"  Then,  as  he  cross'd  the  spacious  hall, 
The  menials  look  surprise  and  fear ; 
Still  o'er  his  harp  old  Modred  hung, 

And  touch'd  the  notes  for  grief's  worn  ear. 

"  His  vassals  ranged  the  mountain's  height, 
The  covert  close,  the  wide-spread  plain  ; 
But  all  in  vain  their  eager  search, 
They  ne'er  must  see  their  lord  again. 

"  The  lady  sat  amidst  her  train  ; 

A  mellow'd  sorrow  mark'd  her  look: 
Then,  asking  what  his  mission  meant, 

The  graceful  stranger  sigh'd  and  spoke  : — 

"  Yet  Fancy,  in  a  thousand  shapes, 

Bore  to  his  home  the  Chief  once  more  : 
Some  saw  him  on  high  Moal's  top, 
Some  saw  him  on  the  winding  shore. 

"  '  O  could  I  spread  one  ray  of  hope, 

One  moment  raise  thy  soul  from  woe, 
Gladly  my  tongue  would  tell  its  tale, 
My  words  at  ease  unfetter'd  flow  ! 

"  With  wonder  fraught  the  tale  went  round, 
Amazement  chain'd  the  hearer's  tongue : 
Each  peasant  felt  his  own  sad  loss, 
Yet  fondly  o'er  the  story  hung. 

"  '  Now,  lady,  give  attention  due, 

The  story  claims  thy  full  belief: 
E'en  in  the  worst  events  of  life, 
Suspense  removed  is  some  relief. 

"  Oft  by  the  moon's  pale  shadowy  light, 
His  aged  nurse  and  steward  gray 
Would  lean  to  catch  the  storied  sounds, 
Or  mark  the  flitting  spirit  stray. 

"  '  Though  worn  by  care,  see  Madoc  here, 

Great  Glyndwr's  friend,  thy  kindred's  foe  ; 
Ah,  let  his  name  no  anger  raise, 
For  now  that  mighty  Chief  lies  low. 

"  Pale  lights  on  Cader's  rocks  were  seen, 
And  midnight  voices  heard  to  moan ; 
'Twas  even  said  the  Blasted  Oak, 
Convulsive,  heaved  a  hollow  groan : 

"  '  E'en  from  the  day,  when,  chain'd  by  fate, 
By  wizard's  dream,  or  potent  spell, 
Lingering  from  sad  Palopia's  field 
'Reft  oi  his  aid  the  Percy  fell  ;— 

"  And  to  this  day  the  peasant  still, 

With  cautious  fear,  avoids  the  ground  : 
In  each  wild  branch  a  spectre  sees, 
And  trembles  at  each  rising  sound. 

"  '  E'en  from  that  day  misfortune  still, 
As  if  for  violated  faith, 
Pursued  him  with  unwearied  step  ; 
Vindictive  still  for  Hotspur's  death. 

"  Ten  annual  suns  had  held  their  course, 
In  summer's  smile,  or  winter  storm  ; 
The  lady  shed  the  widow'd  tear, 
As  oft  she  traced  his  manly  form. 

"  '  Vanquish'd  at  length,  the  Glyndwr  fled, 

Where  winds  the  Wye  her  devious  flood  5 
To  find  a  casual  shelter  there, 
In  some  lone  cot,  or  desert  wood , 

Yet  3till  to  nope  her  heart  would  cling 
As  o'er  the  mind  illusions  play, — 

Of  travel  fond,  perhaps  her  lord 

To  distant  lands  had  steer'd  his  way. 

"  '  Clothed  in  a  shepherd's  humble  guise, 
He  gain'd  by  toil  his  scanty  bread  ; 
He  who  had  Cambria's  sceptre  borne 
And  her  brave  sons  to  glory  led  1 

1*76                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

"  '  To  penury  extreme,  and  grief, 

"  A  shriek  from  all  the  damsels  burst, 

The  Chieftain  fell  a  lingering  prey  ; 

That  pierced  the  vaulted  roofs  below ; 

I  heard  his  last  few  faltering  words, 

While  horror-struck  the  Lady  stood, 

Such  as  with  pain  I  now  convey. 

A  living  form  of  sculptured  woe. 

*' '  To  Sele's  sad  widow  bear  the  tale, 

"  With  stupid  stare  and  vacant  gaze, 

Nor  let  our  horrid  secret  rest ; 

Full  on  his  face  her  eyes  were  cast, 

Give  but  his  corse  to  sacred  earth, 

Absorb'd  ! — she  lost  her  present  grief, 

Then  may  my  parting  soul  be  blest.' — 

And  faintly  thought  of  things  long  past. 

"  '  Dim  wax'd  the  eye  that  fiercely  shone, 

"  Like  wild-fire  o'er  a  mossy  heath, 

And  faint  the  tongue  that  proudly  spoke, 

The  rumor  through  the  hamlet  ran  ; 

And  weak  that  arm,  still  raised  to  me, 

The  peasants  crowd  at  morning  dawn, 

Which  oft  had  dealt  the  mortal  stroke. 

To  hear  the  tale— behold  the  man. 

" '  How  could  I  then  his  mandate  bear  ? 

"  He  led  them  near  the  Blasted  Oak, 

Or  how  his  last  behest  obey  1 

Then,  conscious,  from  the  scene  withdrew  : 

A  rebel  deem'd,  with  him  I  fled  ; 

The  peasants  work  with  trembling  haste, 

With  him  I  shunn'd  the  light  of  day. 

And  lav  the  whiten'd  bones  to  view  1 — 

n  *  Proscribed  by  Henry's  hostile  rage, 

"  Back  they  recoiPd  !— the  right  hand  still, 

My  country  lost,  despoil'd  my  land, 

Contracted,  grasp'd  a  rusty  sword  ; 

Desperate,  I  fled  my  native  soil, 

Which  erst  in  many  a  battle  gleam'd, 

And  proudly  deck'd  their  slaughter'd  lord. 

And  fought  on  Syria's  distant  strand. 

"  '  Oh,  had  thy  long-lamented  lord 

"  They  bore  the  corse  to  Vener's  shrine, 

The  holy  cross  and  banner  view'd, 

With  holy  rites  and  prayers  address'd  ; 

Died  in  the  sacred  cause  !   who  fell 

Nine  white-robed  monks  the  last  dirge  sang, 
And  gave  the  angry  spirit  rest." 

Sad  victim  of  a  private  feud  1 
"  '  Led  by  the  ardor  of  the  chase, 

Far  distant  from  his  own  domain, 

Note  4  H. 

From  where  Garthmaelan  spreads  her  shades 

The  Glyndwr  sought  the  opening  plain. 

The  Highlander 

Will,  on  a  Friday  morn,  look  pale, 

"  '  With  head  aloft  and  antlers  wide, 

Jfask'd  to  tell  a  fairy  tale."—V.  139. 

A  red  buck  roused  then  cross'd  in  view  : 

The  Daoine  thi*,  or  Men  of  Peace,  of  the  Scottish  Hign 
landers,  rather  resemble  the  Scandinavian  Duergar  than  the 
English   Fairies.     Notwithstanding   their  name,  they  are,  if 

Stung  with  the  sight,  and  wild  with  rage, 

Swift  from  the  wood  fierce  Howel  flew. 

not  absolutely  malevolent,  at  least  peevish,  discontented,  and 

1 '  With  bitter  taunt  and  keen  reproach, 

apt  to  do  mischief  on  slight  provocation.     The  belief  of  theii 

He,  all  impetuous,  pour'd  his  rage  ; 

existence  is  deeply  impressed  on  the  Highlanders,  who  think 

Reviled  the  Chief,  as  weak  in  arms, 

they  are  particularly  offended  at  mortals  who  talk  of  them, 

And  bade  him  loud  the  battle  wage. 

who  wear  their  favorite  color,  green,  or  in  any  respect  interfere 

with  their  affairs.     This  is  especially  to  be  avoided  on  Friday, 

*' '  Glyndwr  for  once  restrain'd  his  sword, 

when,  whether  as  dedicated  to  Venus,  with  whom,  in  Ger- 

And, still  averse,  the  fight  delays; 

many,  this  subterraneous  people  are  held  nearly  connected,  or 

But  soften'd  words,  like  oil  to  fire, 

for  a  more  solemn  reason,  they  are  more  active,  and  possessed 

Made  anger  more  intensely  blaze. 

of  greater   power.     Some  curious   particulars   concerning  the      , 

popular  superstitions  of  the  Highlanders  may  be  found  in  Dr. 

"  '  They  fought ;  and  doubtful  long  the  fray  ■ 

Graham's  Picturesque  Sketches  of  Perthshire. 

The  Glyndwr  gave  the  fatal  wound  1 
Still  mournful  must  my  tale  proceed, 

And  its  last  act  all  dreadful  sound. 

Note  4  I. 

"  '  How  could  we  hope  for  wish'd  retreat, 

The  towers  of  Franchemont. — P.  139. 

His  eager  vassals  ranging  wide, 
His  bloodhounds'  keen  sagacious  scent, 
O'er  many  a  trackless  mountain  tried. 

The  journal  of  the  friend  to  whom  the  Fourth  Canto  of  the 

Poem  is  inscribed,  furnished  me  with  the  following  account  of 
a  striking  superstition. 

'* '  I  mark'd  a  broad  and  Blasted  Oak, 

♦'Passed    the    pretty   little   village  of  Franchemont   (near 
Spaw),  with  the  romantic  ruins  of  the  old  castle  of  the  Counts 

Scorch 'd  by  the  lightning's  livid  glare 

of  that  name.     The  road  leads  through  many  delightful  vales 
on  a  rising  ground  ;  at  the  extremity  of  one  of  thern  stands 

Hollow  its  stem  from  branch  to  root, 

And  all  its  shrivell'd  arms  were  bare. 

the  ancient  castle,   now   the  subject  of  many  superstitious 

legends.     It  is  firmly  believed  by  the  neighboring  peasantry, 

• '  Be  this,  I  cried,  his  proper  grave  ! — 

that  the  last  Baron  of  Franchemont  deposited,  in  one  of  the 

(The  thought  in  me  was  deadly  sin,) 

vaults  of  the    castle,    a   ponderous  chest,  containing   an   im 

Aloft  we  raised  the  hapless  Chief, 

mense  treasure  in  gold  and  silver,  which,  by  some  magic  spell, 

And  dropp'd  his  bleeding  corpse  within.' 

was  intrusted  to  the  care  of  the  Devil,  who  is  constantly  found     1 

APPENDIX  TO  MARMION. 


177 


litting  on  the  chest  in  the  shape  of  a  huntsman.  Any  one 
adventurous  enough  to  touch  the  chest  is  instantly  seized 
with  the  palsy.  Upon  one  occasion,  a  priest  of  noted  piety 
was  brought  to  the  vault :  he  used  all  the  arts  of  exorcism  to 
persuade  his  infernal  majesty  to  vacate  his  seat,  but  in  vain  ; 
the  huntsman  remained  immovable.  At  last,  moved  by  the 
earnestness  of  the  priest,  he  told  him  that  he  would  agree  to 
resign  the  chest,  if  the  exorciser  would  sign  his  name  with 
blood.  But  the  priest  understood  his  meaning,  and  refused, 
as  by  that  act  he  would  have  delivered  over  his  soul  to  the 
Devil.  Yet  if  anybody  can  discover  the  mystic  words  used 
by  the  person  who  deposited  the  treasure,  and  pronounce 
them,  the  fiend  must  instantly  decamp.  I  had  many  stories 
of  a  similar  nature  from  a  peasant,  who  had  Ir'mself  seen  the 
"Devil  in  the  shape  of  a  great  cat." 


Note  4  K. 
The  very  form  of  Hilda  fair, 
Hovering  upon  the  sunny  air, 
And  smiling  on  her  votaries'1  prayer. — P.  141. 

"  I  shall  only  produce  one  instance  more  of  the  great  ven- 
eration paid  to  Lady  Hilda,  which  still  prevails  even  in  these 
our  days  ;  and  that  is,  the  constant  opinion  that  she  rendered, 
and  still  renders,  herself  visible,  on  some  occasions,  in  the 
Abbey  of  Streanshalh  or  Whitby,  where  she  so  long  resided. 
At  a  particular  time  of  the  year  (viz.  in  the  summer  months), 
at  ten  or  eleven  in  the  forenoon,  the  sunbeams  fall  in  the 
inside  of  the  northern  part  of  the  choir ;  and  'tis  then  that  the 
spectators,  who  stand  on  the  west  side  of  Whitby  churchyard, 
so  as  just  to  see  the  most  northerly  part  of  the  abbey  pass  the 
aorth  end  of  Whitby  church,  imagine  they  perceive,  in  one 
of  the  highest  windows  there,  the  resemblance  of  a  woman 
arrayed  in  a  shroud.  Though  we  are  certain  this  is  only  a 
reflection  caused  by  the  splendor  of  the  sunbeams,  yet  fame 
reports  it,  and  it  is  constantly  believed  among  the  vulgar,  to 
be  an  appearance  of  Lady  Hilda  in  her  shroud,  or  rather  in  a 
glorified  state  ;  before  which,  I  make  no  doubt,  the  Papists, 
even  in  these' our  days,  offer  up  their  prayers  with  as  much 
zeal  and  devotion  as  before  any  other  image  of  their  most 
glorified  saint." — Charlton's  History  of  Whitby,  p.  33. 


Note  4  L. 

the  huge  and  sweeping  brand 

Which  wont  of  yore,  in  battle  fray, 
His  foemen1  s  limbs  to  shred  away, 
As  wood-knife  lops  the  sapling  spray. — P.  143. 

The  Earl  of  Angus  had  strength  and  personal  activity  cor- 
responding to  his  courage.  Spens  of  Kilspindie,  a  favorite 
of  James  IV.,  having  spoken  of  him  lightly,  the  Earl  met  him 
while  hawking,  and,  compelling  him  to  single  combat,  at  one 
blow  cut  asunder  his  thighbone,  and  killed  him  on  the  spot. 
But  ere  he  could  obtain  James's  pardon  for  thil  slaughter, 
Angus  was  obliged  to  yield  his  castle  of  Hermitage,  in  ex- 
change for  that  of  Bothwell,  which  was  some  diminution  to 
the  family  greatness.  The  sword  with  which  he  struck  so 
remarkable  a  blow,  was  presented  by  his  descendant  James, 
Earl  of  Morton,  afterwards  Regent  of  Scotland,  to  Lord  Lin- 
desay  of  the  Byres,  when  he  defied  Bothwell  to  single  combat 
en  Carberry  Hill.  See  Introduction  to  the  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border. 


Note  4  M. 


And  hopest  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ? 
JVo  /  by  St.  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no  1 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms  I —  What,  Warder,  ho  ' 
Let  the  portcullis  fall.—?.  144. 
23 


This  ebullition  of  violence  in  the  potent  Earl  of  Angus  ii 
not  without  its  example  in  the  real  history  of  the  house  of 
Douglas,  whose  chieftains  possessed  the  ferocity,  with  the 
heroic  virtues  of  a  savage  state.  The  most  curious  instance 
occurred  in  the  case  of  Maclellan,  Tutor  of  Bombay,  who, 
having  refused  to  acknowledge  the  pre-eminence  claimed  by 
Douglas  over  the  gentlemen  and  Barons  of  Galloway,  was 
seized  and  imprisoned  by  the  Earl,  in  his  castle  of  the  Thrieve, 
on  the  borders  of  Kirkcudbrightshire.  Sir  Patrick  Gray, 
commander  of  King  James  the  Second's  guard,  was  uncle  \o 
the  Tutor  of  Bombay,  and  obtained  from  the  King  a  "sweet 
letter  of  supplication,"  praying  the  Earl  t  j  deliver  hi.)  prisonei 
into  Gray's  hand.  When  Sir  Patrick  arrived  at  the  castle, 
he  was  received  with  all  the  honor  due  to  a  favorite  ser- 
vant of  the  King's  household  ;  but  while  he  was  at  dinner, 
the  Earl,  who  suspected  his  errand,  caused  his  prisoner  to  be 
led  forth  and  beheaded.  After  dinner,  Sir  Patrick  presented 
the  King's  letter  to  the  Earl,  who  received  it  with  great  affec- 
tation of  reverence  ;  "  and  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him 
forth  to  the  green,  where  the  gentleman  was  lying  dead,  and 
showed  him  the  manner,  and  said,  '  Sir  Patrick,  you  are  come 
a  little  too  late  ;  yonder  is  your  sister's  son  lying,  but  he  wants 
the  head  :  take  his  body,  and  do  with  it  what  you  will.' — Sir 
Patrick  answered  again,  with  a  sore  heart,  and  said,  'My 
lord,  if  ye  have  taken  from  him  his  head,  dispone  upon  the 
body  as  ye  please  ;'  and  with  that  called  for  his  horse,  and 
leaped  thereon  ;  and  when  he  was  on  horseback,  he  said  to 
the  Earl  on  this  manner,  "  My  lord,  if  I  live  you  shall  be 
rewarded  for  your  labors  that  you  have  used  at  this  time 
according  to  your  demerits.' 

"  At  this  saying  the  Earl  was  highly  offended,  and  cried  for 
horse.  Sir  Patrick,  seeing  the  Earl's  fury,  spurred  his  horse, 
but  he  was  chased  near  Edinburgh  ere  they  left  him  ;  and  had 
it  not  been  his  led  horse  was  so  tried  and  good,  he  had  been 
taken." — Pitscottie's  History,  p.  39. 


Note  4  N. 


A  letter  forged ! — Saint  Jude  to  speed  ! 
Did  ever  knight  so  foul  a  deed  1 — P.  144. 

Lest  the  reader  should  partake  of  the  Earl's  astonishment, 
and  consider  the  crime  as  inconsistent  with  the  manners  of  the 
period,  I  have  to  remind  him  of  the  numerous  forgeries  (partly 
executed  by  a  female  assistant)  devised  by  Robert  of  Artois, 
to  forward  his  suit  against  the  Countess  Matilda  ;  which,  being 
detected,  occasioned  his  flight  into  England,  and  proved  tht 
remote  cause  of  Edward  the  Third's  memorable  wars  in 
France.  John  Harding,  also,  was  expressly  hired  by  Edward 
VI.  to  forge  such  documents  as  might  appear  to  establish  the 
claim  of  fealty  asserted  over  Scotland  by  the  English  monarchs. 


Note  4  0. 
LenneVs  convent. — P.  145. 

This  was  a  Cistertian  house  of  religion,  now  almost  entire  y 
demolished.  Lennel  House  is  now  the  residence  of  my  venei 
able  friend,  Patrick  Brydone,  Esquire,  so  well  known  in  the 
literary  world.*  It  is  situated  near  Coldstream,  almost  opposite 
to  Cornhill,  and  consequently  very  near  to  Flodden  Field. 


Note  4  P. 

Twisel  bridge.— P.  145. 

On  the  evening  previous  to  the  memorable  battle  of  Flodden, 
Surrey's  head-quarters  were  at  Barmoor  Wood,  and   King 

1  First  Edition.— Mr.  Brydone  has  been  many  years  dea<j      18W. 


178 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


James  held  an  inaccessible  position  on  the  ridge  of  Flodden-hill, 
one  of  the  last  and  lowest  eminences  detached  from  the  ridge 
of  Cheviot.  The  Till,  a  deep  and  slow  river,  winded  between 
the  armies.  On  the  morning  of  the  9th  September,  1513, 
Surrey  marched  in  a  northwesterly  direction,  and  crossed  the 
Till,  with  his  van  and  artillery,  at  Twisel-briclge,  nigh  where 
that  river  joins  the  Tweed,  his  rear-guard  column  passing 
about  a  mile  higher,  by  a  ford.  This  movement  had  the 
double  effect  of  placing  his  army  between  King  James  and  his 
supplies  from  Scotland,  and  of  striking  the  Scottish  monarch 
with  surprise,  as  he  seems  to  have  relied  on  the  depth  of  the 
river  in  his  front.  But  as  the  passage,  both  over  the  bridge 
and  through  the  ford,  was  difficult  and  slow,  it  seems  possible 
that  the  English  might  have  been  attacked  to  great  advantage 
while  struggling  with  these  natural  obstacles.  I  know  not  if 
we  are  to  impute  James's  forbearance  to  want  of  military  skill, 
or  to  the  romantic  declaration  which  Pitscottie  puts  in  his 
mouth,  "that  he  was  determined  to  have  his  enemies  before 
him  on  a  plain  field,"  and  therefore  would  suffer  no  interrup- 
tion to  be  given,  even  by  artillery,  to  their  passing  the  river. 

The  ancient  bridge  of  Twisel,  by  which  the  English  crossed 
the  Till,  is  still  standing  beneath  Twisel  Castle,  a  splendid  pile 
of  Gothic  architecture,  as  now  rebuilt  by  Sir  Francis  Blake, 
Bart.,  whose  extensive  plantations  have  so  much  improved  the 
country  around.  The  glen  is  romantic  and  delightful,  with 
steep  banks  on  each  side,  covered  with  copse,  particularly  with 
hawthorn.  Beneath  a  tall  rock,  near  the  bridge,  is  a  plentiful 
fountain,  called  St.  Helen's  Well. 


Note  4  Q. 

Hence  might  they  see  the  full  array 

Of  either  host,  for  deadly  fray. — P.  147. 

The  reader  cannot  here  expect  a  full  account  of  the  battle 
of  Flodden ;  but,  so  far  as  is  necessary  to  understand  the  ro- 
mance, I  beg  to  remind  him,  that  when  the  English  army,  by 
their  skilful  countermarch,  were  fairly  placed  between  King 
James  and  his  own  country,  the  Scottish  monarch  resolved  to 
fight ;  and,  setting  fire  to  his  tents,  descended  from  the  ridge 
of  Flodden  to  secure  the  neighboring  eminence  of  Brankstone, 
on  which  that  village  is  built.  Thus  the  two  armies  met,  almost 
without  seeing  each  other,  when,  according  to  the  old  poem  of 
"Flodden  Field," 

u  The  English  line  stretch'd  east  and  west, 
And  southward  were  their  faces  set ; 
The  Scottish  northward  proudly  prest, 
And  manfully  their  foes  they  met." 

The  English  army  advanced  in  four  divisions.  On  the  right, 
which  first  engaged,  were  the  sons  of  Earl  Surrey,  namely, 
Thomas  Howard,  the  Admiral  of  England,  and  Sir  Edmund, 
the  Knight  Marshal  of  the  army.  Their  divisions  were  sepa- 
rated from  each  other  ;  but,  at  the  request  of  Sir  Edmund,  his 
brother's  battalion  was  drawn  very  near  to  his  own.  The 
centre  was  commanded  by  Surrey  in  person  ;  the  left  wing  by 
Sir  Edward  Stanley,  with  the  men  of  Lancashire,  and  of  the 
palatinate  of  Chester.  Lord  Dacres,  with  a  large  body  of 
horse,  formed  a  reserve.  When  the  smoke,  which  the  wind 
had  driven  between  the  armies,  was  somewhat  dispersed,  they 
perceived  the  Scots,  who  had  moved  down  the  hill  in  a  similar 
order  of  battle,  and  in  deep  silence.1     The  Earls  of  Huntley 

1  *'  Lesquclz  JSscossois  descendirent  la  montaigne  en  bonne  ordre,  en 
la  maniere  que  tnarchent  lea  Allemans  sans  parler,  ne  /aire  aucun 
bruit." — Gazette  of  the  battle,  Pinkerton's  History,  Appendix,  vol.  ii. 
p.  456. 

3  "  In  1810,  as  Sir  Camaby  Haggerstone's  workmen  wore  digging  in 
Flodden  Field,  they  came  to  a  pit  filled  with  human  bones,  and  which 
seemed  of  great  extent ;  but,  alarmed  at  the  sight,  they  immediately  filled 
np  the  excavation,  and  proceeded  no  farther. 

"In  1817,  Mr.  Gray  of  Millfield  Hill  found,  near  the  traces  of  an  ancient 


and  of  Home  commanded  their  left  wing,  and  charged  Sil 
Edmund  Howard  with  such  success  as  entirely  to  defeat  hit 
part  of  the  English  right  wing.  Sir  Edmund's  banner  waa 
beaten  down,  and  he  himself  escaped  with  difficulty  to  his 
brother's  division.  The  Admiral,  however,  stood  firm  ;  and 
Dacre  advancing  to  his  support  with  the  reserve  of  cavalry 
probably  between  the  interval  of  the  divisions  commanded  by 
the  brothers  Howard,  appears  to  have  kept  the  victors  in 
effectual  check.  Home's  men,  chiefly  Borderers,  begai.  *o 
pillage  the  baggage  of  both  armies  ;  and  their  leader  is  brandeo 
by  the  Scottish  historians  with  negligence  or  treachery.  On 
the  other  hand,  Huntley,  on  whom  they  bestow  many  enco- 
miums, is  said  by  the  English  historians  to  have  left  the  field 
after  the  first  charge.  Meanwhile  the  Admiral,  whose  flank 
these  chiefs  ought  to  have  attacked,  availed  himself  of  their 
inactivity,  and  pushed  forward  against  another  large  division 
of  the  Scottish  army  in  his  front,  headed  by  the  Earls  ol 
Crawford  and  Montrose,  both  of  whom  were  slain,  and  their 
forces  routed.  On  the  left,  the  success  of  the  English  was  yet 
more  decisive ;  for  the  Scottish  right  wing,  consisting  of  un- 
disciplined Highlanders,  commanded  by  Lennox  and  Argyle, 
was  unable  to  sustain  the  charge  of  Sir  Edward  Stanley,  and 
especially  the  severe  execution  of  the  Lancashire  archers. 
The  King  and  Surrey,  who  commanded  the  respective  centres 
of  their  armies,  were  meanwhile  engaged  in  close  and  dubious 
conflict.  James,  surrounded  by  the  flower  of  his  kingdom,  and 
impatient  of  the  galling  discharge  of  arrows,  supported  also  by 
his  reserve  under  Bothwell,  charged  with  sucli  fury,  that  the 
standard  of  Surrey  was  in  danger.  At  that  critical  moment, 
Stanley,  who  had  routed  the  left  wing  of  the  Scottish,  pursued 
his  career  of  victory,  and  arrived  on  the  right  flank,  and  in  the 
rear  of  James's  division,  which,  throwing  itself  into  a  circle, 
disputed  the  battle  till  night  came  on.  Surrey  then  drew 
back  his  forces ;  for  the  Scottish  centre  not  having  been 
broken,  and  their  left  wing  being  victorious,  he  yet  doubted 
the  event  of  the  field.  The  Scottish  army,  however,  felt  their 
loss,  and  abandoned  the  field  of  battle  in  disorder,  before 
dawn.  They  lost,  perhaps,  from  eight  to  ten  thousand  men ; 
but  that  included  the  very  prime  of  their  nobility,  gentry,  and 
even  clergy.  Scarce  a  family  of  eminence  but  has  an  ancestor 
killed  at  Flodden  ;  and  there  is  no  province  in  Scotland,  even 
at  this  day,  where  the  battle  is  mentioned  without  a  sensation 
of  terror  and  sorrow.  The  English  lost  also  a  great  nnmber  of 
men,  perhaps  within  one-third  of  the  vanquished,  br  t  they 
were  of  inferior  note. — See  the  only  distinct  detail  of  the  Field 
of  Flodden  in  Pinkerton's  History,  Book  xi.  ;  all  former 
accounts  being  full  of  blunders  and  inconsistency. 

The  spot  from  which  Clara  views  the  battle  must  be  sup- 
posed to  have  been  on  a  hillock  commanding  the  rear  of  the 
English  right  wing,  which  was  defeated,  and  in  which  conflict 
Marmion  is  supposed  to  have  fallen.2 


Note  4  R. 

Brian  Tunstall,  stainless  knight. — P.  14V. 

Sir  Brian  Tunstall,  called  in  the  romantic  language  of  the 
time,  Tunstall  the  Undefiled,  was  one  of  the  few  Englishmen 
of  rank  slain  at  Flodden.  He  figures  in  the  ancient  English 
poem,  to  which  I  may  safely  refer  my  readers  ;  as  an  edition, 
wiln  full  explanatory  notes,  has  been  published  by  my  friend, 
Mr.  Henry  Weber.     Tunstall,  perhaps,  derived  his  epithet  of 

encampment,  a  short  distance  from  Flodden  Hill,  a  tumulus,  which,  on  re- 
moving, exhibited  a  very  singular  sepulchre.  In  the  centre,  a  large  urn 
was  found,  but  in  a  thousand  pieces.  It  had  either  be*n  broken  to  pieces 
by  the  stones  falling  upon  it  when  digging,  or  had  gone  to  pieces  on  the  ad- 
mission of  the  air.  This  urn  was  surrounded  by  a  number  of  cells  formed 
of  flat  stones,  in  the  shape  of  graves,  but  too  small  to  bold  the  body  in  its 
natural  state.  These  sepulchral  recesses  contained  nothing  except  aihes, 
or  dust  of  the  same  kind  as  that  in  the  urn." — Sykes'  Local  Record*  (8 
70ls.  8vo,  1833),  vol.  ii.  pp.  60  and  109. 


APPENDIX  TO  MARMiON. 


179 


undefiled  from  his  white  armor  and  banner,  the  latter  bearing 
a  white  cock,  about  to  crow,  as  well  as  from  his  unstained  loy- 
alty and  knightly  faith.  His  place  of  residence  was  Thurland 
Castle 


Note  4  S. 


Reckless  of  life,  he  desperate  fought, 

And  fell  on  Flodden  plain ; 
And  well  in  death  his  trusty  brand, 
Firm  clench' 'd  within  his  manly  hand, 

Beseemed  the  monarch  slain. — P.  151 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  King  James  fell  in  the  battle 
of  Flodden.  He  was  killed,  says  the  curious  French  Gazette, 
within  a  lance's  length  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey  ;  and  the  same 
account  adds,  that  none  of  hi3  division  were  made  prisoners, 
though  many  were  killed  ;  a  circumstance  that  testifies  the  des- 
peration of  their  resistance.  The  Scottish  historians  record 
many  of  the  idle  reports  which  passed  among  the  vulgar  of 
their  day.  Home  was  accused,  by  the  popular  voice,  not  only 
of  failing  to  support  the  King,  but  even  of  having  carried  him 
out  of  the  field,  and  murdered  him.  And  this  tale  was  revived 
in  my  remembrance,  by  an  unauthenticated  story  of  a  skeleton, 
wrapped  in  a  bull's  hide,  and  surrounded  with  an  iron  chain, 
said  to  have  been  found  in  the  well  of  Home  Castle ;  for 
which,  on  inquiry,  I  could  never  find  any  better  authority  than 
the  sexton  of  the  parish  having  said,  that,  if  the  well  were 
cleaned  out,  he  would  not  be  surprised  at.  such  a  discovery. 
Home  was  the  chamberlain  of  the  King,  and  his  prime  favor- 
ite ;  he  had  much  to  lose  (in  fact  did  lose  all)  in  consequence 
of  James's  death,  and  nothing  earthly  to  gain  by  that  event: 
but  the  ret/eat,  or  inactivity  of  the   eft  wing  which  he  com- 


manded, after  defeating  Sir  Edmund  Howard,  and  even  the 
circumstance  of  his  returning  unhurt,  and  loaded  with  spoil, 
from  so  fatal  a  conflict,  rendered  the  propagation  of  any  calum- 
ny against  him  eas>  and  acceptable.  Other  reports  gave  a  still 
more  romantic  turn  to  the  King's  fate,  and  averred  that  .lames, 
weary  of  greatness  after  the  carnage  among  his  nobles,  had  gone 
on  a  pilgrimage,  to  merit  absolution  for  the  death  of  his  father, 
and  the  breach  of  his  oath  of  amity  to  Henry.  In  particular, 
it  was  objected  to  the  English,  that  they  could  never  show  the 
token  of  the  iron  belt ;  which,  however,  he  was  likely  enough 
to  have  laid  aside  on  the  day  of  battle,  as  encumbering  his  oer- 
sonal  exertions.  They  produce  a  better  evidence,  the  monarch's 
sword  and  dagger,  which  are  still  preserved  in  the  Herald's 
College  in  London.  Stowe  has  recorded  a  degrading  story  of 
the  disgrace  with  which  the  remains  of  the  unfortunate  mon- 
arch were  treated  in  his  time.  An  unhewn  column  marks  the 
spot  where  James  fell,  still  called  the  King's  Stone. 


Note  4  T. 


The  fair  cathedral  storm' d  and  took. — P.  151. 

This  storm  of  Lichfield  cathedral,  which  had  been  gam 
eoned  on  the  part  of  the  King,  took  place  in  the  Great  Civil 
War.  Lord  Brook,  who,  with  Sir  John  Gill,  commanded  the 
assailants,  was  shot  with  a  musket-ball  through  the  visor  of 
his  helmet.  The  royalists  remarked,  that  he  was  killed  by  a 
shot  fired  from  ft.  Chad's  cathedral,  and  upon  St.  Chad's  Day, 
and  received  his  death-wound  in  the  very  eye  with  which,  he 
had  said,  he  hoped  to  see  the  ruin  of  all  the  cathedrals  in  ling* 
land.  The  magnificent  church  in  question  suffered  cruelly 
upon  this,  and  other  occasions  ;  the  principal  spire  being  ruined 
by  the  lire  of  the  besiegers.  • 


&[)e  £a&£  of  t\)t  €akc 


A   POEM,   IN   SIX   CANTOS. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

After  the  success  of  "  Marmion,"  I  felt  inclined 
10  exclaim  with  Ulysses  in  the  "  Odyssey" — 

Ovtos  fiiv  St)  acOXog  adarog  iKT£ri\e(TTai. 
N5i/  avre  ckovov  aXXov.  Odys.  ^.  1.  5. 

"  One  venturous  game  my  hand  has  won  to-day — 
Another,  gallants,  yet  remains  to  play." 

The  ancient  manners,  the  habits  and  customs  of 
the  aboriginal  race  by  whom  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland  were  inhabited,  had  always  appeared  to 
me  peculiarly  adapted  to  poetry.  The  change  in 
their  manners,  too,  had  taken  place  almost  within 
my  own  time,  or  at  least  I  had  learned  many  par- 
ticulars concerning  the  ancient  state  of  the  High- 
lands from  the  old  men  of  the  last  generation.  I 
had  always  thought  the  old  Scottish  Gael  highly 
adapted  for  poetical  composition.  The  feuds  and 
political  dissensions,  which,  half  a  century  earlier, 
would  have  rendered  the  richer  and  wealthier  part 
of  the  kingdom  indisposed  to  countenance  a  poem, 
the  scene  of  winch  was  laid  in  the  Highlands,  were 
now  sunk  in  the  generous  compassion  winch  the 
English,  more  than  any  other  nation,  feel  for  the 
misfortunes  of  an  honorable  foe.  The  Poems  of 
Ossian  had,  by  their  popularity,  sufficiently  shown, 
that  if  writings  on  Highland  subjects  were  qual- 
ified to  interest  the  reader,  mere  national  preju- 
dices were,  in  the  present  day,  very  unlikely  to 
interfere  with  their  success. 

I  had  also  read  a  great  deal,  seen  much,  and 
heard  more,  of  that  romantic  country,  where  I  was 
m.  the  habit  of  spending  some  time  every  autumn ; 
and  the  scenery  of  Loch  Katrine  was  connected 
with  the  recollection  of  many  a  dear  friend  and 

i  "  These  Highland  visits  were  repeated  almost  every  sum- 
mer for  several  successive  years,  and  perhaps  even  the  first  of 
hem  was  in  some  degree  connected  with  his  professional  busi- 
ness. At  all  events,  it  was  to  his  allotted  task  of  enforcing  the 
execution  of  a  legal  instrument  against  some  Maclarens,  refracto- 
ry tenants  of  Stewart  of  Appin,  brother-in-law  to  Invernahyle, 
that  Scott  owed  his  introduction  to  the  scenery  of  the  Lady  of 
the  Lake.  •  An  escort  of  a  sergeant  and  six  men,'  he  says, 
'  was  obtained  from  a  Highland  regiment  lying  in  Stirling ; 
and  the  author,  then  a  writer's  apprentice,  equivalent  to  the 
honorable  situation  of  an  attorney's  clerk,  was  invested  with 
the  superintendence  of  the  expedition,  with  directions  to  see 
that  the  messenger  discharged  his  duty  fully,  and  that  the  gal- 
lant sergeant  did  not  exceed  his  part  by  committing  violence 
or  plunder.     And  thus  it  happened,  oddly  enough,  that  the 


merry  expedition  of  former  days.1  This  poem,  the 
action  of  which  lay  among  scenes  so  beautiful,  sind 
so  deeply  imprinted  on  my  recollection,  was  a  la- 
bor of  love  ;  and  it  was  no  less  so  to  recall  the 
manners  and  incidents  introduced.  The  frequent 
custom  of  James  IV.,  and  particularly  of  James  V., 
to  walk  through  their  kingdom  in  disguise,  afford- 
ed me  the  hint  of  an  incident,  which  never  fails  to 
be  interesting,  if  managed  with  the  slightest  ad- 
dress or  dexterity. 

I  may  now  confess,  however,  that  the  employ- 
ment, though  attended  with  great  pleasure,  was 
not  without  its  doubts  and  anxieties.  A  lady,  to 
whom  I  was  nearly  related,  and  with  whom  I  lived, 
during  her  whole  life,  on  the  most  brotherly  terms 
of  affection,  was  residing  with  me  at  the  time  when 
the  work  was  in  progress,  and  used  to  ask  me,  what 
I  could  possibly  do  to  rise  so  early  in  the  morning 
(that  happening  to  be  the  most  convenient  time  to 
me  for  composition).  At  last  I  told  her  the  sub- 
ject of  my  meditations ;  and  I  can  never  forget  the 
anxiety  and  affection  expressed  in  her  reply.  "  Do 
not  be  so  rash,"  she  said,  "  my  dearest  cousin.2  You 
are  already  popular — more  so,  perhaps,  than  you 
yourself  will  believe,  or  than  even  I,  or  other  par- 
tial friends,  can  fairly  allow  to  your  merit.  You 
stand  high — do  not  rashly  attempt  to  climb  higher, 
and  incur  the  risk  of  a  fall ;  for,  depend  upon  it,  a 
favorite  will  not  be  permitted  even  to  stumble 
with  impunity."  I  replied  to  this  affectionate  ex- 
postulation in  the  words  of  Montrose — 

"  He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 
Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch 
To  gain  or  lose  it  all."3 

author  first  entered  the  romantic  scenery  of  Loch  Katrine,  of 
which  he  may  perhaps  say  he  has  somewhat  extended  the 
reputation,  riding  in  all  the  dignity  of  danger,  with  a  front 
and  rear  guard,  and  loaded  arms.'  " — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i. 
p.  193. 

2  "  The  lady  with  whom  Sir  Walter  Scott  held  this  conver- 
sation was,  no  doubt,  his  aunt,  Miss  Christian  Rutherford  ; 
there  was  no  other  female  relation  dead  when  this  Introduction 
was  written,  whom  I  can  suppose  him  to  have  consulted  on 
literary  questions.  Lady  Capulet,  on  seeing  the  corpse  of 
Tybalt,  exclaims, — 

♦  Tybalt,  my  cousin  !  oh  my  brother's  child  !'  " 

LOCKHART,  Vol.  JU.  p.  251. 

s  Lines  in  praise  of  worn  m. — Wishart's  Memoirs  of  Mon- 
trose, p.  497. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


181 


"  If  I  fail,"  I  said,  for  the  dialogue  is  strong  in 
my  recollection,  "  it  is  a  sign  that  I  ought  never  to 
oave  succeeded,  and  I  will  write  prose  for  life : 
you  shall  see  no  change  in  my  temper,  nor  will  I 
eat  a.  smgie  meal  the  worse.     But  if  I  succeed, 

'  Up  with  the  bonnie  olue  bonnet, 
The  dirk,  und  the  leather,  and  a!'  " 

Afterwards,  I  showed  my  affectionate  and  anx- 
ious critic  the  first  canto  of  the  poem,  which  rec- 
onciled her  to  my  imprudence.  Nevertheless, 
although  I  answered  thus  confidently,  with  the 
obstinacy  often  said  to  be  proper  to  those  who  bear 
my  surname,  I  acknowledge  that  my  confidence 
was  considerably  shaken  by  the  warning  of  her 
excellent  taste  and  unbiased  friendship.  Nor  was 
I  much  comforted  by  her  retractation  of  the  un- 
favorable judgment,  when  I  recollected  how  likely 
a  natural  partiality  was  to  effect  that  change  of 
opinion.  In  such  cases,  affection  rises  like  a  light 
on  the  canvas,  improves  any  favorable  tints  winch 
it  formerly  exhibited,  and  throws  its  defects  into 
the  shade. 

I  remember  that  about  the  same  time  a  friend 
started  in  to  "heeze  up  my  hope/'  like  the  "  sports- 
man with  his  cutty  gun,"  in  the  old  song.  He  was 
bred  a  farmer,  but  a  man  of  powerful  understand- 
ing, natural  good  taste,  and  warm  poetical  feeling, 
perfectly  competent  to  supply  the  wants  of  an 
imperfect  or  irregular  education.  He  was  a  pas- 
sionate admirer  of  field-sports,  which  we  often  pur- 
sued together. 

As  this  friend  happened  to  dine  with  me  at 
Ashestiel  one  day,  I  took  the  opportunity  of  read- 
ing to  him  the  first  canto  of  "  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  in  order  to  ascertain  the  effect  the  poem 
was  likely  to  produce  upon  a  person  who  was  but 
too  favorable  a  representative  of  readers  at  large. 
It  is,  of  course,  to  be  supposed  that  I  determined 
rather  to  guide  my  opinion  by  what  my  friend 
might  appear  to  feel,  than  by  what  he  might  think 
fit  to  say.  His  reception  of  my  recitation,  or  pre- 
lection, was  rather  singular.  He  placed  his  hand 
across  his  brow,  and  listened  with  great  attention 
through  the  whole  account  of  the  stag-hunt,  till 
the  dogs  threw  themselves  into  the  lake  to  follow 
their  master,  who  embarks  with  Ellen  Douglas. 
He  then  started  up  with  a  sudden  exclamation, 

i  The  Jolly  Beggar,  attributed  to  Kin?  James  V. — Herd's 
Collection,  1776. 

s  "  I  believe  the  shrewd  critic  here  introduced  was  the  poet's 
excellent  cousin,  Charles  Scott,  now  laird  of  Knowe-south. 
The  story  of  the  Irish  postillion's  trot  he  owed  to  Mr.  Moore." 
— Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  853. 

3  "  Mr.  Robert  Cadell,  who  was  then  a  young  man  in  train- 
ing for  his  profession  in  Edinburgh,  retains  a  strong  impression 
of  the  interest  which  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  excited  there  lor 
two  or  three  months  before  it  was  on  the  counter.  '  James 
Ballantvne,'  he  says,  '  read  the  cantos  from  time  to  time  to 


struck  his  hand  on  the  table,  and  declared,  in  a 
voice  of  censure  calculated  for  the  occasion,  that 
the  dogs  must  have  been  totally  ruined  by  being 
permitted  to  take  the  water  after  such  a  severe 
chase.  I  own  I  was  much  encouraged  by  the  spe- 
cies of  revery  which  had  possessed  so  zealou*  a 
follower  of  the  sports  of  the  ancient  Nimrod,  who 
had  been  completely  surprised  out  of  all  doubts 
of  the  reality  of  the  tale.  Another  of  his  remarks 
gave  me  less  pleasure.  He  detected  the  identity 
of  the  King  with  the  wandering  knight,  Fitz-James, 
when  he  winds  his  bugle  to  summon  his  attendants. 
He  was  probably  thinking  of  the  lively,  but  some- 
what licentious,  old  ballad,  in  which  the  denoue 
ment  of  a  royal  intrigue  takes  place  as  follows : 

"  He  took  a  bugle  frae  his  side, 

He  blew  both  loud  and  shrill, 
And  four-and-twenty  belted  knights 

Came  skipping  ower  the  hill , 
Then  he  took  out  a  little  knife, 

Let  a'  his  duddies  fa', 
And  he  was  the  brawest  gentleman 

That  was  amang  them  a'. 

And  we'll  go  no  more  a-roving,"  &c.i 

This  discovery,  as  Mr.  Pepys  says  of  the  rent  in 
his  camlet  cloak,  was  but  a  trifle,  yet  it  troubled 
me ;  and  I  was  at  a  good  deal  of  pains  to  efface 
any  marks  by  which  I  thought  my  secret  could  be 
traced  before  the  conclusion,  when  I  relied  on  it 
with  the  same  hope  of  producing  effect,  with  which 
the  Irish  postboy  is  said  to  reserve  a  "  trot  for  the 
avenue."2 

I  took  uncommon  pains  to  verify  the  accuracy 
of  the  local  circumstances  of  this  story.  I  recol- 
lect, in  particular,  that  to  ascertain  whether  I  was 
telling  a  probable  tale,  I  went  into  Perthshire,  to 
see  whether  King  James  could  actually  have  rid- 
den from  the  banks  of  Loch  Vennachar  to  Stirling 
Castle  within  the  time  supposed  in  the  Poem,  and 
had  the  pleasure  to  satisfy  myself  that  it  was  quite 
practicable. 

After  a  considerable  delay,  "  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake"  appeared  in  May,  1810  ;  and  its  success  was 
certainly  so  extraordinary  as  to  induce  me  for  the 
moment  to  conclude  that  I  had  at  last  fixed  a  nail 
in  the  proverbially  inconstant  wheel  of  Fortune, 
whose  stability  in  behalf  of  an  individual  who  had 
so  boldly  courted  her  favors  for  three  successive 
times,  had  not  as  yet  been  shaken.3     I  had  at 

select  coteries,  as  they  advanced  at  press.  Common  fame  was 
loud  in  their  favor ;  a  great  poem  was  on  all  hands  anticipa- 
ted. I  do  not  recollect  that  any  of  all  the  author's  works  was 
ever  looked  for  with  more  intense  anxiety,  or  that  any  one  of 
them  excited  a  more  extraordinary  sensation  when  it  did  ap- 
pear. The  whole  country  rang  with  the  praises  of  the  poet-  • 
crowds  set  off  to  view  the  scenery  of  Loch  Katrine,  till  then 
comparatively  unknown  ;  and  as  the  book  came  out  just  before 
the  season  for  excursions,  every  house  and  inn  in  that  neigh- 
borhood was  crammed  with  a  constant  succession  of  visitors. 
It  is  a  well-ascertained  fact,  that  from  the  date  of  the  public*- 


182 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


fcained,  perhaps,  that  degree  of  public  reputation 
a.1  which  prudence,  or  certainly  timidity,  would 
have  made  a  halt,  and  discontinued  efforts  by 
•which  I  was  far  more  likely  to  diminish  my  fame 
than  to  increase  it.  But  as  the  celebrated  John 
Wilkes  is  said  to  have  explained  to  his  late  Ma- 
jesty, that  he  himself,  amid  his  full  tide  of  popu- 
larity, was  never  a  Wilkite,  so  I  can,  with  honest 
truth,  exculpate  myself  from  having  been  at  any 
time  a  partisan  of  my  own  poetry,  even  when  it 
was  in  the  highest  fashion  with  the  million.  It 
must  not  be  supposed,  that  I  was  either  so  un- 
grateful, or  so  superabundantly  candid,  as  to  de- 
spise or  scorn  the  value  of  those  whose  voice  had 
elevated  me  so  much  higher  than  my  own  opinion 
told  me  I  deserved.  I  felt,  on  the  contrary,  the 
more  grateful  to  the  public,  as  receiving  that  from 
partiality  to  me,  which  I  could  not  have  claimed 
from  merit ;  and  I  endeavored  to  deserve  the  par- 
tiality, by  continuing  such  exertions  as  I  was  ca- 
pable of  for  their  amusement. 

It  may  be  that  I  did  not,  in  this  continued  course 
of  scribbling,  consult  either  the  interest  of  the  pub- 
lic or  my  own.  But  the  former  had  effectual  means 
of  defending  themselves,  and  could,  by  their  cold- 
ness, sufficiently  check  any  approach  to  intrusion ; 
and  for  myself,  I  had  now  for  several  years  dedi- 
cated my  hours  so  much  to  literary  labor,  that  I 
should  have  felt  difficulty  in  employing  myself 
otherwise ;  and  so,  like  Dogberry,  I  generously 
bestowed  all  my  tediousness  on  the  public,  com- 
forting myself  with  the  reflection,  that  if  posterity 
should  think  me  undeserving  of  the  favor  with 
which  I  was  regarded  by  my  contemporaries, 
"  they  could  not  but  say  I  had  the  crown,"  and  had 
enjoyed  for  a  time  that  popularity  which  is  so 
much  coveted. 

I  conceived,  however,  that  I  held  the  distinguish- 
ed situation  I  had  obtained,  however  unworthily, 
rathe*  like  the  champion  of  pugilism,1  on  the  con- 
dition of  being  always  ready  to  show  proofs  of  my 
skill,  than  in  the  manner  of  the  champion  of  chiv- 
alry, who  performs  his  duties  only  on  rare  and  sol- 

tion  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  the  post-horse  doty  in  Scotland 
rose  in  an  extraordinary  degree  ;  and  indeed  it  continued  to  do 
so  regularly  for  a  number  of  years,  the  author's  succeeding 
works  keeping  up  the  enthusiasm  for  our  scenery  which  lie  had 
thus  originally  created.' 

"  I  owe  to  the  same  correspondent  the  following  details  : — 
•  The  quarto  edition  of  2050  copies  disappeared  instantly,  and 
was  followed,  in  the  course  of  the  same  year,  by  four  editions 
in  octavo,  viz.  one  of  3000,  a  second  of  3250,  and  a  third  and 
a  fourth  each  of  6000  copies  ;  thus,  in  the  space  of  a  few 
months,  the  extraordinary  number  of  20,000  copies  were  dis- 
posed of.  In  the  next  year  (1811)  there  was  another  edition  of 
3000  ;  there  was  one  of  2000  in  1814  ;  another  of  2000  in  1815  ; 
one  of  2000  again  in  1819 ;  and  two,  making  between  them 


emn  occasions.  I  was  in  any  case  conscious  that  I 
could  not  long  hold  a  situation  which  the  caprice, 
rather  than  the  judgment,  of  the  public,  had  be- 
stowed upon  me,  and  preferred  being  deprived  oi 
my  precedence  by  some  more  worthy  rival,  to 
sinking  into  contempt  for  my  indolence,  and  losing 
my  reputation  by  what  Scottish  lawyers  call  the 
negative  proscription.  Accordingly,  those  who 
choose  to  look  at  the  Introduction  to  Rokeby,  in  the 
present  edition,  will  be  able  to  trice  the  steps  by 
which  I  declined  as  a  poet  to  figure  as  a  novelist ; 
as  the  ballad  says,  Queen  Eleanor  sunk  at  Charing- 
Cross  to  rise  again  at  Queenhithe. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  say,  that,  during  my 
short  pre-eminence  of  popularity,  I  faithfully  ob- 
served the  rules  of  moderation  which  I  had  re- 
solved to  follow  before  I  began  my  course  as  a 
man  of  letters.  If  a  man  is  determined  to  make  a 
noise  in  the  world,  he  is  as  sure  to  encounter  abuse 
and  ridicule,  as  he  who  gallops  furiously  through  a 
village,  must  reckon  on  being  followed  by  the  curs 
in  full  cry.  Experienced  persons  know,  that  in 
stretching  to  flog  the  latter,  the  rider  is  very  apt 
to  catch  a  bad  fall ;  nor  is  an  attempt  to  chastise  a 
malignant  critic  attended  with  less  danger  to  the 
author.  On  this  principle,  I  let  parody,  burlesque, 
and  squibs,  find  their  own  level ;  and  while  the 
latter  hissed  most  fiercely,  I  was  cautious  never  to 
catch  them  up,  as  school-boys  do,  to  throw  them 
back  against  the  naughty  boy  who  fired  them  off, 
wisely  remembering  that  they  are,  in  such  cases, 
apt  to  explode  in  the  handling.  Let  me  add,  that 
my  reign2  (since  Byron  has  so  called  it)  was  mark- 
ed by  some  instances  of  good-nature  as  well  as  pa- 
tience. I  never  refused  a  literary  person  of  merit 
such  services  in  smoothing  his  way  to  the  public  as 
were  in  my  power;  and  I  had  the  advantage, 
rather  an  uncommon  one  with  our  irritable  race, 
to  enjoy  general  favor,  without  incurring  perma- 
nent ill-will,  so  far  as  is  known  to  me,  among  any 
of  my  contemporaries. 

W.  S. 

Abbottsford,  April,  1830. 

2500,  appeared  in  1825.  Since  which  time  the  Lady  of  the 
Lake,  in  collective  editions  of  his  poetry,  and  in  separate  insuea, 
must  have  circulated  to  the  extent  of  at  least  20,000  eopiea 
more.  So  that,  down  to  the  month  of  July,  1836,  the  legiti- 
mate sale  in  Great  Britain  has  been  not  less  than  50,000 
copies.'  " — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  248. 

i  "  In  twice  five  years  the  '  greatest  living  poet,' 
Like  to  the  champion  in  the  fisty  ring, 
Is  call'd  on  to  support  his  claim,  or  show  it, 
Although  'tis  an  imaginary  thing,"  &c. 

Don  Juan,  canto  xi.  st.  55. 
2  "  Sir  Walter  reign'd  before  me,"  &c. 

Don  Juan,  canto  xi.  st.  57. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


183 


&l)£  C a5 ]3  of  t\)t  Cake- 


TO    THE 
MOST     NOBLE 

JOHN   JAMES   MARQUIS   OFABERCORN, 
&c.  &c.  &c. 

THIS     POEM1     IS     INSCRIBED     BY 

THE   AUTHOR. 


ARGUMENT. 


The  Scene  of  the  following  Poem  is  laid  chiefly  in  the  Vicinity  of  Loch  Katrine,  in  the  Western  High, 
lands  of  Perthshire.  The  time  of  Action  includes  Six  Days,  and  the  transactions  of  each  Day  occupy 
a  Canto.2 


i  Published  by  John  Ballantyne  &  Co.  in  4to.,  with  en- 
graved frontispiece  of  Saxon's  portrait  of  Scott,  j£2  2s. 
May,  1810. 

2  "  Never,  we  think,  has  the  analogy  between  poetry  and 
painting  been  more  strikingly  exemplified  than  in  the  writings 
of  Mr.  Scott.  He  sees  every  thing  with  a  painter's  eye.  What- 
ever he  represents  has  a  character  of  individuality,  and  is 
drawn  with  an  accuracy  and  minuteness  of  discrimination, 
which  we  are  not  accustomed  to  expect  from  verbal  description. 
Much  of  this,  no  doubt,  is  the  result  of  genius  ;  for  there  is  a 
quick  and  comprehensive  power  of  discernment,  an  intensity 
and  keenness  of  observation,  an  almost  intuitive  glance,  which 
nature  alone  can  give,  and  by  means  of  which  her  favorites  are 
enabled  to  discover  characteristic  differences,  where  the  eye  of 
dulness  sees  nothing  but  uniformity  ;  but  something  also  must 
be  referred  to  discipline  and  exercise.  The  liveliest  fancy  can 
only  call  forth  those  images  which  are  already  stored  up  in  the 
memory  ;  and  all  that  invention  can  do  is  to  unite  these  into 
new  combinations,  which  must  appear  confused  and  ill-defined, 
if  the  impressions  originally  received  by  the  senses  were  deficient 
in  strength  and  distinctness.  It  is  because  Mr.  Scott  usually 
delineates  those  objects  with  which  he  is  perfectly  familiar, 
that  his  touch  is  so  easy,  correct,  and  animated.  The  rocks, 
the  ravines,  and  the  torrents,  which  he  exhibits,  are  not  the  im- 
perfect sketches  of  a  hurried  traveller,  but  the  finished  studies 
of  a  resident  artist,  deliberately  drawn  from  different  points  of 
view  ;  each  has  its  true  shape  and  position  ;  it  is  a  portrait ;  it 
has  its  name  by  which  the  spectator  is  invited  to  examine  the 
exactness  of  the  resemblance.  The  figures  which  are  com- 
bined with  the  landscape  are  painted  with  the  same  fidelity. 
Like  those  of  Salvator  Rosa,  they  are  perfectly  appropriate  to 
the  spot  on  which  they  stand.  The  boldness  of  feature,  the 
lightness  and  compactness  of  form,  the  wildness  of  air,  and  the 
careless  ease  of  attitude  of  these  mountaineers,  are  as  congenial 
to  their  native  Highlands,  as  the  birch  and  the  pine  which 
darken  their  glens,  the  sedge  which  fringes  their  lakes,  or  the 
heath  which  waves  over  their  moors." — Quarterly  Review, 
May,  1810. 

*'  It  is  honorable  to  Mr.  Scott's  genius  that  he  has  been  able 
uj  interest  the  public  so  deeply  with  this  third  presentment  of 


the  same  chivalrous  scenes  ;  but  we  cannot  help  thinking,  thai 
both  his  glory  and  our  gratification  would  have  been  greater, 
if  he  had  changed  his  hand  more  completely,  and  actually  given 
us  a  true  Celtic  story,  with  all  its  drapery  and  accompaniments 
in  a  corresponding  style  of  decoration.  Such'a  subject,  we 
are  persuaded,  has  very  great  capabilities,  and  only  wants  to  be 
introduced  to  public  notice  by  such  a  hand  as  Mr.  Scott's,  to 
make  a  still  more  powerful  impression  than  he  has  already  ef- 
fected by  the  resurrection  of  the  tales  of  romance.  There  are 
few  persons,  we  believe,  of  any  degree  of  poetical  susceptibility, 
who  have  wandered  among  the  secluded  valleys  of  the  High- 
lands, and  contemplated  the  singular  people  by  whom  they  are 
still  tenanted — with  their  love  of  music  and  of  song — their  hardy 
and  irregular  life,  so  unlike  the  unvarying  toils  of  the  Saxon 
mechanic — their  devotion  to  their  chiefs — their  wild  and  loftj 
traditions — their  national  enthusiasm — the  melancholy  grand- 
eur of  the  scenes  they  inhabit — and  the  multiplied  superstitions 
which  still  linger  among  them — without  feeling,  that  there  is 
no  existing  people  so  well  adapted  for  the  purposes  of  poetry, 
or  so  capable  of  furnishing  the  occasion  of  new  and  striking  in- 
ventions. 

"  We  are  persuaded,  that  if  Mr.  Scott's  powerful  and 
creative  genius  were  to  be  turned  in  good  earnest  to  such  a 
subject,  something  might  be  produced  still  more  impressivt 
and  original  than  even  this  age  has  yet  ?Ditnessed." — Jef- 
frey, Edinburgh  Review,  No.  xvi.  for  1810. 

"  The  subject  of  The  Lady  is  a  common  Highland  irruption, 
but  at  a  point  where  the  neighborhood  of  the  Lowlands  affords 
the  best  contrast  of  mariners — where  the  scenery  affords  the  no- 
blest subject  of  description — and  where  the  wild  clan  is  so  near 
to  the  Court,  that  their  robberies  can  be  connected  with  the 
romantic  adventures  of  a  disguised  king,  an  exiled  lord,  and  a 
high-born  beauty.  The  whole  narrative  is  very  fine.  There 
are  not  so  many  splendid  passages  for  quotation  as  in  the  two 
former  poems.  This  may  indeed  silence  the  objections  of  the 
critics,  but  I  doubt  whether  it  will  promote  the  popularity  of 
the  poem.  It  has  nothing  so  good  as  the  Address  to  Seotlanu 
or  the  Death  of  Marmion." — Mackintosh,  in  his  Diary 
1811,  see  his  Life,  vol.  ii.  p.  82. 

"  The  Lay,  if  I  may  venture  to  state  the  creed  now  estar> 


J  84 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I 


®I)£  Ccrtrg  of  %  Cab. 


CANTO    FIRST. 


Harp  of  the  North !  that  mouldering  long  hast  hung 

On  the  witch-elm  that   shades   Saint   Fillan's 
spring, 
And  down  the  fitful  breeze  thy  numbers  flung,1 

Till  envious  ivy  did  around  thee  cling, 
Muffling  with  verdant  ringlet  every  string, — 

0  minstrel  Harp,  still  must  thine  accents  sleep  ? 
Mid  rustling  leaves  and  fountains  murmuring, 

Sti|l  must  thy  sweeter  sounds  their  silence  keep, 
Nor  bid  a  warrior  smile,  nor  teach  a  maid  to  weep  ? 

Not  thus,  in  ancient  days  of  Caledon,        • 

Was  thy  voice  mute  amid  the  festive  crowd, 
When  lay  of  hopeless  love,  or  glory  won, 

Aroused  the  fearful,  or  subdued  the  proud. 
At  each  according  pause,  was  heard  aloud2 

Thine  ardent  symphony  sublime  and  high  ! 
Fair  dames  and  crested  chiefs  attention  bow'd ; 

For  still  the  burden  of  thy  minstrelsy 
"Was  Knighthood's  dauntless  deed,  and  Beauty's 
matchless  eye. 

0  wake  once  more  1  how  rude  soe'er  the  hand 

That  ventures  o'er  thy  magic  maze  to  stray  ; 
0  wake  once  more !  though  scarce  my  skill  com- 
mand 

Some  feeble  echoing  of  thine  earlier  lay : 
Though  harsh  and  faint,  and  soon  to  die  away, 

And  all  unworthy  of  thy  nobler  strain, 
Yet  if  one  heart  throb  higher  at  its  sway, 

The  wizard  note  has  not  been  touch'd  in  vain. 
Then  silent  be  no  more  1  Enchantress,  wake  again ! 


The  stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill, 
Where  danced  the  moon  on  Monan's  rill, 
And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made 
In  lone  Glenartney's  hazel  shade ; 
But,  when  the  sun  his  beacon  red 


lished,  is,  I  should  say,  generally  considered  as  the  most  natu- 
ral and  original,  Marmion  as  the  most  powerful  and  splendid, 
the  Lady  oi*  the  Lake  as  the  most  interesting,  romantic,  pictur- 
esque, and  graceful  of  his  great  poems." — Lockhart,  vol. 
iii.  p.  256. 

1  MS. — "  And  o?i  the  fitful  breeze  thy  numbers  flung, 
Till  envious  ivy,  with  her  verdant  ring, 
Mantled  and  muffled  each  melodious  string, — 
O  Wizard  Harp,  still  must  thine  accents  sleep  V 


Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlich's  head, 

The  deep-mouth'd  bloodhound's  heavy  bay 

Resounded  up  the  rocky  way,3 

And  faint,  from  farther  distance  borne. 

Were  heard  the  clanging  hoof  and  horn. 

II. 

As  Chief,  who  hears  his  warder  call, 
"  To  arms !  the  foeman  storm  the  wall," 
The  antler'd  monarch  of  the  waste 
Sprung  from  his  heathery  couch  in  haste. 
But,  ere  his  fleet  career  he  took, 
The  dew-drops  from  his  flanks  he  shook ; 
Like  crested  leader  proud  and  high, 
Toss'd  his  beam'd  frontlet  to  the  sky ; 
A  moment  gazed  adown  the  dale, 
A  moment  snuff' d  the  tainted  gale, 
A  moment  listen'd  to  the  cry, 
That  thicken'd  as  the  chase  drew  nigh ; 
Then,  as  the  headmost  foes  appear'd, 
With  one  brave  bound  the  copse  he  clear'd, 
And,  stretching  forward  free  and  far, 
Sought  the  wild  heaths  of  Uam-Var. 

III. 

Yell'd  on  the  view  the  opening  pack , 
Rock,  glen,  and  cavern,  paid  them  back ; 
To  many  a  mingled  sound  at  once 
The  awaken'd  mountain  gave  response. 
A  hundred  dogs  bay'd  deep  and  strong, 
Clatter'd  a  hundred  steeds  along, 
Their  peal  the  merry  horns  rung  out, 
A  hundred  voices  join'd  the  shout ; 
With  hark  and  whoop  and  wild  halloo, 
No  rest  Benvoirlich's  echoes  knew.4 
Far  from  the  tumult  fled  the  roe, 
Close  in  her  covert  cower'd  the  doe, 
The  falcon,  from  her  cairn  on  high, 
Cast  on  the  rout  a  wondering  eye, 
Till  far  beyond  her  piercing  ken 
The  hurricane  had  swept  the  glen. 
Famt  and  more  faint,  its  failing  din 
Return'd  from  cavern,  cliff,  and  linn, 
And  silence  settled,  wide  and  still, 
On  the  lone  wood  and  mighty  lull. 

IV. 
Less  loud  the  sounds  of  silvan  war 
Disturb' d  the  heights  of  Uam-Var, 


2MS.- 


At  each  according  pause  thou  spokest  aloud 
Thine  ardent  sympathy." 


3  MS. — "  The  bloodhound's  notes  of  heavy  bass 

Resounded  hoarsely  up  the  pass." 

4  Benvoirlich,  a  mountain  comprehended  in  the  cluster  of  til* 
Grampians,  at  the  head  of  the  valley  of  the  Garry,  a  rivet 
which  springs  from  its  base.  It  rises  to  an  elevation  of  3330  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea. 


CANTO  I. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


185 


And  roused  the  cavern,  where  'tis  told, 
A  giant  made  his  den  of  old  j1 
For  ere  that  steep  ascent  was  won, 
High  in  his  pathway  hung  the  sun,« 
And  many  a  gallant,  stay'd  perforce, 
Was  fain  to  breathe  his  faltering  horse  ; 
And  of  the  trackers  of  the  deer, 
Scarce  half  the  lessening  pack  was  near ; 
So  sln-ewdly  on  the  mountain's  side 
Had  the  bold  burst  their  mettle  tried. 

V. 

The  noble  stag  was  pausing  now, 
Upon  the  mountain's  southern  brow, 
Where  broad  extended,  far  beneath, 
The  varied  realms  of  fair  Menteith. 
With  anxious  eye  he  wander'd  o'er 
Mountain  and  meadow,  moss  and  moor, 
And  ponder'd  refuge  from  his  toil, 
By  far  Lochard2  or  Aberfoyle. 
But  nearer  was  the  copsewood  gray, 
That  waved  and  wept  on  Loch-Achray, 
And  mingled  with  the  pine-trees  blue 
On  the  bold  cliffs  of  Benvenue. 
Fresh  vigor  with  the  hope  return' d,3 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

2  "  About  a  mile  to  the  westward  of  the  inn  of  Aberfoyle, 
Lochard  opens  to  the  view.  A  few  hundred  yards  to  the  east 
of  it,  the  Avendow,  which  had  just  issued  from  the  lake,  tum- 
bles its  waters  over  a  rugged  precipice  of  more  than  thirty  feet 
in  height,  forming,  in  the  rainy  season,  several  very  magnificent 
cataracts. 

"  The  first  opening  of  the  lower  lake,  from  the  east,  is  un- 
commonly picturesque.  Directing  the  eye  nearly  westward, 
Benlomond  raises  its  pyramidal  mass  in  the  background.  In 
nearer  prospect,  you  have  gentle  eminences,  covered  with  oak 
and  birch  to  the  very  summit ;  the  bare  rock  sometimes  peep- 
ing through  amongst  the  clumps.  Immediately  under  the  eye, 
the  lower  lake,  stretching  out  from  narrow  beginnings  to  a 
breadth  of  about  half  a  mile,  is  seen  in  full  prospect.  On  the 
right,  the  banks  are  skirted  with  extensive  oak  woods  which 
cover  the  mountain  more  than  half  way  up. 

"  Advancing  to  the  westward,  the  view  of  the  lake  is  lost  for 
about  a  mile.  The  upper  lake,  which  is  by  far  the  most  ex- 
tensive, is  separated  from  the  lower  by  a  stream  of  about  200 
yards  in  length.  The  most  advantageous  view  of  the  upper 
lake  presents  itself  from  a  rising  ground  near  its  lower  extrem- 
ity, where  a  footpath  strikes  off  to  the  south,  into  the  wood 
that  overhangs  this  connecting  stream.  Looking  westward, 
Benlomond  is  seen  in  the  background,  rising,  at  the  distance  of 
s'.\  miles,  in  the  form  of  a  regular  cone,  its  sides  presenting  a 
gentle  slope  to  the  N.W.  and  S.E.  On  the  right  is  the  lofty 
mountain  of  Benoghrie,  running  west  towards  the  deep  vale  in 
which  Lochcon  lies  concealed  from  the  eye.  In  the  fcreground, 
Lochard  stretches  out  to  the  west  in  the  fairest  prospect ;  its 
length  three  miles,  and  its  breadth  a  mile  and  a  half.  On  the 
right,  it  is  skirted  with  woods ;  the  northern  and  western  ex- 
tremity of  the  lake  is  diversified  with  meadows,  and  corn-fields, 
and  farm-houses.  On  the  left,  few  marks  of  cultivation  are  to 
be  seen. 

"  Farther  on,  the  traveller  passes  along  the  verge  of  the  lake 
under  a  ledge  of  rock,  from  thirty  to  fifty  feet  high  ;  and,  stand- 
ing immediately  under  this  rock,  towards  its  western  extremity, 
he  lias  a  double  echo,  of  uncommon  distinctness.  Upon  pro- 
24 


With  flying  foot  the  heath  he  spurn'd, 
Held  westward  with  unwearied  race, 
And  left  behind  the  panting  chase. 

VI. 

'Twere  long  to  tell  what  steeds  gave  o'er, 
As  swept  the  hunt  tlirough  Cambus-more  * 
What  reins  were  tighten'd  in  despair, 
When  rose  Benledi's  ridge  in  air  ;5 
Who  flagg'd  upon  Bochastle's  heath, 
Who  shunn'd  to  stem  the  flooded  Teith, — " 
For  twice  that  day,  from  shore  to  shore, 
The  gallant  stag  swam  stoutly  o'er. 
Few  were  the  stragglers,  following  far, 
That  reach'd  the  lake  of  Vennachar  ;7 
And  when  the  Brigg  of  Turk  was  won,8 
The  headmost  horseman  rode  alone. 

VIL 

Alone,  but  with  unbated  zeal, 
That  horseman  plied  the  scourge  and  steel ; 
For  jaded  now,  and  spent  with  toil, 
Emboss'd  with  foam,  and  dark  with  soil. 
While  every  gasp  with  sobs  he  drew, 
The  laboring  sta£  strain'd  full  in  view. 


nouncing,  with  a  firm  voice,  a  line  of  ten  syllables,  it  is  re- 
turned, first  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake  ;  and  when  tha« 
is  finished,  it  is  repeated  with  equal  distinctness  from  the  wooc 
on  the  east.  The  day  must  be  perfectly  calm,  and  the  lake  as 
smooth  as  glass,  for  otherwise  no  human  voice  can  be  returned 
from  a  distance  of  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  mile." — Graham's 
Sketches  of  Perthshire,  2d  edit.  p.  182,  &c. 

3  MS. — "  Fresh  vigor  with  the  thought  return'd, 

With  flying  hoof  the  heath  he  spurn'd." 

4  Cambus-more,  within  about  two  miles  of  Callender,  on  the 
wooded  banks  of  the  Keltie.  a  tributary  of  the  Teith,  is  the  seat 
of  a  family  of  the  name  of  Buchanan,  whom  the  Poet  fre- 
quently visited  in  his  younger  days. 

6  Benledi  is  a  magnificent  mountain,  3009  feet  in  height, 
which  bounds  the  horizon  on  the  northwest  from  Callender. 
The  name,  according  to  Celtic  etymologists,  signifies  the  Moun- 
tain of  Ood. 

6  Two  mountain  streams — the  one  flowing  from  Loch  Voil, 
by  the  pass  of  Leny  ;  the  other  from  Loch  Katrine,  by  Loch 
Achray  and  Loch  Vennachar,  unite  at  Callender ;  and  the 
river  thus  formed  thenceforth  takes  the  name  of  Teith.  Hence 
the  designat'on  of  the  territory  of  Menteith. 

7  "  Loch  Vennachar,  a  beautiful  expanse  of  water,  of  abot' 
five  miles  in  length,  by  a  mile  and  a  half  in  breadth." — Gra 

HAM. 

s  "  About  a  mile  above  Loch  Vennachar,  the  approach 
(from  the  east)  to  the  Brigg,  or  Bridge  of  Turk  (the  scene 
of  the  death  of  a  wild-boar  famous  in  Celtic  tradition),  leads 
to  the  summit  of  an  eminence,  where  there  bursts  upon  the 
traveller's  eye  a  sudden  and  wide  prospect  of  the  windings  o' 
the  river  that  issues  from  Loch  Achray,  with  that  sweet  lake 
itself  in  front ;  the  gently  rolling  river  pursues  its  serpentine 
course  through  an  extensive  meadow  ;  at  the  west  end  of  the 
Lake,  on  the  side  of  Aberfoyle,  is  situated  the  delightful  farm 
of  Achray,  the  level  field,  a  denomination  justly  due  to  it, 
when  considered  in  contrast  with  the  rugged  rocks  and  moan- 
tains  which  surround  it.  From  this  eminence  are  to  be  seen 
also,  on  the  right  hand,  the  entrance  to  Glenfinlas,  and  in  inn 
distance  Benvenue."-  -Graham. 


186 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I. 


Two  dogs  of  black  Saint  Hubert's  breed, 

Unmatch'd  for  courage,  breath,  and  speed,1 

Fast  on  bis  flying  traces  came 

And  all  but  won  that  desperate  game ; 

For,  scarce  a  spear's  length  from  Ins  haunch, 

Vindictive  toil'd  the  bloodhounds  stanch ; 

Nor  nearer  might  the  dogs  attain, 

"Nor  farther  might  the  quarry  strain. 

Thus  up  the  margin  of  the  lake, 

Between  the  precipice  and  brake, 

O'er  stock  and  rock  their  race  they  take. 

VIII. 

The  Hunter  mark'd  that  mountain  high, 
The  lone  lake's  western  boundary, 
And  deem'd  the  stag  must  turn  to  bay, 
Where  that  huge  rampart  barr'd  the  way ; 
Already  glorying  in  the  prize, 
Measured  his  antlers  with  his  eyes ; 
For  the  death-wound  and  death-halloo, 
Muster'd  his  breath,  his  whinyard  drew ; — 9 
But  thundering  as  he  came  prepared, 
With  ready  arm  and  weapon  bared, 
The  wily  quarry  shunn'd  the  shock, 
And  turn'd  him  from  the  opposing  rock ; 
Then,  dashing  down  a  darksome  glen, 
Soon  lost  to  hound  and  hunter's  ken, 
In  the  deep  Trosach's3  wildest  nook 
His  solitary  refuge  took. 
There,  while  close  couch'd,  the  thicket  shed 
Cold  dews  and  wild-flowers  on  his  head, 
He  heard  the  baffled  dogs  in  vain 
Rave  through  the  hollow  pass  amain, 
Chiding  the  rocks  that  yell'd  again. 

IX. 

Close  on  the  hounds  the  hunter  came, 
To  cheer  them  on  the  vanish'd  game ; 
But,  stumbling  in  the  rugged  dell, 
The  gallant  horse  exhausted  fell. 
The  impatient  rider  strove  in  vain 
To  rouse  him  with  the  spur  and  rein, 
For  the  good  steed,  his  labors  o'er, 
Stretch' d  his  stiff  limbs,  to  rise  no  more ; 
Then,  touch'd  with  pity  and  remorse, 
He  sorrow'd  o'er  the  expiring  horse. 
"  I  little  thought,  when  first  thy  rein 
I  slack'd  upon  the  banks  of  Seine, 
That  Highland  eagle  e'er  should  feed 
On  thy  fleet  limbs,  my  matchless  steed ! 
Woe  worth  the  chase,  woe  worth  the  day, 
That  costs  thy  life,  my  gallant  gray  1" 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  B.  2  ibid.  Note  C. 

s  "  The  term  Trosach  signifies  the  rough  or  bristled  terri- 
M>ry." — Graham. 
*  MS. — "  And  on  the  hunter  hied  his  pace, 

To  meet  some  comrades  of  tbe  chase.11 


X. 

Then  through  the  dell  his  horn  resounds, 
From  vain  pursuit  to  call  the  hounds. 
Back  limp'd,   with   slow   and  crippled 

pace, 
The  sulky  leaders  of  the  chase ; 
Close  to  their  master's  side  they  press'd, 
With  drooping  tail  and  humbled  crest ; 
But  still  the  dingle's  hollow  throat 
Prolong'd  the  swelling  bugle-note. 
The  owlets  started  from  their  dream, 
The  eagles  answer'd  with  their  scream. 
Round  and  around  the  sounds  were  cast, 
Till  echo  seem'd  an  answering  blast ; 
And  on  the  hunter  hied  his  way,4 
To  join  some  comrades  of  the  day ; 
Yet  often  paused,  so  strange  the  road, 
So  wondrous  were  the  scenes  it  show'd. 

XL 

The  western  waves  of  ebbing  day 
Roll'd  o'er  the  glen  their  level  way ; 
Each  purple  peak,  each  flinty  spire, 
Was  bathed  in  floods  of  living  fire. 
But  not  a  setting  beam  could  glow 
Within  the  dark  ravines  below, 
Where  twined  the  path  in  shadow  hid, 
Round  many  a  rocky  pyramid, 
Shooting  abruptly  from  the  dell 
Its  thunder-splinter  d  pinnacle ; 
Round  many  an  insulated  mass, 
The  native  bulwarks  of  the  pass,5 
Huge  as  the  tower6  which  builders  vain 
Presumptuous  piled  on  Shinar's  plain.8 
The  rocky  summits,  split  and  rent, 
Form'd  turret,  dome,  or  battlement, 
Or  seem'd  fantastically  set 
With  cupola  or  minaret, 
Wild  crests  as  pagod  ever  deck'd, 
Or  mosque  of  Eastern  architect. 
Nor  were  these  earth-born  castles  bare.7 
Nor  lack'd  they  many  a  banner  fair ; 
For,  from  their  shiver'd  brows  display'd, 
Far  o'er  the  unfathomable  glade, 
All  twinkling  with  the  dewdrop's  sheen,' 
The  brier-rose  fell  iii  streamers  green, 
And  creeping  shrubs,  of  thousand  dyes, 
Waved  in  the  west-wind's  summer  sighs. 

XII. 
Boon  nature  scatter'd,  free  and  wild, 
Each  plant  or  flower,  the  mountain's  child. 

6  MS.—"  The  mimic  castles  of  the  pass." 

6  The  Tow  er  of  Babel.— Genesis,  xi.  1-9. 

7  MS. — "  Nor  were  these  mighty  bulwarks  bare." 

8  MS. — "  Bright  glistening  with  the  dewdrop's  sheen. 


DANTO  1. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


187 


Here  eglantine  embalm'd  the  air, 
Hawthorn  and  hazel  mingle  there  ; 
The  primrose  pale  and  violet  flower, 
Found  in  each  cliff  a  narrow  bower ; 
Fox-glove  and  night-shade,  side  by  side, 
Emblems  of  punishment  and  pride, 
Group'd  their  dark  hues  with  every  stain 
The  weather-beaten  crags  retain. 
With  boughs  that  quaked  at  every  breath, 
Gray  birch  and  aspen  wept  beneath ; 
Aloft,  the  ash  and  warrior  oak 
Cast  anchor  in  the  rifted  rock ; 
And,  higher  yet,  the  pine-tree  hung 
His  shatter'd  trunk,  and  frequent  flung,1 
Where  seem'd  the  cliffs  to  meet  on  high, 
His  boughs  athwart  the  narrow'd  sky. 
Highest  of  all,  where  white  peaks  glanced, 
Where  glist'ning  streamers  waved  and 

danced, 
ine  wanderer's  eye  could  barely  view 
The  summer  heaven's  delicious  blue ; 
So  wondrous  wild,  the  whole  might  seem 
The  scenery  of  a  fairy  dream. 

XIII. 
Onward,  amid  the  copse  'gan  peep 
A  narrow  inlet,  still  and  deep, 
Affording  scarce  such  breadth  of  brim,2 
As  served  the  wild-duck's  brood  to  swim. 
Lost  for  a  space,  through  thickets  veering, 
But  broader  when  again  appearing, 
Tall  rocks  and  tufted  knolls  their  face 
Could  on  the  dark-blue  mirror  trace  ; 
And  farther  as  the  hunter  stray'd, 
Still  broader  sweep  its  channels  made. 
The  shaggy  mounds  no  longer  stood, 
Emerging  from  entangled  wood,3 
But,  wave-encircled,  seem'd  to  float, 
Like  castle  girdled  with  its  moat ; 
Yet  broader  floods  extending  still 
Divide  them  from  their  parent  hill, 
Till  each,  retiring,  claims  to  be 
An  islet  in  an  inland  sea. 


MS.-  •"  His  scathed  trunk,  and  frequent  flung, 

Where  seem'd  the  cliffs  to  meet  on  high, 
His  rugged  arms  athwart  the  sky. 
Highest  of  all,  where  white  peaks  glanced, 
Where  twinkling  streamers  waved  and  danced." 
»  MS. —  "  Affording  scarce  such  breadth  of  flood, 

As  served  to  float  the  wild-duck's  brood." 
3  MS. — "  Emerging  dry-shod  from  the  wood." 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

6  Loch  Ketturin  is  the  Celtic  pronunciation.  In  his  Notes 
to  The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,  the  author  has  signified  his  belief 
that  the  lake  was  named  after  the  Catterins,  or  wild  robbers, 
>vho  haunted  its  shores. 

•>  Benvenue — is  literally  ♦he  little  mountain — i.  e.  as  con- 
trasted with  Benledi  and  Benlomond. 
T  MS. — "  His  ruin'd  sides  and  fragments  hoar, 


XIV. 

And  now,  to  issue  from  the  glen, 

No  pathway  meets  the  wanderer's  ken, 

Unless  he  climb,  with  footing  nice, 

A  far  projecting  precipice.4 

The  broom's  tough  roots  his  ladder  made, 

The  hazel  saplings  lent  their  aid ; 

And  thus  an  airy  point  he  won, 

Where,  gleaming  with  the  setting  sun, 

One  burnish'd  sheet  of  living  gold, 

Loch  Katrine  lay  beneath  him  roll'd,6 

In  all  her  length  far  winding  lay, 

With  promontory,  creek,  and  bay, 

And  islands  that,  empurpled  bright, 

Floated  amid  the  livelier  light, 

And  mountains,  that  like  giants  stand, 

To  sentinel  enchanted  land. 

High  on  the  south,  huge  Benvenue8 

Down  on  the  lake  in  masses  threw 

Crags,  knolls,  and  mounds,  confusedly  hurl'd. 

The  fragments  of  an  earlier  world ; 

A  wildering  forest  feather'd  o'er 

His  ruin'd  sides  and  summit  hoar,7 

While  on  the  north,  through  middle  air, 

Ben-an8  heaved  high  Ms  forehead  bare.9 

XV. 

From  the  steep  promontory  gazed10 

The  stranger,  raptured  and  amazed. 

And,  "  What  a  scene  were  here,"  he  cried, 

"  For  princely  pomp,  or  churchman's  pride ! 

On  this  bold  brow,  a  lordly  tower  ; 

In  that  soft  vale,  a  lady's  bower ; 

On  yonder  meadow,  far  away, 

The  turrets  of  a  cloister  gray ; 

How  blithely  might  the  bugle-horn 

Chide,  on  the  lake,  the  lingering  morn ! 

How  sweet,  at  eve,  the  lover's  lute 

Chime,  when  the  groves  were  still  and  mute  ! 

And,  when  the  midnight  moon  should  lave 

Her  forehead  in  the  silver  wave, 

How  solemn  on  the  ear  would  come 

The  holy  matin's  distant  hum, 


While  on  the  north  to  middle  air." 

8  According  to  Graham,  Ben-an,  or  Bennan,  is  a  mere  li- 
minutive  of  Ben — Mountain. 

9  "  Perhaps  the  art  of  landscape-painting  in  poetry  has  ne/et 
been  displayed  in  higher  perfection  than  in  these  stanzas,  to 
which  rigid  critkism  might  possibly  object  that  the  picture  is 
somewhat  too  minute,  and  that  the  contemplation  of  it  de- 
tains the  traveller  somewhat  too  long  from  the  main  purpose 
of  his  pilgrimage,  but  which  it  would  be  an  act  of  the  greatest 
injustice  to  break  into  fragments,  and  present  by  piecemeal. 
Not  so  the  magnificent  scene  which  bursts  upon  the  bewil- 
dered hunter  as  he  emerges  at  length  from  the  dell,  and  com- 
mands at  one  view  the  beautiful  expanse  of  Loch  Katrine."-- 
Critical  Review,  August,  1820. 

10  MS. — "  From  the  high  p  omontory  gazed 

The  stranger,  awe-struck  and  amazed  ■ 


186 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I 


"While  the  deep  peal's  commanding  tone 
(Should  wake,  in  yonder  islet  lone, 
A  sainted  hermit  from  Iris  cell, 
To  drop  a  bead  with  every  knell — 
And  bugle,  lute,  and  bell,  and  all, 
Should  each  bewilder'd  stranger  caU 
To  friendly  feast,  and  lighted  hall.1 

XVI. 

"  Blithe  were  it  then  to  wander  here ! 
But  now, — beshrew  yon  nimble  deer, — 
Like  that  same  hermit's,  thin  and  spare, 
The  copse  must  give  my  evening  fare ; 
Some  mossy  bank  my  couch  must  be, 
Some  rustling  oak  my  canopy.2 
Yet  pass  we  that ;  the  war  and  chase 
Give  little  choice  of  resting-place ; — 
A  summer  night,  in  greenwood  spent, 
Were  but  to-morrow's  merriment : 
But  hosts  may  in  these  wilds  abound, 
Such  as  are  better  miss'd  than  found  ; 
To  meet  with  Highland  plunderers  here, 
"Were  worse  than  loss  of  steed  or  deer. — s 

1  am  alone  ; — my  bugle-strain 

May  call  some  straggler  of  the  train ; 
Or,  fall  the  worst  that  may  betide, 
Ere  now  this  falchion  has  been  tried." 

XVII. 

But  scarce  again  his  horn  he  wound,4 

"When  lo !  forth  starting  at  the  sound, 

From  underneath  an  aged  oak, 

That  slanted  from  the  islet  rock, 

A  damsel  guider  of  its  way, 

A  little  skiff  shot  to  the  bay,6 

That  round  the  promontory  steep 

Led  its  deep  line  in  graceful  sweep, 

Eddying,  in  almost  viewless  wave, 

The  weeping  willow-twig  to  lave, 

And  kiss,  with  whispering  sound  and  slow, 

The  beach  of  pebbles  bright  as  snow. 

The  boat  had  touch'd  this  silver  strand, 

Just  as  the  Hunter  left  his  stand, 

And  stood  comeal'd  amid  the  brake, 

To  view  this  Lacij    of  the  Lake. 

The  maiden  paused,  as  if  again 

She  thought  to  catch  the  distant  strain. 

With  head  up-raised,  and  look  intent, 

And  eye  and  ear  attentive  bent, 

And  locks  flung  back,  and  lips  apart, 

i  MS.—  "  To  hospitable  feast  and  hall." 

2  MS. — "  And  hollow  trunk  of  some  old  tree, 

My  chamber  for  the  night  must  Je." 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

*  MS. — "  The  bugle  shrill  again  he  wound, 

And  lo !  forth  starting  at  the  sound." 

*  MS.—"  A  little  skiff  shot  to  the  bay. 

The  Hunter  left  his  airy  stand, 


Like  monument  of  Grecian  art, 

In  listening  mood,  she  seem'd  to  stand, 

The  guardian  Naiad  of  the  strand. 

XVIII. 

And  ne'er  did  Grecian  chisel  trace8 

A  Nymph,  a  Naiad,  or  a  Grace, 

Of  finer  form,  or  lovelier  face  ! 

"What  though  the  sun,  with  ardent  frown. 

Had  slightly  tinged  her  cheek  with  brown.- 

The  sportive  toil,  which,  short  and  light, 

Had  dyed  her  glowing  hue  so  bright, 

Served  too  in  hastier  swell  to  show 

Short  glimpses  of  a  breast  of  snow : 

What  though  no  rule  of  courtly  grace 

To  measured  mood  had  train'd  her  pace, — 

A  foot  more  light,  a  step  more  true, 

Ne'er  from  the  heath-flower  dash'd  the  deT 

E'en  the  slight  harebell  raised  its  head, 

Elastic  from  her  airy  tread : 

What  though  upon  her  speech  there  hung 

The  accents  of  the  mountain  tongue, — 7 

Those  silver  sounds,  so  soft,  so  dear, 

The  listener  held  his  breath  to  hear 

XIX. 

A  Chieftain's  daughter  seem'd  the  maid ; 
Her  satin  snood,8  her  silken  plaid. 
Her  golden  brooch,  such  birth  betray'd. 
And  seldom  was  a  snood  amid 
Such  wild  luxuriant  ringlets  hid, 
Whose  glossy  black  to  shame  might  bring 
The  plumage  of  the  raven's  wing ; 
And  seldom  o'er  a  breast  so  fair, 
Mantled  a  plaid  with  modest  care, 
And  never  brooch  the  folds  combined 
Above  a  heart  more  good  and  kind. 
Her  kindness  and  her  worth  to  spy, 
You  need  but  gaze  on  Ellen's  eye  ; 
Not  Katrine,  in  her  mirror  blue, 
Gives  back  the  shaggy  banks  more  true 
Than  every  free-born  glance  confess'd 
The  guileless  movements  of  her  breast ; 
Whether  joy  danced  in  her  dark  eye, 
Or  woe  or  pity  claim'd  a  sigh, 
Or  filial  love  was  glowing  there, 
Or  meek  devotion  pour'd  a  prayer, 
Or  tale  of  injury  call'd  forth 
The  indignant  spirit  of  the  North. 
One  only  passion  unreveal'd, 


And  when  the  boat  had  touch'd  the  sani 
Conceal'd  he  stood  amid  the  brake, 
To  view  this  Lady  of  the  Lake." 

«  MS. — "  A  finer  form,  a  fairer  face, 

Had  never  marble  Nymph  or  Grace, 
Tbat  boasts  the  Grecian  chisel's  trace." 

i  MS. — "  Tbe  accents  of  a  stranger  tongue." 

B  See  Note  on  Canto  III.  stanza  5. 


canto  r. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


189 


"With  maiden  pride  the  maid  conceal' d, 

XXII. 

Yet  not  less  purely  felt  the  flame  ; — 

A  while  the  maid  the  stranger  eyed, 

0  need  I  tell  that  passion's  name  ! 

And,  reassured,  at  length  replied, 

That  Highland  halls  were  open  still1 

XX. 

To  wilder'd  wanderers  of  the  hill. 

Impatient  of  the  silent  horn, 

"  Nor  think  you  unexpected  come 

Now  on  the  gale  her  voice  was  borne : — 

To  yon  lone  isle,  our  desert  home  ; 

"  Father  !"  she  cried ;  the  rocks  around 

Before  the  heath  had  lost  the  dew 

Loved  to  prolong  the  gentle  sound. 

Tins  morn,  a  couch  was  pull'd  for  you ; 

A.  while  she  paused,  no  answer  came, — 1 

On  yonder  mountain's  purple  head 

Malcolm,    was    thine    the   blast?"    the 

Have  ptarmigan  and  heath-cock  bled, 

name 

And  our  broad  nets  have  swept  the  mere, 

Less  resolutely  utter'd  fell, 

To  furnish  forth  your  evening  cheer." — 

The  echoes  could  not  catch  the  swell. 

"  Now,  by  the  rood,  my  lovely  maid, 

"  A  stranger  I,"  the  Huntsman  said, 

Your  courtesy  has  err'd,"  he  said ; 

Advancing  from  the  hazel  shade. 

"  No  right  have  I  to  claim,  misplaced, 

The  maid,  alarm' d,  with  hasty  oar, 

The  welcome  of  expected  guest. 

Push'd  her  light  shallop  from  the  shore, 

A  wanderer,  here  by  fortune  tost, 

And  when  a  space  was  gain'd  between, 

My  way,  my  friends,  my  courser  lost, 

Closer  she  drew  her  bosom's  screen ; 

I  ne'er  before,  believe  me,  fair, 

(So  forth  the  startled  swan  would  swing,3 

Have  ever  drawn  your  mountain  air, 

So  turn  to  prune  his  ruffled  wing.) 

Till  on  this  lake's  romantic  strand,4 

Then  safe,  though  flutter'd  and  amazed, 

I  found  a  fay  in  fairy  land  !"— 

She  paused,  and  on  the  stranger  gazed. 

Not  his  the  form,  nor  his  the  eye, . 

XXIII. 

That  youthful  maidens  wont  to  fly. 

"  I  well  believe,"  the  maid  replied, 

As  her  light  skiff  approach'd  the  side, — 

XXI. 

"  I  well  believe,  that  ne'er  before 

On  his  bold  visage  middle  age 

Your  foot  has  trod  Loch  Katrine's  shore 

Had  slightly  press'd  its  signet  sage , 

But  yet,  as  far  as  yesternight, 

Yet  had  not  quench' d  the  open  truth 

Old  Allan-Bane  foretold  your  plight, — 

And  fiery  vehemence  of  youth ; 

A  gray-hair'd  sire,  whose  eye  intent 

Forward  and  frolic  glee  was  there, 

Was  on  the  vision' d  future  bent.6 

The  will  to  do,  the  soul  to  dare, 

He  saw  your  steed,  a  dappled  gray, 

The  sparkling  glance,  soon  blown  to  fire, 

Lie  dead  beneath  the  birchen  way ; 

Of  hasty  love,  or  headlong  ire. 

Painted  exact  your  form  and  mien, 

His  limbs  were  cast  in  manly  mould, 

Your  hunting  suit  of  Lincoln  green, 

For  hardy  sports  or  contest  bold  ; 

That  tasselFd  horn  so  gayly  gilt, 

And  though  in  peaceful  garb  array'd, 

That  falclnon's  crooked  blade  and  hilt, 

And  weaponless,  except  his  blade, 

That  cap  with  heron  plumage  trim, 

His  stately  mien  as  well  implied 

And  yon  two  hounds  so  dark  and  grim. 

A  high-born  heart,  a  martial  pride, 

He  bade  that  all  should  ready  be, 

As  if  a  Baron's  crest  he  wore, 

To  grace  a  guest  of  fair  degree  ; 

And  sheathed  in  armor  trode  the  shore. 

But  light  I  held  his  prophecy, 

Slighting  the  petty  need  he  show'd, 

And  deem'd  it  was  my  father's  horn, 

He  told  of  Ins  benighted  road : 

Whose  echoes  o'er  the  lake  were  borne." 

His  ready  speech  flow'd  fair  and  free, 

In  phrase  of  gentlest  courtesy ; 

XXIV. 

Yet  seem'd  that  tone,  and  gesture  bland, 

The  stranger  smiled  : — "  Since  to  your  home 

Less  used  to  sue  than  to  command. 

A  destined  errant-knight  I  come, 

MS. — "  A  space  she  paused,  no  answer  came, — 

2  MS. — "  So  o'er  the  lake  the  swan  would  spring, 

'  Jllpine,  was  thine  the  blast  V  the  name 

Then  turn  to  prune  its  ruffled  wing." 

Less  resolutely  utter'd  fell, 

The  echoes  could  not  catch  the  swell. 

8  MS. — "  Her  father's  hall  was  open  still." 

'  Nor  foe  nor  friend,'  the  stranger  said, 

*  MS. — "  Till  on  this  lake's  enchanting-  strand." 

Advancing  from  the  hazel  shade. 

The  startled  maid,  with  hasty  oar, 

«MS.-"/j  often  on  the  future  bent."— See  Append!* 

Push'd  her  light  shallop  from  the  shore." 

NoteF 

190                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                                canto  ^ 

Announced  by  prophet  sooth  and  old, 

The  ivy  and  Idsean  vine, 

Doom'd,  doubtless,  for  achievement  bold, 

The  clematis,  the  favor'd  flower 

I'll  lightly  front  each  high  emprise, 

Which  boasts  the  name  of  virgin-bower 

For  one  kind  glance  of  those  bright  eyes. 

And  every  hardy  plant  could  bear 

Permit  me,  first,  the  task  to  guide 

Loch  Katrine's  keen  and  searching  air. 

Your  fairy  frigate  o'er  the  tide." 

An  instant  in  this  porch  she  staid, 

The  maid,  with  smile  suppress'd  and  sly, 

And  gayly  to  the  stranger  said, 

The  toil  unwonted  saw  him  try ; 

"  On  heaven  and  on  thy  lady  call, 

For  seldom  sure,  if  e'er  before, 

And  enter  the  enchanted  hall !" 

His  noble  hand  had  grasp'd  an  oar  :J 

Yet  with  main  strength  his  strokes  he  drew, 

XXVII. 

And  o'er  the  lake  the  shallop  flew ; 

"  My  hope,  my  heaven,  my  trust  must  be, 

With  heads  erect,  and  whimpering  cry, 

My  gentle  guide,  in  following  thee." 

The  hounds  behind  their  passage  ply. 

He  cross'd  the  threshold — and  a  clang 

Nor  frequent  does  the  bright  oar  break 

Of  angry  steel  that  instant  rang. 

The  dark'ning  mirror  of  the  lake, 

To  his  bold  brow  his  spirit  rush'd, 

Until  the  rocky  isle  they  reach, 

But  soon  for  vain  alarm  he  blush'd, 

And  moor  their  shallop  on  the  beach. 

When  on  the  floor  he  saw  display'd, 

Cause  of  the  din,  a  naked  blade 

xxy. 

Dropp'd  from  the  sheath,  that  careless  flung 

Ihe  stranger  view'd  the  shore  around ; 

Upon  a  stag's  huge  antlers  swung ; 

'Twas  all  so  close  with  copsewood  bound, 

For  all  around  the  walls  to  grace, 

Nor  track  nor  pathway  might  declare 

Hung  trophies  of  the  fight  or  chase : 

That  human  foot  frequented  there. 

A  target  there,  a  bugle  here, 

Until  the  mountain-maiden  show'd 

A  battle-axe,  a  hunting-spear, 

A  clambering  unsuspected  road, 

And  broadswords,  bows,  and  arrows  store, 

That  winded  through  the  tangled  screen, 

With  the  tusk'd  trophies  of  the  boar. 

And  open'd  on  a  narrow  green, 

Here  grins  the  wolf  as  when  he  died,8 

Where  weeping  birch  and  willow  round 

And  there  the  wild-cat's  brindled  hide 

With  their  long  fibres  swept  the  ground. 

The  frontlet  of  the  elk  adorns, 

Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour, 

Or  mantles  o'er  the  bison's  horns ; 

Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower.2 

Pennons  and  flags  defaced  and  stain' d, 

That  blackening  streaks  of  blood  retain'd, 

XXVI. 

And  deer-skins,  dappled,  dun,  and  white, 

It  was  a  lodge  of  ample  size, 

With  otter's  fur  and  seal's  unite, 

But  strange  of  structure  and  device ; 

In  rude  and  uncouth  tapestry  all, 

Of  such,  materials,  as  around 

To  garnish  forth  the  silvan  hall. 

The  workman's  hand  had  readiest  found. 

Lopp'd  off  their  boughs,  their  hoar  trunks  bared, 

XXVIII. 

And  by  the  hatchet  rudely  squared, 

The  wondering  stranger  round  him  gazed, 

To  give  the  walls  their  destined  height, 

And  next  the  fallen  weapon  raised : — 

The  sturdy  oak  and  ash  unite ; 

Few  were  the  arms  whose  sinewy  strength 

While  moss  and  clay  and  leaves  combined 

Sufficed  to  stretch  it  forth  at  length, 

To  fence  each  crevice  from  the  wind. 

And  as  the  brand  he  poised  and  sway'd, 

The  lighter  pine-trees,  over-head, 

"  I  never  knew  but  one,"  he  said, 

Their  slender  length  for  rafters  spread, 

Whose  stalwart  arm  might  brook  to  wield 

And  wither'd  heath  and  rushes  dry 

A  blade  like  this  in  battle-field." 

Supplied  a  russet  canopy. 

She  sigh'd,  then  smiled  and  took  the  word : 

Due  westward,  fronting  to  the  green, 

"  You  see  the  guardian  champion's  sword : 

A  rural  portico  was  seen, 

As  light  it  trembles  in  his  hand, 

Aloft  on  native  pillars  borne, 

As  in  my  grasp  a  hazel  wand ; 

Of  mountain  fir,  with  bark  unshorn, 

My  sire's  tall  form  might  grace  the  part 

Where  Ellen's  hand  had  taught  to  twine 

Of  Ferragus  or  Ascabart  ;4 

»  MS. — "  This  gentle  hand  had  grasp'd  an  oar: 

There  hung  the  wild-cat's  brindled  hide, 

Yet  with  main  strength  the  oars  he  drew." 

Above  the  elk's  branch'd  brow  and  skull, 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

And  frontlet  of  the  forest  bull." 

8  MS. — "  Here  grins  the  wolf  as  when  he  died, 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  II. 

CAITTO  I. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


191 


But  in  the  absent  giant's  hold 

On  wandering  knights  our  spells  we  cast ; 

Are  women  now,  and  menials  old." 

While  viewless  minstrels  touch  the  string, 

'Tis  thus  our  charmed  rhymes  we  sing." 

XXIX. 

She  sung,  and  still  a  harp  unseen 

The  mistress  of  the  mansion  came, 

Fill'd  up  the  symphony  between* 

Mature  of  age,  a  graceful  dame  ; 

Whose  easy  step  and  stately  port 

XXXI. 

Had  well  become  a  princely  court, 

Song. 

To  whom,  though  more  than  kindred  knew, 

"  Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er, 

Young  Ellen  gave  a  mother's  due.1 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking ; 

Meet  welcome  to  her  guest  she  made, 

Dream  of  battled  fields  no  more, 

And  every  courteous  rite  was  paid, 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 

That  hospitality  could  claim, 

In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall, 

Though  all  unask'd  liis  birth  and  name  * 

Hands  unseen  thy  couch  are  strewing, 

Such  then  the  reverence  to  a  guest, 

Fairy  strains  of  music  fall, 

That  fellest  foe  might  join  the  feast, 

Every  sense  in  slumber  dewing. 

And  from  his  deadliest  foeman's  door 

Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er, 

Unquestion'd  turn,  the  banquet  o'er. 

Dream  of  fighting  fields  no  more : 

A.t  length  his  rank  the  stranger  uames, 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking, 

"  The  Knight  of  Snowdoun,  James  Fitz-James  : 

Morn  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking. 

Lord  of  a  barren  heritage, 

Which  his  brave  sires,  from  age  to  age, 

"  ~No  rude  sound  shall  reach  thine  ear,8 

By  their  good  swords  had  held  with  toil ; 

Armor's  clang,  or  war-steed  champing, 

His  sire  had  fallen  in  such  turmoil, 

Trump  nor  pibroch  summon  here 

And  he,  God  wot,  was  forced  to  stand 

Mustering  clan,  or  squadron  tramping. 

Oft  for  his  right  with  blade  in  hand. 

Yet  the  lark's  shrill  fife  may  come 

This  morning,  with  Lord  Moray's  train, 

At  the  day -break  from  the  fallow, 

He  chased  a  stalwart  stag  in  vain,' 

And  the  bittern  sound  his  drum, 

Outstripp'd  his  comrades,  miss'd  the  deer, 

Booming  from  the  sedgy  shallow. 

Lost  his  good  steed,  and  wander'd  here." 

Ruder  sounds  shall  none  be  near  ; 

Guards  nor  warders  challenge  here, 

XXX. 

Here's  no  war-steed's  neigh  and  champing, 

Fain  would  the  knight  in  turn  require 

Shouting  clans,  or  squadrons  stamping." 

The  name  and  state  of  Ellen's  sire. 

Well  show'd  the  elder  lady's  mien,3 

XXXII. 

That  courts  and  cities  she  had  seen  : 

She  paused — then,  blushing,  led  the  lay7 

Ellen,  though  more  her  looks  display 'd4 

To  grace  the  stranger  of  the  day. 

The  simple  grace  of  silvan  maid, 

Her  mellow  notes  awhile  prolong 

In  speech  and  gesture,  form  and  face, 

The  cadence  of  the  flowing  song, 

Show'd  she  was  come  of  gentle  race. 

Till  to  her  lips  in  measured  frame 

'Twere  strange,  in  ruder  rank  to  find, 

The  minstrel  verse  spontaneous  came. 

Such  looks,  such  manners,  and  such  mind. 

Each  hint  the  Knight  of  Snowdoun  gave, 

Sonjj  contfttuett. 

Dame  Margaret  heard  with  silence  grave ; 

"  Huntsman,  rest !  thy  chase  is  done, 

Or  Ellen,  innocently  gay, 

While  our  slumb'rous  spells  assail  ye,8 

Turn'd  all  inquiry  light  away : — 

Dream  not,  with  the  rising  sun, 

"  Weird  women  we !  by  dale  and  down 

Bugles  here  shall  sound  reveille". 

We  dwell,  afar  from  tower  and  town. 

Sleep !  the  deer  is  in  his  den ; 

We  stem  the  flood,  we  ride  the  blast, 

Sleep  I  thy  hounds  are  by  thee  lying ; 

l  Mfi  — "  To  whom,  though  more  remote  her  claim, 

Each  anxious  hint  the  stranger  gave, 

Young  Ellen  gave  a  mother's  name." 

The  mother  heard  with  silence  grave." 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

8  MS. — "  Well  show'd  the  mother's  easy  mien." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 

*  MS. — "  Ellen,  though  more  her  looks  bctray'd 

6  MS. — "  Noon  of  hunger,  night  of  waking. 

The  simpb  heart  of  mountain  maid, 

No  rude  sound  shall  rouse  thine  ear." 

In  speech  and  gesture,  form  and  grace, 

7  MS. — "  She  paused — but  waked  again  the  lay." 

Show'd  she  was  come  of  gentle  race  : 

/  "  Slumber  sweet  our  spells  shall  deal  ye, 

8  MS-~  )     Let  our  d  umbrous  spells  J  avail  *•» 

1                                                 (  beguile  ye   ' 

'Twas  strange,  in  birth  so  rude,  to  find 

Such  face  such  manners,  and  such  mind. 

192                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS.                                 canto  1 

Sleep !  nor  dream  in  yonder  glen, 

And  a  cold  gauntlet  met  his  grasp : 

How  thy  gallant  steed  lay  dying. 

The  phantom's  sex  was  changed  and  gone, 

Huntsman,  rest !  thy  chase  is  done, 

Upon  its  head  a  helmet  shone ; 

Tliink  not  of  the  rising  sun, 

Slowly  enlarged  to  giant  size, 

For  at  dawning  to  assail  ye, 

With  darken d  cheek  and  threatening  eyes. 

Here  no  bugles  sound  reveille." 

The  grisly  visage,  stern  and  hoar, 

To  Ellen  still  a  likeness  bore. — 

XXXIII. 

He  woke,  and,  panting  with  affright, 

The  hall  was  clear'd — the  stranger's  bed 

Recall' d  the  vision  of  the  night.3 

Was  there  of  mountain  heather  spread, 

The  hearth's  decaying  brands  were  red, 

Where  oft  a  hundred  guests  had  lain, 

And  deep  and  dusky  lustre  shed, 

And  dream'd  their  forest  sports  again.1 

Half  showing,  half  concealing,  all 

But  vainly  did  the  heath-flower  shed 

The  uncouth  trophies  of  the  hall. 

Its  moorland  fragrance  round  his  head ; 

Mid  those  the  stranger  fix'd  his  eye, 

Not  Ellen's  spell  had  lull'd  to  rest 

Where  that  huge  falchion  hung  on  high, 

The  fever  of  Ins  troubled  breast. 

And  thoughts  on  thoughts,  a  countless  throng, 

In  broken  dreams  the  image  rose 

Rush'd  chasing  countless  thoughts  along, 

Of  varied  perils,  pains,  and  woes: 

Until,  the  giddy  whirl  to  cure, 

His  steed  now  flounders  in  the  brake, 

He  rose,  and  sought  the  moonshine  pure. 

Now  sinks  his  barge  upon  the  lake ; 

Now  leader  of  a  broken  host, 

XXXV. 

His  standard  falls,  his  honor's  lost. 

The  wild-rose,  eglantine,  and  broom,4 

Then, — from  my  couch  may  heavenly  might 

Wasted  around  their  rich  perfume: 

Chase  that  worst  phantom  of  the  night ! — - 

The  birch-trees  wept  in  fragrant  balm, 

Again  return'd  the  scenes  of  youth, 

The  aspens  slept  beneath  the  calm; 

Of  confident  undoubting  truth ; 

The  silver  light,  with  quivering  glance, 

Again  his  soul  he  interchanged 

Play'd  on  the  water's  still  expanse, — 

With  friends  whose  hearts  were  long  estranged. 

Wild  wore  the  heart  whose  passions'  sway 

They  come,  in  dim  procession  led, 

Could  rage  beneath  the  sober  ray ! 

The  cold,  the  faithless,  and  the  dead  ; 

He  felt  its  calm,  that  warrior  guest, 

As  warm  each  hand,  each  brow  as  gay, 

While  thus  he  communed  with  his  breast:—- 

As  if  they  parted  yesterday. 

"  Why  is  it,  at  each  turn  I  trace 

And  doubt  distracts  him  at  the  view, 

Some  memory  of  that  exiled  race? 

0  were  his  senses  false  or  true  ! 

Can  I  not  mountain-maiden  spy, 

Dream'd  he  of  death,  or  broken  vow, 

But  she  must  bear  the  Douglas  eye  ? 

Or  is  it  all  a  vision  now  !2 

Can  I  not  view  a  Highland  brand, 

But  it  must  match  the  Douglas  hand? 

XXXIY. 

Can  I  not  frame  a  fever'd  dream, 

At  length,  with  Ellen  in  a  grove 

But  still  the  Douglas  is  the  theme  ? 

He  seem'd  to  walk,  and  speak  of  love  ; 

I'll  dream  no  more — by  manly  mind 

She  listen'd  with  a  blush  and  sigh, 

Not  even  in  sleep  is  will  resign'd. 

His  suit  was  warm,  his  hopes  were  high. 

My  midnight  orisons  said  o'er, 

He  sought  her  yielded  hand  to  clasp, 

I'll  turn  to  rest,  and  dream  no  more." 

MS. — "  And  dream'd  their  mountain  chase  again." 

The  woods,  the  mountains,  and  the  warbling  maze 

Ye  guardian  spirits,  to  whom  man  is  dear, 

Of  the  wild  brooks  !" — Castle  of  Indolence,  Canto  I. 

From  these  foul  demons  shield  the  midnight  gloom  : 

»  "  Such  a  strange  and  romantic  dream  as  may  be  naturally 

Angels  of  fancy  and  of  love,  he  near, 

expected  to  flow  from  the  extraordinary  events  of  the  past  day. 

And  o'er  the  blank  of  sleep  diffuse  a  bloom  : 

It  might,  perhaps,  be  quoted  as  one  of  Mr.  Scott's  most  success- 

Evoke the  sacred  shades  of  Greece  and  Rome, 

ful  efforts  in  descriptive  poetry.    Some  few  lines  of  it  are  indeed 

And  let  them  virtue  with  a  look  impart ; 

unrivalled  for  delicacy  and  melancholy  tenderness." — Critical 

But  chief,  awhile,  O  !  lend  us  from  the  tomb 

Review. 

Those  long-lost  friends  for  whom  in  love  we  smart, 

i  the  bosom  of  the  lake, 

And  fill  with  pious  awe  and  joy-mixt  woe  the  heart. 

4  MS-— "  Play'd  on  )  Loch  Katrine's  still  expanse  ; 

1  Or  are  you  sportive  ? — bid  the  morn  of  youth 

The  birch,  the  wild-rose,  and  the  broom, 

Rise  to  new  light,  and  beam  afresh'the  days 

Wasted  around  their  rich  perfume 

Of  innocence,  simplicity,  and  truth  ; 

The  birch-trees  wept  in  balmy  dew  ; 

To  cares  estranged,  and  manhood's  thorny  ways. 

The  aspen  slept  on  Benvenue  ; 

vVhat  transport,  to  retrace  our  boyish  plays, 

Wild  were  the  heart  whose  passions'  power 

Our  easy  bliss,  when  each  thing  joy  supplied  ; 
1 

Defied  the  influence  of  the  hour." 

-t  eating. 


(c  //•//    .    _.///////■//•/..'      ///,(■/     '    /'//.■/         f<? //<., 


LAI'Y   OF    TUT.  J.AKt 


CANTO  II. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


193 


His  midnight  orisons  he  told, 

*  And  sunken  cheek  and  heavy  eye, 

A  prayer  with  every  bead  of  gold, 

Pine  for  Ins  Higliland  home ; 

Consign' d  to  heaven  his  cares  and  woes, 

Then,  warrior,  then  be  thine  to  show 

And  sunk  in  undisturb'd  repose ; 

The  care  that  soothes  a  wanderer's  woe ; 

Until  the  heath-cock  shrilly  crew, 

Remember  then  thy  hap  ere  while, 

And  morning  dawn'd  on  Benvenue. 

A  stranger  in  the  lonely  isle. 

"  Or  if  on  life's  uncertain  main 

Mishap  shall  mar  thy  sail ; 

If  faithful,  wise,  and  brave  in  vain, 

Stye  £a^2  of  tlje  Cake. 

Woe,  want,  and  exile  thou  sustain 

Beneath  the  fickle  gale ; 

Waste  not  a  sigh  on  fortune  changed, 

CANTO  SECOND. 

On  thankless  courts,  or  friends  estranged, 

But  come  where  kindred  worth  shall  smile, 

&\)t  Kslantr. 

To  greet  thee  hi  the  lonely  isle." 

I. 

At  morn  the  black-cock  trims  his  jetty  wing, 

IV. 

As  died  the  sounds  upon  the  tide, 

'Tis  morning  prompts  the  linnet's  blithest  lay, 

The  shallop  reach'd  the  mainland  side, 

All  NatureVchildren  feel  the  matin  spring 

And  ere  his  onward  Avay  he  took, 

Of  life  reviving,  with  reviving  day ; 

The  stranger  cast  a  lingering  look, 

And  while  yon  little  bark  glides  down  the  bay, 

Where  easily  his  eye  might  reach 

Wafting  the  Strang  r  on  his  way  again, 

The  Harper  on  the  islet  beach, 

Morn's  genial  influence  roused  a  minstrel  gray, 

Reclined  against  a  blighted  tree, 

And  sweetly  o'er  the  lake  was  heard  thy  strain, 

As  wasted,  gray,  and  worn  as  he. 

Mix'd  with  the  sounding  harp,  0  white-hair'd 

To  minstrel  meditation  given, 

Allan-Bane  I1 

His  reverend  brow  was  raised  to  heaven, 

As  from  the  rising  sun  to  claim 

II. 

A  sparkle  of  inspiring  flame. 

Sottjj. 

His  hand,  reclined  upon  the  wire, 

"  Not  faster  yonder  rowers'  might 

Seem'd  watching  the  awakening  fire ; 

Flings  from  their  oars  the  spray, 

So  still  he  sate,  as  those  who  wait 

Not  faster  yonder  rippling  bright, 

Till  judgment  speak  the  doom  of  fate ; 

That  tracks  the  shallop's  course  in  light, 

So  still,  as  if  no  breeze  might  dare 

Melts  in  the  lake  away, 

To  lift  one  lock  of  hoary  hair ; 

Than  men  from  memory  erase 

So  still,  as  life  itself  were  fled, 

The  benefits  of  former  days ; 

In  the  last  sound  his  harp  had  sped. 

Then  stranger,  go !  good  speed  the  while, 

Nor  tliink  again  of  the  lonely  isle. 

V. 

Upon  a  rock  with  lichens  wild, 

"  High  place  to  thee  in  royal  court, 

Beside  him  Ellen  sate  and  smiled. — 

High  place  in  battle  line, 

Smiled  she  to  see  the  stately  drake 

Good  hawk  and  hound  for  silvan  sport, 

Lead  forth  his  fleet  upon  the  lake, 

Where  beauty  sees  the  brave  resort,2 

Wliile  her  vex'd  spaniel,  from  the  beach, 

The  honor' d  meed  be  thine  ! 

Bay'd  at  the  prize  beyond  his  reach  ? 

True  be  thy  sword,  thy  friend  sincere, 

Yet  tell  me,  then,  the  maid  who  knows, 

Thy  lady  constant,  kind,  and  dear, 

Why  deepen'd  on  her  cheek  the  rose  ? — 

And  lost  in  love  and  friendship's  smile, 

Forgive,  forgive,  Fidelity ! 

Be  memory  of  the  lonely  isle. 

Perchance  the  maiden  smiled  to  see 

Yon  parting  lingerer  wave  adieu, 

ILL 

And  stop  and  turn  to  wave  anew ; 

Sons  contfnueti. 

And,  lovely  ladies,  ere  your  ire 

"  But  if  beneath  yon  southern  sky 

Condemn  the  heroine  of  my  lyre, 

A  plaided  stranger  roam, 

Show  me  the  fair  would  scorn  to  spy, 

Whose  dr  x>ping  crest  and  stifled  sigh, 

And  prize  such  conquest  of  her  eye ! 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

2  MS. — "  At  tourneys  where  the  brave  resort  ' 

194 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II 


VI 

While  yet  he  loiter' d  on  the  spot, 

It  seem'd  as  Ellen  mark'd  him  not ; 

But  when  he  turn'd  him  to  the  glade, 

One  courteous  parting  sign  she  made ; 

And  after,  oft  the  knight  would  say, 

That  not  when  prize  of  festal  day 

Was  dealt  him  by  the  brightest  fair, 

Who  e'er  wore  jewel  in  her  hair, 

So  highly  did  his  bosom  swell, 

As  at  that  simple  mute  farewell. 

Now  with  a  trusty  mountain-guide, 

And  his  dark  stag-hounds  by  his  side, 

He  parts — the  maid  unconscious  still, 

Watch'd  him  wind  slowly  round  the  hill; 

But  when  his  stately  form  was  hid, 

The  guardian  in  her  bosom  chid — 

"  Thy  Malcolm !  vain  and  selfish  maid !" 

'Twas  thus  upbraiding  conscience  said, — 

"  Not  so  had  Malcolm  idly  hung 

On  the  smooth  phrase  of  southern  tongue ; 

Not  so  had  Malcolm  strain'd  his  eye, 

Another  step  than  thine  to  spy.1 

Wake,  Allan-Bane,"  aloud  she  cried, 

To  the  old  Minstrel  by  her  side, — 

"  Arouse  thee  from  thy  moody  dream ! 

I'll  give  thy  harp  heroic  theme, 

And  warm  thee  with  a  fToble  name ; 

Pour  forth  the  glory  of  the  Gramie  !"2 

Scarce  from  her  lip  the  word  had  rush'd, 

When  deep  the  conscious  maiden  blush'd ; 

For  of  liis  clan,  in  hall  and  bower, 

Young  Malcolm  Graeme  was  held  the  flower. 

VII. 

The  Minstrel  waked  Ids  harp — three  times 

Arose  the  well-known  martial  eliimes, 

And  thrice  their  high  heroic  pride 

In  melancholy  murmurs  died. 

"  Vainly  thou  bid'st,  O  noble  maid," 

Clasping  lus  wither'd  hands,  he  said, 

"Vainly  thou  bid'st  me  wake  the  strain, 

Though  all  unwont  to  bid  in  vain. 

Alas !  than  mine  a  mightier  hand 

Has  tuned  my  harp,  my  strings  has  spann'd ! 

I  touch  the  chords  of  joy,  but  low 

And  mournful  answer  notes  of  woe ; 

And  the  proud  march,  which  victors  tread, 

Sinks  in  the  wailing  for  the  dead. 

O  well  for  me,  if  mine  alone 

That  dirge's  deep  prophetic  tone ! 

If,  as  my  tuneful  fathers  said, 

This  harp,  wluch  erst  Saint  Modan  sway'd,* 

Can  thus  its  master's  fate  foretell 

Then  welcome  be  the  minstrel's  knell  1 


1  MS. — "  The  loveliest  Lowland  fair  to  spy." 
»  See  Appendix,  Note  M.  '  Ibid.  Note  N. 


VIII. 

"  But  all !  dear  lady,  thus  it  sigh'd 

The  eve  thy  sainted  mother  died ; 

And  such  the  sounds  which,  while  I  strove 

To  wake  a  lay  of  war  or  love, 

Came  marring  all  the  festal  mirth, 

Appalling  me  who  gave  them  birth, 

And,  disobedient  to  my  call, 

Wail'd   loud  through   Bothwell's   banner'd 

hall, 
Ere  Douglases,  to  rum  driven,4 
Were  exiled  from  their  native  heaven  - 
Oh!  if  yet  worse  mishap  and  woe, 
My  master's  house  must  undergo, 
Or  aught  but  weal  to  Ellen  fair, 
Brood  in  these  accents  of  despair, 
No  future  bard,  sad  Harp !  shall  fling 
Triumph  or  rapture  from  thy  string ; 
One  short,  one  final  strain  shall  flow, 
Fraught  with  unutterable  woe, 
Then  shiver'd  shall  thy  fragments  lie 
Thy  master  cast  him  down  and  die  !" 

IX. 

Soothing  she  answer'd  him,  "  Assuage, 

Mine  honor'd  friend,  the  fears  of  age; 

All  melodies  to  thee  are  known, 

That  harp  has  rung,  or  pipe  has  blown. 

In  Lowland  vale,  or  Highland  glen, 

From  Tweed  to  Spey — what  marvel,  then, 

At  times,  unbidden  notes  should  rise, 

Confusedly  bound  in  memory's  ties, 

Entangling,  as  they  rush  along, 

The  war-march  with  the  funeral  song  ? — 

Small  ground  is  now  for  boding  fear ; 

Obscure,  but  sufe,  we  rest  us  here. 

My  sire,  in  native  virtue  great, 

Resigning  lordship,  lands,  and  state, 

Not  then  to  fortune  more  resign'd, 

Than  yonder  oak  might  give  the  wind ; 

The  graceful  foliage  storms  may  reave, 

The  noble  stem  they  camiot  grieve. 

For  me," — she  stoop'd,  and,  looking  round, 

Pluck' d  a  blue  hare-bell  from  the  ground, — 

"For  me,  whose  memory  scarce  conveys 

An  image  of  more  splendid  days, 

Tliis  little  flower,  that  loves  the  lea, 

May  well  my  simple  emblem  be ; 

It  drinks  heaven's  dew  as  blithe  as  rose* 

That  in  the  king's  own  garden  grows; 

And  when  I  place  it  in  my  hair, 

Allan,  a  bard  is  bound  to  swear 

He  ne'er  saw  coronet  so  fair." 

Then  playfully  the  chaplet  wild 

She  wreath'd  in  her  dark  locks,  and  smiled 


*  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 

6  MS. — V  No  blither  dew-drop  cheers  the  rose 


AN  TO  II. 


THE  LADV   OE  l'HE  LAKE. 


195 


Iler  smile,  her  speech,  with  winning  sway, 
Wiled  the  old  harper's  mood  away. 
With  such  a  look  ;is  hermits  tlnow, 
When  angels  stoop  to  soothe  their  woe, 
lie  gazed,  till  ibnd  regret  and  pride 
Thrill'd  to  a  tear,  then  thus  replied : 
"  Loveliest  and  best !  thou  little  know'st 
Tho  rank,  the  honors,  thou  hast  lost  i 

0  might  I  live  to  see  thee  grace, 

In  Scotland's  court,  thy  birth-right  place, 
To  seo.  my  favorite's  step  advance,1 
The  lightest  in  the  courtly  dance, 
The  cause  of  every  gallant's  sigh, 
And  leading  star  of  every  eye, 
And  theme  of  every  minstrel's  art, 
The  Lady  of  the  Bleeding  Heart  !"a 

XL 

*  Fair  dreams  are  these,"  the  maiden  cried, 
(Light  was  her  accent,  yet  she  sigh'd ;) 
"  Yet  is  this  mossy  rock  to  me 
Worth  splendid  chair  and  canopy  ;3 
Nor  would  my  footsteps  spring  more  gay 
In  courtly  dance  than  blithe  strathspey, 
Nor  half  so  pleased  mine  ear  incline 
To  royal  minstrel's  lay  as  thine. 
And  then  for  suitors  proud  and  high, 
To  bend  before  my  conquering  eye, — 
Thou,  flattering  bard !  thyself  wilt  say. 
That  grim  Sir  Roderick  owns  its  sway. 
The  Saxon  scourge,  Clan- Alpine's  pride. 
The  terror  of  Loch  Lomond's  side, 
Would,  at  my  suit,  thou  know'st,  delay 
A  Lennox  foray — for  a  day." 

XII 

The  ancient  bard  his  glee  repress'd : 
"  111  hast  thou  chosen  them  for  jest ! 
For  who,  tlirough  all  this  western  wild, 
Named  Black  Sir  Roderick  e'er,  and  smded 
In  Holy- Rood  a  knight  he  slew  ;4 

1  saw,  when  back  the  dirk  he  drew, 
Courtiers  give  place  before  the  stride 
Of  the  undaunted  homicide  ;5 

And  since,  though  outlaw'd,  hath  Ins  hana  - 
Full  sternly  kept  his  mountain  land. 
Who  else  dared  give — ah !  woe  the  day,' 
That  I  such  hated  truth  should  say — 
The  Douglas,  like  a  stricken  deer, 

i  This  conplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

»  The  well-known  cognizance  of  the  Douglas  famiy. 

•  MS. — "  Tins  mossy  rock,  my  friend,  to  me 

Ts  worth  gay  chair  and  canopy." 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  P. 

MS. — "  Courtiers  give  place  with  heartless  stride        • 

Of  the  retiring  homicide." 
MS. — "  Who  else  dared  >yn  the  kindred  claim 


Disown'd  by  every  noble  peer,7 

Even  the  rude  refuge  we  have  here  ? 

Alas,  tins  wild  marauding  Chief 

Alone  might  hazard  our  relief, 

And  now  thy  maiden  charms  expand, 

Looks  for  his  guerdon  in  thy  hand ; 

Full  soon  may  dispensation  sought, 

To  back  his  suit,  from  Rome  be  brought. 

Then,  though  an  exile  on  the  hill, 

Thy  father,  as  the  Douglas,  still 

Be  held  in  reverence  and  fear ; 

And  though  to  Roderick  thou'rt  so  dear, 

That  thou  mightst  guide  with  silken  thread, 

Slave  of  thy  will,  this  chieftain  dread ; 

Yet,  0  loved  maid,  thy  mirth  refrain ! 

Thy  hand  is  on  a  lion's  mane." — 

XIII. 

"  Minstrel,"  the  maid  replied,  and  high 
Her  father's  soul  glanced  from  her  eye, 
"  My  debts  to  Roderick's  house  I  know  • 
All  that  a  mother  could  bestow, 
To  Lady  Margaret's  care  I  owe, 
Since  first  an  orphan  in  the  wild 
She  sorrow'd  o'er  her  sister's  cliild ; 
To  her  brave  chierftain  son,  from  ire 
Of  Scotland's  king  who  shrouds  my  sire, 
A  deeper,  holier  debt  is  owed ; 
And,  could  I  pay  it  with  my  blood, 
Allan !  Sir  Roderick  should  command 
My  blood,  my  life, — but  not  my  hand. 
Rather  will  Ellen  Douglas  dwell 
A  votaress  in  Maronnan's  cell  ;8 
Rather  through  realms  beyond  the  sea, 
Seeking  the  world's  cold  charity, 
Where  ne'er  was  spoke  a  Scottish  word, 
And  ne'er  the  name  of  Douglas  heard, 
An  outcast  pilgrim  will  she  rove, 
Than  wed  the  man  she  cannot  love.9 

XIV. 

"  Thou  shakest,  good  friend,  thy  tresses  gray,— 

That  pleading  look,  what  can  it  say 

But  what  I  own  ? — I  grant  him  brave, 

But  wild  as  Bracklinn's  thundering  wave  ;10 

And  generous — save  vindictive  mood, 

Or  jealous  transport,  chafe  Ins  blood : 

I  grant  him  true  to  friendly  band, 

As  Ins  claymore  is  to  his  hand ; 

But  0 !  that  very  blade  of  steel 

That  bound  him  to  thy  mother's  name  ? 
Who  else  dared  give,"  &c. 
i  See  Appendix,  Note  Q,.  ft  Ibid,  Note  R. 

9  "  Ellen   is   most  exquisitely  drawn,  and  could  not  hava 
been  improved   by  contrast,     the  is    beautiful,  franK,  affec- 
tionate, rational,  and  playful,  combining  the  innocence  of  a 
child  with  the  elevated  sentiments  and  courage  of  a  heroine 
— Quarterly  Review. 
io  See  Appendix,  Note  S. 


196 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II. 


More  mercy  for  a  foe  would  feel : 

Yet,  by  my  minstrel's  faith,  I  heard — 

I  grant  liim  liberal,  to  fling 

And  hark  again !  some  pipe  of  war 

Among  his  clan  the  wealth  they  bring, 

Sends  the  bold  pibroch  from  afar." 

When  back  by  lake  and  glen  they  wind, 

And  in  the  Lowland  leave  behind, 

XVI. 

Where  once  some  pleasant  hamlet  stood, 

Far  up  the  lengthen'd  lake  were  spied 

A  mass  of  ashes  slaked  with  blood. 

Four  darkening  specks  upon  the  tide, 

Ilie  hand  that  for  my  father  fought, 

That,  slow  enlarging  on  the  view, 

T  honor,  as  his  daughter  ought ; 

Four  mann'd  and  masted  barges  grew, 

But  can  I  clasp  it  reeking  red, 

And,  bearing  downwards  from  Glengyle, 

From  peasants  slaughter'd  in  their  shed  ? 

Steer'd  full  upon  the  lonely  isle ; 

No  !  wildly  while  !iis  virtues  gleam, 

The  point  of  Brianchoil  they  pass'd, 

They  make  his  passions  darker  seem, 

And,  to  the  windward  as  they  cast, 

4nd  flash  along  his  spirit  high, 

Against  the  sun  they  gave  to  shine 

Like  lightning  o'er  the  midnight  sky. 

The  bold  Sir  Roderick's  banner'd  Pine. 

While  yet  a  child, — and  children  know, 

Nearer  and  nearer  as  they  bear, 

Instinctive  taught,  the  friend  and  foe, — 

Spear,  pikes,  and  axes  flash  in  air. 

I  shudder'd  at  his  brow  of  gloom, 

Now  might  you  see  the  tartans  brave, 

His  shadowy  plaid,  and  sable  plume ; 

And  plaids  and  plumage  dance  and  wave : 

A  maiden  grown,  I  ill  could  bear 

Now  see  the  bonnets  sink  and  rise, 

His  haughty  mien  and  lordly  air : 

As  his  tough  oar  the  rower  plies ; 

But,  if  thou  join'st  a  suitor's  claim, 

See,  flashing  at  each  sturdy  stroke, 

In  serious  mood,  to  Roderick's  name, 

The  wave  ascending  into  smoke  ; 

I  thrill  with  anguish !  or,  if  e'er 

See  the  proud  pipers  on  the  bow, 

A  Douglas  knew  the  word,  with  fear. 

And  mark  the  gaudy  streamers  flow 

To  change  such  odious  theme  were  best, — 

From  their  loud  chanters?  down,  and  sweep 

What  think'st  thou  of  our  stranger  guest  ?" — 

The  furrow'd  bosom  of  the  deep, 

As,  rushing  through  the  lake  amain, 

XV. 

They  plied  the  ancient  Highland  strain. 

"  What  think  I  of  lum  ? — woe  the  while 

That  brought  such  wanderer  to  our  isle  1 

XVII. 

Thy  father's  battle-brand,  of  yore 

Ever,  as  on  they  bore,  more  loud 

For  Tine-man  forged  by  fairy  lore,1 

And  louder  rung  the  pibroch  proud. 

What  time  he  leagued,  no  longer  foes, 

At  first  the  sound,  by  distance  tame, 

His  Border  spears  with  Hotspur's  bows, 

Mellow'd  along  the  waters  came, 

Did,  self-unscabbarded,  foreshow 

And,  lingering  long  by  cape  and  bay, 

The  footstep  of  a  secret  foe." 

Wail'd  every  harsher  note  away ; 

If  courtly  spy  hath  harbor'd  here, 

Then  bursting  bolder  on  the  ear, 

What  may  we  for  the  Douglas  fear  ? 

The    clan's   shrill   Gathering   they  could 

What  for  this  island,  deem'd  of  old 

hear ; 

Clan- Alpine's  last  and  surest  hold  ? 

Those  thrilling  sounds,  that  call  the  might 

If  neither  spy  nor  foe,  I  pray 

Of  old  Clan- Alpine  to  the  fight.8 

What  yet  may  jealous  Roderick  say  ? 

Thick  beat  the  rapid  notes,  as  when 

— Nay,  wave  not  thy  disdainful  head, 

The  mustering  hundreds  shake  the  glen, 

Bethink  thee  of  the  discord  dread 

And,  hurrying  at  the  signal  dread, 

That  kindled,  when  at  Beltane  game 

The  batter'd  earth  returns  their  tread. 

Thou  led'st  the  dance  with  Malcolm  Graeme ; 

Then  prelude  light,  of  livelier  tone, 

Still,  though  thy  sire  the  peace  renew' d, 

Express'd  their  merry  marching  on, 

Smoulders  in  Roderick's  breast  the  feud ; 

Ere  peal  of  closing  battle  rose, 

Beware ! — But  hark,  what  sounds  are  these  ?s 

With  mingled  outcry,  shrieks,  and  blows ; 

My  dull  ears  catch  no  faltering  breeze, 

And  mimic  din  of  stroke  and  ward, 

No  weeping  birch,  nor  aspens  wake, 

As  broad-sword  upon  target  jarr'd ;  , 

Nor  breath  is  dimpling  in  the  lake, 

And  groaning  pause,  ere  yet  again, 

Still  is  the  carina's4  hoary  beard, 

Condensed,  the  battle  yell'd  amain; 

» See  Appendix,  Note  T.             2  Ibid.  Note  U. 

procession,  are  given  with  inimitable  spirit  and  power  of  ej 

"The  moving  picture — the  effect  of  the  sounds — and  the 

pression." — Jeffrey.                 *  Cotton-grass. 

wild  character  and  strong  peculiar  nationality  of  the  whole 

&  The  pipe  of  the  bagpipe.       6  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

canto  ii.                               THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                         197 

The  rapid  charge,  the  rallying  shout, 

Glen  Luss  and  Ross-dhu,  they  are  smoking  in  ruin, 

Retreat  borne  headlong  into  rout, 

And  the  best  of  Locli  Lomond  he  dead  on  her  side.' 

And  bursts  of  triumph,  to  declare 

Widow  and  Saxon  maid 

Clan- Alpine's  conquest — all  were  there. 

Long  shall  lament  our  raid, 

Nor  ended  thus  the  strain  ;  but  slow, 

Think  of  Clan- Alpino  with  fern'  and  with  woe ; 

Sunk  in  a  moan  prolong'd  and  low, 

Lennox  and  Leven-glen 

And  changed  the  conquering  clarion  swelL 

Shake  when  they  hear  agen, 

For  wild  lament  o'er  those  that  fell. 

"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho  1  ieroe !" 

XVIII. 

Row,  vassals,  row,  for  the  pride  of  the  Highlands 

The  war-pipes  ceased  ;  but  lake  and  hill 

Stretch  to  your  oars,  for  the  ever  gijt;en  Pine  ! 

Were  busy  with  their  echoes  still ; 

0 1  that  the  rose-bud  that  graces  yon  inlands, 

And,  when  they  slept,  a  vocal  strain 

Were  wreathed  in  a  garland  around  him  to  twine 

Bade  their  hoarse  chorus  wake  again, 

0  that  some  seedling  gem, 

While  loud  a  hundred  clansmen  raise 

Worthy  such  noble  stem, 

Their  voices  in  their  Clueftain's  praise. 

Honor'd  and  bless'd  in  their  shadow  might  grow 

Each  boatman,  bending  to  his  oar, 

Loud  should  Clan- Alpine  then 

With  measured  sweep  the  burden  bore, 

Ring  from  the  deepmost  glen, 

In  such  wild  cadence,  as  the  braeze 

"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho  1  ieroe  1"* 

Makes  through  December's  leafless  trees. 

The  chorus  first  could  Allan  know, 

XXI. 

"  Roderick  Vich  Alpine,  ho  !  iero !" 

With  all  her  joyful  female  band, 

And  near,  and  nearer  as  they  row'd, 

Had  Lady  Margaret  sought  the  strand 

Distinct  the  martial  ditty  flow'd. 

Loose  on  the  breeze  their  tresses  flew, 
And  high  their  snowy  arms  they  threw, 

XIX. 

As  echoing  back  with  shrill  acclaim, 
And  chorus  wild,  the  Chieftain's  name  ;4 

Boat  .Song. 

While,  prompt  to  please,  with  mother's  art, 

[iail  to  the  Chief  who  in  triumph  advances ! 

The  darling  passion  of  his  heart, 

Honor'd  and  bless'd  be  the  ever-green  Pine  1 

The  Dame  call'd  Ellen  to  the  strand, 

Long  may  the  tree,  in  his  banner  that  glances, 

To  greet  her  kinsman  ere  he  land : 

Flourish,  the  shelter  and  grace  of  our  line ! 

"  Come,  loiterer  come  !  a  Douglas  thou, 

Heaven  send  it  happy  dew, 

And  shun  to  wreathe  a  victor's  brow  ?" — 

Earth  lend  it  sap  anew, 

Reluctantly  and  slow,  the  maid 

Gayly  to  bourgeon,  and  broadly  to  grow, 

The  unwelcome  summoning  obey'd, 

While  every  Highland  glen 

And,  when  a  distant  bugle  rung, 

Sends  our  shout  back  agen, 

In  the  mid-path  aside  she  sprung : — 

"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dliu,  ho !  ieroe  I"1 

"  List,  Allan-Bane  !  From  mainland  cast, 
I  hear  my  father's  signal  blast. 

Ours  is  no  sapling,  chance-sown  by  the  fountain, 

Be  ours,"  she  cried,  "  the  skiff  to  guide, 

Blooming  at  Beltane,  in  winter  to  fade ; 

And  waft  him  from  the  mountain  side." 

When  the  whirlwind  has  stripp'd  every  leaf  on  the 

Then  like  a  sunbeam,  swift  and  bright, 

mountain, 

She  darted  to  her  shallop  light, 

The  more  shall  Clan- Alpine  exult  in  her  shade. 

And,  eagerly  while  Roderick  scann'd, 

Moor'd  in  the  rifted  rock, 

For  her  dear  form,  his  mother's  band. 

Proof  to  the  tempest's  shock, 

The  islet  far  behind  her  lay, 

Firmer  he  roots  him  the  ruder  it  blow ; 

And  she  had  landed  in  the  bay. 

Menteith  and  Breadalbane,  then, 

Echo  his  praise  agen, 

XXII. 

"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho  1  ieroe  !" 

Some  feelings  are  to  mortals  giveti, 
With  less  of  earth  in  them  than  heaveu 

XX. 

And  if  there  be  a  human  tear 

Proudly  our  pibroch  has  thrill'd  in  Glen  Fruin, 

From  passion's  dross  refined  and  clear, 

And  Bannochar's  groans  to  our  slogan  replied ; 

A  tear  so  limpid  and  so  meek, 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  VV.                    a  Ibid.  Note  X. 

poem  has  seldom,  if  ever,  been  introduced  with  finei  effect,  <r 

*  *'  However  we  may  dislike  the  geographical  song  and  cho- 

in a  manner  better  calculated  to  excite  the  expectations  of  .hi 

rus,  half  English  and  half  Erse,  which  is  sung  in  praise  of  the 

reader,  than  on  the  present  occasion." — Critical  Review 

^arrior,  we  must  allow  that,  in  other  respects,  the  hero  of  a 

4  MS. — "  The  chorus  to  the  chieftain's  fame  " 

198                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS.                               canto  n    ! 

It  would  not  stain  an  angel's  cheek, 

The  hounds,  the  hawk,  her  cares  divide ; 

Tis  that  which  pious  fathers  shed 

The  loved  caresses  of  the  maid 

Upon  a  duteous  daughter's  head  ! 

The  dogs  with  crouch  and  whimper  paid  ;a 

And  as  the  Douglas  to  his  breast 

And,  at  her  whistle,  on  her  hand 

His  darling  Ellen  closely  press'd, 

The  falcon  took  her  favorite  stand, 

Such  holy  drops  her  tresses  steep' d, 

Closed  his  dark  wing,  relax'd  his  eye, 

Though  'twas  an  hero's  eye  that  weep'd. 

Nor,  though  unhooded,  sought  to  fly. 

Nor  while  on  Ellen's  faltering  tongue1 

And,  trust,  while  in  such  guise  she  stood, 

Her  filial  welcomes  crowded  hung, 

Like  fabled  Goddess  of  the  wood,4 

Mark'd  she,  that  fear  (affection's  proof) 

That  if  a  father's  partial  thought 

Still  held  a  graceful  youth  aloof ; 

O'erweigh'd  her  worth  and  beauty  aught, 

No !  not  till  Douglas  named  his  name, 

Well  might  the  lover's  judgment  fail 

Although  the  youth  was  Malcolm  Graeme. 

To  balance  with  a  juster  scale  ; 

For  with  each  secret  glance  he  stole, 

XXIII. 

The  fond  enthusiast  sent  his  soul. 

Allan,  with  wistful  look  the  while, 

Mark'd  Roderick  landing  on  the  isle ; 

XXV. 

His  master  piteously  he  eyed, 

Of  stature  tall,  and  slender  frame, 

Then  gazed  upon  the  Chieftain's  pride. 

But  firmly  knit,  was  Malcolm  Graeme. 

Then  dash'd,  with  hasty  hand,  away 

The  belted  plaid  and  tartan  hose 

From  his  dimm'd  eye  the  gathering  spray ; 

Did  ne'er  more  graceful  limbs  disclose ; 

And  Douglas,  as  his  hand  he  laid 

His  flaxen  hair  of  sunny  hue, 

On  Malcolm's  shoulder,  kindly  said, 

Curl'd  closely  round  his  bonnet  blue. 

"  Canst  thou,  young  friend,  no  meaning  spy 

Train'd  to  the  chase,  his  eagle  eye 

In  my  poor  follower's  glistening  eye  % 

The  ptarmigan  in  snow  could  spy ; 

I'll  tell  thee : — he  recalls  the  day, 

Each  pass,  by  mountain,  lake,  and  heath, 

When  in  my  praise  he  led  the  lay 

He  knew,  through  Lennox  and  Menteith ; 

O'er  the  arch'd  gate  of  Bothwell  proud, 

Vain  was  the  bound  of  dark-brown  doe, 

While  many  a  minstrel  answer'd  loud, 

When  Malcolm  bent  his  sounding  bow, 

When  Percy's  Norman  pennon,  won 

And  scarce  that  doe,  though  wing'd  with  fear 

In  bloody  field,  before  me  shone, 

Outstripp'd  in  speed  the  mountaineer ; 

And  twice  ten  knights,  the  least  a  name 

Right  up  Ben-Lomond  could  he  press, 

As  mighty  as  yon  Chief  may  claim, 

And  not  a  sob  his  toil  confess. 

Gracing  my  pomp,  behind  me  came. 

His  form  accorded  with  a  mind 

Yet  trust  me,  Malcolm,  not  so  proud 

Lively  and  ardent,  frank  and  kind ; 

Was  I  of  all  that  marshall'd  crowd, 

A  blither  heart,  till  Ellen  came, 

Though  the  waned  crescent  own'd  my  might, 

Did  never  love  nor  sorrow  tame ; 

And  in  my  train  troop'd  lord  and  knight, 

It  danced  as  lightsome  in  his  breast, 

Though  Blantyre  hymn'd  her  holiest  lays, 

As  play'd  the  feather  on  his  crest. 

•      And  Bothwell's  bards  Hung  back  my  praise, 

Yet  friends,  who  nearest  knew  the  youth, 

As  when  this  old  man's  silent  tear, 

His  scorn  of  wrong,  his  zeal  for  truth, 

And  this  poor  maid's  affection  dear, 

And  bards,  who  saw  his  features  bold, 

A  welcome  give  more  kind  and  true, 

When  kindled  by  the  tales  of  old, 

Than  aught  my  better  fortunes  knew. 

Said,  were  that  youth  to  manhood  grown, 

Forgive,  my  friend,  a  father's  boast, 

Not  long  should  Roderick  Dhu's  renown 

0 !  it  out-beggars  all  I  lost !" 

Be  foremost  voiced  by  mountain  fame, 

But  quail  to  that  of  Malcolm  Graeme. 

XXIV. 

Delightful  praise  ! — Like  summer  rose, 

XXVI. 

That  brighter  in  the  dew-drop  glows, 

Now  back  they  wend  their  watery  way, 

The  bashful  maiden's  cheek  appear'd, 

And,  "  0  my  sire !"  did  Ellen  say, 

For  Douglas  spoke,  and  Malcolm  heard. 

"  Why  urge  thy  chase  so  far  astray  ? 

The  flush  of  shame-faced  joy  to  hide, 

And  why  so  late  return'd  ?     And  why" — 

!  MS  — "  Nor  while  on  Ellen's  faltering  tongue 

Although  the  youth  was  Malcolm  Graeme. 

Her  filial  greetings  eager  hung,              N 

Then  with  flush' d  cheek  and  downcast  eye, 

Maik'd  not  that  awe  (affection's  proof) 

Their  greeting  was  confused  and  shy." 

Still  held  yon  gentle  youth  aloof; 

2  MS. — "  The  dogs  with  whimpering  notes  repaid." 

No  !  not  ti'l  Douglas  named  his  name, 

3  MS. — •'  Like  fabled  huntress  of  the  wood." 

CANTO  II. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


m 


The  rest  was  in  her  speaking  eye. 
"  My  child,  the  chase  I  follow  far, 
Tis  mimickry  of  noble  war ; 
And  with  that  gallant  pastime  reft 
Were  ah  of  Douglas  I  have  left. 
I  met  young  Malcolm  as  I  stray'd, 
Far  eastward,  in  Glenfinlps'  shade, 
Nor  stray'd  I  safe ;  for,  aU  around, 
Hunters  and  horsemen  seour'd  the  ground. 
This  youth,  though  stil1  a  royal  ward, 
Risk'd  life  and  land  to  he  my  guard, 
And  through  the  passes  of  the  wood, 
Guided  my  steps,  not  unpursued ; 
And  Roderick  shall  Ins  welcome  make, 
Despite  old  spleen,  for  Douglas'  sake. 
Then  must  he  seek  Strath-Endrick  glen, 
Nor  peril  aught  for  me  agen." 

XXVII. 
Sir  Roderick,  who  to  meet  them  came, 
Redden'd  at  sight  of  Malcolm  Graeme, 
Yet,  not  in  action,  word,  nor  eye, 
Fail'd  aught  in  hospitality. 
In  talk  and  sport  they  whiled  away 
The  morning  of  that  summer  day ; 
But  at  high  noon  a  courier  light 
Held  secret  parley  with  the  knight, 
Whose  moody  aspect  soon  declared, 
That  evil  were  the  news  he  heard. 
Deep  thought  seem'd  toiling  in  his  head ; 
Yet  was  the  evening  banquet  made, 
Ere  he  assembled  round  the  flame 
His  mother,  Douglas,  and  the  Graeme, 
And  Ellen,  too ;  then  cast  around 
His  eyes,  then  fix'd  them  on  the  ground, 
As  studying  phrase  that  might  avail 
Best  to  convey  unpleasant  tale". 
Long  with  his  dagger's  hilt  he  play'd, 
Then  raised  his  haughty  brow,  and  said : — 

XXVIII. 

"  Short  be  my  speech ; — nor  time  affords, 
Nor  my  plain  temper,  glozing  words. 
Kinsman  and  father, — if  such  name 
Douglas  vouchsafe  to  Roderick's  claim ; 
Mine  honor'd  mother ; — Ellen — why, 
My  cousin,  turn  away  thine  eye  ? — 
And  Graeme ;  in  whom  I  hope  to  know 
Full  soon  a  noble  friend  or  foe, 
When  age  shall  give  thee  thy  command, 
And  leading  in  thy  native  land, — 
List  all ! — The  King's  vindictive  pride 
Boasts  to  have  tamed  the  Border-side,1 
Where  chiefs,  with  hound  and  hawk  who  came 
To  share  their  monarch's  silvan  game, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 

1  MS  — "  The  dales  where  clans  were  wont  to  bide." 


Themselves  in  bloody  toils  were  snared ; 

And  when  the  banquet  they  prepared, 

And  wide  their  loyal  portals  flung, 

O'er  their  own  gateway  struggling  hung. 

Loud  cries  their  blood  from  Meggat's  mead, 

From  Yarrow  braes,  and  banks  of  Tweed, 

Where  the  lone  streams  of  Ettrick  glide, 

And  from  the  silver  Teviot's  side ; 

The  dales,  where  martial  clans  did  ride,8 

Are  now  one  sheep-walk,  waste  and  wide. 

This  tyrant  of  the  Scottish  throne, 

So  faithless  and  so  ruthless  known, 

Now  hither  comes ;  his  end  the  same, 

The  same  pretext  of  silvan  game. 

What  grace  for  Highland  Chiefs,  judge  ye 

By  fate  of  Border  chivalry.8 

Yet  more ;  amid  Glenfinlas  green, 

Douglas,  thy  stately  form  was  seen. 

This  by  espial  sure  I  know ; 

Your  counsel  in  the  streight  I  show  " 

XXIX. 

Ellen  and  Margaret  fearfully 

Sought  comfort  in  each  other's  eye, 

Then  turn'd  their  ghastly  look,  each  one, 

Tliis  to  her  sire — that  to  her  son. 

The  hasty  color  went  and  came 

In  the  bold  cheek  of  Malcohn  Graeme  ; 

But  from  his  glance  it  well  appear' d, 

'Twas  but  for  Ellen  that  he  fear'd  ; 

While,  sorrowful,  but  undismay'd, 

The  Douglas  thus  his  counsel  said : — 

"  Brave  Roderick,  though  the  tempest  roar 

It  may  but  thunder  and  pass  o'er ; 

Nor  will  I  here  remain  an  hour, 

To  draw  the  lightning  on  thy  bower ; 

For  well  thou  know'st,  at  tins  gray  head 

The  royal  bolt  were  fiercest  sped. 

For  thee,  who,  at  thy  King's  command, 

Canst  aid  liim  with  a  gallant  band, 

Submission,  homage,  humbled  pride, 

Shall  turn  the  Monarch's  wrath  aside. 

Poor  remnants  of  the  Bleeding  Heart, 

Ellen  and  I  will  seek,  apart, 

The  refuge  of  some  forest  cell ; 

There,  like  the  hunted  quarry,  dwell, 

Till  on  the  mountain  and  the  moor, 

The  stern  pursuit  be  pass'd  and  o'er." — 

XXX. 

"  No,  by  mine  honor,"  Roderick  said, 

"  So  help  me,  heaven,  and  my  good  blade  f 

No,  never !  Blasted  be  yon  Pine, 

My  fathers'  ancient  crest  and  mine, 

L?  from  its  shade  in  danger  part 

s  See  AppeuSx,  Note  Z. 


200 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II 


The  lineage  of  the  Bleeding  Heart ! 

Hear  my  blunt  speech :  Grant  me  this  maid 

To  wife,  thy  counsel  to  mine  aid ; 

To  Douglas,  leagued  with  Roderick  Dhu, 

"Will  friends  and  allies  flock  enow ; 

Like  cause  of  doubt,  distrust,  and  grief, 

Will  bind  to  us  each  Western  Chief. 

When  the  loud  pipes  my  bridal  tell, 

The  links  of  Forth  shall  hear  the  knell, 

The  guards  shall  start  in  Stirling's  porch ; 

And,  when  I  light  the  nuptial  torch, 

A  thousand  villages  in  flames, 

Shall  scare  the  slumbers  of  King  James ! 

— Nay,  Ellen,  blench  not  thus  away, 

And,  mother,  cease  these  signs,  I  pray ; 

I  meant  not  all  my  heart  might  say. — 

Small  need  of  inroad,  or  of  fight, 

When  the  sage  Douglas  may  unite 

Each  mountain  clan  in  friendly  band, 

To  guard  the  passes  of  their  land, 

Till  the  foil'd  king,  from  pathless  glen,1 

Shall  bootless  turn  him  home  agen." 

XXXI. 

There  are  who  have,  at  midnight  hour, 

In  slumber  scaled  a  dizzy  tower, 

And,  on  the  verge  that  beetled  o'er 

The  ocean-tide's  incessant  roar, 

Dream'd  calmly  out  their  dangerous  dream,9 

Till  waken'd  by  the  morning  beam ; 

When  dazzled  by  the  eastern  glow, 

Such  startler  cast  his  glance  below, 

And  saw  unmeasured  depth  around, 

And  heard  unintermitted  sound, 

And  thought  the  battled  fence  so  fraiL 

It  waved  like  cobweb  in  the  gale  ; — 

Amid  lus  senses'  giddy  wheel, 

Did  he  not  desperate  impulse  feel, 

Headlong  to  plunge  himself  below, 

And  meet  the  worst  his  fears  foreshow  ? — 

Tims,  Ellen,  dizzy  and  astound, 

As  sudden  ruin  yawn'd  around, 

By  crossing  terrors  wildly  toss'd, 

Still  for  the  Douglas  fearing  most, 

Could  scarce  the  desperate  thought  withstand, 

To  buy  Ins  safety  with  her  hand. 

XXXII. 

Such  purpose  dread  could  Malcolm  spy 
In  Ellen's  quivering  lip  and  eye, 
And  eager  rose  to  speak — but  ere 
His  tongue  could  hurry  forth  his  fear, 
Had  Douglas  mark'd  the  hectic  strife, 
Where  death  seem'd  combating  with  life ; 
For  to  her  cheek,  in  feverish  flood, 

i  MS.— "Till  the  foil'd  king,  from  hill  and  glen." 
»  MS. — "  Dream'd  calmly  out  th» '::  des  jerate  dream." 


One  instant  rush'd  the  throbbing  blood, 

Then  ebbing  back,  with  sudden  sway, 

Left  its  domain  as  wan  as  clay. 

"  Roderick,  enough  !  enough  1"  he  cried, 

"  My  daughter  cannot  be  thy  bride  ; 

Not  that  the  blush  to  wooer  dear, 

Nor  paleness  that  of  maiden  fear. 

It  may  not  be — forgiye  her,  Chief, 

Nor  hazard  aught  for  our  relief. 

Against  lus  sovereign,  Douglas  ne'er 

Will  level  a  rebellious  spear. 

'Twas  I  that  taught  his  youthful  hand 

To  rein  a  steed  and  wield  a  brand ; 

I  see  him  yet,  the  princely  boy  ! 

Not  Ellen  more  my  pride  and  joy  ; 

I  love  him  still,  despite  my  wrongs, 

By  hasty  wrath,  and  slanderous  tongues. 

0  seek  the  grace  you  well  may  find, 

Without  a  cause  to  mine  combined." 

XXXIII. 
Twice  through  the  hall  the  Chieftain  strode : 
The  waving  of  his  tartans  broad, 
And  darken'd  brow,  where  wounded  pride 
With  ire  and  disappointment  vied, 
Seem'd,  by  the  torch's  gloomy  light, 
Like  the  ill  Demon  of  the  night, 
Stooping  his  pinion's  shadowy  sway 
Upon  the  nighted  pilgrim's  way : 
But,  unrequited  Love  !  thy  dart 
Plunged  deepest  its  envenomed  smart, 
And  Roderick,  with  thine  anguish  stung, 
At  length  the  hand  of  Douglas  wrung, 
While  eyes,  that  mock'd  at  tears  before, 
With  bitter  drops  were  running  o'er. 
The  death-pangs  of  long-cherish'd  hope 
Scarce  in  that  ample  breast  had  scope, 
But,  struggling  with  his  spirit  proud, 
Convulsive  heaved  its  checker'd  shroud, 
While  every  sob — so  mute  were  all — 
Was  heard  distinctly  through  the  halL 
The  son's  despair,  the  mother's  look, 
111  might  the  gentle  Ellen  brook ; 
She  rose,  and  to  her  side  there  came, 
To  aid  her  parting  steps,  the  Graeme 

XXXIV. 
Then  Roderick  from  the  Douglas  broke — 
As  flashes  flame  through  sable  smoke, 
Kindling  its  wreaths,  long,  dark,  and  low, 
To  one  broad  blaze  of  ruddy  glow, 
So  the  deep  anguish  of  despair8 
Burst,  in  fierce  jealousy,  to  air. 
With  stalwart  grasp  his  hand  he  laid 
On  Malcolm's  breast  and  belted  plaid : 


s  MS. 


The  deep-toned  anguish  of  despair 
Flush'd,  in  fierce  jealousy,  to  air 


PANTO  II. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


20. 


"  Back,  beardless  boy  !"  he  sternly  said, 

"  Back,  minion  1  hold'st  thou  thus  at  naught 

The  lesson  I  so  lately  taught  ? 

This  roof,  the  Douglas,  and  that  maid, 

Thank  thou  for  punishment  delay'd." 

Eager  as  greyhound  on  his  game, 

Fiercely  wjth  Roderick  grappled  Graeme.1 

"  Perish  my  name,  if  aught  afford 

Its  Chieftain  safety  save  his  sword  !" 

Thus  as  they  strove,  their  desperate  hand8 

Griped  to  the  dagger  or  the  brand, 

And  death  had  been — but  Douglas  rose, 

And  thrust  between  the  struggling  foes 

His  giant  strength : — "  Chieftains,  forego  1 

I  hold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe. — 3 

Madmen,  forbear  your  frantic  jar  ! 

What !  is  the  Douglas  fall'n  so  far, 

His  daughter's  hand  is  doom'd  the  spoil 

Of  such  dishonorable  broil !" 

Sullen  and  slowly  they  unclasp,4 

As  struck  with  shame,  their  desperate  grasp, 

And  each  upon  lus  rival  glared, 

With  foot  advanced,  and  blade  half  bared. 

XXXV. 

Ere  yet  the  brands  aloft  were  flung, 
Margaret  on  Roderick's  mantle  hung, 
And  Malcolm  heard  his  Ellen's  scream, 
As,  falter'd  through  terrific  dream. 
Then  Roderick  plunged  in  sheath  his  sword, 
And  veil'd  his  wrath  in  scornful  word. 
"  Rest  safe  till  morning ;  pity  'twere 
Such  cheek  should  feel  the  midnight  air  I8 
Then  mayst  thou  to  James  Stuart  tell, 
Roderick  will  keep  the  lake  and  fell, 
Nor  lackey,  with  his  freeborn  clan, 
The  pageant  pomp  of  earthly  man. 
More  would  he  of  Clan- Alpine  know, 
Thou  canst  our  strength  and  passes  show. — 
Malise,  what  ho  !" — his  henchman  came  ;fl 
"  Give  our  safe-conduct  to  the  Graeme." 
Young  Malcolm  answer'd,  calm  and  bold, 
"  Fear  nothing  for  thy  favorite  hold ; 
The  spot,  an  angel  deign'd  to  grace, 
Is  bless'd,  though  robbers  haunt  the  place. 
Thy  churlish  courtesy  for  those 
Reserve,  who  fear  to  be  thy  foes. 
As  safe  to  me  the  mountain  way 
At  midnight  as  in  blaze  of  day. 

i  "  There  is  something  foppish  and  out  of  character  in  Mal- 
solm's  rising  to  lead  out  Ellen  from  her  own  parlor  ;  and  the 
»ort  of  wrestling-match  that  takes  place  between  the  rival 
chieftains  on  the  occasion,  is  humiliating  and  indecorous." — 

jEFFRKr. 

2  MS.—"  Thus  as  they  strove,  each  better  hand 

Grasp' d  for  the  dagger  or  the  brand." 
*  The  Author  has  to  apologize  for  the  inadvertent  appropria- 
»on  o   a  whole  line  from  the  tragedy  of  Douglas, 
26 


Though  with  his  boldest  at  his  back 
Even  Roderick  Dhu  beset  the  track. — 
Brave  Douglas, — lovely  Ellen, — nay, 
Naught  here  of  parting  will  I  say. 
Earth  does  not  hold  a  lonesome  glen, 
So  secret,  but  we  meet  agen. — 
Chieftain !  we  too  shall  find  an  hour." — 
He  said,  and  left  the  silvan  bower. 

XXXVI. 

Old  Allan  follow'd  to  the  strand 

(Such  was  the  Douglas's  command), 

And  anxious  told,  how,  on  the  morn, 

The  stern  Sir  Roderick  deep  had  sworn, 

The  Fiery  Cross  should  circle  o'er 

Dale,  glen,  and  valley,  down  and  moor 

Much  were  the  peril  to  the  Graeme, 

From  those  who  to  the  signal  came ; 

Far  up  the  lake  'twere  safest  land, 

Himself  would  row  him  to  the  strand. 

He  gave  his  counsel  to  the  wind, 

While  Malcolm  did,  unheeding,  bind, 

Round  dirk  and  pouch  and  broadsword  roll'd. 

His  ample  plaid  in  tighten'd  fold, 

And  stripp'd  his  limbs  to  such  array 

As  best  might  suit  the  watery  way, — 

XXXVII. 
Then  spoke  abrupt :  "  Farewell  to  thee, 
Pattern  of  old  fidelity !" 
The  Minstrel's  hand  he  kindly  press'd, — 
"  0  !  could  I  point  a  place  of  rest ! 
My  sovereign  holds  in  ward  my  land, 
My  uncle  leads  my  vassal  band  ; 
To  tame  his  foes,  his  friends  to  aid, 
Poor  Malcolm  has  but  heart  and  blad«. 
Yet,  if  there  be  one  faithful  Graeme, 
Who  loves  the  Chieftain  of  his  name, 
Not  long  shall  honor'd  Douglas  dwell, 
Like  hunted  stag  in  mountain  cell ; 
Nor,  ere  yon  pride-swoll'n  robber  dare, — 
I  may  not  give  the  rest  to  air  ! 
Tell  Roderick  Dhu  I  owe  him  naught, 
Not  the  poor  service  of  a  boat, 
To  waft  me  to  yon  mountain-side." 
Then  plunged  he  in  the  flashing  tide.7 
Bold  o'er  the  flood  his  head  he  bore, 
And  stoutly  steer'd  him  from  the  shoie  , 
And  Allan  strain'd  Ins  anxious  eye, 

"  I  hold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe." 

— Note  to  the  second  edition. 

4  MS. — "  Sullen  and  slow  the  rivals  bold 

Loosed,  at  his  hest,  their  desperate  hold, 
But  either  still  on  other  glared,"  &c. 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  2  A. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  B. 

7  MS. — "  He  spoke,  and  plunged  into  the  tide." 


202                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  iil 

Far  'mid  the  lake  his  form  to  spy. 

The  mountain-shadows  on  her  breast 

Darkening  across  each  puny  wave, 

Were  neither  broken  nor  at  rest ; 

To  which  the  moon  her  silver  gave, 

In  bright  uncertainty  they  lie, 

Fast  as  the  cormorant  could  skim, 

Like  future  joys  to  Fancy's  eye. 

The  swimmer  plied  each  active  limb; 

The  water-lily  to  the  light 

Then  landing  in  the  moonlight  dell, 

Her  chalice  rear'd  of  silver  bright ; 

Loud  shouted  of  his  weal  to  tell. 

The  doe  awoke,  and  to  the  lawn,  -x 

The  Minstrel  heard  the  far  halloo, 

Begemni'd  with  dew-drops,  led  her  fawn ; 

And  joyful  from  the  shore  withdrew. 

The  gray  mist  left3  the  mountain  side, 

The  torrent  show'd  its  glistening  pride  ; 
Invisible  in  flecked  sky, 

(El)*  £at>s  of  tlje  Cake. 

The  lark  sent  down  her  revelry ; 

The  blackbird  and  the  speckled  thrush 

Good-morrow  gave  from  brake  and  brush  :4 
In  answer  coo'd  the  cushat  dove 

CANTO  THIRD. 

Her  notes  of  peace,  and  rest,  and  love. 

£i)e  eSatjjerfnfl. 

III. 

I. 

No  thought  of  peace,  no  thought  of  rest, 

Time  rolls  his  ceaseless  course.     The  race  of  yore,1 

Assuaged  the  storm  in  Roderick's  breast 

Who  danced  our  infancy  upon  their  knee, 

With  sheathed  broadsword  in  his  hand, 

And  told  our  marvelling  boyhood  legends  store, 

Abrupt  he  paced  the  islet  strand, 

Of  their  strange  ventures  happ'd  by  land  or  sea, 

And  eyed  the  rising  sun,  and  laid 

How  are  they  blotted  from  the  things  that  be ! 

His  hand  on  his  impatient  blade. 

How  few,  all  weak  and  wither'd  of  their  force, 

Beneath  a  rock,  his  vassals'  care8 

Wait  on  the  verge  of  dark  eternity, 

'Was  prompt  the  ritual  to  prepare, 

Like  stranded  wrecks,  the  tide  returning  hoarse, 

With  deep  and  deathful  meaning  fraught ; 

To  sweep  them  from  our  sight !     Time  rolls  his 

For  such  Antiquity  had  taught 

ceaseless  course. 

Was  preface  meet,  ere  yet  abroad 

The  Cross  of  Fire  should  take  its  road. 

Yet  live  there  still  who  can  remember  well, 

The  shrinking  band  stood  oft  aghast 

How,  when  a  mountain  chief  his  bugle  blew, 

At  the  impatient  glance  he  cast ; — 

Both  field  and  forest,  dingle,  cliff,  and  dell, 

Such  glance  the  mountain  eagle  threw, 

And  solitary  heath,  the  signal  knew ; 

As,  from  the  cliffs  of  Benvenue, 

And  fast  the  faithful  clan  around  him  drew, 

She  spread  her  dark  sails  on  the  wind, 

What  time  the  warning  note  was  keenly  wound, 

And,  high  in  middle  heaven,  reclined, 

What  time  aloft  their  kindred  banner  flew, 

With  her  broad  shadow  on  the  lake, 

While  clamorous  war-pipes  yell'd  the  gathering 

Silenced  the  warblers  of  the  brake. 

sound, 

And  while  the  Fiery  Cross  glanced,  like  a  meteor, 

IV. 

round.2 

A  heap  of  wither'd  'Houghs  was  piled, 

Of  juniper  and  rowan  wild, 

II. 

Miugled  with  shivers  from  the  oak, 

The  summer  dawn's  reflected  hue 

Rent  by  the  lightning's  recent  stroke. 

To  purple  changed  Loch  Katrine  blue  ; 

Brian,  the  Hermit,  by  it  stood, 

Mildly  and  soft  the  western  breeze 

Barefooted  in  his  frock  and  hood. 

Just  kiss'd  the  Lake,  just  stirr'd  the  trees, 

His  grisled  beard  and  matted  hair 

And  the  pleased  lake,  like  maiden  coy, 

Obscured  a  visage  of  despair ; 

Trembled  but  dimpled  not  for  joy  ; 

His  naked  arms  and  legs,  seam'd  o'er, 

1  "  There  are  no  separate  introductions  to  the  cantos  of  this 

Invisible  in  fleecy  cloud, 

poem  ;  but  each  of  them  begins  with  one  or  two  stanzas  in  the 

The  lark  sent  down  her  matins  loud  ; 

measure  of  Spenser,  usually  containing  some  reflections  con- 

The Ifyfat  mist  left,'    &c. 

nected  with  the  subject  about  to  be  entered  on  ;  and  written, 

4 "  The  green  huls 

for  the  most  part,  with  great  tenderness  and  beauty.     The  fol- 

Are clothed  with  early  blossoms  ;  through  the  grass 

lowing,  we  think,  is  among  the  most  striking." — Jkffrky. 

The  quick-eyed  lizard  rustles,  and  the  bills 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 

Of  summer  birds  sing  welcome  as  ye  pass." — Childc  Harel* 

'  MS. —  "  The  dqe  awoke,  and  to  the  lawn, 

6  MS. — "  Hard  by,  his  vassals'  early  care 

Begemni'd  with  dewdrops,  led  her  fawn  ; 

The  mystic  ritual  prepare." 

CANTO  III. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


203 


The  scars  of  frantic  penance  bore. 

That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face,1 

The  impending  danger  of  his  race 

Had  drawn  from  deepest  solitude, 

Far  in  Benharrow's  bosom  rude. 

Not  his  the  mien  of  Christian  priest, 

But  Druid's,  from  the  grave  released, 

AN  "hose  harden'd  heart  and  eye  might  brook 

On  human  sacrifice  to  look ; 

And  much,  'twas  said,  of  heathen  lore 

Mixd  in  the  charms  he  mutter'd  o'er. 

The  hallow'd  creed  gave  only  worse2 

And  deadlier  emphasis  of  curse  ; 

No  peasant  sought  that  Hermit's  prayer, 

His  cave  the  pilgrim  shunn'd  with  care, 

The  eager  huntsman  knew  his  bound, 

And  in  mid  chase  call'd  off  his  hound ; 

Or  if,  in  lonely  glen  or  strath, 

The  desert-dweller  met  his  path, 

He  pray'd,  and  sign'd  the  cross  between, 

While  terror  took  devotion's  mien.3 

V. 
Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told. 
His  mother  watch'd  a  midnight  fold, 
Built  deep  within  a  dreary  glen, 
Where  scatter'd  lay  the  bones  of  men, 
In  some  forgotten  battle  slain, 
And  bleach'd  by  drifting  wind  and  rain. 
It  might  have  tamed  a  warrior's  heart,8 
To  view  such  mockery  of  his  art ! 
The  knot-grass  fetter'd  there  the  hand. 
Which  once  could  burst  an  iron  band ; 
Beneath  the  broad  and  ample  bone, 
That  buckler'd  heart  to  fear  unknown, 
A  feeble  and  a  timorous  guest, 
The  field-fore  framed  her  lowly  nest ; 
There  the  slow  blind-worm  left  his  slime 
On  the  fleet  limbs  that  mock'd  at  time ; 
And  there,  too,  lay  the  leader's  skull,8 
Still  wreathed  with  chaplet,  flush' d  and  full, 
For  heath-bell  with  her  purple  bloom, 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  D. 

1  MS. — "  While  the  bless'd  creed  gave  only  worse." 
3  MS. — "  He  pray'd  with  many  a  cross  between, 
And  terror  took  devotion's  mien." 
«Vw  Appendix,  Note  2  E. 

*  "  T..->:-»  is  something  of  pride  in  the  perilous  hour, 

Whate'er  be  the  shape  in  which  death  may  lower ; 

F  :r  fame  is  there  to  say  who  bleeds, 

Ar.d  Honor's  eye  on  daring  deeds  ! 

But  when  all  is  past,  it  is  humbling  to  tread 

O'er  the  weltering  field  of  the  tombless  dead, 

And  see  worms  of  the  earth,  and  fowls  of  the  air, 

Beasts  of  the  forest,  all  gathering  there  ; 

All  regarding  man  as  their  prey, 

AH  rejoicing  in  his  decay." — Byron — Singe  of  Corinth. 

*  l   Remove  yon  skull  from  out  the  scattered  heaps. 

\s  that  a  temple  where  a  god  may  dwell  ? 

Why,  even  the  worm  at  last  disdains  her  shattered  cell  1 


Supplied  the  bonnet  and  the  plume.7 
All  night,  in  this  sad  glen,  the  maid 
Sate,  shrouded  in  her  mantle's  shade : 
— She  said,  no  shepherd  sought  her  side, 
No  hunter's  hand  her  snood  untiea, 
Yet  ne'er  again  to  braid  her  hair 
The  virgin  snood  did  Alice  wear  ;8 
Gone  was  her  maiden  glee  and  sport, 
'   Her  maiden  girdle  all  too  short, 
Nor  sought  she,  from  that  fatal  night, 
Or  holy  church  or  blessed  rite, 
But  lock'd  her  secret  in  her  breast, 
And  died  in  travail,  unconfess'd. 

VI. 

Alone,  among  his  young  compeers, 
Was  Brian  from  his  infant  years ; 
A  moody  and  heart-broken  boy, 
Estranged  from  sympathy  and  joy, 
Bearing  each  taunt  which  careless  tonguo 
On  his  mysterious  lineage  flung. 
Whole  nights  he  spent  by  moonlight  pale. 
To  wood  and  stream  his  hap  to  wail, 
Till,  frantic,  he  as  truth  received9 
What  of  his  birth  the  crowd  believed, 
And  sought,  in  mist  and  meteor  fire, 
To  meet  and  know  his  Phantom  Sire  1 
In  vain,  to  soothe  his  wayward  fate, 
The  cloister  oped  her  pitying  gate  ; 
In  vain,  the  learning  of  the  age 
Unclasp'd  the  sable-letter'd  page ; 
Even  in  its  treasures  he  could  find 
Food  for  the  fever  of  Ins  mind. 
Eager  he  read  whatever  tells 
Of  magic,  cabala,  and  spells, 
And  every  dark  pursuit  allied 
To  curious  and  presumptuous  pride ; 
Till  with  fired  brain  and  nerves  o'er- 

strung, 
And  heart  with  mystic  horrors  wrung, 
Desperate  he  sought  Benharrow's  den, 
And  hid  him  from  the  haunts  of  men. 

Look  on  its  broken  arch,  its  ruin'd  wall, 
Its  chambers  desolate,  and  portals  foul ; 
Yet  this  was  once  Ambition's  airy  hall, 
The  dome  of  thought,  the  palace  of  the  soul ; 
Behold  through  each  lack-lustre,  eyeless  hole, 
The  gay  recess  of  wisdom  and  of  wit, 
And  passion's  host,  that  never  brook'd  control. 
Can  all  saint,  sage,  or  sophist  ever  writ, 
People  this  lonely  tower,  this  tenement  refit  V 

Childe  Harold. 

7  "These  reflections  on  an  ancient  field  of  battle  afford  the 
most  remarkable  instance  of  false  taste  in  all  Mr.  Seott't 
writings.  Yet  the  brevity  and  variety  of  the  images  serva 
well  to  show,  that  even  in  his  errors  there  are  traces  of  a 
powerful  genius." — Jetrey. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  F. 

9  MS. — "  Till,  driven  to  pnrensy,  he  believed 

The  legend  of  his  birth  received." 


204                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                            canto  hi. 

.-: 

And  strange  and  mingled  feelings  woke, 

The  desert  gave  him  visions  wild, 

While  his  anathema  he  spoke. 

Such  as  might  suit  the  spectre's  child.1 

Where  with  black  cliffs  the  torrents  tod, 

IX. 

He  watch'd  the  wheeling  eddies  boil, 

"  Woe  to  the  clansman,  who  shall  view 

Till,  from  their  foam,  his  dazzled  eyes 

This  symbol  of  sepulchral  yew, 

Beheld  the  River  Demon  rise ;                   . 

Forgetful  that  its  branches  grew 

The  mountain  mist  took  form  and  limb, 

Where  weep  the  heavens  their  holiest  dew 

Of  noontide  hag,  or  goblin  grim ; 

On  Alpine's  dwelling  low  1 

The  midnight  wind  came  wild  and  dread,  , 

Deserter  of  his  Chieftain's  trust, 

Swell'd  with  the  voices  of  the  dead ; 

He  ne'er  shall  mingle  with  their  dust, 

Far  on  the  future  battle-heath 

But,  from  his  sires  and  kindred  thrust, 

His  eye  beheld  the  ranks  of  death : 

Each  clansman's  execration  just6 

Thus  the  lone  Seer,  from  mankind  hurl'd, 

Shall  doom  him  wrath  and  woe." 

Shaped  forth  a  disembodied  world. 

He  paused ; — the  word  the  vassals  took, 

One  lingering  sympathy  of  mind 

With  forward  step  and  fiery  look, 

Still  bound  him  to  the  mortal  kind ; 

On  high  their  naked  brands  they  shook, 

The  only  parent  he  could  claim 

Their  clattering  targets  wildly  strook ; 

Of  ancient  Alpine's  lineage  came. 

And  first  in  murmur  low,6 

Late  had  he  heard,  in  prophet's  dream, 

Then,  like  the  billow  in  his  course, 

The  fatal  Ben-Sliie's  boding  scream  ;a 

That  far  to  seaward  finds  his  source, 

Sounds,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast, 

And  flings  to  shore  his  muster'd  force, 

Of  charging  steed's  careering  fast 

Burst,  with  loud  roar,  their  answer  hoarse, 

Along  Benharrow's  shingly  side, 

"  Woe  to  the  traitor,  woe  1" 

Where   mortal   horseman   ne'er    might 

Ben-au's  gray  scalp  the  accents  knew, 

ride  ;3 

The  joyous  wolf  from  covert  drew, 

The  thunderbolt  had  split  the  pine, — 

The  exulting  eagle  scream'd  afar, — 

All  augur'd  ill  to  Alpine's  line. 

They  knew  the  voice  of  Alpine's  war. 

He  girt  his  loins,  and  came  to  show 

The  signals  of  impending  woe, 

X. 

And  now  stood  prompt  to  bless  or  ban, 

The  shout  was  hush'd  on  lake  and  fell, 

As  bade  the  Chieftain  of  his  clan. 

The  monk  resumed  liis  mutter'd  spell : 

Dismal  and  low  its  accents  came, 

VIII. 

The  while  he  scathed  the  Cross  with  flame ; 

'Twas  all  prepared ; — and  from  the  rock, 

And  the  few  words  that  reach'd  the  air, 

A  goat,  the  patriarch  of  the  flock, 

Although  the  holiest  name  was  there,1 

Before  the  kindling  pile  was  laid, 

Had  more  of  blasphemy  than  prayer. 

And  pierced  by  Roderick's  ready  blade. 

But  when  he  shook  above  the  crowd 

Patient  the  sickening  victim  eyed 

Its  kindled  points,  he  spoke  aloud : — 

The  life-blood  ebb  in  crimson  tide, 

"  Woe  to  the  wretch  who  fails  to  rear 

Down  his  clogg'd  beard  and  shaggy  limb, 

At  this  dread  sign  the  ready  spear ! 

Till  darkness  glazed  his  eyeballs  dim. 

For,  as  the  flames  this  symbol  sear, 

The  grisly  priest,  with  murmuring  prayer, 

Her  home,  the  refuge  of  his  fear, 

A  slender  crosslet  form'd  with  care, 

A  kindred  fate  shall  know ; 

A  cubit's  length  in  measure  due  ; 

Far  o'er  its  roof  the  volumed  flam** 

The  shaft  and  limbs  were  rods  of  yew, 

Clan- Alpine's  vengeance  shall  proclaim 

Whose  parents  in  Inch-Cailliach  wave4 

While  maids  and  matrons  on  his  name 

Their  shadows  o'er  Clan- Alpine's  grave, 

Shall  call  down  wretchedness  and  sham* 

And  answering  Lomond's  breezes  deep, 

And  infamy  and  woe." 

Soothe  many  a  chieftain's  endless  sleep. 

Then  rose  the  cry  of  females,  shrill 

The  Cross,  thus  form'd,  he  held  on  high, 

As  goss-hawk's  whistle  on  the  hill, 

With  wasted  hand  and  haggard  eye, 

Denouncing  misery  and  ill, 

l  See  Anpendix,  Note  2  G. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  K. 

»  MS.—"  The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  dismal  scream  ; 

5  MS. — "  Our  warriors  on  his  worthless  bust 

And  seen  her  wrinkled  form,  the  sign 

Shall  speak  disgrace  and  woe." 

Of  woe  and  death  to  Alpine's  line." 

6  MS. — "  Their  clattering  targets  hardly  strook  ; 

— See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 

And  first  they  mutter1  d  low.'" 

»  S3C  Appendix,  Note  2  1. . 

7  MS. — "  Although  the  holy  name  was  there." 

canto  in.                            THE  LADY  01 

'  THE  LAKE.                                           205 

Mingled  with  childhood's  babbling  trill 

Were  all  unbroken  and  afloat, 

Of  curses  stammer'd  slow  ; 

Dancing  in  foam  and  ripple  still 

Answering,  with  imprecation  dread, 

When  it  had  near'd  the  mainland  hill ; 

"Sunk  be  his  home  in  embers  red! 

And  from  the  silver  Reach's  side 

And  cursed  be  the  meanest  shed 

Still  was  the  prow  three  fathom  wide, 

That  e'er  shall  hide  the  houseless  head, 

When  lightly  bounded  to  the  land 

We  doom  to  want  and  woe  !" 

The  messenger  of  blood  and  brand. 

A  sharp  and  shrieking  echo  gave, 

Coir-Uriskin,  thy  goblin  cave  ! 

XIII. 

And  the  gray  pass  where  birches  wave, 

Speed,  Malise,  speed  !  the  dun  deer  s  hide 

On  Beala-nam-bo. 

On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied.3 

Speed,  Malise,  speed !  such  cause  of  haste 

XL 

Thine  active  sinews  never  braced. 

Then  deeper  paused  the  priest  anew, 

Bend  'gainst  the  steepy  hill  thy  breast, 

And  hard  his  laboring  breath  he  drew, 

Burst  down  like  torrent  from  its  crest ; 

While,  with  set  teeth  and  clenched  hand, 

With  short  and  springing  footstep  pass 

And  eyes  that  glow'd  like  fiery  brand, 

The  trembling  bog  and  false  morass ; 

He  meditated  curse  more  dread, 

Across  the  brook  like  roebuck  bound, 

And  deadlier  on  the  clansman's  head, 

And  thread  the  brake  like  questing  hound  j 

Who,  summon'd  to  liis  Chieftain's  aid, 

The  crag  is  high,  the  scaur  is  deep, 

The  signal  saw  and  disobey'd. 

Yet  shrink  not  from  the  desperate  leap : 

The  crosslet's  points  of  sparkling  wood 

Parch'd  are  thy  burning  lips  and  brow, 

He  quench'd  among  the  bubbling  blood, 

Yet  by  the  fountain  pause  not  now  ; 

And,  as  again  the  sign  he  rear'd, 

Herald  of  battle,  fate,  and  fear,4 

Hollow  and  hoarse  Ins  voice  was  heard : 

Stretch  onward  in  thy  fleet  career ! 

"  When  flits  this  Cross  from  man  to  man, 

The  wounded  hind  thou  track' st  not  now, 

Vich- Alpine's  summons  to  his  clan, 

Pursuest  not  maid  through  greenwood  bough, 

Burst  be  the  ear  that  fails  to  heed  1 

Nor  pliest  thou  now  thy  flying  pace, 

Palsied  the  foot  that  shuns  to  speed  1 

With  rivals  in  the  mountain  race  ; 

May  ravens  tear  the  careless  eyes, 

But,  danger,  death,  and  warrior  deed, 

Wolves  make  the  coward  heart  their  prize ! 

Are  in  thy  course — speed,  Malise,  speed  1 

As  sinks  that  blood-stream  in  the  earth, 

So  may  his  heart's-blood  drench  his  hearth  1 

XIV. 

As  dies  in  hissing  gore  the  spark, 

Fast  as  the  fatal  symbol  flies, 

Quench  thou  his  light,  Destruction  dark, 

In  arms  the  huts  and  hamlets  rise  ; 

And  be  the  grace  to  liim  denied, 

From  winding  glen,  from  upland  brown, 

Bought  by  this  sign  to  all  beside  I" 

They  pour'd  each  hardy  tenant  down. 

He  ceased  ;  no  echo  gave  agen 

Nor  slack'd  the  messenger  his  pace  ; 

The  murmur  of  the  deep  Amen.1 

He  show'd  the  sign,  he  named  the  place, 

And,  pressing  forward  like  the  wind, 

XII. 

Left  clamor  and  surprise  behind.5 

Then  Roderick,  with  impatient  look, 

The  fisherman  forsook  the  strand, 

From  Brian's  hand  the  symbol  took : 

The  swarthy  smith  took  dirk  and  brand ; 

"  Speed,  Malise,  speed  !"  he  said,  and  gave 

With  changed  cheer,  the  mower  blithe 

The  crosslet  to  his  henchman  brave. 

Left  in  the  half-cut  swathe  the  scythe  - 

"  The  muster-place  be  Lanrick  mead — a 

The  herds  without  a  keeper  stray' d, 

Instant  the  time — speed,  Malise,  speed !" 

The  plough  was  in  mid-furrow  staid, 

Like  heath-bird,  when  the  hawks  pursue, 

The  falc'ner  toss'd  his  hawk  away, 

A  barge  across  Loch  Katrine  flew ; 

The  hunter  left  the  stag  at  bay ; 

High  stood  the  henchman  on  the  prow ; 

Prompt  at  the  signal  of  alarms, 

So  rapidly  the  barge-men  row, 

Each  son  of  Alpine  rush'd  to  arms ; 

The  bubbles,  where  they  launch'd  the  boat, 

So  swept  the  tumult  and  affray 

l  MS. — "  The  slowly  mutter\l  deep  Amen." 

Thou  track'st  not  now  the  stricken  doe, 

*  MS. — "  Murlagan  is  tie  spot  decreed." 

Nor  maJden  coy  through  greenwood  hough." 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  L. 

5  "  The  description  of  the  starting  of  the  '  fiery  cross'  bean 

*  MS. — "  Dread  messenger  of  fate  and  fear,    j 
Heraid  of  danger,  fate,  and  fear,      \ 

more  marks  of  labor  than  most  of  Mr.   Scott's  poetry,  and 

borders,  perhaps,    upon   straining   and   exaggeration ;    yet    '• 

Stretch  onward  in  thy  fleet  career  ! 

shqws  great  power." — Jeffrey. 

206 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III. 


Along  the  margin  of  Achray. 

Alas,  thou  lovely  lake  !  that  e'er 

Thy  banks  should  echo  sounds  of  fear ! 

The  rocks,  the  bosky  tluckets,  sleep 

So  stilly  on  thy  bosom  deep, 

The  lark's  blithe  carol,  from  the  cloud, 

Seems  for  the  scene  too  gayly  loud.1 

XV. 

'  Speed,  Malise,  speed !  the  lake  is  past, 
Duneraggan's  huts  appear  at  last, 
And  peep,  like  moss-grown  rocks,  half  seen. 
Half  hidden  in  the  copse  so  green  ; 
There  mayst  thou  rest,  thy  labor  done, 
Their  Lord  shall  speed  the  signal  on. — 
As  stoops  the  hawk  upon  liis  prey, 
The  henchman  shot  him  down  the  way. 
— What  woful  accents  load  the  gale  ? 
The  funeral  yell,  the  female  wail  la 
A  gallant  hunter's  sport  is  o'er, 
A  valiant  warrior  rights  no  more. 
"Who,  in  the  battle  or  the  chase, 
At  Roderick's  side  shall  fill  his  place ! — 
Within  the  hall,  where  torches'  ray 
Supplies  the  excluded  beams  of  day, 
Lies  Duncan  on  his  lowly  bier, 
And  o'er  him  streams  Iris  widow's  tear. 
His  stripling  son  stands  mournful  by, 
His  youngest  weeps,  but  knows  not  why. 
The  village  maids  and  matrons  round 
The  dismal  coronach  resound.3 

XVI. 
<£oronact). 
He  is  gone  on  the  mountain, 

He  is  lost  to  the  forest, 
Like  a  summer-dried  fountain, 

When  our  need  was  the  sorest. 
The  font,  reappearing, 

From  the  rain-drops  shall  borrow, 
But  to  us  comes  no  cheering, 

To  Duncan  no  morrow  ! 
The  hand  of  the  reaper 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoary, 
But  the  voice  of  the  weeper 

Wails  manhood  in  glory. 

i  MS.—-"  Seems  all  too  lively  and  too  loud." 

a  MS. — "  'Tis  woman's  scream,  'tis  childhood's  wail." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  S  M 

4  Or  corri.  The  hollow  side  of  the  hill,  where  game  usual- 
ly lies. 

6  "  Mr.  Scott  is  such  a  master  of  versification,  that  the  most 
complicated  metre  does  not,  for  an  instant,  arrest  the  progress 
of  his  imagination ;  its  difficulties  usually  operate  as  a  salu- 
tary excitement  to  his  attention,  and  not  unfrequently  suggest 
to  him  new  and  unexpected  graces  oi  expression.  If  a  care- 
,ess  rhyme,  or  an  ill-constructed  phrase  occasionally  escape  him 
amidst,  the  irregular  torrent  ol  his  stanza,  the  blemish  is  often 


The  autumn  winds  rushing 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  f*W**iA 

But  our  flower  was  in  flushing, 
When  blighting  was  nearest. 

Fleet  foot  on  the  correi,4 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber,' 
Red  hand  in  the  foray, 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber ! 
Like  the  dew  on  the  mountain, 

Like  the  foam  on  the  river, 
Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain 

Thou  art  gone,  and  forever  I6 

XVII. 
See  Stumah,6  who,  the  bier  beside, 
His  master's  corpse  with  wonder  eyed. 
Poor  Stumah !  whom  his  least  halloo 
Could  send  like  lightning  o'er  the  dew, 
Bristles  his  crest,  and  points  his  ears, 
As  if  some  stranger  step  he  hears. 
'Tis  not  a  mourner's  muffled  tread, 
Who  comes  to  sorrow  o'er  the  dead, 
But  headlong  haste,  or  deadly  fear, 
Urge  the  precipitate  career. 
All  stand  aghast : — unheeding  all, 
The  henchman  bursts  into  the  hall; 
Before  the  dead  man's  bier  he  stood ; 
Held  forth  the  Cross  besmear'd  with  blood ; 
"  The  muster-place  is  Lanrick  mead ; 
Speed  forth  the  signal  1  clansmen,  speed  1" 

XVIII. 

Angus,  the  heir  of  Duncan's  line,7 

Sprung  forth  and  seized  the  fatal  sign. 

In  haste  the  stripling  to  liis  side 

His  father's  dirk  and  broadsword  tied ; 

But  when  he  saw  his  mother's  eye 

Watch  him  in  speechless  agony, 

Back  to  her  open'd  arms  he  flew, 

Press'd  on  her  lips  a  fond  adieu — 

"  Alas !"  she  sobb'd, — "and  yet,  be  gone, 

And  speed  thee  forth,  like  Duncan's  son  1" 

One  look  he  cast  upon  the  bier, 

Dash'd  from  his  eye  the  gathering  tear, 

Breathed  deep  to  clear  his  laboring:  breast, 

imperceptible  by  the  hurried  eye  of  the  reader  ;  but  when  th» 
short  lines  are  yoked  in  pairs,  any  dissonance  in  the  jingle,  oi 
interruption  of  the  construction,  cannot  fail  to  give  offence 
We  learn  from  Horace,  that  in  the  course  of  a  long  work,  a 
poet  may  legitimately  indulge  in  a  momentary  slumber ;  but 
we  do  not  wish  to  hear  him  snore." — Quarterly  Review. 

6  Faithful.     The  name  of  a  dog. 

7  MS. — "  Angus,  the  first  of  Duncan's  line, 

Sprung  forth  and  seized  the  fatal  sign, 
jSnd  then  upon  his  kinsman's  bier 
Fell  Malise's  suspended  tear. 
In  haste  the  stripling  to  his  side 
His  father's  targe  and  falchion  tied." 


«3ANT0  III. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


207 


And  toss'd  aloft  his  bonnet  crest, 

Until  the  opposing  bank  he  gain'd, 

Then,  like  the  high-bred  colt,  when,  freed, 

And  up  the  chapel  pathway  strain'd 

First  he  essays  his  lire  and  speed, 

He  vanish'd,  and  o'er  moor  and  moss 

XX. 

Sped  forward  with  the  Fiery  Cross. 

A  blithesome  rout,  that  morning  tide. 

Suspended  was  the  widow's  tear, 

Had  sought  the  chapel  of  St.  Bride. 

Wliile  yet  his  footsteps  she  could  hear ; 

Her  troth  Tombea's  Mary  gave 

And  when  she  mark'd  the  henchman's  eye 

To  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave. 

Wet  with  unwonted  sympathy, 

And,  issuing  from  the  Gothic  arch, 

"  Kinsman,"  she  said,  "  his  race  is  run, 

The  bridal  now  resumed  their  march. 

That  should  have  sped  thine  errand  on; 

In  rude,  but  glad  procession,  came 

The  oak  has  fall'n, — the  sapling  bough 

Bonneted  sire  and  coif-clad  dame ; 

Is  all  Dimcraggan's  shelter  now. 

And  plaided  youth,  with  jest  and  jeer, 

Yet  trust  I  Well,  his  duty  done, 

Which  snooded  maided  would  not  hear ; 

The  orphan's  God  will  guard  my  son, — 

And  children,  that,  unwitting  why, 

And  you,  in  many  a  danger  true, 

Lent  the  gay  shout  their  shrilly  cry ; 

At  Duncan's  hest  your  blades  that  drew, 

And  minstrels,  that  in  measures  vied 

To  arms,  and  guard  that  orphan's  head ! 

Before  the  young  and  bonny  bride, 

Let  babes  and  women  wail  the  dead." 

Whose  downcast  eye  and  cheek  disclose 

Then  weapon-clang,  and  martial  call, 

The  tear  and  blush  of  morning  rose. 

Resounded  through  the  funeral  hall, 

With  virgin  step,  and  bashful  hand, 

Wliile  from  the  walls  the  attendant  band 

She  held  the  'kerchief's  snowy  band-, 

Snatchd  sword  and  targe,  with  hurried  hand ; 

The  gallant  bridegroom  by  her  side, 

And  short  and  flitting  energy 

Beheld  his  prize  with  victor's  pride. 

Glanced  from  the  mourner's  sunken  eye, 

And  the  glad  mother  in  her  ear 

As  if  the  sounds  to  warrior  dear 

Was  closely  whispering  word  of  cheer. 

Might  rouse  her  Duncan  from  his  bier. 

But  faded  soon  that  borrow'd  force ; 

XXL 

Grief  claim'd  his  right,  and  tears  their  course. 

Who  meets  thom  at  the  churchyard  p,o.+o  t 

The  messenger  of  fear  and  fate  ! 

XIX. 

Haste  in  his  hurried  accent  lies, 

Benledi  saw  the  Cross  of  Fire, 

And  grief  is  swimming  in  his  eyes. 

It  glanced  like  lightning  up  Strath-Ire.1 

All  dripping  from  the  recent  flood, 

O'er  dale  and  hill  the  summons  flew, 

Panting  and  travel-soil'd  he  stood, 

Nor  rest  nor  pause  young  Angus  knew ; 

The  fatal  sign  of  fire  and  sword 

The  tear  that  gather'd  in  his  eye                        v . 

Held  forth,  and  spoke  the  appointed  woru. 

He  left  the  mountain  breeze  to  dry ; 

"  The  muster-place  is  Lanrick  mead  ; 

Until,  where  Teith's  young  waters  roll, 

Speed  forth  the  signal !  Norman,  speed  I" 

Betwixt  him  and  a  wooded  knoll,2 

And  must  he  change  so  soon  the  hand,3 

That  graced  the  sable  strath  with  green, 

Just  link'd  to  his  by  holy  band, 

The  chapel  of  St.  Bride  was  seen. 

For  the  fell  Cross  of  blood  and  brand  ? 

Swohi  was  the  stream,  remote  the  bridge, 

And  must  the  day,  so  blithe  that  rose, 

But  Angus  paused  not  on  the  edge  ; 

And  promised  rapture  in  the  close, 

Though  the  dark  waves  danced  dizzily, 

Before  its  setting  hour,  divide 

Though  reel'd  his  sympathetic  eye, 

The  bridegroom  from  the  plighted  bride  ? 

He  dash'd  amid  the  torrent's  roar ; 

0  fatal  doom  ! — it  must !  it  must ! 

His  right  hand  high  the  crosslet  bore, 

Clan-Alpine's  cause,  her  chieftain's  trust, 

His  left  the  pole-axe  grasp'd,  to  guide 

Her  summons  dread,  brook  no  delay ; 

And  stay  Ins  footing  in  the  tide. 

Stretch  to  the  race — away  !  away  ! 

H?  stumbled  twice — the  foam  splash'd  high, 

With  hoarser  swell  the  stream  raced  by ; 

XXII. 

And  had  he  fall'n, — forever  there, 

Yet  slow  he  laid  his  plaid  aside, 

Farewell  Duncraggan's  orphan  heir  1 

And,  lingering,  eyed  his  lovely  bride. 

But  still,  as  if  in  parting  life, 

Until  he  saw  the  starting  tear 

Firmer  he  grasp'd  the  Cross  of  strife, 

Speak  woe  he  might  not  stop  to  cheer , 

See  Appendix,  Note  2  N. 

Graced  the  dark  strath  with  emerald  green." 

MS. — "  Jiv,d  where  a  steep  and  wooded  knoll 

8  MS. — "  And  must  he  then  exchange  the  hand  " 

1*08                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  m. 

Then,  trusting  not  a  second  look, 

XXIV. 

In  haste  he  sped  him  up  the  brook, 

Not  faster  o'er  thy  heathery  braes, 

Nor  backward  glanced,  till  on  the  heath 

Balquidder,  speeds  the  midnight  blaze,' 

Where  Lubnaig's  lake  supplies  the  Teith. 

Rushing,  in  conflagration  strong, 

— What  in  the  racer's  bosom  stirr'd  ? 

Thy  deep  ravines  and  dells  along, 

The  sickening  pang  of  hope  deferr'd, 

Wrapping  thy  cliffs  in  purple  glow, 

And  memory,  with  a  torturing  train1 

And  reddening  the  dark  lakes  below ; 

Of  all  his  morning  visions  vain. 

Nor  faster  speeds  it,  nor  so  far, 

Mingled  with  love's  impatience,  came 

As  o'er  thy  heaths  the  voice  of  war.8  , 

The  manly  thirst  for  martial  fame ; 

The  signal  roused  to  martial  coil 

The  stormy  joy  of  mountaineers, 

The  sullen  margin  of  Loch  Voil, 

Ere  yet  they  rush  upon  the  spears ; 

Waked  still  Loch  Doine,  and  to  the  source 

And  zeal  for  Clan  and  Chieftain  burning, 

Alarm' d,  Balvaig,  thy  swampy  course ; 

And  hope  from  well-fought  field  returning, 

Thence  southward  turn'd  its  rapid  road 

With  war's  red  honors  on  his  crest,               i 

Adown  Strath-Gartney's  valley  broad, 

To  clasp  Ins  Mary  to  his  breast. 

Till  rose  hi  arms  each  man  might  claim 

Stung  by  such  thoughts,  o'er  bank  and 

A  portion  hi  Clan- Alpine's  name, 

brae, 

From  the  gray  sire,  whose  trembling  hand 

Like  fire  from  flint  he  glanced  away, 

Could  hardly  buckle  on  Ins  brand, 

While  high  resolve,  and  feeling  strong; 

To  the  raw  boy,  whose  shaft  and  bow 

Burst  into  voluntary  song. 

Were  yet  scarce  terror  to  the  crow. 

Each  valley,  each  sequester'd  glen, 

XXIII. 

Muster'd  its  little  horde  of  men, 

Sons, 

That  met  as  torrents  from  the  height 

Li  highland  dales  their  streams  unite, 

The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed, 

Still  gathering,  as  they  pour  along, 

The  bracken2  curtain  for  my  head, 

A  voice  more  loud,  a  tide  more  strong, 

My  lullaby  the  warder's  tread, 

Till  at  the  rendezvous  they  stood 

Far,  far,  from  love  and  thee,  Mary ; 

By  hundreds  prompt  for  blows  and  blood ; 

To-morrow  eve,  more  stilly  laid, 

Each  train'd  to  arms  since  life  began, 

My  couch  may  be  my  bloody  plaid, 

Owning  no  tie  but  to  his  clan, 

My  vesper  song,  thy  wail,  sweet  maid ! 

No  oath,  but  by  his  clrieftain's  hand, 

It  will  not  waken  me,  Mary ! 

No  law,  but  Roderick  Dhu's  command.* 

I  may  not,  dare  not,  fancy  now8 

The  grief  that  clouds  thy  lovely  brow, 

XXV. 

I  dare  not  think  upon  thy  vow, 

That  summer  morn  had  Roderick  Dhu 

And  all  it  promised  me,  Mary. 

Survey'd  the  skirts  of  Benvenue, 

No  fond  regret  must  Norman  know ; 

And  sent  Ins  scouts  o'er  hill  and  heath 

When  bursts  Clan- Alpine  on  the  foe, 

To  view  the  frontiers  of  Menteith. 

His  heart  must  be  like  bended  bow, 

All  backward  came  with  news  of  truce  ; 

His  foot  like  arrow  free,  Mary. 

Still  lay  each  martial  Graeme  and  Bruce, 

In  Rednoch  courts  no  horsemen  wait, 

A  time  will  come  with  feeling  fraught, 

No  banner  waved  on  Cardross  gate, 

For,  if  I  fall  in  battle  fought, 

On  Duchray's  towers  no  beacon  shone, 

Thy  hapless  lover's  dying  thought 

Nor  scared  the  herons  from  Loch  Con ; 

Shall  be  a  thought  on  thee,  Mary.4 

All  seem'd  at  peace. — Now,  wot  ye  why 

And  if  return'd  from  conquer'd  foes, 

The  Chieftain,  with  such  anxious  eye, 

How  blithely  will  the  evening  close, 

Ere  to  the  muster  he  repair, 

How  sweet  the  linnet  sing  repose, 

This  western  frontier  scann'd  with  care  ? — 

To  my  young  bride  and  me,  Mary ! 

In  Benvenue's  most  darksome  cleft, 

1  MS. — "  And  memory  brought  the  torturing  traic 

'Twill  cheer  him  in  the  hour  of  death, 

Of  all  his  morning  visions  vain  ; 

The  boasted  right  to  thee,  Mary." 

But  mingled  with  impatience  came 

The  manly  love  of  martial  fame." 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  2  0. 

s  Bracken. — Fern. 

e  "  The  eager  fidelity  with  which  this  fatal  signal  is  harried 

s  MS. — "  I  may  not,  dare  not,  image  now." 

on  and  obeyed,  is  represented  with  great  spirit  and  felicity."— 

*  MS.-'  "  A  time  will  come  for  love  and  faith, 

Jeffrey. 

For  should  thy  bridegroom  yield  his  breath, 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P. 

CANTO  III. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


209 


A  fair,  though  cruel,  pledge  was  left ; 
For  Douglas,  to  his  promise  true, 
That  morning  from  the  isle  withdrew, 
And  in  a  deep  sequester'd  dell 
Had  sought  a  low  and  lonely  celL 
By  many  a  bard,  in  Celtic  tongue, 
Has  Coir-nan-Uriskin  been  sung  ;J 
A  softer  name  the  Saxons  gave, 
And  call'd  the  grot  the  Goblin-cave. 

XXVI. 
It  was  a  wild  and  strange  retreat, 
As  e'er  was  trod  by  outlaw's  feet. 
The  dell,  upon  the  mountain's  crest, 
Yawn'd  like  a  gash  on  warrior's  breast ; 
Its  trench  had  staid  full  many  a  rock, 
Hurl'd  by  primeval  earthquake  shock 
From  Benvenue's  gray  summit  wild, 
And  here,  in  random  ruin  piled, 
They  frown'd  incumbent  o'er  the  spot, 
And  form'd  the  rugged  silvan  grot.2 
The  oak  and  birch,  with  mingled  shade, 
At  noontide  there  a  twilight  made, 
Unless  when  short  and  sudden  shone 
Some  straggling  beam  on  cliff  or  stone, 
With  such  a  glimpse  as  prophet's  eye 
Gains  on  thy  depth,  Futurity. 
No  murmur  waked  the  solemn  still, 
Save  tinkling  of  a  fountain  rill ; 
But  when  the  wind  chafed  with  the  lake, 
A  sitllen  sound  would  upward  break, 
"With  dashing  hollow  voice,  that  spoke 
The  incessant  war  of  wave  and  rock. 
Suspended  cliffs,  with  liideous  sway, 
Seem'd  nodding  o'er  the  cavern  gray. 
From  such  a  den  the  wolf  had  sprung, 
In  such  the  wild-cat  leaves  her  young ; 
Yet  Douglas  and  his  daughter  fair 
Sought  for  a  space  tiieir  safety  there. 
Gray  Superstition's  whisper  dread 
Debarr'd  the  spot  to  vulgar  tread ; 
For  there,  she  said,  did  fays  resort, 
And  satyrs3  hold  their  silvan  court, 
By  moonlight  tread  their  mystic  maze, 
And  blast  the  rash  beholder's  gaze. 

XXVII. 

Now  eve,  with  western  shadows  long, 
Floated  on  Katrine  bright  and  strong, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q,. 

»  "  After  landing  on  the  skirts  of  Benvenue,  we  reach  the 
cave  (or  more  properly  the  cove)  of  the  goblins,  by  a  steep  and 
narrow  defile  of  a  few  hundred  yards  in  length.  It  is  a  deep 
circular  amphitheatre  of  at  least  600  yards  of  extent  in  its 
upper  diameter,  gradually  narrowing  towards  the  base,  hem- 
med in  all  round  by  steep  arm  towering  rocks,  and  rendered 
impenetrable  to  the  rays  of  the  sun  by  a  close  covert  of  luxu- 
riant trees.  On  the  south  and  west  it  is  bounded  by  the  pre- 
cipitous shoulder  of  Benvenue,  to  the  height  of  at  least  50C 
27 


When  Roderick,  with  a  chosen  few, 

Repass' d  the  heights  of  Benvenue. 

Above  the  Goblin-cave  they  go, 

Through  the  wild-pass  of  Beal-nam-bo  :* 

The  prompt  retainers  speed  before, 

To  launch  the  shallop  from  the  shore, 

For  cross  Loch  Katrine  lies  his  way 

To  view  the  passes  of  Achray, 

And  place  his  clansmen  in  array. 

"Yet  lags  the  chief  in  musing  mind, 

Unwonted  sight,  his  men  behind. 

A  single  page,  to  bear  his  sword, 

Alone  attended  on  his  lord  ;9 

The  rest  their  way  through  thickets  break, 

And  soon  await  him  by  the  lake. 

It  was  a  fair  and  gallant  sight, 

To  view  them  from  the  neighboring  height, 

By  the  low-levell'd  sunbeams  light  1 

For  strength  and  stature,  from  the  clan 

Each  warrior  was  a  chosen  man, 

As  even  afar  might  well  be  seen, 

By  their  proud  step  and  martial  mien. 

Their  feathers  dance,  their  tartans  float, 

Their  targets  gleam,  as  by  the  boat 

A  wild  and  warlike  group  they  stand, 

That  well  became  such  mountain-strand. 

XXVIII. 
Their  Chief,  with  step  reluctant,  still 
Was  lingering  on  the  craggy  hill, 
Hard  by  where  turn'd  apart  the  road 
To  Douglas's  obscure  abode. 
It  was  but  with  that  dawning  morn, 
That  Roderick  Dhu  had  proudly  sworn 
To  drown  his  love  in  war's  wild  roar,6 
Nor  think  of  Ellen  Douglas  more ; 
But  he  who  stems  a  stream  with  sand, 
And  fetters  flame  with  flaxen  band, 
Has  yet  a  harder  task  to  prove — 
By  firm  resolve  to  conquer  love  ! 
Eve  finds  the  Chief,  like  restless  ghost, 
Still  hovering  near  his  treasure  lost ; 
For  though  his  haughty  heart  deny 
A  parting  meeting  to  his  eye. 
Still  fondly  strains  his  anxious  ear, 
The  accents  of  her  voice  to  hear. 
And  inly  did  he  curse  the  breeze 
That  waked  to  sound  the  rustling  trees. 
But  hark !  what  mingles  in  the  strain  * 

feet ;  towards  the  east,  the  rock  appears  at  some  former  period 
to  have  tumbled  down,  strewing  the  whole  course  of  its  fall 
with  immense  fragments,  which  now  serve  only  to  give  shelter 
to  foxes,  wild-cats,  and  badgers." — Dr.  Graham. 


s  The  Urisk,  or  Highland  satyr. 
Canto. 

See  Appendix,  Note  2  R. 


See  Note  on  the  previont 


Ibid.  Note  2  S. 


8  MS.—"  To  drown  his  grief  in  war's  wild  roar, 
Nor  think  of  love  and  Ellen  mow  " 


21C                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  iv 

It  is  the  harp  of  Allan-Bane, 

And  eastward  held  their  hasty  way, 

That  wakes  its  measure  slow  an  i  high, 

Till,  with  the  latest  beams  of  light, 

Attuned  to  sacred  minstrelsy. 

The  band  arrived  on  Lanrick  height, 

What  melting  voice  attends  the  strings  ? 

Where  muster'd,  in  the  vale  below,8 

Tis  Ellen,  or  an  angel  sings. 

Clan- Alpine's  men  in  martial  show. 

XXIX. 

XXXI. 

3^2mn  to  t&e  Uftfifn. 

A  various  scene  the  clansmen  made, 

Ave  Maria  I  maiden  mild ! 

Some  sate,  some  stood,  some  slowly  stray'd ; 

Listen  to  a  maiden's  prayer ! 

But  most  with  mantles  folded  round, 

Thou  canst  hear  though  from  the  wild, 

Were  couch'd  to  rest  upon  the  ground, 

Thou  canst  save  amid  despair. 

Scarce  to  be  known  by  curious  eye, 

Safe  may  we  sleep  beneath  thy  care, 

From  the  deep  heather  where  they  lie,         , 

Though  banish'd,  outcast,  and  reviled — 

So  well  was  match'd  the  tartan  screen 

Maiden !  hear  a  maiden's  prayer ; 

With  heath-bell  dark  and  brackens  green ; 

Mother,  hear  a  suppliant  child ! 

Unless  where,  here  and  there,  a  blade, 

Ave  Maria  I 

Or  lance's  point,  a  glimmer  made, 

Like  glow-worm  twinkling  through  the  shade 

Ave  Maria  !  undenled ! 

But  when,  advancing  through  the  gloom, 

The  flinty  couch  we  now  must  share1 

They  saw  the  Chieftain's  eagle  plume, 

Shall  seem  with  down  of  eider  piled, 

Their  shout  of  welcome,  shrill  and  wide, 

If  thy  protection  hover  there. 

Shook  the  steep  mountain's  steady  side. 

The  murky  cavern's  heavy  air5 

Thrice  it  arose,  and  lake  and  fell 

Shall  breathe  of  balm  if  thou  hast  smiled ; 

Three  times  return'd  the  martial  yell ; 

Then,  Maiden !  hear  a  maiden's  prayer ; 

It  died  upon  Bochastle's  plain, 

Mother,  list  a  suppliant  child ! 

And  Silence  claim'd  her  evening  reign. 

Ave  Maria  1 

Ave  Maria  I  stainless  styled ! 

Foul  demons  of  the  earth  and  air, 
From  this  their  wonted  haunt  exiled, 

&l)e  ficttyj  of  tl)c  Cake. 

Shall  flee  before  thy  presence  fair. 

We  bow  us  to  our  lot'  of  care, 

Beneath  thy  guidance  reconciled ; 
Hear  for  a  maid  a  maiden's  prayer, 

CANTO  FOURTH. 

1 

And  for  a  father  hear  a  child ! 

2E t) e  ^ropfjecg. 

Ave  Maria  1 

I. 

XXX. 

"  The  rose  is  fairest  when  'tis  budding  new, 

Died  on  the  harp  the  closing  hymn — 

And  hope  is  brightest  when  it  dawns  from  fears  ;* 

Unmoved  in  attitude  and  limb, 

The  rose  is  sweetest  wash'd  with  morning  dew, 

As  list'ning  still,  Clan- Alpine's  lord 

And  love  is  loveliest  when  embalm'd  in  tears. 

Stood  leaning  on  liis  heavy  sword, 

0  wilding  rose,  whom  fancy  thus  endears, 

Until  the  page,  with  humble  sign, 

I  bid  your  blossoms  in  my  bonnet  wave, 

Twice  pointed  to  the  sun's  decline. 

Emblem  of  hope  and  love  through  future  years !" 

Then  while  his  plaid  he  round  him  cast, 

Thus  spoke  young  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave, 

"  It  is  the  last  time — 'tis  the  last," 

What  time  the  sun  arose  on  Vennachar's  broad 

He  mutter'd  thrice, — "  the  last  time  e'er 

wave. 

That  angel  voice  shall  Roderick  hear!' 

It  was  a  goading  thought — his  stride 

II. 

Hied  hastier  down  the  mountain-side 

Such  fond  conceit,  half  said,  half  sung, 

Sullen  he  flung  him  in  the  boat, 

Love  prompted  to  the  bridegroom's  tongue. 

And  instant  'cross  the  lake  it  shot. 

All  while  he  stripp'd  the  wild-rose  spray, 

They  landed  in  that  silvery  bay, 

His  axe  and  bow  beside  him  lay, 

l  MS. — "  The  flinty  couch  my  sire  must  share.' 

* 

3  MS.—"  Where  broad  extending  far  below, 

Muster'd  Clan-Alpine's  martial  show." 

»  MS.—  "  Th3  murky  grotto's  noxious  air." 

*  MS.—"  And  rapture  dearest  when  obscured  bv  fean." 

CANTO  IV. 


THE  LADY  OE  THE  LAKE. 


211 


For  on  a  pass  'twixt  lake  and  wood, 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war.2 

A  wakeful  sentinel  he  stood. 

Duncraggan's  milk-white  bull  they  slew." 

Hark !  on  the  rock  a  footstep  rung, 

And  instant  to  his  arras  he  sprung. 

MALISE. 

"  Stand,  or  thou  diest ! — What,  Malis3  ? — soon 

"  All !  well  the  gallant  brute  I  knew  1 

Art  thou  return'd  from  Braes  of  Doune. 

The  choicest  of  the  prey  we  had, 

By  thy  keen  step  and  glance  I  know, 

When  swept  our  merry -men  Gallangad.8 

Thou  bring' at  us  tidings  of  the  foe." 

His  hide  was  snow,  his  horns  were  dark, 

(For  while  the  Fiery  Cross  hied  on, 

His  red  eye  glow'd  like  fiery  spark ; 

On  distant  scout  had  Malise  gone.) 

So  fierce,  so  tameless,  and  so  fleet, 

"  Where   sleeps  the   Chief  ¥   the   henchman 

Sore  did  he  cumber  our  retreat, 

said. —                                                               . 

And  kept  our  stoutest  kernes  in  awe, 

"  Apart,  in  yonder  misty  glade ; 

Even  at  the  pass  of  Beal  'maha. 

To  lus  lone  couch  I'll  be  your  guide." — 

But  steep  and  flinty  was  the  road, 

Then  call'd  a  slumberer  by  his  side, 

And  sharp  the  hurrying  pikemen's  goad, 

And  stirr'd  him  with  his  slacken'd  bow — 

And  when  we  came  to  Dennan's  Row, 

"  Up,  up,  Glentarkin  !  rouse  thee,  ho ! 

A  child  might  scatheless  stroke  his  brow."— 

We  seek  the  Chieftain :  on  the  track, 

Keep  eagle  watch  till  I  come  back." 

V. 

NORMAN. 

III. 

"  That  bull  was  slain :  his  reeking  hide 

Together  up  the  pass  they  sped : 

They  stretch'd  the  cataract  beside, 

"  What  of  the  foeman  V  Norman  said. — 

Whose  waters  their  wild  tumult  toss 

M  Varying  reports  from  near  and  far ; 

Adown  the  black  and  craggy  boss 

Tliis  certain, — that  a  band  of  war 

Of  that  huge  cliff,  whose  ample  verge 

Has  for  two  days  been  ready  boune, 

Tradition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe.4                • 

At  prompt  command,  to  march  from  Doune ; 

Couch'd  on  a  shelve  beneath  its  brink, 

King  James,  the  while,  with  princely  powers, 

Close  where  the  thundering  torrents  sink, 

Holds  revelry  in  Stirling  towers. 

Rocking  beneath  their  headlong  sway, 

Soon  will  tlus  dark  and  gathering  cloud 

And  drizzled  by  the  ceaseless  spray, 

Speak  on  our  glens  in  thunder  loud. 

Midst  groan  of  rock,  and  roar  of  stream. 

Inured  to  bide  such  bitter  bout, 

The  wizard  waits  prophetic  dream. 

The  warrior's  plaid  may  bear  it  out ; 

Nor  distant  rests  the  Chief; — but  hush! 

But,  Norman,  how  wilt  thou  provide 

See,  gliding  slow  through  mist  and  bush, 

A  shelter  for  thy  bonny  bride  ?" 

The  hermit  gains  yon  rock,  and  stands 

"  What  1  know  ye  not  that  Roderick's  care 

To  gaze  upon  our  slumbering  bands. 

To  the  lone  isle  hath  caused  repair 

Seems  he  not,  Malise,  like  a  ghost, 

Each  maid  and  matron  of  the  clan, 

That  hovers  o'er  a  slaughter'd  host  ? 

And  every  child  and  aged  man 

Or  raven  on  the  blasted  oak, 

Unfit  for  arms ;  and  given  lus  charge, 

That,  watching  while  the  deer  is  broke,* 

Nor  skiff  nor  shallop,  boat  nor  barge, 

His  morsel  claims  with  sullen  croak  ?" 

Upon  these  lakes  shall  float  at  large, 

But  all  beside  the  islet  moor, 

MALISE. 

That  such  dear  pledge  may  rest  secure  ?" — 

— "  Peace !  peace  !  to  other  than  to  me, 

Thy  words  were  evil  augury ; 

IV. 

But  still  I  hold  Sir  Roderick's  blade 

*  'Tis  well  advised — the  Chieftain's  plan1 

Clan- Alpine's  omen  and  her  aid, 

Bespeaks  the  father  of  his  clan. 

Not  aught  that,  glean'd  from  heaven  or  hell, 

But  wherefore  sleeps  Sir  Roderick  Dhu 

Yon  fiend-begotten  monk  can  tell. 

Apart  from  all  his  followers  true  ?" 

The  Chieftain  joins  lum,  see — and  now, 

"  It  is,  because  last  evening-tide 

Together  they  descend  the  brow." 

Brian  an  augury  hath  tried, 

Of  that  dread  kind  wliich  must  not  be 

VI. 

Unless  in  dread  extremity, 

And,  as  they  came,  with  Alpine's  Lord 

The  Taghairm  call'd  ;  by  which,  afar, 

The  Hermit  Monk  held  solemn  word : — 

MS. — "  'Tis  well  advised — a  prudent  plan, 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T.                «  Ibid.  Note  2  U. 

Worthy  the  father  of  his  clan." 

«  Ibid.  Note  2  V.                                *  Ibid.  Note  2  W. 

212 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV 


"  Roderick !  it  is  a  fearful  strife, 
For  man  endow'd  with  mortal  life, 
"Whose  shroud  of  sentient  clay  can  still 
Feel  feverish  pang  and  fainting  chill, 
Whose  eye  can  stare  in  stony  trance, 
Whose  hair  can  rouse  like  warrior's  lance, — 
'Tis  hard  for  such  to  view,  unfurl' d, 
The  curtain  of  the  future  world. 
Yet,  witness  every  quaking  limb, 
My  sunken  pulse,  my  eyeballs  dim, 
My  soul  with  harrowing  anguish  torn, — 
This  for  my  Chieftain  have  I  borne  ! — 
The  shapes  that  sought  my  fearful  couch, 
An  human  tongue  may  ne'er  avouch ; 
No  mortal  man, — save  he,  who,  bred 
Between  the  living  and  the  dead, 
Is  gifted  beyond  nature's  law, — 
Had  e'er  survived  to  say  he  saw. 
At  length  the  fatal  answer  came, 
In  characters  of  living  flame ! 
Not  spoke  in  word,  nor  blazed  in  scroll, 
But  borne  and  branded  on  my  soul ; — 
Which  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life,1 
That  party  conquers  in  the  strife  !" — * 

VII. 

• 

"  Thanks,  Brian,  for  thy  zeal  and  care ! 

Good  is  thine  augury,  and  fair. 

Clan- Alpine  ne'er  in  battle  stood, 

But  first  our  broadswords  tasted  blood. 

A  surer  victim  still  I  know, 

Self-offer'd  to  the  auspicious  blow : 

A  spy  has  sought  my  land  this  morn, — 

No  eve  shall  witness  his  return ! 

My  followers  guard  each  pass's  mouth, 

To  east,  to  westward,  and  to  south ; 

Red  Murdoch,  bribed  to  be  his  guide,* 

Has  charge  to  lead  his  steps  aside, 

Till,  in  deep  path  or  dingle  brown, 

He  light  on  those  shall  bring  him  down.4 

— But  see,  who  comes  his  news  to  show  ! 

Malise !  what  tidings  of  the  foe  ?" — 

VIII. 
"  At  Doune,  o'er  many  a  spear  and  glaive 
Two  Barons  proud  their  banners  wave, 
f  saw  the  Moray's  silver  star, 
And  mark'd  the  sable  pale  of  Mar." — 

1  MS. — "  Which  foremost  spills  a  foeman's  life." 
■  See  Appendix,  Note  2  X. 

»  MS.--"  The  clansman,  vainly  deem'd  his  guide." 
*  MS. — "  He  light  on  those  shall  stab  him  down." 

MS.—"  '  When  move  they  on  V  \\  ™™n  J  at  noon 
'Tis  said  will  see  them  march  from  Doune.' 
'  To-morrow  then  \         eS  I  meeting  stern.'  " 
«>  Fpi  battle  boune — ready  for  battle. 


"  By  Alpine's  soul,  high  tidings  those  ! 

I  love  to  hear  of  worthy  foes. 

When  move  they  on  ?" — "  To-morrow's  noon* 

Will  see  them  here  for  battle  boune." — * 

"  Then  shall  it  see  a  meeting  stern ! — 

But,  for  the  place — say,  couldst  thou  learn 

Naught  of  the  friendly  clans  of  Earn  ? 

Strengthen'd  by  them,  we  well  might  bide 

The  battle  on  Benledi's  side. 

Thou  couldst  not  ? — Well !  Clan- Alpine's  men 

Shall  man  the  Trosach's  shaggy  glen  ; 

Within  Loch  Katrine's  gorge  we'll  fight, 

All  in  our  maids'  and  matrons'  sight, 

Each  for  his  hearth  and  household  fire, 

Father  for  child,  and  son  for  sire — 

Lover  for  maid  beloved  ! — But  why — 

Is  it  the  breeze  affects  mine  eye  ? 

Or  dost  thou  come,  ill-omen'd  tear  ! 

A  messenger  of  doubt  or  fear  ? 

No  !  sooner  may  the  Saxon  lance 

Unfix  Benledi  from  his  stance, 

Than  doubt  or  terror  can  pierce  through 

The  unyielding  heart  of  Roderick  Dhu  ! 

'Tis  stubborn  as  his  trusty  targe. — 7 

Each  to  his  post ! — all  know  their  charge." 

The  pibroch  sounds,  the  bands  advance, 

The  broadswords  gleam,  the  banners  dance 

Obedient  to  the  Clueftain's  glance. 

— I  turn  me  from  the  martial  roar, 

And  seek  Coir-Uriskin  once  more. 

IX. 

Where  is  the  Douglas  ? — he  is  gone  ; 
And  Ellen  sits  on  the  gray  stone 
Fast  by  the  cave,  and  makes  her  moan ; 
While  vainly  Allan's  words  of  cheer 
Are  pour'd  on  her  unheeding  ear. — 
"  He  will  return — Dear  lady,  trust ! — 
With  joy  return  ; — he  will — he  must. 
Well  was  it  time  to  seek,  afar, 
Some  refuge  from  impending  war, 
When  e'en  Clan- Alpine's  rugged  swarm 
Are  cow'd  by  the  approaching  storm. 
I  saw  their  boats,  with  many  a  light, 
Floating  the  five-long  yesternight, 
Shifting  like  flashes  darted  forth8 
By  the  red  streamers  of  the  north ; 
I  mark'd  at  morn  how  close  they  ride, 

i  MS. — "  'Tis  stubborn  as  his  Highland  targe." 

8  MS.—"  Thick  as  the  flashes  darted  forth 

By  morrice-dancers  of  the  north  ; 

.     ,  ..    .  I  barges  ride, 

And  saw  at  mom  their  <  ..    ,B  _ 

\  little  fleet, 

Close  moor'd  by  the  lone  islet's  side. 

Since  this  rude  race  dare  not  abide 

Upon  their  native  mountain  side, 

'Tis  fit  that  Douglas  should  provide 

For  his  dear  child  some  safe  abode, 

And  soon  he  comes  to  point  the  road." 


canto  iv.                             THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                        215 

Thick  moor'd  by  the  lone  islet's  side, 

Tliink  of  the  stranger  at  the  isle, 

Like  wild-ducks  couching  in  the  fen, 

And  think  upon  the  harpings  slow, 

When  stoops  the  hawk  upon  the  glen. 

That  presaged  tin's  approaching  woe  , 

Since  this  rude  race  dare  not  abide 

Sooth  was  my  prophecy  of  fear ; 

The  peril  on  the  mainland  side, 

Believe  it  when  it  augurs  cheer. 

Shall  not  thy  noble  father's  care 

Would  we  had  left  tins  dismal  spot  J 

Some  safe  retreat  for  thee  prepare  ?" — 

111  luck  still  haunts  a  fairy  gr't. 

Of  such  a  wondrous  tale  I  kncr — 

X. 

Dear  lady,  change  that  look  of  woe, 

ELLEN. 

My  harp  was  wont  thy  grief  to  cheer." — 

u  No,  Allan,  no !  Pretext  so  kind1 

My  wakeful  terrors  could  not  blind. 

ELLEN. 

When  in  such  tender  tone,  yet  grave, 

"  Well,  be  it  as  thou  wilt ;  I  hear, 

Douglas  a  parting  blessing  gave, 

But  cannot  stop  the  bursting  tear." 

The  tear  that  glisten'd  in  his  eye 

The  Minstrel  tried  his  simple  art, 

Drown  d  not  Ins  purpose  fix'd  on  high. 

But  distant  far  was  Ellen's  heart. 

My  soul,  though  feminine  and  weak, 

Can  image  his ;  e'en  as  the  lake, 

XII. 

Itself  disturb'd  by  slightest  stroke,8 

3SaUaTr.s 

Reflects  the  invulnerable  rock. 

He  hears  report  of  battle  rife, 

ALICE  BRAND. 

He  deems  himself  the  cause  of  strife. 

Merry  it  is  in  the  good  greenwood, 

I  saw  him  redden,  when  the  theme 

When  the  mavis4  and  merle8  are  singing, 

Turn'd,  Allan,  on  thine  idle  dream 

When  the  deer  sweeps  by,  and  the  hounds  are 

Of  Malcolm  Graeme,  in  fetters  bound, 

in  cry, 

Which  I,  thou  saidst,  about  him  wound. 

And  the  hunter's  horn  is  ringing. 

Think'st  thou  he  trow'd  thine  omen  aught  ? 

Oh  no !  'twas  apprehensive  thought 

"  0  Alice  Brand,  my  native  land 

For  the  kind  youth, — for  Roderick  too — 

Is  lost  for  love  of  you ; 

(Let  me  be  just)  that  friend  so  true ; 

And  we  must  hold  by  wood  and  wold. 

In  danger  both,  and  in  our  cause  ! 

As  outlaws  wont  to  do. 

Minstrel,  the  Douglas  dare  not  pause. 

Why  else  that  solemn  warning  given, 

"  0  Alice,  'twas  all  for  thy  locks  so  bright 

*  If  not  on  earth,  we  meet  in  heaven !' 

And  'twas  all  for  thine  eyes  so  blue, 

Why  else,  to  Cambus-kenneth's  fane, 

That  on  the  night  of  our  luckless  flight, 

If  eve  return  him  not  again, 

Thy  brother  bold  I  slew. 

Am  I  to  hie,  and  make  me  known  ? 

Alas !  he  goes  to  Scotland's  throne, 

"  Now  must  I  teach  to  hew  the  beech 

Buys  his  friend's  safety  with  his  own ;  — 

The  hand  that  held  the  glaive, 

He  goes  to  do — what  I  had  done, 

For  leaves  to  spread  our  lowly  bed, 

Had  Douglas'  daughter  been  his  son !' — 

And  stakes  to  fence  our  cave. 

XL 

"  And  for  vest  of  pall,  thy  fingers  small, 

"  Nay,  lovely  Ellen ! — dearest,  nay ! 

That  wont  on  harp  to  stray, 

If  aught  should  his  return  delay, 

A  cloak   must  sheer  from  the  slaughter'^ 

He  only  named  yon  holy  fane 

deer, 

As  fitting  place  to  meet  again. 

To  keep  the  cold  away." — 

Be  sure  he's  safe  ;  and  for  the  Graeme, — 

Heaven's  blessing  on  his  gallant  name  ! — 

"  0  Richard !  if  my  brother  died, 

My  vision'd  sight  may  yet  prove  true, 

'Twas  but  a  fatal  chance ; 

Nor  bode  of  ill  to  liim  or  you. 

For  darkling  was  the  battle  tried, 

When  did  my  gifted  drefim  beguile  ? 

And  fortune  sped  the  lance.* 

MS. — "  No,  Allan,  ao  !  His  words  so  kind 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 

Were  but  pretexts  my  fears  td  blind. 

*  Thrush.                                ■  Blackbird. 

When  in  such  solemn  tone,  and  grave, 

Douglas  a  parting  blessing  gave." 

6  MS. — "  'Tw&s  but  a  midnight  chance  ; 

1  MS          ..ts'?lf  disturb'd  by  slightest  shock, 

For  blindfold  was  the  battle  plied, 

Reflects  the  adamantine  rock." 

And  fortune  held  the  lance." 

214                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  iv. 

■  If  pall  and  vair  no  more  I  wear, 

"  And  if  there's  blood  upon  his  hand, 

Nor  thou  the  crimson  sheen, 

'Tis  but  the  blood  of  deer."— 

As  warm,  we'll  say,  is  the  russet  gray, 

As  gay  the  forest-green. 

"  Now  loud  thou  liest,  thou  bold  of  mood  1 

It  cleaves  unto  his  hand, 

"  And,  Richard,  if  our  lot  be  hard, 

The  stain  of  thine  own  kindly  blood, 

And  lost  thy  native  land, 

The  blood  of  Ethert  Brand." 

Still  Alice  has  her  own  Richard, 

And  he  his  Alice  Brand." 

Then  forward  stepp'd  she,  Alice  Brand, 

And  made  the  holy  sign, — 

XIII. 

"And  if  thers's  blood  on  Richard's  band. 

aSallati  rontfmteto. 

A  spotless  hand  is  mine. 

'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 

So  blithe  Lady  Alice  is  singing ; 

"  And  I  conjure  thee,  Demon  elf, 

On  the  beech's  pride,  and  oak's  brown  side, 

By  Him  whom  Demons  fear, 

Lord  Richard's  axe  is  ringing. 

To  show  us  whence  thou  art  thyself, 

And  what  thine  errand  here  ?" — 

Up  spoke  the  moody  Elfin  King, 

Who  won'd  within  the  hill, — ' 

XV. 

Like  wind  in  the  porch  of  a  ruin'd  church, 

3BalIaTi  contfmtefc. 

His  voice  was  ghostly  shrill. 

"'Tis  merry,  'tis  meny,  in  Fairy-land, 

When  fairy  birds  are  singing, 

"  Why  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beech  and  oak. 

When  the  court  doth  ride  by  their  monarch'* 

Our  moonlight  circle's  screen  ?a 

side, 

Or  who  comes  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

With  bit  and  bridle  ringing : 

Beloved  of  our  Elfin  Queen  ?8 

Or  who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

"  And  gayly  shines  the  Fairy-land, — 

The  fairies  fatal  green  ?* 

But  all  is  glistening  show,8 

Like  the  idle  gleam  that  December's  beam 

"  Up,  Urgan,  up !  to  yon  mortal  hie, 

Can  dart  on  ice  and  snow. 

For  thou  wert  christen'd  man  ;6 

For  cross  or  sign  thou  wilt  not  fly, 

"  And  fading,  like  that  varied  gleam, 

For  mutter'd  word  or  ban. 

Is  our  inconstant  shape, 

Who  now  like  knight  and  lady  seem, 

"  Lay  on  him  the  curse  of  the  wither'd  heart, 

And  now  like  dwarf  and  ape. 

The  curse  of  the  sleepless  eye ; 

Till  he  wish  and  pray  that  his  life  would  part, 

"  It  was  between  the  night  and  day, 

Nor  yet  find  leave  to  die." 

When  the  Fairy  King  has  power, 

That  I  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray, 

XIV. 

And,  'twixt  life  and  death,  was  snatch'd  awaj 

3SallaTJ  contfnueTJ. 

To  the  joyless  Elfin  bower.7 

'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 

Though  the  birds  have  still'd  their  singing ; 

"  But  wist  I  of  a  woman  bold, 

The  evening  blaze  doth  Alice  raise, 

Who  thrice  my  brow  durst  sign, 

And  Richard  is  fagots  bringing. 

I  might  regain  my  mortal  mold, 

As  fair  a  form  as  thine." 

Up  Urgan  starts,  that  hideous  dwarf, 

Before  Lord  Richard  stands, 

She  cross'd  him  once — she  cross'd  him  twice-* 

And,  as  he  cross'd  and  bless'd  himself, 

That  lady  was  so  brave  ; 

"  I  fear  not  sign,"  quoth  the  grisly  elf, 

The  fouler  grew  his  goblin  hue, 

"  That  is  made  with  bloody  hands." 

The  darker  grew  the  cave. 

But  out  then  spoke  she,  Alice  Brand, 

She  cross'd  him  thrice,  that  lady  bold ; 

That  woman,  void  of  fear, — 

He  rose  befleath  her  hand 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  3  A.                *  Ibid.  Note  d  B. 

2  MS. — "  Our  fairy  ringlet's  screen." 

s  Ibid.  Note  3  C.        «  Ibid.  Note  3  D.        '■  Ibid.  Note  3  E 

canto  iv.                             THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                        215 

The  fairest  knight  on  Scottish  mold, 

Too  much,  before,  my  selfish  ear 

Her  brother,  Ethert  Brand  1 

Was  idly  soothed  my  praise  to  hear.2 

That  fatal  bait  hath  lured  thee  back, 

Merry  it  is  in  good  greenwood, 

In  deathful  hour,  o'er  dangerous  track 

When  the  mavis  and  merle  are  singing, 

And  how,  0  how,  can  I  atone 

But  merrier  were  they  in  Dunfermline  gray, 

The  wreck  my  vanity  brought  on ! — 

"When  all  the  bells  were  ringing. 

One  way  remains — I'll  tell  him  all — 

Yes,  struggling  bosom,  forth  it  shall  1 

XVI. 

Thou,  whose  fight  folly  bears  the  blame, 

Just  as  the  minstrel  sounds  were  staid, 

Buy  thine  own  pardon  with  thy  shame ! 

A  stranger  climb' d  the  steepy  glade 

But  first — my  father  is  a  man 

His  martial  step,  his  stately  mien, 

Outlaw'd  and  exiled,  under  ban  ; 

His  hunting  suit  of  Lincoln-green, 

The  price  of  blood  is  on  his  head, 

His  eagle  glance,  remembrance  claims — 

With  me  'twere  infamy  to  wed. — 

Tis  Snowdouhs  Knight,  'tis  James  Fitz-James. 

Still  wouldst  thou  speak  ? — then  hear  the  truth 

Ellen  beheld  as  in  a  dream, 

Fitz-James,  there  is  a  noble  youth, — 

Then,  starting,  scarce  suppress'd  a  scream : 

If  yet  he  is ! — exposed  for  me 

"  0  stranger  !  in  such  hour  of  fear, 

And  mine  to  dread  extremity — 

What  evil  hap  has  brought  thee  here  ?" — 

Thou  hast  the  secret  of  my  heart ; 

"  An  evil  hap  how  can  it  be, 

Forgive,  be  generous,  and  depart  1" 

That  bids  me  look  again  on  thee  ? 

By  promise  bound,  my  former  guide 

XVIII. 

Met  me  betimes  this  morning  tide, 

Fitz-James  knew  every  wily  train 

And  marshall'd,  over  bank  and  bourne, 

A  lady's  fickle  heart  to  gain ; 

The  happy  path  of  my  return." — 

But  here  lie  knew  and  felt  them  vain. 

"  The  happy  path ! — what !  said  he  naught 

There  shot  no  glance  from  Ellen's  eye, 

Of  war,  of  battle  to  be  fought, 

To  give  her  steadfast  speech  the  lie ; 

Of  guarded  pass  ?" — "  No,  by  my  faith  1 

In  maiden  confidence  she  stood, 

Nor  saw  I  aught  could  augur  scathe." — 

Though  mantled  in  her  cheek  the  blood, 

■  0  haste  thee,  Allan,  to  the  kern, 

And  told  her  love  with  such  a  sigh 

— Yonder  his  tartans  I  discern ; 

Of  deep  and  hopeless  agony,           , 

Learn  thou  his  purpose,  and  conjure 

As  death  had  seal'd  her  Malcolm's  doom, 

That  he  will  guide  the  stranger  sure ! — 

And  she  sat  sorrowing  on  his  tomb. 

What  prompted  thee,  unhappy  man  ? 

Hope  vanish'd  from  Fitz-James's  eye, 

The  meanest  serf  in  Roderick's  clan 

But  not  with  hope  fled  sympathy. 

Had  not  been  bribed  by  love  or  fear, 

He  proffer'd  to  attend  her  side, 

Unknown  to  him  to  guide  thee  here." — 

As  brother  would  a  sister  guide. — 

"  0 !  little  know'st  thou  Roderick's  heart  I 

XVII. 

Safer  for  both  we  go  apart. 

"  Sweet  Ellen,  dear  my  life  must  be, 

0  haste  thee,  and  from  Allan  learn, 

Since  it  is  worthy  care  from  thee ; 

If  thou  mayst  trust  yon  wily  kern  " 

Yet  life  I  hold  but  idle  breath, 

With  hand  upon  his  forehead  laid. 

When  love  or  honor's  weigh'd  with  death. 

The  conflict  of  his  mind  to  shade. 

Then  let  me  profit  by  my  chance, 

A  parting  step  or  two  he  made : 

And  speak  my  purpose  bold  at  once. 

Then,  as  some  thought  had  cross'd  his  brain, 

I  come  to  bear  thee  from  a  wild, 

He  paused,  and  turn'd,  and  came  again. 

Where  ne'er  before  such  blossom  smiled ; 

By  this  <soft  hand  to  lead  thee  far 

XIX. 

From  frantic  scenes  of  feud  and  war. 

"  Hear,  lady,  yet,  a  parting  word ! — 

Near  Bochastle  my  horses  wait ;' 

It  chanced  in  fight  that  my  poor  sword 

They  bear  us  soon  to  Sliding  gate. 

Preserved  the  life  of  Scotland's  lord. 

I'll  place  thee  in  a  lovely  bower, 

This  ring  the  grateful  Monarch  gave,8 

I'll  guard  thee  like  a  tender  flower" 

And  bade,  when  I  had  boon  to  crave, 

"  0  hush,  Sir  Knight,  'twere  female  art, 

To  bring  it  back,  and  boldly  claim 

To  say  I  do  not  read  thy  heart ; 

The  recompense  that  I  would  name. 

MS. — "  By  Cambusmore  my  horses  wait." 

3  MS. — "  This  riig  of  gold  the  monarch  gave  T 

*  MS  — "  Was  idly  fond  thy  praise  to  hear." 

216 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV 


Ellen,  I  am  no  courtly  lord, 

But  one  who  lives  by  lance  and  sword, 

Whose  castle  is  his  helm  and  shield, 

His  lordship  the  embattled  field. 

What  from  a  prince  can  I  demand, 

Who  neither  reck  of  state  nor  land  ? 

Ellen,  thy  hand — the  ring  is  thine  ;* 

Each  guard  and  usher  knows  the  sign. 

Seek  thou  the  king  without  delay  ;2 

This  signet  shall  secure  thy  way ; 

And  claim  thy  suit,  whate'er  it  be, 

As  ransom  of  his  pledge  to  me." 

He  placed  the  golden  circlet  on, 

Paused — kiss'd  her  hand — and  then  was  gone. 

The  aged  Minstrel  stood  aghast, 

So  hastily  Fitz-James  shot  past. 

He  join'd  Ins  guide,  and  wending  down 

The  ridges  of  the  mountain  brown, 

Across  the  stream  they  took  their  way, 

That  joins  Loch  Katrine  to  Achray. 

XX. 

All  in  the  Trosach's  glen  was  still, 
Noontide  was  sleeping  on  the  hill ; 
Sudden  his  guide  whoop'd  loud  and  high — 
"  Murdoch  !  was  that  a  signal  cry  ?" — 
He  stammer'd  forth — "  I  shout  to  scare* 
Yon  raven  from  his  dainty  fare." 
He  look'd — he  knew  the  raven's  prey, 
His  own  brave  steed : — "  Ah !  gallant  gray ! 
For  thee — for  me,  perchance — 'twere  well 
We  ne'er  had  seen  the  Trosach's  dell. — 
Murdoch,  move  first — but  silently, 
Whistle  or  whoop,  and  thou  shalt  die  !" 
Jealous  and  sullen  on  they  fared, 
Each  silent,  each  upon  his  guard. 

XXI. 
Now  wound  the  path  its  dizzy  ledge 
Around  a  precipice's  edge. 
When  lo !  a  wasted  female  form, 
Blighted  by  wrath  of  sun  and  storm, 
In  tatter'd  weeds  and  wild  array,* 
Stood  on  a  cliff  beside  the  way, 
And  glancing  round  her  restless  eye, 
Upon  the  wood,  the  rock,  the  sky, 
Seem'd  naught  to  mark,  yet  all  to  spy. 
Her  brow  was  wreath'd  with  gaudy  broom ; 
With  gesture  wild  she  waved  a  plume  . 
Of  feathers,  which  the  eagles  fling 

'  MS. — "  Permit  this  hand — the  ring  is  thine." 
*  MS. — "  '  Seek  thou  the  King,  and  on  thy  knee 
Put  forth  thy  suit,  whate'er  it  be, 
As  ransom  of  iiis  pledge  to  me  : 
My  name  and  this  shall  make  thy  way.' 
He  put  the  little  signet  on." 
'  MS  — "  He  stammer'd  forth  confused  reply  ! 
4  Saxon,  I 

«  Sir  Knight,  \  l  shouted  but  to  scar6 


To  crag  and  cliff  from  dusky  wing ; 
Such  spoils  her  desperate  step  had  sought, 
Where  scarce  was  footing  for  the  goat. 
The  tartan  plaid  she  first  descried, 
And  shriek'd  till  all  the  rocks  replied ; 
As  loud  she  laugh'd  when  near  they  drew, 
For  then  the  Lowland  garb  she  knew ; 
And  then  her  hands  she  wildly  wrung, 
And  then  she  wept,  and  then  she  sung — 
She  sung ! — the  voice,  in  better  time, 
Perchance  to  harp  or  lute  might  chime ; 
And  now,  though  strain' d  and  roughen'd,  still 
Rung  wildly  sweet  to  dale  and  hill. 

XXII. 
So  tlfl. 

They  bid  me  sleep,  they  bid  me  pray, 

They  say  my  brain  is  warp'd  and  wrung— 
I  cannot  sleep  on  Highland  brae, 

I  cannot  pray  in  Highland  tongue. 
But  were  I  now  where  Allan6  glides, 
Or  heard  my  native  JDevan's  tides,    > 
So  sweetly  would  I  rest  and  pray 
That  Heaven  would  close  my  wintry  day  1 

'Twas  thus  my  hair  they  bade  me  braid, 
They  made  me  to  the  church  repair  ; 

It  was  my  bridal  morn  they  said, 

And  my  true  love  would  meet  me  there. 

But  woe  betide  the  cruel  guile 

That  drown'd  in  blood  the  morning  smile ! 

And  woe  betide  the  fairy  dream  1 

I  only  waked  to  sob  and  scream. 

XXIII. 
"  Who  is  this  maid  ?  what  means  her  lay  ? 
She  hovers  o'er  the  hollow  way, 
And  flutters  wide  her  mantle  gray, 
As  the  lone  heron  spreads  his  wing, 
By  twilight,  o'er  a  haunted  spring." — 
"  'Tis  Blanche  of  Devan,"  Murdoch  said, 
"  A  crazed  and  captive  Lowland  maid,8 
Ta'en  on  the  morn  she  was  a  bride, 
When  Roderick  foray'd  Devan-side. 
The  gay  bridegroom  resistance  made, 
And  felt  our  Chief 's  unconquer'd  blade. 
I  marvel  she  is  now  at  large, 
But\>ft  she  'scapes  from  Maudlin's  charge. — 
Hence,  brain-sick  fool !" — He  raised  his  bow  :— 
"  Now,  if  thou  strik'st  her  but  one  blow, 

Yon  raven  from  his  dainty  fare.'  " 
*  MS. — "  Wrapp'd  in  a  tatter'd  mantle  gray." 

5  The  Allan  and  Devan  are  two  beautiful  streams,  the 
latter  celebrated  in  the  poetry  of  Burns,  which  descend 
from  the  hills  of  Perthshire  into  the  great  carse  or  plain  of 
Stirling. 

6  MS. — "  '  A  Saxon  born,  a  crazy  maid — 

'Tis  Blanche  of  Devan,'  Murdoch  said." 


canto  iv.                             THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                        217 

m  pitch  thee  from  the  cliff  as  far 

He  came  stately  down  the  glen, 

A  s  ever  peasant  pitch'd  a  bar !" 

Ever  sing  hardily,  hardily. 

u  Thanks,  champion,  thanks !"  the  Maniac  cried, 

And  press'd  her  to  Fitz-James's  side. 

"  It  was  there  he  met  with  a  wounded  doe, 

"  See  the  gray  pennons  I  prepare,1 

She  was  bleeding  deathfully ; 

To  seek  my  true-love  through  the  air  ? 

She  warn'd  him  of  the  toils  below, 

I  will  not  lend  that  savage  groom,* 

0,  so  faithfully,  faithfully  ! 

To  break  his  fall,  one  downy  plume ! 

No ! — deep  amid  disjointed  stones, 

"  He  had  an  eye,  and  he  could  heed, 

The  wolves  shall  batten  on  his  bones, 

Ever  sing  warily,  warily ; 

And  then  shall  his  detested  plaid, 

He  had  a  foot,  and  he  could  speed — 

By  bush  and  brier  in  mid  air  staid, 

Hunters  watch  so  narrowly."6 

Wave  forth  a  banner  fair  and  free, 

Meet  signal  for  their  revelry." — 

XXVI. 

Fitz-James's  mind  was  passion-toss'd, 

XXIV. 

When  Ellen's  hints  and  fears  were  lost  • 

Hush  thee,  poor  maiden,  and  be  still !" — 

But  Murdoch's  shout  suspicion  wrought, 

"  0  1  thou  look'st  kindly,  and  I  will — 

And  Blanche's  song  conviction  brought.— 

Mine  eye  has  dried  and  wasted  been, 

Not  like  a  stag  that  spies  the  snare, 

But  still  it  loves  the  Lincoln-green ; 

But  Hon  of  the  hunt  aware, 

And,  though  mine  ear  is  all  unstrung, 

He  waved  at  once  his  blade  on  high, 

Still,  still  it  loves  the  Lowland  tongue. 

"  Disclose  thy  treachery,  or  die !" 

Forth  at  full  speed  the  Clansman  flew,8 

For  0  my  sweet  William  was  forester  true,8 

But  in  his  race  his  bow  he  drew. 

He  stole  poor  Blanche's  heart  away  1 

The  shaft  just  grazed  Fitz-James's  crest, 

His  coat  it  was  all  of  the  greenwood  hue, 

And  thrill'd  in  Blanche's  faded  breast. — > 

And  so  blithely  he  trill'd  the  Lowland  lay  1 

Murdoch  of  Alpine  !  prove  thy  speed, 

For  ne'er  had  Alpine's  son  such  need  1 

-  It  was  not  that  I  meant  to  tell . .  . 

With  heart  of  fire,  and  foot  of  wind, 

But  thou  art  wise  and  guessest  well." 

The  fierce  avenger  is  beliind ! 

Then,  in  a  low  and  broken  tone, 

Fate  judges  of  the  rapid  strife — 

And  hurried  note,  the  song  went  on. 

The  forfeit  death — the  prize  is  life  ! 

Still  on  the  Clansman,  fearfully, 

Thy  kindred  ambush  lies  before, 

She  fix'd  her  apprehensive  eye ; 

Close  couch'd  upon  the  heathery  moor : 

Then  turn'd  it  on  the  Knight,  and  then 

Them  couldst  thou  reach  ! — it  may  not 

Her  look  glanced  wildly  o'er  the  glen. 

be—7 

Thine  ambush'd  kin  thou  ne'er  shalt  see, 

XXV. 

The  fiery  Saxon  gains  on  thee  I 

"  The  toils  are  pitch'd,  and  the  stakes  are  set, 

— Resistless  speeds  the  deadly  thrust, 

Ever  sing  merrily,  merrily ; 

As  lightning  strikes  the  pine  to  dust ; 

yh  )  bows  they  bend,  and  the  knives  they  whet, 

With   foot   and   hand   Fitz-James   must 

Hunters  live  so  cheerily. 

strain, 

Ere  he  can  win  his  blade  again. 

*  It  was  a  stag,  a  stag  of  ten,4 

Bent  o'er  the  fall'n,  with  falcon  eye,8 

Bearing  its  branches  sturdily ; 

He  grimly  smiled  to  see  him  die ; 

MS. — "  With  thee  these  pennons  will  I  share, 

was  set  for  him.     The  maniacs  of  poetry  have  indeed  hal  \ 

Then  seek  my  true  love  through  the  air.'    . 

prescriptive  right  to  be  musical,  since  the  days  of  Ophena 

*  MS. — "  But  I'll  not  lend  that  savage  groom, 

downwards  ;  but  it  is  rather  a  rash  extension  of  this  privilege 

To  break  his  fall,  one  downy  plume ! 

to  make  them  sing  good  sense,  and  to  make  sensible  people  oe 

Deep,  deep  'mid  yon  disjointed  stones, 

guided  by  them." — Jeffrey. 

The  wolf  shall  batten  on  his  bones." 

8  MS.—"  Forth  at  full  speed  the  Clansman  went; 

8  MS. — "  Sweet  William  was  a  woodman  true, 

But  in  his  race  his  bow  he  bent,               • 

He  stole  poor  Blanche's  heart  away  ! 

Halted — and  back  an  arrow  sent." 

His  coat  was  of  the  forest  hue, 

7  MS. •'  It  may  not  be — 

And  sweet  he  sung  the  Lowland  lay." 

The  fiery  Saxon  gains  on  thee, 

4  Hav  lg  ten  branches  on  his  antlers. 

Thine  ambush'd  kin  thou  ne'er  shalt  see! 

6  *■  No  machinery  can  be  conceived  more  clumsy  for  effecting 

Resistless  as  the  lightning's  flame, 

the  deli  *  .ranee  of  a  distressed  hero,  than  the  introduction  of  a 

The  thrust  betwixt  his  shoulder  came." 

jaad  wr  •  lan,  who,  without  knowing  or  caring  about  the  wan* 

8  MS. — '*  Then  o'er  him  hung,  with  falcon  eye, 

lerer,  *4»rns  him  by  a  song,  to  take  care  of  the  ambush  that 
28 

And  grimly  smiled  to  see  him  die  " 

218                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             casto  iv, 

Then  slower  wended  back  Ins  way, 

"  By  Him  whose  word  is  truth.'  I  swear, 

Where  the  poor  maiden  bleedmg  lay. 

No  other  favor  will  I  wear, 

Till  this  sad  token  I  imbrue 

XXVII 

In  the  best  blood  of  Roderick  Dhu ! 

She  sate  beneath  the  birchen-tree, 

— But  hark !  what  means  yon  faint  liallo  ? 

Her  elbow  resting  on  her  knee ; 

The  chase  is  up, — but  they  shall  know, 

She  had  withdrawn  the  fatal  shaft, 

The  stag  at  bay  's  a  dangerous  foe." 

And  gazed  on  it,  and  feebly  laugh'd ; 

Barr'd  from  the  known  but  guarded  way, 

Her  wreath  of  broom  and  feathers  gray, 

Tlirough  copse  and  cliffs  Fitz-James  must  a*.  »j 

Daggled  with  blood,  beside  her  lay. 

And  oft  must  change  his  desperate  track, 

The  Knight  to  stanch  the  life-stream  tried, — 

By  stream  and  precipice  turn'd  back. 

"  Stranger,  it  is  in  vain  !"  she  cried. 

Heartless,  fatigued,  and  faint,  at  length, 

"This  hour  of  death  has  given  me  more 

From  lack  of  food  and  loss  of  strength, 

Of  reason's  power  than  years  before ; 

He  couch'd  him  in  a  thicket  hoar, 

For,  as  these  ebbing  veins  decay, 

And  thought  his  toils  and  perils  o'er : — 

My  phrensied  visions  fade  away. 

"  Of  all  my  rash  adventures  past, 

A  helpless  injured  wretch  I  die,1 

This  frantic  freak  must  prove  the  last ! 

And  something  tells  me  in  thine  eye, 

Who  e'er  so  mad  but  might  have  guess'd,   « 

That  thou  Avert  mine  avenger  born. — 

That  all  tins  Highland  hornet's  nest 

Seest  thou  this  tress? — 0!  still  I've  worn 

Would  muster  up  in  swarms  so  soon                    4 

This  little  tress  of  yellow  hair, 

As  e'er  they  heard  of  bands  at  Doune  ? — 

Through  danger,  phrensy,  and  despair ! 

Like  bloodhounds  now  they  search  me  out,— 

It  once  was  bright  and  clear  as  thine, 

Hark,  to  the  whistle  and  the  shout  1 — 

But  blood  and  tears  have  dimm'd  its  shine. 

If  farther  tlirough  the  wilds  I  go, 

I  will  not  tell  thee  when  'twas  slued, 

I  only  fall  upon  the  foe: 

Nor  from  what  guiltless  victim's  head — 

I'll  couch  me  here  till  evening  gray, 

My  brain  would  turn ! — but  it  shall  wave* 

Then  darkling  try  my  dangerous  way." 

Like  plumage  on  thy  helmet  brave, 

Till  sun  and  wind  shall  bleach  the  stain, 

XXIX. 

And  thou  wilt  bring  it  me  again. — 

The  shades  of  eve  come  slowly  down, 

I  waver  still. — 0  God  !  more  bright 

The  woods  are  wrapt  hi  deeper  brown, 

Let  reason  beam  her  parting  light ! — 

The  owl  awakens  from  her  dell, 

0!  by  thy  knighthood's  lionor'd  sign, 

The  fox  is  heard  upon  the  fell ; 

And  for  thy  life  preserved  by  mine, 

Enough  remains  of  glimmering  light 

When  thou  shalt  see  a  darksome  man, 

To  guide  the  wanderer's  steps  aright. 

Who  boasts  him  Clrief  of  Alpine's  Clan, 

Yet  not  enough  from  far  to  show 

With  tartan's  broad  and  shadowy  plume, 

His  figure  to  the  watchful  foe. 

And  hand  of  blood,  and  brow  of  gloom, 

With  cautious  step,  and  ear  awake, 

Be  thy  heart  bold,  thy  weapon  strong. 

He  climbs  the  crag  and  threads  the  brake ; 

And  wreak  poor  Blanche  of  Devan's  wrong ! 

And  not  the  summer  solstice,  there, 

They  watch  for  thee  by  pass  and  fell .  . . 

Temper'd  the  midnight  mountain  air, 

Avoid  the  path  ...  0  God !  .  . .  farewell." 

But  every  breeze,  that  swept  the  wold, 

Benumb'd  his  drenched  limbs  with  cold. 

XXVIII. 

In  dread,  in  danger,  and  alone, 

A  kindly  heart  had  brave  Fitz-James ; 

Famish'd  and  clihTd,  through  ways  unknown 

*  Fast  pour'd  his  eyes  at  pity's  claims, 

Tangled  and  steep,  he  journey'd  on ; 

And  now  with  mingled  grief  and  ire, 

Till,  as  a  rock's  huge  point  he  turn'd, 

He  saw  the  murder'd  maid  expire. 

A  watch-fire  close  before  him  burn'd. 

"  God,  in  my  need,  be  my  relief,3 

As  I  wreak  this  on  yonder  Chief!" 

XXX. 

A  lock  from  Blanche's  tresses  fair 

Beside  its  embers  red  and  clear,4 

He  biended  with  her  bridegroom's  hair ; 

Bask'd,  in  his  plaid,  a  mountaineer ; 

The  mingled  braid  in  blood  he  dyed, 

And  up  he  sprung  with  sword  in  hand, — 

And  placed  it  on  his  bonnet-side : 

"  Thy  name  and  purpose  !  Saxon,  stand  !" — > 

*  MS. — ''  A  guiltless  injured  wretch  I  die." 

As  I  wreak  this  on  Roderick  Dhu  " 

a  MS. — "  But  now,  my  champion, — it  shall  wave." 

*  MS. — "  By  the  decaying  flame  was  laid 

3  MS. — "  God,  in  my  need,  to  me  be  true, 

A  warrior  in  his  Highland  plaid.' 

CANTO  V. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


219 


*  A  stranger." — "  What  dost  thou  require  ?" — 

"  Rest  and  a  guide,  and  food  and  fire. 

My  life's  beset,  my  path  is  lost, 

The  gale  has  clull'd  my  limbs  with  frost." — 

"  Art  thou  a  friend  to  Roderick  ?" — "  No." — 

"  Thou  darest  not  call  thyself  a  foe  ?" — 

"  I  dare  !  to  him  and  all  the  band1 

He  brings  to  aid  Ins  murderous  hand."— 

"  Bold  words ! — but,  though  the  beast  of  game 

The  privilege  of  chase  may  claim, 

Though  space  and  law  the  stag  we  lend, 

Ere  hound  we  slip,  or  bow  we  bend, 

Who  ever  reck'd,  where,  how,  or  when, 

The  prowling  fox  was  trapp'd  or  slain  ?2 

Thus  treacherous  scouts, — yet  sure  they  lie, 

Who  say  thou  earnest  a  secret  spy !" 

"  They  do,  by  heaven ! — Come  Roderick  Dhu, 

And  of  his  clan  the  boldest  two, 

And  let  me  but  till  morning  rest, 

I  write  the  falsehood  on  their  crest." — 

"  If  by  the  blaze  I  mark  aright, 

Thou  bear'st  the  belt  and  spur  of  Knight." — 

"Then  by  these  tokens  mayst  thou  know 

Each  proud  oppressor's  mortal  foe." — 

"  Enougli,  enough ;  sit  down  and  share 

A  soldier's  couch,  a  soldier's  fare." 

XXXI. 

He  gave  him  of  his  Highland  cheer, 

The  harden'd  flesh  of  mountain  deer  ;3 

Dry  fuel  on  the  fire  he  laid, 

And  bade  the  Saxon  share  his  plaid. 

He  tended  him  like  welcome  guest, 

Then  thus  his  farther  speech  address'd. 

"  Stranger,  I  am  to  Roderick  Dhu 

A  clansman  born,  a  kinsman  true  : 

Each  word  against  his  honor  spoke, 

Demands  of  me  avenging  stroke ; 

Yet  more, — upon  thy  fate,  'tis  said, 

A  mighty  augury  is  laid. 

It  rests  with  me  to  wind  my  horn, — 

Thou  art  with  numbers  overborne  ; 

It  rests  with  me,  here,  brand  to  brand, 

Worn  as  thou  art,  to  bid  thee  stand : 

But,  not  for  clan,  nor  kindred's  cause, 

Will  I  d  ?part  from  honor's  laws  ; 

To  assail  a  wearied  man  were  shame, 

And  stranger  is  a  holy  name ; 

Guidance  and  rest,  and  food  and  fire, 

In  vain  he  never  must  require. 

Then  rest  thee  here  till  dawn  of  day; 

Myself  will  guide  thee  on  the  way, 

O'er  stock  and  stone,  through  watch  and  ward, 


tMS. 


I  dare  !  to  hirr  an**  al*  to--  c  .varm 
He  brings  to  aid  hi?  widr.tcai  arm. 


Till  past  Clan- Alpine's  outmost  guard, 

As  far  as  Coilantogle's  ford ; 

From  thence  thy  warrant  is  thy  sword."— 

"  I  take  thy  courtesy,  by  heaven, 

As  freely  as  'tis  nobly  given !" — 

"  Well,  rest  thee  ;  for  the  bittern's  cry 

Sings  us  the  lake's  wild  lullaby." 

With  that  he  shook  the  gather'd  heath, 

And  spread  his  plaid  upon  the  wreath ; 

And  the  brave  foemen,  side  by  side, 

Lay  peaceful  down,  like  brothers  tried, 

And  slept  until  the  dawning  beam* 

Purpled  the  mountain  and  the  stream 


STIje  £ab£  of  %  Cab 


CANTO  FIFTH. 


«  See  Appendix,  Note  3  V. 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  d. 


&!)e  ©ombat 
I. 
Fair  as  the  earliest  beam  of  eastern  light, 

When  first,  by  the  bewilder' d  pilgrim  spied, 
It  smiles  upon  the  dreary  brow  of  night, 

And  silvers  o'er  the  torrent's  foaming  tide, 
And  lights  the  fearful  path  on  mountain-side ; — 

Fair  as  that  beam,  although  the  fairest  far, 
Giving  to  horror  grace,  to  danger  pride, 

Shine  martial  Faith,  and  Courtesy's  bright  star, 
Through  all  the  wreckful  storms  that  cloud  tha 
brow  of  War, 

II. 

That  early  beam,  so  fair  and  sheen, 
Was  twinkling  through  the  hazy  screen, 
When,  rousing  at  its  glimmer  red, 
The  warriors  left  their  lowly  bed, 
Look'd  out  upon  the  dappled  sky, 
Mutter'd  their  soldier  matins  by, 
And  then  awaked  their  fire,  to  steal, 
As  short  and  rude,  their  soldier  meal. 
That  o'er,  the  Gael0  around  him  threw 
His  graceful  plaid  of  varied  hue, 
And,  true  to  promise,  led  the  way, 
By  thicket  green  and  mountain  gray. 
A  wildering  path  ! — they  winded  now 
Along  the  precipice's  brow, 
Commanding  the  rich  scenes  beneath. 
The  windings  of  the  Forth  and  Teith, 

*  MS.— "  And  slept  until  the  dawning  streak 

Purpled  the  mountain  and  the  lake." 
6  MS. — "  And  lights  the  fearful  way  along  ite  side." 
6  The  Scottish  Highlander  calls  himself  Gael,  or  Gam,  and 
terms  the  Lcwlanden,  Sassenach,  or  Saxons. 


220                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  ▼ 

And  all  the  vales  beneath  that  Tie, 

"  Yet  why  a  second  venture  try  ?" — 

Till  Stirling's  turrets  melt  in  sky  ; 

"  A  warrior  thou,  and  ask  me  why ! — 

Then,  sunk  in  copse,  their  farthest  glance 

Moves  our  free  course  by  sucli  fix'd  cause, 

Gain'd  not  the  length  of  horseman's  lance. 

As  gives  the  poor  mechanic  laws  ? 

'Twas  oft  so  steep,  the  foot  was  fain 

Enough,  I  sought  to  drive  away 

Assistance  from  the  hand  to  gain ; 

The  lazy  hours  of  peaceful  day ; 

So  tangled  oft,  that,  bursting  tlnough, 

Slight  cause  will  then  suffice  to  guide 

Each  hawthorn  shed  her  showers  of  dew, — 

A  Knight's  free  footsteps  far  and  wide, — * 

That  diamond  dew,  so  pure  and  clear, 

A  falcon  flown,  a  greyhound  stray'd, 

It  rivals  all  but  Beauty's  tear. 

The  merry  glance  of  mountain  maid : 

Or,  if  a  path  be  dangerous  known, 

III. 

The  danger's  self  is  lure  alone." — 

At  length  they  came  where,  stern  and  steep,1 

The  hill  sinks  down  upon  the  deep. 

V. 

Here  Vennachar  in  silver  flows, 

"  Thy  secret  keep,  I  urge  thee  not ; — • 

There,  ridge  on  ridge,  Benledi  rose ; 

Yet,  ere  again  ye  sought  this  spot, 

Ever  the  hollow  path  twined  on, 

Say,  heard  ye  naught  of  Lowland  war, 

Beneath  steep  bank  and  threatening  stone ; 

Against  Clan-Alpine,  raised  by  Mar  ?" 

An  hundred  men  might  hold  the  post 

— "  No,  by  my  word ; — of  bands  prepared 

!           With  hardihood  against  a  host. 

To  guard  King  James's  sports  I  heard ; 

The  rugged  mountain's  scanty  cloak 

Nor  doubt  I  aught,  but,  when  they  hear 

Was  dwarfish  shrubs  of  birch  and  oak,8 

This  muster  of  the  mountaineer, 

With  shingles  bare,  and  cliffs  between, 

Their  pennons  will  abroad  be  flung, 

And  patches  bright  of  bracken  green, 

Which  else  in  Doune  had  peaceful  hung." — • 

And  heather  black,  that  waved  so  high, 

u  Free  be  they  flung ! — for  we  were  loth 

It  held  the  copse  in  rivalry. 

Their  silken  folds  should  feast  the  moth. 

But  where  the  lake  slept  deep  and  still, 

Free  be  they  flung ! — as  free  shall  wave 

Dank  osiers  fringed  the  swamp  and  hill ; 

Clan-Alpine's  pine  in  banner  brave. 

And  oft  both  path  and  hill  were  torn, 

But,  Stranger,  peaceful  since  you  came, 

Where  wintry  torrents  down  had  borne, 

Bewilder'd  in  the  mountain  game, 

And  heap'd  upon  the  cumber'd  land 

Whence  the  bold  boast  by  which  you  show 

Its  wreck  of  gravel,  rocks,  and  sand. 

Vich- Alpine's  vow'd  and  mortal  foe  ?" — 

So  toilsome  was  the  road  to  trace, 

u  Warrior,  but  yester-morn,  I  knew 

The  guide,  abating  of  his  pace, 

Naught  of  thy  Chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 

Led  slowly  through  the  pass's  jaws, 

Save  as  an  outlaw'd  desperate  man, 

And  ask'd  Fitz-James,  by  what  strange  cause 

The  chief  of  a  rebellious  clan, 

He  sought  these  wilds  ?  traversed  by  few, 

Who,  in  the  Regent's  court  and  sight, 

Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu. 

With  ruffian  dagger  stabb'd  a  knight : 

Yet  this  alone  might  from  his  part 

IV. 

Sever  each  true  and  loyal  heart." 

"  Brave  Gael,  my  pass  in  danger  tried, 

Hangs  in  my  belt,  and  by  my  side  ; 

VI. 

Yet,  sooth  to  tell,"  the  Saxon  said, 

Wrothful  at  such  arraignment  foul, 

"  I  dreamt  not  now  to  claim  its  aid.8 

Dark  lower'd  the  clansman's  sable  scowL 

When  here,  but  three  days  since,  I  came, 

A  space  he  paused,  then  sternly  said, 

Bewilder'd  in  pursuit  of  game, 

"  And  heard'st  thou  why  he  drew  liis  blade 

All  seem'd  as  peaceful  and  as  still, 

Heard'st  thou  that  shameful  word  and  blow 

As  the  mist  slumbering  on  yon  hill ; 

Brought  Roderick's  vengeance  on  his  foe  ? 

Thy  dangerous  Chief  was  then  afar, 

What  reck'd  the  Chieftain  if  he  stood 

Nor  soon  expected  back  from  war. 

On  Highland  heath,  or  Holy-Rood  ? 

Thus  said,  at  least,  my  mountain  guide, 

He  rights  such  wrong  where  it  is  given, 

Though  deep,  perchance,  the  villain  lied." — 

If  it  were  in  the  court  of  heaven." — 

i  MS. — "  At  length  they  paced  the  mountain's  side, 

'  MS. — "  I  dream'd  not  now  to  draw  my  blade." 

And  saw  beneath  the  waters  wide." 

*  MS. — "  My  errant  footsteps                 (  „         a     'A 
A  knight's  bold  wanderings  S 

»  MS  —  '  The  rugged  mountain's  stunted  screen 

Was  dwarfish  \  shrubs  l  with  cliffs  between." 

£  MS. — "  Thy  secret  keep,  I  ask  it  not." 

1   copse    ) 

e  MS. — "  Which  else  in  hall  had  peaceful  hung." 

canto  v.                               THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                       22\ 

"  Still  -was  it  outrage ; — yet,  'tis  true, 

Is  aught  but  retribution  true  ? 

Not  tlien  claim'd  sovereignty  his  due ; 

Seek  other  cause  'gainst  Roderick  Dhu." — 

While  Albany,  with  feeble  hand, 

Held,  borrow'd  truncheon  of  command,1 

VIII. 

The    young    King,   mew'd    in    Stirling 

Answer'd  Fitz-James, — "  And,  if  I  sought, 

tower, 

Think'st  thou  no  other  could  be  brought  'i 

Was  stranger  to  respect  and  power. 

What  deem  ye  of  my  path  waylaid  ? 

But  then,  thy  Chieftain's  robber  life  ! — 

My  life  given  o'er  to  ambuscade  ?" — 

Winning  mean  prey  by  causeless  strife, 

"  As  of  a  meed  to  rashness  due  : 

Wrenching  from  ruin'd  Lowland  swain 

Hadst  thou  sent  warning  fair  and  true, — 

His  herds  and  harvests  rear'd  in  vain. — 

I  seek  my  hound,  or  falcon  stray' d, 

Methinks  a  soul,  like  thine,  should  scorn 

I  seek,  good  faith,  a  Highland  maid, —          , 

The  spoils  from  such  foul  foray  borne." 

Free  hadst  thou  been  to  come  and  go: 

But  secret  path  marks  secret  foe. 

VII. 

Nor  yet,  for  this,  even  as  a  spy, 

The  Gael  beheld  him  grim  the  while, 

Hadst  thou,  unheard,  been  doom'd  to  die, 

And  answer'd  with  disdainful  smile, — 

Save  to  fulfil  an  augury." — 

u  Saxon,  from  yonder  mountain  high, 

"  Well,  let  it  pass ;  nor  will  I  now 

I  mark'd  thee  §end  delighted  eye, 

Fresh  cause  of  enmity  avow, 

Far  to  the  south  and  east,  where  lay, 

To  chafe  thy  mood  and  cloud  thy  brow. 

Extended  in  succession  gay, 

Enough,  I  am  by  promise  tied 

Deep  waving  fields  and  pastures  green, 

To  match  me  with  this  man  of  pride : 

With  gentle  slopes  and  groves  between : — 

Twice  have  I  sought  Clan- Alpine's  glen 

These  fertile  plains,  that  soften'd  vale, 

In  peace ;  but  when  I  come  agen, 

Were  once  the  birthright  of  the  Gael ; 

I  come  with  banner,  brand,  and  bow, 

The  stranger  came  with  iron  hand, 

As  leader  seeks  his  mortal  foe. 

And  from  our  fathers  reft  the  land. 

For  love-lorn  swain,  in  lady's  bower, 

Where  dwell  we  now !    See,  rudely  swell 

Ne'er  panted  for  the  appointed  hour, 

Crag  over  crag,  and  fell  o'er  fell. 

As  I,  until  before  me  stand 

Ask  we  this  savage  hill  we  tread, 

This  rebel  Clueftain  and  lus  band !" — 3 

For  fatten'd  steer  or  household  bread ; 

A.sk  we  for  flocks  these  shingles  dry, 

IX. 

And  well  the  mountain  might  reply, — 

"  Have,  then,  thy  wish !" — he  whistled  shrilL 

To  you,  as  to  your  sires  of  yore, 

And  he  was  answer'd  from  the  lull ; 

Belong  the  target  and  claymore  ! 

Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlew, 

[  give  you  shelter  in  my  breast, 

From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew.4 

Tour    own    good    blades    must   win    the 

Instant,  through  copse  and  heath,  arose 

rest.' 

Bonnets  and  spears  and  bended  bows  ; 

Pent  in  this  fortress  of  the  North, 

On  right,  on  left,  above,  below, 

rhink'st  thou  we  will  not  sally  forth, 

Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe ; 

To  spoil  the  spoiler  as  we  may, 

From  shingles  gray  their  lances  start, 

And  from  the  robber  rend  the  prey  ? 

The  bracken  bush  sends  forth  the  dart,5 

Ay,  by  my  soul ! — While  on  yon  plain 

The  rushes  and  the  willow-wand 

The  Saxon  rears  one  shock  of  grain ; 

Are  bristling  into  axe  and  brand, 

While,  of  ten  thousand  herds,  there  strays 

And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life8 

But  one  along  yon  river's  maze, — 

To  plaided  warrior  arm'd  for  strife. 

Ihe  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir, 

That  whistle  garrison'd  the  glen 

Shall,  with  strong  hand,  redeem  his  share.2 

At  once  with  full  five  hundred  men. 

Where  live  the  mountain  Chiefs  who  hold, 

As  if  the  yawning  lull  to  heaven 

rhat  plundering  Lowland  field  and  fold 

A  subterranean  host  had  given.7 

See  Appendix,  Note  3  H.                        2  Ibid.  Note  3  I. 

That  whistle  mann''d  the  lonely  glen 

MS.—"  This  dark  Sir  Roderick  }       ,  ,  .    .       ,  „ 

With  full  five  hundred  armed  men.'1 

mi  ■                .^1  •  »           t  anrf  his  Dana. 
This  savage  Chieftain     S 

7  The  Monthly  reviewer  says — "  We  now  come  to  the  ckc/- 

MS. — "  From  copse  to  copse  the  signal  flew. 

d'muvre  of  Walter  Fcott, — a  scene  of  more  vigor,  nature,  ar.J 

Instant,  through  copse  and  crags,  arose." 

animation,  than  any  other  in  all  his  poetry."     Another  anony 

*  MS. — "  The  bracken  bush  shoots  forth  the  dart." 

mous  critic  of  the  poem  is  not  afraid  to  quote,  with  refereT0 

*  MS. — "  And  each  lone  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 

to  the  effect  of  this  passage,  the  sublime  language  of  the  Pro- 

To plaided  warrior  arm'd  for  strife. 

phet  Ezekiel  • — "Then  said  he  unto  me.  Prophesy  unj.o  :b« 

222 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V. 


Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  will,1 

All  silent  there  they  stood,  and  still. 

Like  the  loose  crags,  -whose  threatening  mass 

Lay  tottering  o'er  the  hollow  pass, 

As  if  an  infant's  touch  could  urge 

Their  headlong  passage  down  the  verge, 

With  step  and  weapon  forward  flung, 

Upon  the  mountain-side  they  hung. 

The  Mountaineer  cast  glance  of  pride 

Along  Benledi's  living  side, 

Then  fix'd  his  eye  and  sable  brow 

Full  on  Fitz-James — "How  say'st  thou  now? 

These  are  Clan- Alpine's  warriors  true ; 

And,  Saxon, — I  am  Roderick  Dhu !" 


Fitz-James  was  brave  : — Though  to  his  heart 

The  life-blood  thrill' d  with  sudden  start, 

He  mann'd  himself  with  dauntless  air, 

Return' d  the  Chief  his  haughty  stare, 

His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore, 

And  firmly  placed  his  foot  before : — 

"  Come  one,  come  all !  this  rock  shall  fly 

From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I."2 

Sir  Roderick  mark'd — and  in  his  eyes 

Respect  was  mingled  witli  surprise, 

And  the  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 

In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel. 

Short  space  he  stood — then  waved  Ins  hand : 

Dowfl  sunk  the  disappearing  band ; 

Each  warrior  vanish'd  where  he  stood, 

In  broom  or  bracken,  heath  or  wood; 

Sunk  brand  and  spear  and  bended  bow, 

In  osiers  pale  and  copses  low ; 

It  seem'd  as  if  their  mother  Earth 

Had  swallow' d  up  her  warlike  birth. 

The  wind's  last  breath  had  toss'd  in  air, 

Pennon,  and  plaid,  and  plumage  fair, — 

The  next  but  swept  a  lone  hill-side, 

Where  heath  and  fern  were  waving  wide  : 

The  sun's  last  glance  was  glinted  back, 

From  spear  and  glaive,  from  targe  and  jack,— 


wind,  prophesy,  son  of  man,  and  say  to  the  wind,  Thus  saith 
he  Lord  God  ;  Come  from  the  four  winds,  O  breath,  and 
hreathe  upon  these  slain,  that  they  may  live.  So  I  prophesied 
*s  he  commanded  me,  and  the  breath  came  into  them,  and  they 
ived,  and  stood  up  upon  their  feet,  an  exceeding  great  army." 
-Chap,  xxxvii.  v.  9,  lb. 
i  MS. — "  All  silent,  too,  they  stood,  and  still, 

Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  will, 
While  forward  step  and  weapon  show 
They  long  to  rush  upon  the  foe, 
Like  the  loose  crags,  whose  tottering  mass 
Hung  threatening  o'er  the  hollow  pass." 
»  David  de  Ftrathbogie  Earl  of  Athole,  when  about  to  en- 
gage Sir  Andrew  Moray  at  the  battle  of  Kilblene,  in  1335,  in 
which  he  was  slain,  made  an  apostrophe  of  the  same  kind : — 
" — At  a  little  path  was  there 
All  samen  they  assembled  were 
Even  ic  the  path  was  Earl  Davy 


The  next,  all  unreflected,  shone 

On  bracken  green,  and  cold  gray  stone. 

XL 

Fitz-James  look'd  round — yet  scarce  believed 

The  witness  that  his  sight  received ; 

Such  apparition  well  might  seem 

Delusion  of  a  dreadful  dream. 

Sir  Roderick  in  suspense  he  eyed, 

And  to  his  look  the  Cluef  replied : 

"  Fear  naught — nay,  that  I  need  not  say — 

But — doubt  not  aught  from  mine  array. 

Thou  art  my  guest ; — I  pledged  my  word 

As  far  as  Coilantogle  ford  : 

Nor  woidd  I  call  a  clansman's  brand 

For  aid  against  one  valiant  hand,3 

Though  on  our  strife  lay  every  vale 

Rent  by  the  Saxon  from  the  Gael.4 

So  move  we  on ; — I  only  meant 

To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 

Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 

Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu."8 

They  moved : — I  said  Fitz-James  was  brave, 

As  ever  knight  that  belted  glaive ; 

Yet  dare  not  say,  that  now  his  blood 

Kept  on  its  wont  and  temper'd  flood, 

As,  following  Roderick's  stride,  he  drew 

That  seeming  lonesome  pathway  through, 

Which  yet,  by  fearful  proof,  was  rife 

With  lances,  that,  to  take  his  life, 

Waited  but  signal  from  a  guide, 

So  late  dishonor'd  and  defied. 

Ever,  by  stealth,  his  eye  sought  round 

The  vanish'd  guardians  of  the  ground, 

And  still,  from  copse  and  heather  deep, 

Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadsword  peep,9 

And  in  the  plover's  shrilly  strain, 

The  signal  whistle  heard  again. 

Nor  breathed  he  free  till  far  behind 

The  pass  was  left ;  for  then  they  wind 

Along  a  wide  and  level  green, 

Where  neither  tree  nor  tuft  was  seen, 


And  to  a  great  stone  that  lay  by 
He  said  By  God  his  face,  we  twa 
The  flight  on  us  shall  samen*  ta." 

3  MS. — "  For  aid  against  one  brave  man's  hand." 

4  "  This  scene  is  excellently  described.  The  franknest  u4 
high-souled  courage  of  the  two  warriors, — the  reliance  whiek 
the  Lowlander  places  on  the  word  of  the  Highlander  to  guide 
him  safely  on  his  way  the  next  morning,  although  he  ha* 
spoken  threatening  and  violent  words  against  Roderick,  whose 
kinsman  the  mountaineer  professes  himself  to  be, — these  cir- 
cumstances are  all  admirably  imagined  and  related." — Monthly 
Review. 

e  See  Appendix,  Note  3  K. 

6  MS. — "  And  still,  from  copse  and  heather  bush 
Fancy  saw  spear  and  broaaswotd  rush." 

*  At  the  game  time  or  together. 

Note  in  the  A  uthor's  MS.  not  affixed  to  any  former  edition  of  the  poMK 


JANTO  V. 


THE  LADY   uK  THE  .LAKE. 


223 


Nor  rush  nor  bush  of  broom  was  near, 
To  hide  a  bonnet  or  a  spear. 

XII. 
The  Chief  in  silence,  strode  before, 
And  reach' d  that  torrent's  sounding  shore, 
Which,  daughter  of  three  mighty  lakes, 
From  Vennachar  in  silver  breaks, 
Sweeps  through  the  plain,  and  ceaseless  mines 
On  Bochastle  the  mouldering  lines,1 
Where  Rome,  the  Emprecs  of  the  world. 
Of  yore  her  eagle  wings  unfurl'd.2 
And  here  his  course  the  Chieftain  staid, 
Threw  down  his  target  and  Ins  plaid, 
And  to  the  Lowland  warrior  said : — 
"  Bold  Saxon !  to  his  promise  just, 
Vich- Alpine  has  discharged  his  trust. 
This  murderous  Chief,  this  ruthless  man, 
This  head  of  a  rebellious  clan, 
Hath  led  thee  safe,  through  watch  and  ward, 
Far  past  ClanAlpine's  outmost  guard. 
Now,  man  to  man,  and  steel  to  steel, 
A  Chieftain's  vengeance  thou  shalt  feel. 
See  here,  all  vantageless  I  stand, 
Arm'd,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand  :3 
For  this  is  Coilantogle  ford, 
And  thou  must  keep  thee  with  thy  sword." 

XIII. 

The  Saxon  paused : — "  I  ne'er  delay'd, 
When  foeman  bade  me  draw  my  blade ; 
Nay,  more,  brave  Chief,  I  vow'd  thy  death : 
Yet  sure  thy  fair  and  generous  faith, 
And  my  deep  debt  for  life  preserved, 
A  better  meed  have  well  deserved : 
Can  naught  but  blood  our  feud  atone  ? 
Are  there  no  means  ?" — "  No,  Stranger,  none  ! 
And  hear, — to  fire  thy  flagging  zeal, — 
The  Saxon  cause  rests  on  thy  steel ; 
For  thus  spoke  Fate,  by  prophet  bred 
Between  the  living  and  the  dead ; 

1  Who  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life, 
His  party  conquers  in  the  strife.' " — 

"  Then,  by  my  word,"  the  Saxon  said, 
"  The  riddle  is  already  read. 
Seek  yonder  brake  beneath  the  cliff, — 
There  lies  Red  Murdoch,  stark  and  stiff. 
Thus  Fate  has  solved  her  prophecy, 
Then  yield  to  Fate,  and  not  to  me. 
To  James,  at  Stirling,  let  us  go, 

i  MS  — "  On  Bochastle  the  martial  lines." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  L.  8  Ibid.  Note  3  M. 
«  MS.—"  In  lightning  flash'd  the  Chief's  dark  eye." 

6  MS. — "  He  stoops  not,  he,  to  James  nor  Fate." 

6  "  The  two  principal  figures  are  contrasted  with  uncommon 
'elicity.  Fitz  James,  who  more  nearly  resembles  the  French 
Wenry  the  Fourth  than  the  Scottish  James  V.,  is  gay,  amor- 


Whea,  if  thou  wilt  be  still  his  foe, 
Or  if  the  King  shall  not  agree 
To  giant  thee  grace  and  favor  free, 
I  plight  mine  honor,  oath,  and  word, 
That,  to  thy  native  strengths  restored, 
With  each  advantage  shalt  thou  stand, 
That  aids  thee  now  to  guard  thy  land." 

XIV. 
Dark  lightning  flash'd  from  Roderick's  eye — 4 
"  Soars  thy  presumption,  then,  so  high, 
Because  a  wretched  kern  ye  slew, 
Homage  to  name  to  Roderick  Dhu  ? 
He  yields  not,  he,  to  man  nor  Fate  !s 
Thou  add'st  but  fuel  to  my  hate  : — 
My  clansman's  blood  demands  revenge. 
Not  yet  prepared  ? — By  heaven,  I  change 
My  thought,  and  hold  thy  valor  light 
As  that  of  some  vain  carpet  knight, 
Who  ill  deserved  my  courteous  care, 
And  whose  best  boast  is  but  to  wear 
A  braid  of  his  fair  lady's  hair." — 
*'  I  thank  thee,  Roderick,  for  the  word  ! 
It  nerves  my  heart,  it  steels  my  sword ; 
For  I  have  sworn  this  braid  to  stain 
In  the  best  blood  that  warms  thy  vein. 
Now,  truce,  farewell !  and,  ruth,  begone  ! — 
Yet  think  not  that  by  thee  alone, 
Proud  Chief!  can  courtesy  be  shown; 
Though  not  from  copse,  or  heath,  or  cairn, 
Start  at  my  whistle  clansmen  stern, 
Of  this  small  horn  one  feeble  blast 
Would  fearful  odds  against  thee  cast. 
But  fear  not — doubt  not — which  thou  wilt — 
We  try  this  quarrel  hilt  to  hilt." — 
Then  each  at  once  his  falchion  drew, 
Each  on  the  ground  his  scabbard  threw, 
Each  look'd  to  sun,  and  stream,  and  plain, 
As  what  they  ne'er  might  see  again ; 
Then  foot,  and  point,  and  eye  opposed, 
In  dubious  strife  they  darkly  closed.8 

XV. 
Ill  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu, 
That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw,7 
Whose  brazen  studs  and  tough  bull-hide 
Had  death  so  often  dash'd  aside  ; 
For,  train'd  abroad  his  arms  to  wield, 
Fitz- James's  blade  was  sword  and  shield. 
He  practised  every  pass  and  ward, 

ous,  fickle,  intrepid,  impetuous,  affectionate,  courteous,  grace- 
ful, and  dignified.  Roderick  is  gloomy,  vindictive,  arrogant, 
undaunted,  but  constant  in  his  affections,  and  true  to  his  en- 
gagements ;  and  the  whole  passage  in  which  these  personages 
are  placed  in  opposition,  from  their  first  meeting  to  their  final 
conflict,  is  conceived  and  written  with  a  sublimity  which  hat 
been  rarely  equalled." — Quarterly  Review,  1810. 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  3  N. 


224                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS.                               canto  t 

To  thrust,  to  strike,  to  feint,  to  guard ; 

Unwounded  from  the  dreadful  close, 

"While  less  expert,  though  stronger  far, 

But  breathless  all,  Fitz-James  arose.6 

The  Gael  maintain'd  unequal  war.1 

Three  times  in  closing  strife  they  stood, 

XVII. 

And  thrice  the  Saxon  blade  drank  blood; 

He  falter'd  thanks  to  Heaven  for  life, 

No  stinted  draught,  no  scanty  tide, 

Redeem'd,  unhoped,  from  desperate  strife  ;' 

The  gushing  flood  the  tartans  dyed. 

Next  on  his  foe  lus  look  he  cast, 

Fierce  Roderick  felt  the  fatal  drain, 

Whose  every  gasp  appear'd  his  last ; 

And  shower 'd  his  blows  like  wintry  rain ; 

In  Roderick's  gore  he  dipt  the  braid, — 

And,  as  firm  rock,  or  castle-roof, 

"  Poor  Blanche !  thy  wrongs  are  dearly  paid : 

Against  the  winter  shower  is  proof, 

Yet  with  thy  foe  must  die,  or  live, 

The  foe,  invulnerable  still, 

The  praise  that  Faith  and  Valor  give." 

Foil'd  his  wild  rage  by  steady  skill; 

With  that  he  blew  a  bugle-note, 

Till,  at  advantage  ta'en,  his  brand 

Undid  the  collar  from  his  throat, 

Forced  Roderick's  weapon  from  his  hand, 

Unbonneted,  and  by  the  wave 

And  backward  borne  upon  the  lea, 

Sate  down  his  brow  and  hands  to  lave. 

Brought  the  proud  Chieftain  to  his  knee.8 

Then  faint  afar  are  heard  the  feet' 

Of  ruslring  steeds  in  gallop  fleet ; 

XVI. 

The  sounds  increase,  and  now  are  seen 

"  Now  yield  thee,  or  by  Him  who  made 

Four  mounted  squires  in  Lincoln-green ; 

The  world,  thy  heart's  blood  dyes  my  blade  1" — 

Two  who  bear  lance,  and  two  who  lead, 

"  Thy  tlireats,  thy  mercy,  I  defy  ! 

By  loosen'd  rein,  a  saddled  steed ; 

Let  recreant  yield,  who  fears  to  die."8 

Each  onward  held  his  headlong  course, 

— Like  adder  darting  from  his  coil, 

And  by  Fitz-James  rein'd  up  liis  horse, — 

Like  wolf  that  dashes  through  the  toiL 

With  wonder  view'd  the  bloody  spot — 

Like  mountain-cat  who  guards  her  young, 

— "  Exclaim  not,  gallants !  question  not. — 

Full  at  Fitz-James's  throat  he  sprung  ;* 

You,  Herbert  and  Luffness,  alight, 

Received,  but  reck'd  not  of  a  wound, 

And  bind  the  wounds  of  yonder  knight ; 

And  lock'd  his  arms  his  foeman  round. — 

Let  the  gray  palfrey  bear  his  weight, 

Now,  gallant  Saxon,  hold  thine  own  I 

We  destined  for  a  fairer  freight, « 

No  maiden's  hand  is  round  thee  thrown  ! 

And  bring  him  on  to  Stirling  straight 

That  desperate  grasp  thy  frame  might  feel, 

I  will  before  at  better  speed, 

Through  bars  of  brass  and  triple  steel ! 

To  seek  fresh  horse  and  fitting  weed. 

They  tug,  they  strain  !  down,  down  they  go, 

The  sun  rides  high ; — I  must  be  boune, 

The  Gael  above,  Fitz-James  below. 

To  see  the  archer-game  at  noon ; 

The  Chieftain's  gripe  his  throat  compress'd, 

But  lightly  Bayard  clears  the  lea. — 

His  knee  was  planted  in  Ins  breast ; 

De  Vaux  and  Herries,  follow  me. 

His  clotted  locks  he  backward  threw, 

Across  his  brow  his  hand  he  drew, 

XVIII. 

From  blood  and  mist  to  clear  lus  sight, 

"  Stand,  Bayard,  stand  !" — the  steed  obey'd, 

Then  gleam'd  aloft  his  dagger  bright ! — 

With  arching  neck  and  bended  head, 

— But  hate  and  fury  ill  supplied 

And  glancing  eye  and  quivering  ear, 

The  stream  of  life's  exhausted  tide, 

As  if  he  loved  his  lord  to  hear. 

And  all  too  late  the  advantage  came, 

No  foot  Fitz-James  in  stirrup  staid, 

To  turn  the  odds  of  deadly  game  ; 

No  grasp  upon  the  saddle  laid, 

For,  while  the  dagger  gleam'd  on  high, 

But  wreathed  his  left  hand  in  the  mane, 

Reel'd  soul  and  sense,  reel'd  brain  and  eye. 

And  lightly  bounded  from  the  plain, 

Down  came  the  blow  !  but  in  the  heath 

Turn'd  on  the  horse  his  armed  heel, 

The  erring  blade  found  bloodless  sheath. 

And  stirr'd  his  courage  with  the  steel. 

The  struggling  foe  may  now  unclasp 

Bounded  the  fiery  steed  in  air, 

The  fainting  Chief's  relaxing  grasp  ; 

The  rider  sate  erect  and  fair. 

'  MS. — "  Not  Roderick  thus,  though  stronger  far, 

MS. — "  Panting  and  hreathless  on  the  sands, 

More  tall,  and  more  inured  to  war." 

But  all  unwounded,  now  he  stands." 

*  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

6  MS. — "  Redeemed,  unhoped,  from  deadly  strife  ; 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  O. 

Next  on  his  foe  his  look  he  \    cast' 

1  MS  — "  '  Yield  they  alone  who  fear  to  die.' 

1  threw, 

Like  mountain-oat  who  guards  her  young, 

Whose  every  breath  appear'd  his  last." 

Full  at  Fitz-Janie.-'s  throat  lie  sprung." 

1  MS*. — "  Faint  and  afar  are  heard  the  feet." 

CANTO  V. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


225 


Then  like  a  bolt  from  steel  crossbow 
Forth  launch'd,  along  the  plain  they  go. 
They  dash'd  that  rapid  torrent  through, 
And  up  Carhonie's  hill  they  flew ; 
Still  at  the  gallop  prick'd  the  Knight, 
His  merry-men  follow'd  as  they  might. 
Along  thy  banks,  swift  Teith !  they  ride, 
And  in  the  race  they  mock  thy  tide  ; 
Torry  and  Lendrick  now  are  past, 
And  Deanstown  lies  behind  them  cast ; 
They  rise,  the  banner'd  towers  of  Doune,1 
They  sink  in  distant  woodland  soon ; 
Blair-Drummond  sees  the  hoofs  strike  fire,2 
They  sweep  like  breeze  through  Ochtertyre ; 
They  mark  just  glance  and  disappear 
The  lofty  brow  of  ancient  Kier ; 
They  bathe  their  coursers'  sweltering  sides, 
Dark  Forth !  amid  thy  sluggish  tides, 
And  on  the  opposing  shore  take  ground, 
With  plash,  with  scramble,  and  with  bound. 
Right-hand  they  leave  thy  cliffs,  Craig-Forth  !8 
And  soon  the  bulwark  of  the  North, 
Gray  Stirling,  with  her  towers  and  town, 
Upon  their  fleet  career  look'd  down. 

XIX. 

As  up  the  flinty  path  they  strain' d* 

Sudden  his  steed  the  leader  rein'd  ; 

A  signal  to  nis  squire  he  flung, 

Who  instant  to  his  stirrup  sprung : — 

"  Seest  thou,  De  Vaux,  yon  woodsman  gray, 

Who  townward  holds  the  rocky  way, 

Of  stature  tall  and  poor  array  ? 

Mark'st  thou  the  firm,  yet  active  stride, 

With  which  he  scales  the  mountain-side  ?5 

Know'st  thou  from  whence  he  comes,  or 

whom  ?"— 
"  No,  by  my  word  ; — a  burly  groom 
He  seems,  who  in  the  field  or  chase 
A  baron's  train  would  nobly  grace." — 
"  Out,  out,  De  Vaux !  can  fear  supply, 
And  jealousy,  no  sharper  eye  ? 
Afar,  ere  to  the  hill  he  drew, 
That  stately  form  and  step  I  knew ; 
Like  form  in  Scotland  is  not  seen, 
Treads  not  such  step  on  Scottish  green. 
'Tis  James  of  Douglas,  by  Saint  Serle  !6 
The  uncle  of  the  banish'd  Earl. 

*  The  rui  s  of  Doune  Castle,  formerly  the  residence  of  the 
Earls  of  Menteith,  now  the  property  of  the  Earl  of  Moray,  are 
situated  at  the  confluenoe  of  the  Ardoch  and  the  Teith. 
a  MS. — "  Blair-Drummond  saw  their  hoofs  of  fire.'1'' 
8  It  may  be  worth  noting,  that  the  Poet  marks  the  progress 
of  the  King  by  naming  in  succession  places  familiar  and  dear 
to  his  own  early  recollections — Blair-Drummond,  the  seat  of 
the  Homes  of  Kaimes  ;  Kier,  that  of  the  principal  family  of 
the  name  of  Stirling  ;  Ochtertyre,  that  of  John  Ramsay,  the 
well-known    antiquary,    and  correspondent   of   Burns;    and 
Qraigiorth,  that  of  the  Callenders  of  Craigforth,  almost  under 
29 


Away,  away,  to  court,  to  show 

The  near  approach  of  dreaded  foe  : 

The  King  must  stand  upon  his  guard ; 

Douglas  and  he  must  meet  prepared." 

Then  right-hand  wheel'd  their  steeds,  and  straight 

They  won  the  castle's  postern  gate. 

XX. 

The  Douglas,  who  had  bent  his  way 

From  Cambus-Kennetlfs  abbey  gray, 

Now,  as  he  climb'd  the  rocky  shelf, 

Held  sad  communion  with  himself: — 

"  Yes !  all  is  true  my  fears  could  frame ; 

A  prisoner  lies  the  noble  Graeme, 

And  fiery  Roderick  soon  will  feel 

The  vengance  of  the  royal  steel. 

I,  only  I,  can  ward  their  fate, — 

God  grant  the  ransom  come  not  late ! 

The  Abbess  hath  her  promise  given, 

My  child  shall  be  the  bride  of  Heaven ; — 

— Be  pardon'd  one  repining  tear ! 

For  He,  who  gave  her,  knows  how  dear, 

How  excellent !  but  that  is  by, 

And  now  my  business  is — to  die. 

— Ye  towers !  within  whose  circuit  dread 

A  Douglas  by  his  sovereign  bled  ; 

And  thou,  O  sad  and  fatal  mound  !T 

That  oft  hast  heard  the  death-axe  sound. 

As  on  the  noblest  of  the  land 

Fell  the  stern  headsman's  bloody  hand, — 

The  dungeon,  block,  and  nameless  tomb 

Prepare — for  Douglas  seeks  his  doom ! 

— But  hark !  what  blithe  and  jolly  peaJ 

Makes  the  Franciscan  steeple  reel  ? 

And  see !  upon  the  crowded  street, 

In  motley  groups  what  masquers  meet  I 

Banner  and  pageant,  pipe  and  drum, 

And  merry  morrice-dancers  come. 

I  guess,  by  all  this  quaint  array, 

The  burghers  hold  their  sports  to-day.* 

James  will  be  there ;  he  loves  such  show, 

Where  the  good  yeomen  bends  his  bow, 

And  the  tough  wrestler  foils  his  foe, 

As  well  as  where,  in  proud  career, 

The  high-born  filter  shivers  spear. 

Til  follow  to  the  Castle-park, 

And  play  my  prize  ; — King  James  shall  mark 

If  age  has  tamed  these  sinews  stark, 

the  walls  of  Stirling  Castle  ; — all  hospitable  roofs,  under  wlnc'n 

he  had  spent  many  of  his  younger  days. — Ed. 
4  MS. — "  As  up  the  steepy  path  they  strain'd." 
s  MS. — "  With  which  he  gains  the  mountain-side." 
6  The    Edinburgh    Reviewer   remarks    on  "  that  unhappy 

couplet,  where  the  King  himself  is  in  such  distress  for  a  rhyme 

as  to  be  obliged  to  apply  to  one  of  the  obscurest  saints  in  th« 

calendar."     The  reading  of  the  MS.  is — 

"  'Tis  James  of  Douglas,  by  my  word, 
The  uncle  of  the  banish'd  Lord." 
»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P.  8  j\>jd.  Note  3  O 


226                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  v. 

"Whose  force  so  oft,  in  happier  days, 

Friar  Tuck  with  quarterstaff  and  cowl, 

His  boyish  wonder  loved  to  praise." 

Old  Scathelocke  with  his  surly  scowl, 

Maid  Marion,  fair  as  ivory  bone, 

XXI. 

Scarlet,  and  Mutch,  and  Little  John ; 

The  Castle  gates  were  open  flung, 

Their  bugles  challenge  all  that  will, 

The  quivering  drawbridge  rock'd  and  rung, 

In  archery  to  prove  their  skill. 

And  echo'd  loud  the  flinty  street 

The  Douglas  bent  a  bow  of  might, — 

Beneath  the  coursers'  clattering  feet, 

His  first  shaft  center'd  in  the  white, 

As  slowly  down  the  steep  descent 

And  when  in  turn  he  shot  again, 

Fair  Scotland's  King  and  nobles  went,1 

His  second  split  the  first  in  twain. 

While  all  along  the  crowded  way 

From  the  King's  hand  must  Douglas  take 

Was  jubilee  and  loud  huzza. 

A  silver  dart,  the  archer's  stake  ; 

And  ever  James  was  bending  low, 

Fondly  he  watch'd,  with  watery  eye,6 

To  his  white  jennet's  saddle-bow, 

Some  answering  glance  of  sympathy, — 

Doffing  his  cap  to  city  dame, 

No  kind  emotion  made  reply  ! 

Who  smiled  and  blush'd  for  pride  and  shame. 

Indifferent  as  to  archer  wight, 

And  well  the  simperer  might  be  vain, —              \ 

The  monarch  gave  the  arrow  bright. 

He  chose  the  fairest  of  the  train. 

Gravely  he  greets  each  city  sire, 

XXIII. 

Commends  each  pageant's  quaint  attire, 

Now,  clear  the  ring  !  for,  hand  to  hand, 

Gives  to  the  dancers  thanks  aloud, 

The  manly  wrestlers  take  their  stand. 

And  smiles  and  nods  upon  the  crowd, 

Two  o'er  the  rest  superior  rose, 

Who  rend  the  heavens  with  their  acclaims, 

And  proud  demanded  mightier  foes, 

"  Long  live  the  Commons'  King,  King  James !" 

Nor  call'd  in  vain ;  for  Douglas  came. 

Behind  the  King  throng'd  peer  and  knight, 

— For  life  is  Hugh  of  Larbert  lame ; 

And  noble  dame  and  damsel  bright, 

Scarce  better  John  of  Alloa's  fare, 

Whose  fiery  steeds  ill  brook'd  the  stay 

Whom  senseless  home  Ins  comrades  bear 

Of  the  steep  street  and  crowded  way. 

Prize  of  the  wrestling  match,  the  King 

— But  in  the  train  you  might  discern 

To  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring,7 

Dark  lowering  brow  and  visage  stern ; 

While  coldly  glanced  his  eye  of  blue, 

There  nobles  mourn'd  their  pride  restrain'd,3 

As  frozen  drop  of  wintry  dew. 

And  the  mean  burgher's  joys  disdain'd ; 

Douglas  would  speak,  but  in  his  breast 

And  chiefs,  who,  hostage  for  their  clan, 

His  struggling  soul  his  words  suppress'd 

Were  each  from  home  a  banish'd  man, 

Indignant  then  he  turn'd  him  where 

There  thought  upon  their  own  gray  tower, 

Their  arms  the  brawny  yeomen  bare, 

Their  waving  woods,  their  feudal  power, 

To  hurl  the  massive  bar  in  air. 

And  deem'd  themselves  a  shameful  part 

When  each  his  utmost  strength  had  shown, 

Of  pageant  which  they  cursed  in  heart. 

The  Douglas  rent  an  earth-fast  stone 

From  its  deep  bed,  then  heaved  it  high, 

XXII. 

And  sent  the  fragment  through  the  sky, 

Now,  in  the  Castle-park,  drew  out 

A  rood  beyond  the  farthest  mark ; — 

Their  checker'd  bands  the  joyous  rout. 

And  still  in  Stirling's  royal  park, 

There  morricers,  with  bell  at  heel, 

The  gray-hair'd  sires,  who  know  the  past, 

And  blade  in  hand,  their  mazes  wheel  ;9 

To  strangers  point  the  Douglas-cast, 

But  chief,  beside  the  butts,  there  stand 

And  moralize  on  the  decay 

Bold  Robin  Hood4  and  all  his  band, — 

Of  Scottish  strength  in  modern  day.8 

»  MS. — "  King  James  and  all  his  nobles  went .  . 

3  The  MS.  adds  :— 

Ever  the  King  was  bending  low 

"  With  awkward  stride  there  city  groom 

To  his  white  jennet's  saddle-bow, 

Would  part  of  fabled  knight  assume." 

Doffing  his  cap  to  burgher  dame, 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R. 

Who  smiling  blush'd  for  pride  and  shame." 

•  MS. — "  Fondly  he  watch'd,  with  watery  eye, 

MS. — "  Nobles  who  mourn'd  their  power  restrain'd, 

For  answering  glance  of  sympathy, — 

And  the  poor  burgher's  joys  disdain'd  ; 

But  no  emotion  made  reply  ! 

Dark  chief,  who,  hostage  for  his  clan, 

Indifferent  as  to  unknown       j 

Cold  as  to  unknown  yeoman  \       "    ' 

Was  from  his  home  a  banish'd  man, 

Who  thought  upon  his  own  gray  tower, 

The  king  gave  forth  the  arrow  bright 

The  waving  woods,  his  feudal  bower, 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  3  S. 

And  deem'd  himself  a  shameful  part 

1 1bid.  Note  3  T. 

Of  pageant  that  he  cursed  in  heart." 
1 

s  MS. — "  Of  mortal  strength  in  modern  day." 

CANTO  V. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


'221 


XXIV. 

The  vaJe  with  loud  applauses  rang, 
The  Ladies'  Rock  sent  back  the  clang. 
The  King,  with  look  uninoyed,  bestow'd 
A  purse  well  fill'd  with  pieces  broad.1 
Lidignant  smiled  the  Douglas  proud, 
And  threw  the  gold  among  the  crowd,3 
Who  now,  with  anxious  wonder,  scan, 
And  sharper  glance,  the  dark  gray  man  ; 
Till  -  hispers  rose  among  the  throng, 
That  heart  so  free,  and  hand  so  strong, 
Must  to  the  Douglas  blood  belong ; 
The  old  men  mark'd,  and  shook  the  head, 
To  see  his  hair  with  silver  spread, 
And  wink'd  aside,  and  told  each  son, 
Of  feats  upon  the  English  done, 
Ere  Douglas  of  the  stalwart  hand3 
Was  exiled  from  his  native  land. 
The  women  praised  his  stately  form, 
Though  wreck'd  by  many  a  winter's  storm  ;4 
The  youth  with  awe  and  wonder  saw 
His  strength  surpassing  Nature's  law. 
Thus  judged,  as  is  their  wont,  the  crowd, 
Till  murmur  rose  to  clamors  loud. 
But  not  a  glance  from  that  proud  ring 
Of  peers  who  circled  round  the  King, 
With  Douglas  held  communion  kind, 
Or  call'd  the  banish'd  man  to  mind  ;5 
No,  not  from  those  who,  at  the  chase, 
Once  held  his  side  the  honor'd  place, 
Begirt  his  board,  and,  in  the  field, 
Found  safety  underneath  his  shield ; 
For  he,  whom  royal  eyes  disown, 
When  was  his  form  to  courtiers  known ! 

XXV. 
The  Monarch  saw  the  gambols  flag, 
And  bade  let  loose  a  gallant  stag, 
Whose  pride,  the  holiday  to  crown, 
Two  favorite  greyhounds  should  pull  down, 
That  venison  free,  and  Bordeaux  wine, 
Might  serve  the  archery  to  dine. 
But  Lufra, — whom  from  Douglas'  side 
Nor  bribe  nor  threat  could  e'er  divide, 
The  fleetest  hound  in  all  the  North, — 
Brave  Lufra  saw,  and  darted  forth. 
She  left  the  royal  hounds  mid-way, 
And  dashing  on  the  antler'd  prey, 
Sunk  her  sharp  muzzle  in  his  flank, 
And  deep  the  flowing  life-blood  drank. 
The  King's  stout  huntsman  saw  the  sport 
By  strange  intruder  broken  short, 

i  MS. — "  A  purse  weigh'' d  down  with  pieces  broad." 
2  MS. — "  Scatter'd  the  gold  among  the  crowd." 
5  MS. — "  Ere  James  of  Douglas'  stalwart  hand." 
»  MS. — "  Though  worn  by  many  a  winter  storm." 
MS  — "  Or  call'd  his  stately  form  to  mind." 
MS  — "  Clamor'd  his  comrades  of  the  train." 


Came  up,  and  with  his  leash  unbound, 

In  anger  struck  the  noble  hound. 

— The  Douglas  had  endured,  that  morn, 

The  King's  cold  look,  the  nobles'  scorn, 

And  last,  and  worst  to  spirit  proud, 

Had  borne  the  pity  of  the  crowd  ; 

But  Lufra  had  been  fondly  bred, 

To  share  his  board,  to  watch  his  bed, 

And  oft  would  Ellen  Lufra's  neck 

In  maiden  glee  with  garlands  deck ; 

They  were  such  playmates,  that  with  name 

Of  Lufra,  Ellen's  image  came. 

His  stifled  wrath  is  brimming  high, 

In  darken' d  brow  and  flashing  eye ; 

As  waves  before  the  bark  divide, 

The  crowd  gave  way  before  his  stride ; 

Needs  but  a  buffet  and  no  more, 

The  groom  lies  senseless  hi  his  gore. 

Such  blow  no  other  hand  could  deal, 

Though  gauntleted  in  glove  of  steel. 

XXVI. 

Then  clamor'd  loud  the  royal  train,8 
And  brandish'd  swords  and  staves  amain. 
But  stern  the  Baron's  warning — "  Back  !7 
Back,  on  your  fives,  ye  menial  pack ! 
Beware  the  Douglas. — Yes !  behold, 
King  James !  the  Douglas,  doom'd  of  old, 
And  vainly  sought  for  near  and  far, 
A  victim  to  atone  the  war, 
A  willing  victim,  now  attends, 
s  Nor  craves  thy  grace  but  for  his  friends." — 
"  Thus  is  my  clemency  repaid  ? 
Presumptuous  Lord !"  the  monarch  said ; 
"  Of  thy  mis-proud  ambitious  clan, 
Thou,  James  of  Bothwell,  wert  the  man, 
The  only  man,  in  whom  a  foe 
My  woman-mercy  would  not  know  :         ' 
But  shall  a  Monarch's  presence  brook8 
Injurious  blow,  and  haughty  look  ? — 
What  ho  !  the  Captain  of  our  Guard ! 
Give  the  offender  fitting  ward. — 
Break  off  the  sports !" — for  tumult  rose, 
And  yeomen  'gan  to  bend  their  bows, — 
"  Break  off  the  sports !"  he  said,  and  frown'd, 
"  And  bid  our  horsemen  clear  the  ground." 

XXVII. 
Then  uproar  wild  and  misarray 
Marr'd  the  fair  form  of  festal  day. 
The  horsemen  prick'd  among  the  crowd, 
Repell'd  by  threats  and  insult  loud  ;9 

7  MS. — "  But  stern  the  warrior's  warning — '  Back !'  " 

8  MS. — "  But  in  my  court,  injurious  blow, 

And  bearded  thus,  and  thus  out-dared  * 
What  ho  !  the  Captain  of  our  Guard  !" 

»  MS.—"  Their  threats  repell'd  by  insult  loud  ' 


228                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  v 

To  earth  are  borne  the  old  and  -weak, 

Bless'd  him  who  staid  the  civil  strife ; 

The  timorous  fly,  the  women  shriek ; 

And  mothers  held  their  babes  on  high. 

With  flint,  with  shaft,  with  staff,  with  bar, 

The  self-devoted  Chief  to  spy, 

The  hardier  urge  tumultuous  war. 

Triumphant  over  wrongs  and  ire, 

At  once  round  Douglas  darkly  sweep 

To  whom  the  prattlers  owed  a  sire : 

The  royal  spears  in  circle  deep, 

Even  the  rough  soldier's  heart  was  moved ; 

And  slowly  scale  the  pathway  steep ; 

As  if  behind  some  bier  beloved, 

While  on  the  rear  in  thunder  pour 

With  trailing  arms  and  drooping  head, 

The  rabble  with  disorder'd  roar. 

The  Douglas  up  the  hill  he  led, 

With  grief  the  noble  Douglas  saw 

And  at  the  Castle's  battled  verge, 

The  Commons  rise  against  the  law, 

With  sighs  resign'd  his  honor'd  charge. 

And  to  the  leading  soldier  said, — 

"  Sir  John  of  Hyndford !  'twas  my  blade 

XXX. 

That  knighthood  on  thy  shoulder  laid ; 

The  offended  Monarch  rode  apart, 

For  that  good  deed,  permit  me  then 

With  bitter  thought  and  swelling  heart, 

A  word  with  these  misguided  men. 

And  would  not  now  vouchsafe  again 

Through  Stirling  streets  to  lead  his  train. 

XXVIII. 

"  0  Lennox,  who  would  wish  to  rule 

"  Hear,  gentle  friends !  ere  yet  for  me, 

This  changeling  crowd,  this  common  fool  ? 

Ye  break  the  bands  of  fealty. 

Hear'st  thou,"  he  said,  "  the  loud  acclaim, 

My  life,  my  honor,  and  my  cause, 

With  which  they  shout  the  Douglas'  name  ? 

I  tender  free  to  Scotland's  laws. 

With  like  acclaim,  the  vulgar  throat 

Are  these  so  weak  as  must  require 

Strain'd  for  King  James  their  morning  note  ; 

The  aid  of  your  misguided  ire  ? 

With  like  acclaim  they  hail'd  the  day 

Or,  if  I  suffer  causeless  wrong, 

When  first  I  broke  the  Douglas'  sway ; 

Is  then  my  selfish  rage  so  strong, 

And  like  acclaim  would  Douglas  greet, 

My  sense  of  public  weal  so  low, 

If  he  could  hurl  me  from  my  seat. 

That,  for  mean  vengeance  on  a  foe, 

Who  o'er  the  herd  would  wish  to  reign, 

Those  cords  of  love  I  should  unbind, 

Fantastic,  fickle,  fierce,  and  vain  ! 

Which  knit  my  country  and  my  kind  ? 

Vain  as  the  leaf  upon  the  stream," 

Oh  no !  Believe,  in  yonder  tower 

And  fickle  as  a  changeful  dream ; 

It  will  not  soothe  my  captive  hour, 

Fantastic  as  a  woman's  mood, 

To  know  those  spears  our  foes  should  dread, 

And  fierce  as  Phrensy's  fever'd  blood. 

For  me  in  kindred  gore  are  red ; 

Thou  many-headed  monster  thing,3 

To  know,  in  fruitless  brawl  begun, 

0  who  would  wish  to  be  thy  king ! 

For  me,  that  mother  wails  her  son ; 

For  me,  that  widow's  mate  expires ; 

XXXI. 

For  me,  that  orphans  weep  their  sires ; 

"  But  soft !  what  messenger  of  speed 

That  patriots  mourn  insulted  laws, 

Spurs  hitherward  his  panting  steed  ? 

And  curse  the  Douglas  for  the  cause. 

I  guess  his  cognizance  afar — 

0  let  your  patience  ward  such  ill, 

What  from  our  cousin,  John  of  Mar  ?" — 

And  keep  your  right  to  love  me  still !" 

"  He  prays,  my  liege,  your  sports  keep  bound 

Within  the  safe  and  guarded  ground : 

XXIX. 

For  some  foul  purpose  yet  unknown, — 

The  crowd's  wild  fury  sunk  again1 

Most  sure  for  evil  to  the  throne, — 

In  tears,  as  tempests  melt  in  rain. 

The  outlaw'd  Chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 

With  lifted  hands  and  eyes,  they  pray'd 

Has  summon'd  Ins  rebellious  crew ; 

For  blessings  on  his  generous  head, 

'Tis  said,  in  James  of  Bothwell's  aid 

Who  for  Ins  country  felt  alone, 

These  loose  banditti  stand  array 'd. 

And  prized  her  blood  beyond  his  own. 

The  Earl  of  Mar,  this  morn,  from  Doune, 

Old  men,  upon  the  verge  of  life, 

To  break  their  muster  march'd,  and  soon 

'  MS. — "The  crowd's  wild  fury  ebb'd  amain 

Which  would  increase  his  evil.     He  that  depends 

In  tears,  as  tempests  sink  in  rain." 

Upon  your  favors,  swims  with  fins  of  lead, 

»  MS. — "  Vain  as  the  sick  man's  idle  dream." 

And  hews  down  oaks  with  rushes.     Hang  ye  !     Trust  ye 

With  every  minute  you  do  change  a  mind  ; 

* "  Who  deserves  greatness, 

And  call  him  noble,  that  was  now  your  hate, 

Deserves  your  hate  ;  and  your  affections  are 

Him  vile  that  was  your  garland." 

A  sick  man's  appetite,  who  desires  most  that 

Coriolanus,  Act.  I.  Scene  I. 

canto  vi.                              THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                        220 

Your  grace  will  hear  of  battle  fought ; 
But  earnestly  the  Earl  besought, 

%  Cabg  of  tijc  fake. 

fill  for  such  danger  he  provide, 

With  scanty  train  you  will  not  ride." — * 

XXXII. 

CANTO  SIXTH. 

2Tfce  ©fuaro^&oom 

"  Thou  warn'st  me  I  have  done  amiss, — 

I  should  have  earlier  look'd  to  this : 

L 

I  lost  it  in  this  bustling  day. 

The  sun,  awakening,  through  the  smoky  an 

— Retrace  with  speed  thy  former  way ; 

Of  the  dark  city  casts  a  sullen  glance, 

Spare  not  for  spoiling  of  thy  steed, 

Rousing  each  caitiff  to  his  task  of  care, 

The  best  of  mine  shall  be  thy  meed. 

Of  sinful  man  the  sad  inheritance ; 

Say  to  our  faithful  Lord  of  Mar, 

Summoning  revellers  from  the  lagging  dance 

We  do  forbid  the  intended  war : 

Scaring  the  prowling  robber  to  his  den ; 

Roderick,  this  morn,  in  single  fight, 

Gilding  on  battled  tower  the  warder's  lance. 

Was  made  our  prisoner  by  a  knight ; 

And  warning  student  pale  to  leave  his  pen, 

And  Douglas  hath  himself  and  cause 

And  yield  his  drowsy  eyes  to  the  kind  nurse  ol 

Submitted  to  our  kingdom's  laws. 

men. 

The  tidings  of  their  leaders  lost 

Will  soon  dissolve  the  mountain  host, 

What  various  scenes,  and,  0  !  what  scenes  of  woe. 

Nor  would  we  that  the  vulgar  feel, 

Are  witness'd  by  that  red  and  struggling  beam  1 

For  their  Chief's  crimes,  avenging  steel. 

The  fever'd  patient,  from  his  pallet  low, 

Bear  Mar  our  message,  Braco :  fly !" 

Through  crowded  hospital  beholds  it  stream ; 

He  turn'd  his  steed, — "  My  liege,  I  hie,— • 

The  ruin'd  maiden  trembles  at  its  gleam, 

Yet,  ere  I  cross  tins  lily  lawn, 

The  debtor  wakes  to  thought  of  gyve  and  jaiL 

I  fear  the  broadswords  will  be  drawn." 

The   love-lorn   wretch   starts    from   tormenting 

The  turf  the  flying  courser  spurn'd, 

dream; 

And  to  his  towers  the  King  return' d. 

The  wakeful  mother,  by  the  glimmering  pale, 

Trims  her  sick  infant's  couch,  and  soothes  his 

XXXIII. 

feeble  waiL 

HI  with  King  James's  mood  that  day 

Suited  gay  feast  and  minstrel  lay ; 

II. 

Soon  were  dismiss'd  the  courtly  throng, 

At  dawn  the  towers  of  Stirling  rang 

And  soon  cut  short  the  festal  song. 

With  soldier-step  and  weapon-clang. 

Nor  less  upon  the  sadden'd  town 

While  drums,  with  rolling  note,  foretell 

The  evening  sunk  in  sorrow  down. 

Relief  to  weary  sentinel. 

The  burghers  spoke  of  civil  jar, 

Through  narrow  loop  and  casement  barr'd,* 

Of  rumor'd  feuds  and  mountain  war, 

The  sunbeams  sought  the  Court  of  Guard, 

Of  Moray,  Mar,  and  Roderick  Dhu, 

And,  struggling  with  the  smoky  air, 

All  up  in  arms : — the  Douglas  too, 

Deaden'd  the  torches'  yellow  glare. 

They  mourn'd  him  pent  within  the  hold, 

In  comfortless  alliance  shone4 

"  Where   stout   Earl   William   was   of 

The  fights  through  arch  of  blacken'd  stone, 

old"—8 

And  show'd  wild  shapes  in  garb  of  war, 

And  there  his  word  the  speaker  staid, 

Faces  deform'd  with  beard  and  scar, 

And  finger  on  his  lip  he  laid, 

All  haggard  from  the  midnight  watch, 

Or  pointed  to  his  dagger  blade. 

And  fever'd  with  the  stern  debauch ; 

But  jaded  horsemen,  from  the  west, 

For  the  oak  table's  massive  board, 

At  evening  to  the  Castle  press'd ; 

Flooded  with  wine,  with  fragments  stored, 

And  busy  talkers  said  they  bore 

And  beakers  drain'd,  and  cups  o'erthrown, 

Tidings  of  fight  on  Katrine's  shore ; 

Show'd  in  what  sport  the  night  had  flown. 

At  noon  tho  deadly  fray  begun, 

Some,  weary,  snored  on  floor  and  bench ; 

And  lasted  till  the  set  of  sun. 

Some  labor'd  still  their  thirst  to  quench ; 

Thus  giddy  rumor  shook  the  town, 

Some,  chill'd  with  watching,  spread  their  hands 

Till  closed  the  Mght  her  pennons  brown. 

O'er  the  huge  chimney's  dying  brands, 

i  MS. — "  On  distant  chase  you  will  not  ride." 

3  MS.—"  Through  blacken'd  arch  and  casement  barr'd.'* 

*  MS. — "  The  lights  in  strange  alliance  shone 

*  Stabbed  by  James  II.  in  Stirling  Castle. 

Beneath  the  arch  of  blacken'd  stone." 

230 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


While  round  them,  or  beside  them  flung, 
At  every  step  their  harness  rung. 

III. 
These  drew  not  for  their  fields  the  sword, 
Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord, 
.Nor  own'd  the  patriarchal  claim 
Of  Chieftain  in  their  leader's  name ; 
Adventurers  they,  from  far  who  roved, 
To  live  by  battle  which  they  loved.1 
There  the  Italian's  clouded  face, 
The  swarthy  Spaniard's  there  you  trace ; 
The  mountain-loving  Switzer  there 
More  freely  breathed  in  mountain-air : 
The  Fleming  there  despised  the  soil 
That  paid  so  ill  the  laborer's  toil ; 
Their  rolls  show'd  French  and  German  name ; 
And  merry  England's  exiles  came, 
To  share,  with  ill-conceal'd  disdain, 
Of  Scotland's  pay  the  scanty  gain. 
All  brave  in  arms,  well  train'd  to  wield 
The  heavy  halberd,  brand,  and  shield ; 
In  camps  licentious,  wild,  and  bold  ; 
In  pillage  fierce  and  uncontroll'd  ; 
And  now,  by  holytide  and  feast, 
From  rules  of  discipline  released. 

IV. 

They  held  debate  of  bloody  fray, 
Fought  'twixt  Lock  Katrine  and  Achray. 
Fierce  was  their  speech,  and,  'mid  their  words, 
Their  hands  oft  grappled  to  their  swords  ; 
Nor  sunk  their  tone  to  spare  the  ear 
Of  wounded  comrades  groaning  near, 
Whose  mangled  limbs,  and  bodies  gored, 
Bore  token  of  the  mountain  sword. 
Though,  neighboring  to  the  Court  of  Guard, 
Their  prayers  and  feverish  wails  were  heard ; 
Sad  burden  to  the  ruffian  joke, 
And  savage  oath  by  fury  spoke  ! — a 
At  length  up  started  John  of  Brent, 
A  yeoman  from  the  banks  of  Trent ; 
A  stranger  to  respect  or  fear, 
In  peace  a  chaser  of  the  deer, 


i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U. 

2  MS.— "  Sad  burden  to  the  ruffian  jest, 

And  rude  oaths  vented  by  the  rest." 

s  Bacchanalian  interjection,  borrowed  from  the  Dutch. 

*  "  The  greatest  blemish  in  the  poem,  is  the  ribaldry  and 
dull  vulgarity  which  is  put  into  the  mouths  of  the  soldiery  in 
the  guard-room.  Mr.  Scott  has  condescended  to  write  a  song 
for  them,  which  will  be  read  with  pain,  we  are  persuaded, 
even  by  his  warmest  admirers ;  and  his  whole  genius,  and 
even  his  power  of  versification,  seems  to  desert  him  when  he 
attempts  to  repeat  their  conversation.  Here  is  some  of  the 
Btuft"  which  has  dropped,  in  this  inauspicious  attempt,  from 
the  pen  of  one  of  the  first  of  poets  of  his  age  or  country,"  &c. 
fee— Jeffrey. 


In  host  a  hardy  mutineer, 

But  still  the  boldest  of  the  crew, 

When  deed  of  danger  was  to  do. 

He  grieved,  that  day,  their  games  cut  short, 

And  marr'd  the  dicer's  brawling  sport, 

And  shouted  loud,  "  Renew  the  bowl  1 

And,  while  a  merry  catch  I  troll, 

Let  each  the  buxom  chorus  bear, 

Like  brethren  of  the  brand  and  spear." 


Solufer's  Sonjj. 
Our  vicar  still  preaches  that  Peter  and  Poule 
Laid  a  swinging  long  curse  on  the  bonny  brown 

bowl, 
That   there's  wrath  and  despair   in   the  jolly 

black-jack, 
And  the  seven  deadly  sins  in  a  flagon  of  sack ; 
Yet  whoop,  Barnaby  !  off  with  thy  liquor, 
Drink  upsees*  out,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar ! 

Our  vicar  he  calls  it  damnation  to  sip 
The  ripe  ruddy  dew  of  a  woman's  dear  lip, 
Says,  that  Beelzebub  lurks  in  her  kerchief  so  sly 
AndApollyon  shoots  darts  from  her  merry  black 

eye; 
Yet  whoop,  Jack  !  kiss  Gillian  the  quicker, 
Till  she  bloom  like  a  rose,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar  ! 

Our  vicar  thus  preaches — and  why  should  he  not ! 
For  the  dues  of  his  cure  are  the  placket  and  pot ; 
And  'tis  right  of  his  office  poor  laymen  to  lurch, 
Who  infringe  the  domains  of  our   good  Mothei 

Church. 
Yet  whoop,  bully -boys !  off  with  your  liquor, 
Sweet  Marjorie's  the  word,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar. 

VI. 

The  warder's  challenge,  heard  without, 
Staid  in  mid-roar  the  merry  shout. 
A  soldier  to  the  portal  went, — 
"  Here  is  old  Bertram,  sirs,  of  Ghent ; 
And, — beat  for  jubilee  the  drum  ! 
A  maid  and  minstrel  with  him  come." 


"  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  is  said  to  be  inferior,  as  a  poem,  to 
Walter  Scott's  former  productions,  but  really  one  hardly 
knows  how  to  examine  such  compositions  as  poems  All 
that  one  can  look  for  is  to  find  beautiful  passages  in  them, 
and  1  own  that  there  are  some  parts  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake 
which  please  me  more  than  any  thing  in  Walter  Scott's  for- 
mer poems.  He  has  a  great  deal  of  imagination,  and  is  cer- 
tainly a  very  skilful  painter.  The  meeting  between  Douglas 
and  his  daughter,  the  King  descending  from  Stirling  Castle  to 
assist  at  the  festival  of  the  townsmen  (though  borrowed  in  a 
considerable  degree  from  Dryden's  Palamon  and  Arcite),  and 
the  guard-room  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  canto,  all  show 
extraordinary  powers  of  description.  If  he  wrote  less  anc 
more  carefully,  he  would  be  a  very  considerable  poet." — Si* 
Samuel  Romilly,  [Oct..  18J0.]— Life,  vol.  ii.  p.  342. 


canto  vi.                              THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                       231 

Bertram,  a  Fleming,  gray  and  scarr'd, 

Cheer'd  him  in  camps,  in  marches  led, 

Was  entering  now  the  Court  of  Guard, 

And  with  him  in  the  battle  bled. 

A  harper  with  him,  and  in  plaid, 

Not  from  the  valiant,  or  the  strong, 

All  muffled  close,  a  mountain  maid, 

Should  exile's  daughter  suffer  wrong." — • 

Who  backward  shrunk  to  'scape  the  view 

Answer'd  De  Brent,  most  forward  still           * 

Of  the  lj>ose  scene  and  boisterous  crew. 

In  every  feat  or  good  or  ill, — 

"  What  news  ?"  they  roar'd. — "  I  only  know, 

"  I  shame  me  of  the  part  I  play'd : 

From  noon  till  eve  we  fought  with  foe, 

And  thou  an  outlaw's  child,  poor  maid ! 

As  wild  and  as  untameable 

An  outlaw  I  by  forest  laws, 

As  the  rude  mountains  where  they  dwell ; 

And  merry  Needwood  knows  the  cause. 

On  both  sides  store  of  blood  is  lost, 

Poor  Rose, — if  Rose  be  living  now," — a 

Nor  much  success  can  either  boast." — 

He  wiped  his  iron  eye  and  brow, — 

"  But  whence  thy  captives,  friend  ?  such  spoil 

"  Must  bear  such  age,  I  think,  as  thou. — 

As  theirs  must  needs  reward  thy  toil.1 

Hear  ye,  my  mates  ; — I  go  to  call 

Old  dost  thou  wax,  and  wars  grow  sharp ; 

The  Captain  of  our  watch  to  hall : 

Thou  now  hast  glee-maiden  and  harp ! 

There  lies  my  halberd  on  the  floor ; 

Get  thee  an  ape,  and  trudge  the  land, 

And  he  that  steps  my  halberd  o'er, 

The  leader  of  a  juggler  band." — a 

To  do  the  maid  injurious  part, 

• 

My  shaft  shall  quiver  in  his  heart ! — 

VII. 

Beware  loose  speech,  or  jesting  rough : 

"  No,  comrade ; — no  such  fortune  mine. 

Ye  all  know  John  de  Brent.    Enough  " 

After  the  fight  these  sought  our  line, 

That  aged  harper  and  the  girl, 

IX. 

And,  liaving  audience  of  the  Earl, 

Their  Captain  came,  a  gallant  young — 

Mar  bade  I  should  purvey  them  steed, 

(Of  Tulhbardine's  house  he  sprung), 

And  bring  them  hitherward  with  speed. 

Nor  wore  he  yet  the  spurs  of  knight ; 

Forbear  your  mirth  and  rude  alarm, 

Gay  was  his  mien,  his  humor  light, 

For  none  shall  do  them  shame  or  harm." — 

And,  though  by  courtesy  controll'd, 

"  Hear  ye  his  boast  ?"  cried  John  of  Brent, 

Forward  his  speech,  his  bearing  bold. 

Ever  to  strife  and  jangling  bent ; 

The  high-born  maiden  ill  could  brook 

"  Shall  he  strike  doe  beside  our  lodge, 

The  scanning  of  his  curious  look 

And  yet  the  jealous  niggard  grudge 

And  dauntless  eye ; — and  yet,  in  sooth, 

To  pay  the  forester  his  fee  ? 

Young  Lewis  was  a  generous  youth  ; 

I'll  have  my  share,  howe'er  it  be, 

But  Ellen's  lovely  face  and  mien, 

Despite  of  Moray,  Mar,  or  thee." 

III  suited  to  the  garb  and  scene, 

Bertram  his  forward  step  withstood  ;3 

Might  lightly  bear  construction  strange, 

And,  burning  in  his  vengeful  mood, 

And  give  loose  fancy  scope  to  range. 

Old  Allan,  though  unfit  for  strife, 

"  Welcome  to  Stirling  towers,  fair  maid  ! 

Laid  hand  upon  his  dagger-knife  ; 

Come  ye  to  seek  a  champion's  aid, 

But  Ellen  boldly  stepped  between, 

On  palfrey  white,  with  harper  hoar, 

And  dropp'd  at  once  the  tartan  screeit : — 

Like  errant  damosel  of  yore  ? 

So,  trots  his  morning  cloud,  appears 

Does  thy  high  quest  a  knight  require, 

The  sun  of  May,  through  summer  tears. 

Or  may  the  venture  suit  a  squire  ?" — 

The  savage  soldiery,  amazed,4 

Her  dark  eye  flash'd  ; — she  paused  and  sigh'd— 

As  on  descended  angel  gazed ; 

"  0  what  have  I  to  do  with  pride  ? — 

Even  hardy  Brent,  abash'd  and  tamed, 

Through  scenes  of  sorrow,  sliame,  and  strife, 

Stood  half  admiring,  half  ashamed. 

A  suppliant  for  a  father's  life, 

I  crave  an  audience  of  the  King. 

VIII. 

Behold,  to  back  my  suit,  a  ring, 

Boldly  she  spoke, — "  Soldiers,  attend ! 

The  royal  pledge  of  grateful  claims, 

My  father  was  the  soldier's  friend  ; 

Given  by  the  Monarch  to  Fitz-James."7 

The  MS.  reads  after  this  : — 

s  MS. — "  Bertram  ]        '    I  violence  withstood." 

"  Get  thee  an  ape,  and  then  at  once 

'  such  ' 

*  MS. — "  While  the  rude  soldiery,  amazed." 

Thou  mayst  renounce  the  warder's  lance, 
And  trudge  through  borough  and  through  land, 
Tho  leader  of  a  juggler  hand." 

6  MS.—"  Should  Ellen  Douglas  suffer  wrong." 
8  MS. — "  '  My  Rose,' — he  wiped  his  iron  eye  and  brow 
4  Poor  Rose, — it  Rose  be  living  now.'  " 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  3  V 

7  MS. — "  The  Monarch  gave  to  James  Fitz-Janiw 

23k                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  vi. 

X. 

"  We  Southern  men,  of  long  descent ; 

The  signet-ring  young  Lewis  took, 

Nor  wot  we  how  a  name — a  word — 

With  deep  respect  and  alter'd  look ; 

Makes  clansmen  vassals  to  a  lord : 

And  said, — "  This  ring  our  duties  own ; 

Yet  kind  my  noble  landlord's  part, — 

And  pardon,  if  to  worth  unknown, 

God  bless  the  house  of  Peaudesert ! 

In  semblance  mean  obscurely  veil'd, 

And,  but  I  loved  to  drive  the  deer, 

Lady,  in  aught  my  folly  fail'd. 

More  than  to  guide  the  laboring  steer, 

Soon  as  the  day  flings  wide  his  gates, 

I  had  not  dwelt  an  outcast  here. 

The  King  shall  know  what  suitor  waits. 

Come,  good  old  Minstrel,  follow  me ; 

Please  you,  meanwhile,  in  fitting  bower 

Thy  Lord  and  Chieftain  shalt  thou  see." 

Repose  you  till  lus  waking  hour  ; 

Female  attendance  shall  obey 

XII. 

Your  best,  for  service  or  array. 

Then,  from  a  rusted  iron  hook, 

Permit  I  marshal  you  the  way." 

A  bunch  of  ponderous  keys  he  took, 

Put,  ere  she  followed,  with  the  grace 

Lighted  a  torch,  and  Allan  led 

And  open  bounty  of  her  race, 

Through  grated  arch  and  passage  dread. 

She  bade  her  slender  purse  be  shared 

Portals  they  pass'd,  where,  deep  within, 

Among  the  soldiers  of  the  guard. 

Spoke  prisoner's  moan,  and  fetters'  din ; 

The  rest  with  thanks  their  guerdon  took ; 

Through  rugged  vaults,2  where,  loosely  stoied 

Put  Prent,  with  shy  and  awkward  look, 

Lay  wheel,  and  axe,  and  headsman's  sword, 

On  the  reluctant  maiden's  hold 

And  many  an  hideous  engine  grim, 

Forced  bluntly  back  the  proffer'd  gold  ; — 

For  wrenching  joint,  and  crushing3  limb, 

"  Forgive  a  haughty  English  heart, 

Py  artist  form'd,  who  deem'd  it  shame 

And  0  forget  its  ruder  part ! 

And  sin  to  give  their  work  a  name. 

The  vacant  purse  shall  be  my  share,1 

They  halted  at  a  low-brow'd  porch, 

Which  in  my  barret-cap  I'll  bear, 

And  Prent  to  Allan  gave  the  torch, 

Perchance,  in  jeopardy  of  war, 

While  bolt  and  chain  he  backward  roll'd, 

Where  gayer  crests  may  keep  afar." 

And  made  the  bar  unhasp  its  hold. 

With  thanks — 'twas  all  she  could — the  maid 

They  enter'd : — 'twas  a  prison-room 

His  rugged  courtesy  repaid. 

Of  stern  security  and  gloom, 

Yet  not  a  dungeon  ;  for  the  day 

XL 

Through  lofty  gratings  found  its  way, 

When  Ellen  forth  with  Lewis  went, 

And  rude  and  antique  garniture 

Allan  made  suit  to  John  of  Prent : — 

Deck'd  the  sad  walls  and  oaken  floor  * 

"  My  lady  safe,  0  let  your  grace 

Such  as  the  rugged  days  of  old 

Give  me  to  see  my  master's  face  ! 

Deem'd  fit  for  captive  noble's  hold. 

His  minstrel  I, — to  share  lus  doom 

"  Here,"  said  De  Prent,  "  thou  mayst  remain* 

Pound  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb. 

Till  the  Leech  visit  him  again. 

Tenth  in  descent,  since  first  my  sires 

Strict  is  his  charge,  the  warders  tell, 

Waked  for  his  noble  house  their  lyres, 

To  tend  the  noble  prisoner  well." 

Nor  one  of  all  the  race  was  known 

Retiring*then,  the  bolt  he  drew, 

Put  prized  its  weal  above  their  own. 

And  the  lock's  murmurs  growl'd  anew. 

With  the  Chief's  birth  begins  our  care  ; 

Roused  at  the  sound,  from  lowly  bed 

Our  harp  must  soothe  the  infant  heir, 

A  captive  feebly  raised  his  head  ; 

Teach  the  youth  tales  of  fight,  and  grace 

The  wondering  Minstrel  look'd,  and  knew— 

His  earliest  feat  of  field  or  chase ; 

Not  his  dear  lord,  but  Roderick  Dhu  I 

In  peace,  in  war,  our  rank  we  keep, 

For,  come  from  where  Clan- Alpine  fought, 

We  cheer  his  board,  we  soothe  Ins  sleep, 

They,  erring,  deem'd  the  Chief  he  sought. 

Nor  leave  him  till  we  pour  our  verse — 

A  doleful  tribute  ! — o'er  his  hearse. 

XIII. 

Then  let  me  share  his  captive  lot ; 

As  the  tall  ship,  whose  lofty  prore 

It  is  my  right — deny  it  not !" — 

Shall  never  stem  the  billows  more, 

"  Little  we  reck,"  said  John  of  Prent, 

Deserted  by  her  gallant  band, 

>  MS. — "  The  silken  purse  shall  serve  for  me, 

6  MS. "  Thou  mayst  remain 

And  in  my  barret-cap  shall  flee." 

And  then,  retiring,  bolt  and  chain, 

*  MS. — "  Low  broad  vaults.'' 

And  rusty  bar,  he  drew  again. 

MS.—"  Stretching-."          *  MS.—"  Flinty  floor." 

Roused  at  the  sound,"  &o. 

CANTO  VI. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


233 


Amid  the  breakers  lies  astrand, — 

So,  on  his  couch,  lay  Roderick  Dhu ! 

And  oft  his  fever'd  limbs  he  threw 

In  toss  abrupt,  as  when  her  sides 

Lie  rocking  in  the  advancing  tides, 

That  shake  her  frame  with  ceaseless  beat, 

Yet  cannot  heave  her  from  her  seat; — 

0  !  how  unlike  her  course  at  sea  I1 

Or  his  free  step  on  hill  and  lea  1 — 

Soon  as  the  Minstrel  he  could  scan, 

"  What  of  thy  lady  ?— of  my  clan  ?— 

My  mother  ? — Douglas  ? — tell  me  all  1 

Have  they  been  ruin'd  in  my  fall  ? 

Ah,  yes !  or  wherefore  art  thou  here  ? 

Yet  speak, — speak  boldly, — do  not  fear." — 

(For  Allan,  who  his  mood  well  knew, 

Was  choked  with  grief  and  terror  too.) — 

"  Who  fought — who  fled  ? — Old  man,  be  brief; — 

Some  might — for  they  had  lost  their  Chief. 

Who  basely  live  ? — who  bravely  died  ?" — 

"  0,  calm  thee,  Chief !"  the  Minstrel  cried, 

"  Ellen  is  safe." — "  For  that,  thank  Heaven  ?"—■ 

"  And  hopes  are  for  the  Douglas  given ; — 

The  Lady  Margaret,  too,  is  well ; 

And,  for  thy  clan, — on  field  or  fell, 

Has  never  harp  of  minstrel  told,2 

Of  combat  fought  so  true  and  bold. 

Thy  stately  Pine  is  yet  unbent, 

Though  many  a  goodly  bough  is  rent." 

XIV. 

The  Chieftain  rear'd  his  form  on  high, 

And  fever's  fire  was  in  his  eye  ; 

But  ghastly,  pale,  and  livid  streaks 

Checker'd  his  swarthy  brow  and  cheeks. 

— "  Hark,  Minstrel !  I  have  heard  thee  play, 

With  measure  bold,  on  festal  day, 

In  yon  lone  isle, . .  .  again  where  ne'er 

Shall  harper  play,  or  warrior  hear  !  . . . 

That  stirring  air  that  peals  on  high, 

O'er  Dermid's  race  our  victory. — 

Strike  it  !3 — and  then  (for  well  thou  canst), 

Free  from  thy  minstrel-spirit  glanced, 

Fling  me  the  picture  of  the  fight, 

When  met  my  clan  the  Saxon  might. 

I'll  listen,  till  my  fancy  hears 

The  clar-g  of  swords,  the  crash  of  spears ! 

These  grates,  these  walls,  shall  vanish  then, 

Fov  the  fair  field  of  fighting  men, 

And  my  free  spirit  burst  away, 

As  if  it  soar'd  from  battle  fray." 

The  trembling  Bard  with  awe  obey'd, — 

Slow  on  the  harp  his  hand  he  laid ; 

But  soon  remembrance  of  the  sight 

i  MS. — "  Oh  !  how  unlike  her  course  on  main  ! 

Or  his  free  step  on  hill  and  plain  1" 
*  MS. — "  Shall  never  harp  of  minstrel  tell, 
30 


He  witness'd  from  the  mountain's  height. 
With  what  old  Bertram  told  at  night,4 
Awaken'd  the  full  power  of  song, 
And  bore  him  in  career  along ; — 
As  shallop  launch'd  on  river's  tide, 
That  slow  and  fearful  leaves  the  side, 
But,  when  it  feels  the  middle  stream, 
Drives  downward  swift  as  Hghtning's 

XV. 
Seattle  ut  3Sear  an  29ume.6 
"  The  Minstrel  came  once  more  to  view 
The  eastern  ridge  of  Benvenue, 
For,  ere  he  parted,  he  would  say 
Farewell  to  lovely  Loch  Achray — 
Where  shall  he  find,  in  foreign  land, 
So  lone  a  lake,  so  sweet  a  strand ! 
There  is  no  breeze  upon  the  fern, 

Nor  ripple  on  the  lake, 
Upon  her  eyry  nods  the  erne, 

The  deer  has  sought  the  brake  ; 
The  small  birds  will  not  sing  aloud, 

The  springing  trout  lies  still, 
So  darkly  glooms  yon  thunder  cloud, 
That  swathes,  as  with  a  purple  shroud, 

Benledi's  distant  hill. 
Is  it  the  thunder's  solemn  sound 
That  mutters  deep  and  dread, 
Or  echoes  from  the  groaning  ground 

The  warrior's  measured  tread  ? 
Is  it  the  lightning's  quivering  glance 

That  on  the  thicket  streams, 
Or  do  they  flash  on  spear  and  lanco 
The  sun's  retiring  beams  ? 
— I  see  the  dagger-crest  of  Mar, 
I  see  the  Moray's  silver  star, 
Wave  o'er  the  cloud  of  Saxon  war, 
That  up  the  lake  comes  winding  far  I 
To  hero  bound  for  battle-strife, 

Or  bard  of  martial  lay, 
'Twere  worth  ten  years  of  peaceful  life, 
One  glance  at  their  array ! 

XVI. 
"  Their  light-arm'd  archers  far  and  near 

Survey'd  the  tangled  ground, 
Their  centre  ranks,  with  pike  and  spear 

A  twilight  forest  frown' d, 
Their  barbed  horsemen,  in  the  rear, 

The  stern  battalia  crown'd. 
No  cymbal  clash' d,  no  clarion  rang? 

Still  were  the  pipe  and  drum ; 
Save  heavy  tread,  and  armor's  clang, 

The  sullen  march  was  dumb. 


Of  combat  fought  so  fierce  and  well.' 
s  See  Appendix,  Note  3  W.        «  The  MS.  ha*  lot  this  Una 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 


234                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  vi 

There  breathed  no  wind  their  crests  to  shake, 

Above  the  tide,  each  broadsword  bright 

Or  wave  their  flags  abroad ; 

Was  brandishing  like  beam  of  light, 

Scarce  the  frail  aspen  seem'd  to  quake, 

Each  targe  was  dark  below ; 

That  shadow'd  o'er  their  road. 

And  with  the  ocean's  mighty  swing, 

Their  vaward  scouts  no  tidings  bring, 

When  heaving  to  the  tempest's  wing, 

Can  rouse  no  lurking  foe, 

They  hurl'd  them  on  the  foe. 

Nor  spy  a  trace  of  living  tiling, 

I  heard  the  lance's  shivering  crash, 

Save  when  they  stirr'd  the  roe ; 

As  when  the  whirlwind  rends  the  ash, 

The  host  moves,  like  a  deep-sea  wive, 

I  heard  the  broadsword's  deadly  clang, 

Where  rise  no  rocks  its  pride  to  brave, 

As  if  an  hundred  anvils  rang  ! 

High-swelling,  dark,  and  slow. 

But  Moray  wheel'd  Ins  rearward  rank 

The  lake  is  pass'd,  and  now  they  gain 

Of  horsemen  on  Clan- Alpine's  flank, 

A  narrow  and  a  broken  plain, 

— '  My  banner-man,  advance  1 

Before  the  Trosach's  rugged  jaws ; 

I  see,'  he  cried, '  their  column  shake. — 

And  here  the  horse  and  spearmen  pause, 

Now,  gallants !  for  your  ladies'  sake, 

"While,  to  explore  the  dangerous  glen, 

Upon  them  with  the  lance  !' 

Dive  through  the  pass  the  archer-men. 

The  horsemen  dash'd  among  the  rout, 

As  deer  break  through  the  broom ; 

XVII. 

Their  steeds  are  stout,  their  swords  are  out* 

"  At  once  there  rose  so  wild  a  yell 

They  soon  make  lightsome  room. 

Within  that  dark  and  narrow  dell, 

.  Clan-Alpine's  best  are  backward  borne — 

As  all  the  fiends,  from  heaven  that  fell, 

Where,  where  was  Roderick  then  ! 

Had  peal'd  the  banner-cry  of  hell ! 

9  One  blast  upon  his  bugle-horn 

Forth  from  the  pass  in  tumult  driven, 

Were  worth  a  thousand  men ! 

Like  chaff  before  the  wind  of  heaven, 

And  refluent  through  the  pass  of  fear8 

The  archery  appear ; 

The  battle's  tide  was  pour'd ; 

For  life  !  for  life  1  their  plight  they  ply — 

Vanish'd  the  Saxon's  struggling  spear, 

And  shriek,  and  shout,  and  battle-cry, 

Vanish'd  the  mountain-sword. 

And  plaids  and  bonnets  waving  high, 

As  Bracklinn's  chasm,  so  black  and  steep, 

And  broadswords  flashing  to  the  sky, 

Receives  her  roaring  linn, 

Are  maddening  in  the  rear. 

As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 

Onward  they  drive,  in  dreadful  race, 

Suck  the  wild  wliirlpool  in, 

Pursuers  and  pursued; 

So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 

Before  that  tide  of  flight  and  chase, 

Devour  the  battle's  mingled  mass : 

How  shall  it  keep  its  rooted  place, 

None  linger  now  upon  the  plain, 

The  spearmen's  twilight  wood  ? — 

Save  those  who  ne'er  shall  fight  again. 

'  Down,  down,'  cried  Mar,  '  your  lances  down ! 

Bear  back  both  friend  and  foe  !' — 

XIX. 

Like  reeds  before  the  tempest's  frown, 

"  Now  westward  rolls  the  battle's  din, 

That  serried  grove  of  lances  brown 

That  deep  and  doubling  pass  within, 

At  once  lay  levell'd  low ; 

— Minstrel,  away,  the  work  of  fate4 

And  closely  shouldering  side  to  side, 

Is  bearing  on :  its  issue  wait, 

The  bristling  ranks  the  onset  bide. — 1 

Where  the  rude  Trosach's  dread  defile 

*  Well  quell  the  savage  mountaineer, 

Opens  on  Katrine's  lake  and  isle. — 

As  their  TincheP  cows  the  game ! 

Gray  Benvenue  I  soon  repass'd, 

They  come  as  fleet  as  forest  deer, 

Loch  Katrine  lay  beneath  me  cast. 

We'll  drive  them  back  as  tame.' — 

The  sun  is  set ; — the  clouds  are  met, 

The  lowering  scowl  of  heaven 

XVIII. 

An  inky  view  of  vivid  blue 

"  Bearing  before  them,  in  their  course, 

To  the  deep  lake  has  given ;                          v 

The  relics  of  the  archer  force, 

Strange  gusts  of  wind  from  mountain-glen 

Like  wave  with  crest  nf  sparkling  foam, 

Swept  o'er  the  lake,  then  sunk  agen. 

Right  onward  did  Clan- Alpine  come. 

I  heeded  not  the  eddying  surge, 

1  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

8  MS. — "  And  refluent  down  the  darksome  pass 

2  A  circle  of  sportsmen,  who,  by  surrounding  a  great  space, 

The  battle's  tide  was  pour'd  ; 

and  gradually  narrowing,  brought  immense  quantities  of  deer 

There  toil'd  the  spearman's  struggling  spesf 

together,  which  usually  made  desperate  efforts  to  break  through 

There  raged  the  mountain  sword." 

he  Tinchet 

4  MS. — "  Away  !  away  !  the  work  of  fate !" 

' 


ANTO    VI. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAXE. 


23& 


Mine  eye  but  saw  the  Trosach's  gorge, 

Well  for  the  swimmer  swell'd  they  high, 

Mine  ear  but  heard  the  sullen  sound, 

To  mar  the  Highland  marksman's  eye  ; 

Which  like  an  earthquake  shook  the  ground, 

For  round  him  shower'd,  'mid  rain  and  haLL 

And  spoke  the  stern  and  desperate  strife 

The  vengeful  arrows  of  the  Gael. — 

That  parts  not  but  with  parting  life,1 

In  vain — He  nears  the  isle — and  lo ! 

Seeming,  to  minstrel  ear,  to  toll2 

His  hand  is  on  a  shallop's  bow. 

The  dirge  of  many  a  passing  soul. 

— Just  then  a  flash  of  lightning  came 

Nearer  it  comes — the  dim- wood  glen 

It  tinged  the  waves  and  strand  with  flame  ; — 

The  martial  flood  disgorged  agen, 

I  mark'd  Duncraggan's  widow'd  dame, 

But  not  in  mingled  tide  ; 

Behind  an  oak  I  saw  her  stand, 

The  plaided  warriors  of  the  North 

A  naked  dirk  gleam'd  in  her  hand : 

High  on  the  mountain  thunder  forth 

It  darken'd, — but,  amid  the  moan 

And  overhang  its  side  ; 

Of  waves,  I  heard  a  dying  groan ; 

While  by  the  lake  below  appears 

Another  flash ! — the  spearman  floats 

The  daik'ning  cloud  of  Saxon  spears.8 

A  weltering  corse  beside  the  boats, 

At  weary  bay  each  shatter  d  band, 

And  the  stern  matron  o'er  him  stood, 

Eyeing  their  foemen,  sternly  stand  ; 

Her  hand  and  dagger  streaming  blood. 

Their  banners  stream  like  tatter'd  sail, 

That  flings  its  fragments  to  the  gale, 

XXI. 

And  broken  arms  and  disarray 

" '  Revenge  !  revenge  !'  the  Saxons  cried, 

Mark'd  the  fell  havoc  of  the  day. 

The  Gaels'  exulting  shout  replied. 

Despite  the  elemental  rage, 

XX.                                 # 

Again  they  hurried  to  engage  ; 

"  Viewing  the  mountain's  ridge  askance, 

But,  ere  they  closed  in  desperate  fight, 

The  Saxon  stood  in  sullen  trance, 

Bloody  with  spurring  came  a  knight, 

Tftl  Moray  pointed  with  his  lance, 

Sprung  from  his  horse,  and,  from  a  crag, 

And  cried — '  Behold  yon  isle  ! — 

Waved  'twixt  the  hosts  a  milk-white  flag. 

See  !  none  are  left  to  guard  its  strand, 
But  women  weak,  that  wring  the  hand : 
'Tis  there  of  yore  the  robber  band 

Their  booty  wont  to  pile  ; — 
My  purse,  with  bonnet-pieces  store, 
To  him  will  swim  a  bow-shot  o'er, 
And  loose  a  snallop  from  the  shore. 
Lightly  we'll  tame  the  war- wolf  then, 
Lords  of  his  mate,  and  brood,  and  den.' 
Forth  from  the  ranks  a  spearman  sprung, 
On  earth  his  casque  and  corslet  rung, 

He  plunged  him  in  the  wave  ;— 
All  saw  the  deed — the  purpose  knew, 
And  to  their  clamors  Benvenue 

A  mingled  echo  gave  ; 
The  Saxons  shout,  their  mate  to  cheer, 
The  helpless  females  scream  for  fear, 
And  yells  for  rage  the  mountaineer. 
'Twas  then,  as  by  the  outcry  riven, 
Pour'd  down  at  once  the  lowering  heaven ; 
A  whirlwind  swept  Loch  Katrine's  breast, 
Her  billows  rear'd  their  snowy  crest. 

i "  the  loveliness  in  death 


That  parts  not  quite  with  parting  breath." 

Byron's  Giaour. 

*  MS. — "  And  seem'd,  »,o  minstrel  ear,  to  toll 

The  par*:<ig  d:jge  of  many  a  soul." 

*  MS. — "  While  by  the  darken'd  lake  below, 

File  pet  the  spearmen  of  the  foe." 

*  The  MS.  reads— 

"  It  tinged  the  boats  and  lake  with  flame  " 


Clarion  and  trumpet  by  his  side 

Rung  forth  a  truce-note  high  and  wide, 

While,  in  the  Monarch's  name,  afar 

An  herald's  voice  forbade  the  war, 

For  BothwelTs  lord,  and  Roderick  bold, 

Were  both,  he  said,  in  captive  hold." 

— But  here  the  lay  made  sudden  stand  !— 

The  harp  escaped  the  Minstrel's  hand  ! — 

Oft  had  he  stolen  a  glance,  to  spy 

How  Roderick  brook'd  his  minstrelsy  : 

At  first,  the  Chieftain,  to  the  chime, 

With  lifted  hand,  kept  feeble  time  ; 

That  motion  ceased, — yet  feeling  strong 

Varied  his  look  as  changed  the  song  f 

At  length,  no  more  his  deafen'd  ear 

The  minstrel  melody  can  hear ; 

His  face  grows  sharp, — his  hands  are  clench'd, 

As  if  some  pang  his  heart-strings  wrench'd; 

Set  are  his  teeth,  his  fading  eye6 

Is  sternly  fix'd  on  vacancy ; 

Thus,  motionless,  and  moanless,  drew 

His  parting  breath,  stout  Roderick  Dhu  !— 

The  eight  closing  lines  of  the  stanza  are  interpolated  on  a 
slip  of  paper. 
6  MS. — "  Glow'd  in  his  look,  as  swell'd  the  song." 


6MS.- 


his 


glazing 
fiery 


eye. 


7  "  Rob  Roy,  while  on  his  deathbed,  learned  that  a  person, 
with  whom  he  was  at  enmity,  proposed  to  visit  him.  '  Raisa 
me  from  my  bed,'  said  the  invalid  ;  '  throw  my  plaid  around 
me,  and  bring  me  my  claymore,  dirk,  and  pistols, — it  shall 


236 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  TL 


Old  Allan-Bane  look'd  on  aghast, 
While  grim  and  still  his  spirit  pass'd : 
But  when  he  saw  that  life  was  fled, 
He  pour'd  his  wailing  o'er  the  dead. 

XXII. 
Xament. 
"  And  art  thou  cold  and  lowly  laid,1 
Thy  foeman's  dread,  thy  people's  aid, 
Breadalhane's  boast,  ClanAlpine's  shade  1 
For  thee  shall  none  a  requiem  say  ? 
— For  thee, — who  loved  the  minstrel's  lay, 
For  thee,  of  Bothwell's  house  the  stay, 
The  shelter  of  her  exiled  line,2 
E'en  in  this  prison-house  of  thine, 
I'll  wail  for  Alpine's  honor'd  Pine  ! 

"  What  groans  shall  yonder  valleys  fill ! 
What  shrieks  of  grief  shall  rend  yon  hill ! 
What  tears  of  burning  rage  shall  thrill, 
When  mourns  thy  tribe  thy  battles  done, 
Thy  fall  before  the  race  was  won, 
Thy  sword  ungirt  ere  set  of  sun  ! 
There  breathes  not  clansman  of  thy  line, 
But  would  have  given  his  life  for  thine. — 
O  woe  for  Alpine's  honor'd  Pine  ! 

"  Sad  was  thy  lot  on  mortal  stage ! — 
The  captive  thrush  may  brook  the  cage, 
The  prison'd  eagle  dies  for  rage. 
Brave  spirit,  do  not  scorn  my  strain ! 
And,  when  its  notes  awake  again, 
Even  she,  so  long  beloved  in  vain, 
Shall  with  my  harp  her  voice  combine 
And  mix  her  woe  and  tears  with  mine, 
To  wail  Clan- Alpine's  honor'd  Pine." — s 

XXIIL 

Ellen,  the  while,  with  bursting  heart, 
Remain' d  in  lordly  bower  apart, 
Where  play'd  with  many-color'd  gleams, 
Throrgh  storied  pane  the  rising  beams. 
In  vain  on  gilded  roof  they  fall, 
And  lighten'd  up  a  tapestried  wall, 
And  for  her  use  a  menial  train 


fcsver  be  said  that  a  foeman  saw  Rob  Roy  MacGJregor  defence- 
!eas  and  unarmed.'  His  foeman,  conjectured  to  be  one  of  the 
MaoLarens  before  and  after  mentioned,  entered  and  paid  his 
compliments,  inquiring  after  the  health  of  his  formidable  neigh- 
Dor.  Rob  Roy  maintained  a  cold,  haughty  civility  during 
their  short  conference  ;  and  so  soon  as  he  hud  left  the  house, 
*  Now,'  he  said,'  '  all  is  over :  let  the  piper  play,  Ha  til  mi 
tididh'1  [we  return  no  more],  and  he  is  said  to  have  expired 
before  the  dirge  was  finished."— Introduction  to  Rob  Roy. 
Waverley  Novels,  vol.  vii.  p.  85. 

i  MS.— "  '  And  art  thou  gone,'  the  Minstrel  said." 

a  MS.—"  The  mightiest  of  a  mighty  line." 

SMS. —  To  the  Printer. — "  I  have  three  pages  ready  to  be 
lopied,  you  may  send  for  them  in  about  an  hour.     The  rest 


A  rich  collation  spread  in  vain. 

The  banquet  proud,  the  chamber  gay,4 

Scarce  drew  one  curious  glance  astray ; 

Or,  if  she  look'd,  'twas  but  to  say, 

With  better  omen  dawn'd  the  day 

In  that  lone  isle,  where  waved  on  high 

The  dun-deer's  hide  for  canopy ; 

Where  oft  her  noble  father  shared 

The  simple  meal  her  care  prepared, 

While  Lufra,  crouching  by  her  side, 

His  station  claim'd  with  jealous  pride, 

And  Douglas,  bent  on  woodland  game,6 

Spoke  of  the  chase  to  Malcolm  Graeme, 

Whose  answer,  oft  at  random  made, 

The  wandering  of  his  thoughts  betray'd, — 

Those  who  such  simple  joys  have  known, 

Are  taught  to  prize  them  when  they're  gone 

But  sudden,  see,  she  lifts  her  head ! 

The  window  seeks  with  cautious  tread. 

What  distant  music  has  the  power 

To  win  her  in  this  woful  hour ! 

'Twas  from  a  turret  that  o'erhung 

Her  latticed  bower,  the  strain  was  sung. 

XXIV. 
3Lag  of  tte  XmprfsoneTj  huntsman. 
"  My  hawk  is  tired  of  perch  and  hood, 
My  idle  greyhound  loathes  his  food, 
My  horse  is  weary  of  his  stall, 
And  I  am  sick  of  captive  thrall. 
I  wish  I  were,  as  I  have  been, 
Hunting  the  hart  in  forest  green, 
With  bended  bow  and  bloodhound  free, 
For  that's  the  life  is  meet  for  me.8 
I  hate  to  learn  the  ebb  of  time, 
From  yon  dull7  steeple's  drowsy  chime, 
Or  mark  it  as  the  sunbeams  crawl, 
Inch  after  inch,  along  the  wall. 
The  lark  was  wont  my  matins  ring,8 
The  sable  rook  my  vespers  sing  ; 
These  towers,  although  a  king's  they  be, 
Have  not  a  hall  of  joy  for  me.9 
No  more  at  dawning  morn  I  rise, 
And  sun  myself  in  Ellen's  eyes, 
Drive  the  fleet  deer  the  forest  through, 


of  my  flax  is  on  the  spindle,  but  not  yet  twisted  into  propel 
yarn.  I  am  glad  you  like  the  battle  of  Beal'  an  Duine.  It  is 
rather  too  long,  but  that  was  unavoidable.  1  hope  yon  will 
push  on  the  notes.  To  save  time  1  shall  send  the  copy  whe* 
ready  to  St.  John  Street.— W.  S." 

4  MS. — "  The  banquet  gay,  the  chamber's  pride, 
Scarce  drew  one  curious  glance  aside." 

s  MS. — "  Earnest  on  his  game." 

6  MS. "  was  meant  for  me." 

7  MS. — "  From  darken'd  steeple's." 

8  MS. — "  The  lively  lark  my  matins  rung, 

The  sable  rook  my  vespers  sung." 

9  MS. — u  Have  not  a  hall  should  harboi  me." 


rjANTo  vi.                          THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                                            231 

And  homeward  wend  with  evening  dew; 

Fitz-James  alone  wore  cap  and  plume. 

A  blithesome  welcome  blithely  meet, 

To  him  each  lady's  look  was  lent ; 

And  lay  my  tropliies  at  her  feet, 

On  him  each  courtier's  eye  was  bent ; 

While  fled  the  eve  on  wing  of  glee, — 

Midst  furs,  and  silks,  and  jewels  sheen, 

That  life  is  lost  to  love  and  me  !" 

He  stood,  in  simple  Lincoln-green, 

The  centre  of  the  glittering  ring. 

XXV. 

And  Snowdoun's  Knight  is  Scotland's  King  !f 

The  heart-sick  lay  was  hardly  said,  1 

The  list'ner  had  not  turn'd  her  head, 

XXVII. 

It  trickled  still,  the  starting  tear, 

As  wreath  of  snow,  on  mountain-breast, 

When  light  a  footstep  struck  her  ear, 

Slides  from  the  rock  that  gave  it  rest, 

■  And  Snowdoun's  graceful  knight  was  near. 

Poor  Ellen  glided  from  her  stay,4 

She  turn'd  the  hastier,  lest  again 

And  al  the  Monarch's  feet  she  lay ; 

The  prisoner  should  renew  his  strain. — 

No  word  her  choking  voice  commands, — 

"  0  welcome,  brave  Fitz-James  !"  she  said ; 

She  show'd  the  ring,  she  clasp'd  her  hands. 

"  How  may  an  almost  orphan  maid 

0  !  not  a  moment  could  he  brook, 

Pay  the  deep  debt" "  0  say  not  so ! 

The  generous  prince,  that  suppliant  look ! 

To  me  no  gratitude  you  owe. 

Gently  he  raised  her ;  and,  the  while, 

Not  mine,  alas  !   the  boon  to  give, 

Check'd  with  a  glance  the  circle's  smile  ; 

And  bid  thy  noble  father  live ; 

Graceful,  but  grave,  her  brow  he  kiss'd, 

I  can  but  be  thy  guide,  sweet  maid, 

And  bade  her  terrors  be  dismiss'd : — 

With  Scotland's  king  thy  suit  to  aid. 

"  Yes,  Fair ;  the  wandering  poor  Fitz-Jamea 

No  tyrant  he,  though  ire  and  pride 

The  fealty  of  Scotland  claims. 

May  lay  his  better  mood  aside. 

To  him  thy  woes,  thy  wishes  bring  ; 

Come,  Ellen,  come  !  'tis  more  than  time, 

He  will  redeem  his  signet  ring. 

He  holds  his  court  at  morning  prime." 

Ask  naught  for  Douglas ;  yester  even, 

With  beating  heart,  and  bosom  wrung, 

His  prince  and  he  have  much  forgiven. 

As  to  a  brother's  arm  she  clung. 

Wrong  hath  he  had  from  slanderous  tongue. 

Gently  he  dried  the  falling  tear, 

I,  from  his  rebel  kinsmen,  wrong. 

And  gently  whisper'd  hope  and  cheer ; 

We  would  not,  to  the  vulgar  crowd, 

Her  faltering  steps  half  led,  half  staid, 

Yield  what  they  craved  with  clamor  loud  * 

Through  gallery  fair,  and  high  arcade, 

Calmly  we  heard  and  judged  his  cause, 

Till,  at  its  touch,  its  wings  of  pride 

Our  council  aided,  and  our  laws. 

A  portal  arch  unfolded  wide. 

I  stanch'd  thy  father's  death-feud  stern, 

With  stout  De  Vaux  and  Grey  Glencairn ; 

XXVI. 

And  Bothwell's  Lord  henceforth  we  own 

Within  'twas  brilliant  all  and  light,1 

The  friend  and  bulwark  of  our  Throne 

A  thronging  scene  of  figures  bright ; 

But  lovely  infidel,  how  now  ? 

It  glow'd  on  Ellen's  dazzled  sight, 

What  clouds  thy  misbelieving  brow  ? 

As  when  the  setting  sun  has  given 

Lord  James  of  Douglas,  lend  thine  aid ; 

Ten  thousand  hues  to  summer  even, 

Thou  must  confirm  this  doubting  maid." 

And  from  their  tissue,  fancy  frames 

Aerial  knights  and  fairy  dames. 

XXVIII. 

Still  by  Fitz-James  her  footing  staid ; 

Then  forth  the  noble  Douglas  sprung, 

A  few  faint  steps  she  forward  made, 

And  on  his  neck  his  daughter  hung. 

Then  slow  her  drooping  head  she  raised, 

The  Monarch  drank,  that  happy  hour, 

And  fearful  round  the  presence  gazed ; 

The  sweetest,  holiest  draught  of  Power, — 

For  him  she  sought,  who  own'd  this  state, 

When  it  can  say,  with  godlike  voice, 

The  dreaded  prince  whose  will  was  fate. 

Arise,  sad  Virtue,  and  rejoice ! 

She  gazed  on  many  a  princely  port, 

Yet  would  not  James  the  general  eye 

Might  well  have  ruled  a  royal  court ; 

On  Nature's  raptures  long  should  pry ; 

On  many  a  splendid  garb  she  gazed, 

He  stepp'd  between — "  Nay,  Douglas,  nay. 

Then  turn'd  bewilder'd  and  amazed, 

Steal  not  my  proselyte  away ! 

For  all  stood  bare  ;  and,  in  the  room, 

The  riddle  'tis  my  right  to  read. 

l  MS. — "  Within  'twas  brilliant  all,  and  bright 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Y.' 

The  vision  glow'd  on  Ellen's  sight." 

■  MS  — "  For  him  who  own'd  this  royal  state." 

*  MS. "  shrinking,  quits  her  stay  ' 

238 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


Iliat  brought  this  happy  chance  to  speed. 

Yes,  Ellen,  when  disguised  I  stray 

In  life's  more  low  but  happier  way,1 

Tia  under  name  which  veils  my  power, 

Nor  falsely  veils — for  Stirling's  tower 

Of  yore  the  name  of  Snowdoun  claims,2 

And  .Normans  call  me  James  Fitz-James. 

Thus  Avatch  I  o'er  insulted  laws, 

Thus  learn  to  right  the  injured  cause." — 

Then,  in  a  tone  apart  and  low, — 

"  Ah,  little  traitress  !  none  must  know 

What  idle  dream,  what  lighter  thought, 

What  vanity  full  dearly  bought, 

Join'd  to  tlune  eye's  dark  witchcraft,  drew 

My  spell-bound  steps  to  Benveuue,3 

In  dangerous  hour,  and  all  but  gave 

Thy  Monarch's  life  to  mountain  glaive  !" — 

Aloud  he  spoke — "  Thou  still  dost  hold 

That  little  talisman  of  gold, 

Pledge  of  my  faith,  Fitz-Jame^'s  ring — 4 

What  seeks  fair  Ellen  of  the  King  ?" 

XXIX. 

Full  well  the  conscious  maiden  guess'd 

He  probed  the  weakness  of  her  breast ; 

But,  with  that  consciousness,  there  came 

A  lightening  of  her  fears  for  Graeme, 

And5  more  she  deem'd  the  Monarch's  ire 

Kindled  'gainst  him,  who,  for  her  sire, 

Rebellious  broadsword  boldly  drew ; 

And,  to  her  generous  feeling  true, 

She  craved  the  grace  of  Roderick  Dim. 

"  Forbear  thy  suit : — the  King  of  Kings 

Alone  can  stay  life's  parting  wings, 

1  know  his  heart,  I  know  his  hand, 

Have  shared  Ins  cheer,  and  proved  Jiis  brand : — 

My  fairest  earldom  would  I  give 

To  bid  Clan- Alpine's  Chieftain  live  ! — 

1  MS. — "  In  lowly  life's  more  happy  way." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Z. 

8  MS.-"  Thy  sovereign  back     )  tQ  Benvenue>„ 

Thy  sovereign's  steps  i 
*  MS.—"  Pledge  of  Fitz-James's  faith,  the  ring." 
6  MS. — "  And  in  her  breast  strove  maiden  shame  ; 
More  deep  she  deem'd  the  monarch's  ire 
Kindled  'gainst  him,  who,  for  her  sire, 
Against  his  sovereign  broadsword  drew  ; 
And,  with  a  pleading,  warm  and  true, 
She  craved  the  grace  of  Roderick  Dim." 
!"  Malcolm  Graeme  has  too  insignificant  a  part  assigned 
him,  considering  the  favor  in  which  he  is  held  both  by  Ellen 
and  the  author ;  and  in  bringing  out  the  shaded  and  imperfect 
character  of  Roderick  Dhu,  as  a  contrast  to  the  purer  virtue  of 
his  rival,  !Vr.  Scott  seems  to  have  fallen  into  the  common  error, 
of  making  him  more  interesting  than  him  whose  virtues  he  was 
intended  to  set  off,  and  converted  the  villain  of  the  piece  in 
some  measure  into  its  hero.     A  modern  poet,  however,  may 
perhaps  be  pardoned  for  an  error,  of  which  Milton  himself  is 
'houglit  not  to  have  kept  clear,  and  for  which  there  seems  so 
aatural  a  cause  in  the  difference  between  poetical  and  amiable 
thaiacters."— Jkffrky. 


Hast  thou  no  other  boon  to  crave  ? 
No  other  captive  friend  to  save  V 
Blushing,  she  turn'd  her  from  the  King, 
And  to  the  Douglas  gave  the  ring, 
As  if  she  wish'd  her  sue  to  speak 
The  suit  that  stain'd  her  glowing  cheek. — 
"  Nay,  then,  my  pledge  has  lost  its  force, 
And  stubborn  justice  holds  her  course. — 
Malcolm,  come  forth  !" — And,  at  the  word, 
Down  kneel'd  the  Graeme6  to  Scotland's  Lord. 
"  For  thee,  rash  youth,  no  suppliant  sues, 
From  thee  may  Vengeance  claim  her  dues, 
Who,  nurtured  underneath  our  smile, 
Hast  paid  our  care  by  treacherous  wile, 
And  sought  amid  thy  faithful  clan, 
A  refuge  for  an  outlaw'd  man, 
Dishonoring  thus  thy  loyal  name. — 

Fetters  and  warder  for  the  Graeme  I" 

His  chain  of  gold  the  King  unstrung, 
The  links  o'er  Malcolm'q  neck  he  flung, 
Then  gently  drew  the  glittering  band, 
And  laid  the  clasp  on  Ellen's  hand.7 

Harp  of  the  North,  farewell  !8    The  hills  grow  dark 

On  purple  peaks  a  deeper  shade  descending ; 
In  twilight  copse  the  glow-worm  lights  her  spark, 

The  deer,  half-seen,  are  to  the  covert  wending. 
Resume  thy  wizard  elm !  the  fountain  lending, 

And  the  wild  breeze,  thy  wilder  minstrelsy ; 
Thy  numbers  sweet  with  nature's  vespers  blending, 

With  distant  echo  from  the  fold  and  lea, 
And  herd-boy's  evening  pipe,  and  hum  of  housing 
bee. 

Yet,  once  again,  farewell,  thou  Minstrel  harp ! 

Yet,  once  again,  forgive  my  feeble  sway, 
And  little  reck  I  of  the  censure  sharp 

May  idly  cavil  at  an  idle  lay. 

7 "  And  now,  waiving  myself,  let  me  talk  to  you  of 

the  Prince  Regent.  He  ordered  me  to  be  presented  to  him  at 
a  ball ;  and  after  some  sayings  peculiarly  pleasing  from  royal 
lips,  as  to  my  own  attempts,  he  talked  to  me  of  you  and  your 
immortalities;  he  preferred  you  to  every  bard  past  and  present, 
and  asked  which  of  your  works  pleased  me  most.  It  was  a 
difficult  question.  I  answered,  I  thought  the  '  Lay.'  He  said 
his  own  opinion  was  nearly  similar.  In  speaking  of  the  others, 
I  told  him  that  I  thought  you  more  particularly  the  poet  of 
Princes,  as  they  never  appeared  more  fascinating  than  in 
1  Marmion'  and  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake.'  He  was  pleased  to 
coincide,  and  to  dwell  on  the  description  of  your  James's  as  no 
less  royal  than  poetical.  He  spoke  alternately  of  Homer  and 
yourself,  and  seemed  well  acquainted  with  both,"  &c. — Lettei 
from  Lord  Byron  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  July  6,  1812.— By- 
ron's Life  and  Works,  vol.  ii.  p.  156. 

8  MS.— To  the  Printer.—1'  I  send  the  grand  finale,  and  so 
exit  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  from  the  head  she  has  tormented  for 
six  months.  In  canto  vi.  stanza  21, — stern  and  still,  read  grim 
and  still;  sternly  occurs  four  lines  higher.  For  a  similar  reason, 
stanza  24 — dun-deer,  read  fleet-deer.  I  will  probably  call  this 
morning. — Yours  truly, 

W.  S." 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


239 


Much  have  I  owed  thy  strains  on  life's  long  "way, 
Through  secret  woes  the  world  has  never  known, 

When  on  the  weary  night  dawn'd  wearier  day, 
And  bitterer  was  the  grief  devour'd  alone. 

That  I  o'erlive  such  woes,  Enchantress !  is  thine  own. 

Hark !  as  my  lingering  footsteps  slow  retire, 
Some  Spirit  of  the  Air  has  waked  thy  string ! 

1  "  On  a  comparison  of  the  merits  of  this  Poem  with  the  two 
former  productions  of  the  same  unquestioned  genius,  we  are 
inclined  to  bestow  on  it  a  very  decided  preference  over  both. 
[t  would  perhaps  be  difficult  to  select  any  one  passage  of  such 
genuine  inspiration  as  one  or  two  that  might  be  pointed  out  in 
the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel — and  perhaps,  in  strength  and 
discrimination  of  character,  it  may  fall  short  of  Marmion  ;  al- 
though we  are  loth  to  resign  either  the  rude  and  savage  gen- 
erosity of  Roderick,  the  romantic  chivalry  of  James,  or  the 
playful  simplicity,  the  affectionate  tenderness,  the  modest  cour- 
age of  Ellen  Douglas,  to  the  claims  of  any  competitors  in  the 
last-mentioned  poem.  But,  for  interest  and  artificial  manage- 
ment in  the  story,  for  general  ease  and  grace  of  versification, 
and  correctness  of  language,  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  must  be 
universally  allowed,  we  think,  to  excel,  and  very  far  excel, 
either  of  her  predecessors." — Critical  Review. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  Mr.  Scott  of  the  severe  and  majestic 
style  of  Milton — or  of  the  terse  and  fine  composition  of  Pope — 
or  of  the  elaborate  elegance  and  melody  of  Campbell — or  even 
of  the  flowing  and  redundant  diction  of  Southey, — but  there  is 
a  medley  of  bright  images  and  glowing,  set  carelessly  and 
loosely  together — a  diction  tinged  successively  with  the  careless 
richness  of  Shakespeare — the  harshness  and  antique  simplicity 
of  the  old  romances — the  homeliness  of  vulgar  ballads  and 
anecdotes — and  the  sentimental  glitter  of  the  most  modern 
poetry, — passing  from  the  borders  of  the  ridiculous  to  those  of 
the  sublime — alternately  minute  and  energetic — sometimes  arti. 
Semi,  :ini  frequently  negligent,  but  always  full  of  spirit  and 


'Tis  now  a  seraph  bold,  with  touch  of  fire, 
'Tis  now  the  brush  of  Fairy's  frolic  wing. 

Eeceding  now,  the  dying  numbers  ring 
Fainter  and  fainter  down  the  rugged  dell, 

And  now  the  mountain  breezes  scarcely  bring 
A  wandering  witch-note  of  the  distant  spell— 

And  now,  'tis  silent  all ! — Enchantress,  fare  thee 
well  I1 

vivacity — abounding  in  images  that  are  striking  at  first  sight  to 
minds  of  every  contexture — and  never  expressing  a  sentiment 
which  it  can  cost  the  most  ordinary  reader  any  exertion  to 
comprehend.  Upon  the  whole  we  are  inclined  to  think  more 
highly  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  than  of  either  of  its  author's 
former  publications.  We  are  more  sure,  however,  that  it  has 
fewer  faults  than  that  it  has  greater  beauties  ;  and  as  its  beau- 
ties bear  a  strong  resemblance  to  those  with  which  the  public 
has  been  already  made  familiar  in  these  celebrated  works,  we 
should  not  be  surprised  if  its  popularity  were  less  splendid  and 
remarkable.  For  our  own  parts,  however,  we  are  of  opinion 
that  it  will  be  oftener  read  hereafter  than  either  of  them  ;  and 
that,  if  it  had  appeared  first  in  the  series,  their  reception  would 
have  been  less  favorable  than  that  which  it  has  experienced 
It  is  more  polished  in  its  diction,  and  more  regular  in  its  versi 
fication  ;  the  story  is  constructed  with  infinitely  more  skill  and 
address  ;  there  is  a  greater  proportion  of  pleasing  and  tender 
passages,  with  much  less  antiquarian  detail  ;  and,  upon  the 
whole,  a  larger  variety  of  characters,  more  artfully  and  judi- 
ciously contrasted.  There  is  nothing  so  fine,  perhaps,  as  the 
battle  in  Marmion — or  so  picturesque  as  some  of  the  scattered 
sketches  in  the  Lay  ;  but  there  is  a  richness  and  a  spirit  in  the 
whole  piece  which  does  not  pervade  either  of  these  poems — a 
profusion  of  incident,  and  a  shifting  brilliancy  of  coloring,  that 
reminds  us  of  the  witchery  of  Ariosto — and  a  constant  elasticity 
and  occasional  energy,  which  seem  to  belong  more  peculiarly  to 
the  author  now  before  us." — Jeffrey. 


240 


SCOTT'd  POETICAL  WORKS. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

The  heights  of  Uam-Var, 

And  roused  the  cavern,  where,  His  told, 
A  giant  made  his  den  of  old. — P.  185. 

Ua-var,  as  the  name  is  pronounced,  or  more  properly  Uaigh- 
tnor,  is  a  mountain  to  the  northeast  of  the  village  of  Callender 
in  Menteith,  deriving  its  name,  which  signifies  the  great  den, 
or  cavern,  from  a  sort  of  retreat  among  the  rocks  on  the  south 
side,  said,  hy  tradition,  to  have  heen  the  abode  of  a  giant.  In 
latter  times,  it  was  the  refuge  of  robbers  and  banditti,  who  have 
been  only  extirpated  within  these  forty  or  fifty  years.  Strictly 
speaking,  this  stronghold  is  not  a  cave,  as  the  name  would  im- 
ply, but  a  sort  of  small  enclosure,  or  recess,  surrounded  with 
large  rocks,  and  open  above  head.  It  may  have  been  originally 
designed  as  a  toil  for  deer,  who  might  get  in  from  the  outside, 
but  would  find  it  difficult  to  return.  This  opinion  prevails 
among  the  old  sportsmen  and  deer-stalkers  in  the  neighborhood. 


Note  B. 

Two  dogs  of  black  Saint  Hubert's  breed, 
Unmatch' d  for  courage,  breath,  and  speed. — P.  186. 

"  The  hounds  which  we  call  Saint  Hubert's  hounds,  are  com- 
monly all  blacke,  yet  neuertheless,  the  race  is  so  mingled  at 
these  days,  that  we  find  them  of  all  colours.  These  are  the 
hounds  which  the  abbots  of  St.  Hubert  haue  always  kept  some 
of  their  race  or  kind,  in  honour  or  remembrance  of  the  saint, 
which  was  a  hunter  with  S.  Eustace.  Whereupon  we  may 
conceiue  that  (by  the  grace  of  God)  all  good  huntsmen  shall 
follow  them  into  paradise.  To  return  vnto  my  former  purpose, 
this  kind  of  dogges  hath  bene  dispersed  through  the  counties  of 
Henault,  Lorayne,  Flanders,  and  Burgoyne.  They  are  mighty 
of  body,  neuertheless  their  legges  are  low  and  short,  likewise 
they  are  not  swift,  although  they  be  very  good  of  sent,  hunting 
chaces  which  are  farre  straggled,  fearing  neither  water  nor  cold, 
and  doe  more  couet  the  chaces  that  smell,  as  foxes,  bore,  and 
such  like,  than  other,  because  they  find  themselves  neither  of 
swiftness  nor  courage  to  hunt  and  kill  the  chaces  that  are  lighter 
and  swifter.  The  bloodhounds  of  this  colour  proue  good,  es- 
pecially those  that  are  cole  blacke,  but  I  made  no  great  account 
to  breed  on  them,  or  to  keepe  the  kind,  and  yet  I  found  a  book 
which  a  hunter  did  dedicate  to  a  prince  of  Lorayne,  which 
seemed  to  loue  hunting  much,  wherein  was  a  blason  which  the 
•ame  hunter  gave  to  his  bloodhound,  called  Souyllard,  which 
Was  white : — 

1  My  name  came  first  from  holy  Hubert's  race, 
Souyllard  my  sire,  a  hound  of  singular  grace. 

Whereupon  we  may  presume  that  some  of  the  kind  proue 
white  sometimes,  but  they  are  not  of  the  kind  of  the  Greffiers 
or  Bouxes,  which  we  haue  at  these  dayes."—  The  noble  Art 
of  Venerie  or  Hunting,  translated  and  collected  for  the  Use 
if  all  Noblemen  and  Gextlemen.    Lond.  1611.  4to,  p.  15. 


Note  C. 

For  the  death-wound  and  death-halloo, 

Muster'd  his  breath,  his  whinyard  drew. — P.  186. 

When  the  stag  turned  to  bay,  the  ancient  hunter  had  the 
perilous  task  of  going  in  upon,  and  killing  or  disabling  the  des- 
perate animal.  At  certain  times  of  the  year  this  was  held  par- 
ticularly dangerous,  a  wound  received  from  a  stag's  horn  being 
then  deemed  poisonous  and  more  dangerous  than  one  from  the 
tusks  of  a  boar,  as  the  old  rhyme  testifies  : — 

"  If  thou  be  hurt  with  hart,  it  brings  thee  to  thy  bier, 
But  barber's  hand  will  boar's  hurt  heal,  therefore  thou 
need' st  not  fear." 

At  all  times,  however,  the  task  was  dangerous,  and  to  be  ad- 
ventured upon  wisely  and  warily,  either  by  getting  behind  the 
stag  while  he  was  gazing  on  the  hounds,  or  by  watching  an  op. 
portunity  to  gallop  roundly  in  upon  him,  and  kill  him  with  the 
sword.  See  many  directions  to  this  purpose  in  tiie  Booke  of 
Hunting,  chap.  41.  Wilson  the  historian  has  recorded  a  prov- 
idential escape  which  befell  him  in  this  hazardous  sport,  while 
a  youth  and  follower  of  the  Earl  of  Essex. 

"  Sir  Peter  Lee,  of  Lime,  in  Cheshire,  invited  my  lord  one 
summer  to  hunt  the  stagg.  And  having  a  great  stagg  in  chase, 
and  many  gentlemen  in  the  pursuit,  the  stagg  took  soyle.  And 
divers,  whereof  I  was  one,  alighted,  and  stood  with  swords 
drawne,  to  have  a  cut  at  him,  at  his  coming  out  of  the  water. 
The  staggs  there  being  wonderfully  fierce  and  dangerous,  made 
us  youths  more  eager  to  be  at  him.  But  he  escaped  us  all. 
And  it  was  my  misfortune  to  be  hindered  of  my  coming  nere 
him,  the  way  being  sliperie,  by  a  falle ;  which  gave  occasion 
to  some,  who  did  not  know  mee,  to  speak  a3  if  I  had  falne 
through  feare.  Which  being  told  mee,  I  left  the  stagg,  and 
followed  the  gentleman  who  [first]  spake  it.  But  I  found  him 
of  that  cold  temper,  that  it  seems  his  words  made  an  escape 
from  him  ;  as  by  his  denial  and  repentance  it  appeared.  But 
this  made  mee  more  violent  in  the  pursuit  of  the  stagg,  to  re- 
cover my  reputation.  And  I  happened  to  be  the  only  horse- 
man in,  when  the  dogs  sett  him  up  at  bay  ;  and  approaching 
near  him  at  horsebacke,  he  broke  through  the  dogs,  and  run  al 
mee,  and  tore  my  horse's  side  with  his  homes,  close  by  my 
thigh.  Then  I  quitted  my  horse,  and  grew  more  cunning  (for 
the  dogs  had  sette  him  up  againe),  stealing  behind  him  with 
my  sword,  and  cut  his  hamstrings  ;  and  then  got  upon  his  back, 
and  cut  his  throate  ;  which,  as  I  was  doing,  the  company  cam* 
in,  and  blamed  my  rashness  for  running  such  a  hazard." — 
Peck's  Desiderata  Curiosa,  ii.  464. 


Note  D. 


And  now  to  issue  from  the  glen, 
No  pathway  meets  the  wanderer's  ken 
Unless  he  climb,  with  footing  nice, 
A  far  projecting  precipice. — P.  187, 
Until  the  present  road  was  made  through  the  romantic  past 
which  I  have  presumptuously  attempted  to  describe  in  the  pre- 
ceding stanzas,  there  was  no  mode  of  issuing  out  of  the  defile 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


241 


called  the  Trosachs,  excepting  by  a  sort  of  ladder,  composed  of 
the  branches  and  roots  of  trees. 


Note  E. 


To  meet  with  Highland  plunderers  here, 
Were  worse  than  loss  of  steed  or  deer. — P.  188. 

The  clans  who  inhabited  the  romantic  regions  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Loch  Katrine,  were,  even  until  a  late  period, 
much  addicted  to  predatory  incursions  upon  their  Lowland 
neighbors.  "  In  former  times,  those  parts  of  this  district,  which 
are  situated  beyond  the  Grampian  range,  were  rendered  almost 
inaccessible  by  strong  barriers  of  rocks,  and  mountains,  and 
lakes.  It  was  a  border  country,  am-,  though  on  the  very  verge 
of  the  low  country,  it  was  almost  totally  sequestered  from  the 
world,  and,  as  it  were  insulated  with  respect  to  society.  'Tis 
well  known  that  in  the  Highlands,  it  was,  in  former  times,  ac- 
counted not  only  lawful,  but  honorable,  among  hostile  tribes, 
to  commit  depredations  on  one  another  ;  and  these  habits  of  the 
age  were  perhaps  strengthened  in  this  district,  by  the  circum- 
stances which  have  been  mentioned.  It  bordered  on  a  country, 
the  inhabitants  of  which,  while  they  were  richer,  were  less 
warlike  than  they,  and  widely  differenced  by  language  and  man- 
ners."— Graham's  Sketches  of  Scenery  in  Perthshire.  Edin. 
1806,  p.  97.  The  reader  will  therefore  be  pleased  to  remem- 
ber, that  the  scene  of  this  poem  is  laid  in  a  time, 

"  When  tooming  faulds,  or  sweeping  of  a  glen, 
Had  still  been  held  the  deed  of  gallant  men." 


Note  F. 


A  gray-haired  sire,  whose  eye  intent, 
Was  on  the  vision1  d  future  bent. — P.  189. 

If  force  of  evidence  could  authorize  us  to  believe  facts  incon- 
sistent with  the  general  laws  of  nature,  enough  might  be  pro- 
duced in  favor  of  the  existence  of  the  Second-sight.  It  is  called 
in  Gffilic  Taishitaraugh,  from  Taish,  an  unreal  or  shadowy 
appearance;  and  those  possessed  of  the  faculty  are  called  Taish- 
atrin,  which  may  be  aptly  translated  visionaries.  Martin,  a 
steady  believer  in  the  second-sight,  gives  the  following  account 
of  it  :— 

"  The  second-sight  is  a  singular  faculty,  of  seeing  an  other- 
wise invisible  object,  without  any  previous  means  used  by  the 
person  that  used  it  for  that  end  :  the  vision  makes  such  a  lively 
impression  upon  the  seers,  that  they  neither  see,  nor  think  of 
any  thing  else,  except  the  vision,  as  long  as  it  continues ;  and 
then  they  appear  pensive  or  jovial,  according  to  the  object  that 
was  represented  to  them. 

"  At  the  sight  of  a  vision,  the  eyelids  of  the  person  are 
erected,  and  the  eyes  continue  staring  until  the  object  vanish. 
This  is  obvious  to  others  who  are  by,  when  the  persons  happen 
to  see  a  vision,  and  occurred  more  than  once  to  my  own  obser- 
vation, and  to  others  that  were  with  me. 

"  There  is  one  in  Skie,  of  whom  his  acquaintance  observed, 
♦hat  when  be  sees  a  vision,  the  inner  part  of  his  eyelids  turns 
so  tar  upwards,  that,  after  the  object  disappears,  he  must  draw 
them  down  with  his  fingers,  and  sometimes  employ  others  to 
draw  them  down,  which  he  finds  to  be  the  much  easier  way. 

"This  faculty  of  the  second-sight  does  not  lineally  descend 
in  a  family,  as  some  imagine,  for  I  know  several  parents  who 
are  endowed  with  it,  but  their  children  not,  and  vice  versa  ; 
neither  is  it  acquired  by  any  previous  compact.  And,  after  a 
strict  inquiry,  1  could  never  learn  that  this  faculty  was  com- 
municable any  way  whatsoever. 

"The  seer  knows  neither  the  object,  time,  nor  place  of  a 
vis'on,  before  it  appears  ;  and  the  same  object  is  often  seen  by 
different  prrson3  living  at  a  considerable  distance  from  one  an- 
31 


other.  The  true  way  of  judging  as  to  the  time  and  circum- 
stance of  an  object,  is  by  observation  ;  for  several  persons  of 
judgment,  without  this  faculty,  are  more  capable  to  judge  of 
the  design  of  a  vision,  than  a  novice  that  is  a  seer.  If  an  ob- 
ject appear  in  the  day  or  night,  it  will  come  to  pass  sooner  oi 
later  accordingly. 

"  If  an  object  is  seen  early  in  the  morning  (which  is  not  fre- 
quent), it  will  be  accomplished  in  a  few  hours  afterwards.  Ii 
at  noon,  it  will  commonly  be  accomplished  that  very  day.  J I 
in  the  evening,  perhaps  that  night ;  if  after  candles  be  lighted, 
it  will  be  accomplished  that  night :  the  later  always  in  accom- 
plishment, by  weeks,  months,  and  sometimes  years,  according 
to  the  time  of  night  the  vision  is  seen. 

'  "When  a  shroud  is  perceived  about  one,  it  :s  a  sure  prog- 
nostic of  death  ;  the  time  is  judged  according  to  the  height  of 
it  about  the  person  ;  for  if  it  is  seen  above  the  middle,  death  is 
not  to  be  expected  for  the  space  of  a  year,  and  perhaps  some 
months  longer ;  and  as  it  is  frequently  seen  to  ascend  higher 
towards  the  head,  death  is  concluded  to  be  at  hand  within  a 
few  days,  if  not  hours,  as  daily  experience  confirms.  Exam- 
ples of  this  kind  were  shown  me,  when  the  persons  of  whom 
the  observations  were  then  made,  enjoyed  perfect  health. 

"  One  instance  was  lately  foretold  by  a  seer,  that  was  a  nov- 
ice, concerning  the  death  of  one  of  my  acquaintance  ;  this 
was  communicated  to  a  few  only,  and  with  great  confidence : 
I  being  one  of  the  number,  did  not  in  the  least  regard  it,  until 
the  death  of  the  person,  about  the  time  foretold,  did  confirm 
me  of  the  certainty  of  the  prediction.  The  novice  mentioned 
above,  is  now  a  skilful  seer,  as  appears  from  many  late  instan 
ces  ;  he  lives  in  the  parish  of  St.  Mary's,  the  most  northern  in 
Skie. 

"  If  a  woman  is  seen  standing  at  a  man's  left  hand,  it  is  a 
presage  that  she  will  be  his  wife,  whether  they  be  married  to 
others,  or  unmarried  at  the  time  of  the  apparition. 

"  If  two  or  three  women  are  seen  at  once  near  a  man's  left 
hand,  she  that  is  next  him  will  undoubtedly  be  his  wife  first, 
and  so  on,  whether  all  three,  or  the  man,  be  single  or  married 
at  the  time  of  the  vision  or  not;  of  which  there  are  several 
late  instances  among  those  of  my  acquaintance.  It  is  an  ordi 
nary  thing  for  them  to  see  a  man  that  is  to  come  to  the  house 
shortly  after :  and  if  he  is  not  of  the  seer's  acquaintance,  yet 
he  gives  such  a  lively  description  of  his  stature,  complexion 
habit,  &c.  that  upon  his  arrival  he  answers  the  character  given 
him  in  all  respects 

"  If  the  person  so  appearing  be  one  of  the  seer's  acquaint- 
ance, he  will  tell  his  name,  as  well  as  other  particulars,  and  he 
can  tell  by  his  countenance  whether  he  comes  in  a  good  or  bad 
humour.   * 

"  I  have  been  seen  thus  myself  by  seers  of  both  sexes,  at 
some  hundred  miles'  distance  ;  some  that  saw  me  in  this  man- 
ner had  never  seen  me  personally,  and  it  happened  according 
to  their  vision,  without  any  previous  design  of  mine  to  go  to 
those  places,  my  coming  there  being  purely  accidental. 

"  It  is  ordinary  with  them  to  see  houses,  gardens,  and  trees, 
in  places  void  of  all  three  :  and  this  in  progress  of  time  uses  to 
be  accomplished :  as  at  Mogshot,  in  the  Isle  of  Skie  where 
there  were  but  a  few  sorry  cowhouses,  thatched  witr  straw, 
yet  in  a  very  few  years  after,  the  vision,  which  appeared  often, 
was  accomplished,  by  the  building  of  several  good  houses  on 
the  very  spot  represented  by  the  seers,  and  by  the  planting  of 
orchards  there. 

"  To  see  a  spark  of  fire  fall  upon  one's  arm  or  breast,  is  a 
forerunner  of  a  dead  child  to  be  seen  in  the  arms  of  those  per- 
sons ;  of  which  there  are  several  fresh  instances. 

"  To  see  a  seat  empty  at  the  time  of  one's  sitting  in  it,  is  a 
presage  of  that  person's  death  soon  after. 

"  When  a  novice,  or  one  that  has  lately  obtained  the  second- 
sight,  sees  a  vision  in  the  night-time  without-doors,  and  he  be 
near  a  fire,  he  presently  falls  into  a  swoon. 

"  Some  find  themselves  as  it  were  in  a  crowd  of  people,  hav- 
ing a  corpse  which  they  carry  along  with  them  ;  and  after 
such  visions,  the  seers  come  in  sweating,  and  describe  the  peo- 


242 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


pie  that  appeared  :  if  there  be  any  of  their  acquaintance  among 
'em,  they  give  an  account  of  their  names,  as  also  of  the  bearers, 
but  they  know  nothing  concerning  the  corpse. 

"  All  those  who  have  the  second-sight  do  not  always  see 
these  visions  at  once,  though  they  be  together  at  the  time. 
But  if  one  who  has  this  faculty,  designedly  touch  his  fellow- 
seer  at  the  instant  of  a  vision's  appearing,  then  the  second  sees 
it  as  well  as  the  first ;  and  this  is  sometimes  discerned  by  those 
that  are  near  them  on  such  occasions." — Martin's  descrip- 
tion of  the  Western  Islands,  1716,  8vo,  p.  300,  et  seq. 

To  these  particulars  innumerable  examples  might  he  added, 
all  attested  by  grave  and  credible  authors.  But,  in  despite  of 
evidence  which  neither  Bacon,  Boyle,  nor  Johnson  were  able 
to  Ksist,  the  Taisch,  with  all  its  visionary  properties,  seems  to 
be  now  universally  abandoned  to  the  use  of  poetry.  The  ex- 
quisitely beautiful  poem  of  Lochiel  will  at  once  occur  to  the 
recollection  of  every  reader. 


Note  G. 


Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour, 

Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower. — P.  190. 

The  Celtic  chieftains,  whose  lives  were  continually  exposed 
to  peril,  had  usually,  in  the  most  retired  spot  of  their  domains, 
some  place  of  retreat  for  the  hour  of  necessity,  which,  as  cir- 
cumstances would  admit,  was  a  tower,  a  cavern,  or  a  rustic 
hut,  in  a  strong  and  secluded  situation.  One  of  these  last 
gave  refuge  to  the  unfortunate  Charles  Edward,  in  his  perilous 
wanderings  after  the  battle  of  Culloden. 

"  It  was  situated  in  the  face  of  a  very  rough,  high,  and 
rocky  mountain,  called  Letternilichk,  still  a  part  of  Benalder, 
full  of  great  stones  and  crevices,  and  some  scattered  wood  in- 
terspersed. The  habitation  called  the  Cage,  in  the  face  of  that 
mountain,  was  within  a  small  thick  bush  of  wood.  There 
were  first  some  rows  of  trees  laid  down,  in  order  to  level  the 
floor  for  a  habitation  ;  and  as  the  place  was  steep,  this  raised 
the  lower  side  to  an  equal  height  with  the  other:  and  these 
trees,  in  the  way  of  joists  or  planks,  were  levelled  with  earth 
and  gravel.  There  were  betwixt  the  trees,  growing  naturally 
on  their  own  roots,  some  stakes  fixed  in  the  earth,  which,  with 
the  trees,  were  interwoven  with  ropes,  made  of  heath  and  birch 
twigs,  up  to  the  top  of  the  Cage,  it  being  of  a  round  or  rather 
oval  shape  ;  and  the  whole  thatched  and  covered  over  with 
fog.  The  whole  fabric  hung,  as  it  were,  by  a  large  tree,  which 
reclined  from  the  one  end,  all  along  the  roof,  to  fifce  other,  and 
which  gave  it  the  name  of  the  Cage ;  and  by  chance  there 
happened  to  be  two  stones  at  a  small  distance  from  one  anoth- 
er, in  the  side  next  the  precipice,  resembling  the  pillars  of  a 
chimney,  where  the  fire  was  placed.  The  smoke  had  its  vent 
out  here,  all  along  the  fall  of  the  rock,  which  was  so  much  of 
the  same  color,  that  one  could  discover  no  difference  in  the 
clearest  day." — Home's  History  of  the  Rebellion,  Lond. 
18(2,  4to.  p.  381. 


Note  H. 


My  sire's  tall  form  might  grace  the  part 
Of  Ferragus  or  Jlscabari.—V .  190. 

These  two  sons  of  Anak  flourished  in  romantic  fable.  The 
Aral,  is  well  known  to  the  admirers  of  Ariosto,  by  the  name  of 
Ferrau.  He  was  an  antagonist  of  Orlando,  and  was  at  length 
slain  by  him  in  single  combat.  There  is  a  romance  in  the 
Auchinleck  MS.,  in  which  Ferragus  is  thus  described  : — 

"  On  a  day  come  tiding 
Unto  Charls  the  King, 

Al  of  a  doughti  knight 
Was  comen  to  Navers, 


Stout  he  was  and  fers, 

Vernagu  he  hight. 
Of  Bahiloun  the  soudan 
Thider  him  sende  gan, 

With  King  Charls  to  fight. 
So  hard  he  was  to  fond1 
That  no  dint  of  brond 

No  greued  him,  aplight. 
He  hadde  twenti  men  strengthe 
And  forti  fet  of  lengthe, 

Thilke  painim  hede,2 
And  four  feet  in  the  face, 
Y-meten3  in  the  place, 

And  fifteen  in  brede.* 
His  nose  was  a  fot  and  more  ; 
His  brow,  as  bristles  wore  ;5 

He  that  it  seighe  it  sede. 
He  loked  lotheliche, 
And  was  swart"  as  any  piche, 

Of  him  men  might  adrede." 

Romance  of  Charlemagne,  1.  461-484 
Auchinleck  MS.,  folio  265. 

Ascapait,  or  Ascabart,  makes  a  very  material  figure  in  the 
History  of  Bevis  of  Hampton,  by  whom  he  was  conquered. 
His  effigies  may  be  seen  guarding  one  side  of  a  gate  at  South- 
ampton,  while  the  other  is  occupied  by  Sir  Bevis  himself. 
The  dimensions  of  Ascabart  were  little  inferior  to  tho»e  of  Fer. 
ragus,  if  the  following  description  be  correct : — 

M  They  metten  with  a  geaunt, 
With  a  lotheliche  semblaunt. 
He  was  wondcrliche  strong, 
Rome7  thretti  fote  long 
His  herd  was  bot  gret  and  rowe  ;8 
A  space  of  a  fot  betweene  is9  browe  ; 
His  clob  was,  to  yeue10  a  strok, 
A  lite  bodi  of  an  oak." 

"  Beues  hadde  of  him  wonder  gret, 
And  askede  him  what  a  het,12 
And  yaf 13  men  of  his  contre 
Were  ase  meche14  ase  wa9  he. 
'  Me  name,'  a  sede,16  '  is  Ascopard, 
Garci  me  sent  hiderward, 
For  to  bring  this  quene  ayen, 
And  the  Beues  her  of-slen.16 
Jcliam  Garci  isn  champioun. 
And  was  i-driue  out  of  me18  toun 
Al  for  that  ich  was  so  lite.19 
Eueri  man  me  wolde  smite, 
Ich  was  so  lite  and  so  merugh,2*-' 
Eueri  man  me  clepede  dwerugh,2i 
And  now  ich  am  in  this  londe, 
1  wax  mor22ich  understonde, 
And  stranger  than  other  tene  j23 
And  that  schel  on  us  be  sene." 

Sir  Bevis  of  Hampton,  1.  2512 
Auchinleck  MS.  fol.  189. 


Note  I. 

Though  all  unask'd  his  birth  and  name. — P.  191. 

The  Highlanders,  who  carried  hospitality  to  a  punctihou. 
excess,  are  said  to  have  considered  it  as  churlish,  to  ask 
a  stranger  his  name  or  lineage,  before  he  had  taken  refresh* 
ment. 

1  Found,  proved.— 2  Had.— S  Measured. — 4  Breadth.— 5  Were.— 6  Black. 
—7  Fully.— 8  Rough.— 9  His — 10  Give.— 11  The  stem  of  a  little  oak-tree. 
—12  He  hight,  was  called.— 13  If.— 14  Great.— 15  He  said.— 16  Slay.— 
M  His.— 18  My.—  IS  Little.— 2f  Lean.— 21  Dwarf.— 22  Greater,  taller  — 
23  Ten 


APPENDIX   TO  THE  LADY   OT  THE  LAKE. 


243 


Feuds  were  so  frequent  among  them,  that  a  contrary  rule  would 
in  many  cases  have  produced  the  discovery  of  some  circum- 
stance, which  might  have  excluded  the  guest  from  the  benefit 
of  the  assistance  he  stood  in  need  of. 


Note  K. 
-and  still  a  harp  unseen, 


FM'd  up  the  symphony  between. — P.  191. 

"They"  (meaning  the  Highlanders)  "  delight  much  in  mu- 
».\cke,  but  chiefly  in  harps  and  clairschoes  of  their  own  fashion. 
The  strings  of  the  clairschoes  are  made  of  brass  wire,  and  the 
strings  of  the  harps,  of  sinews  ;  which  strings  they  strike  either 
with  their  nayles,  growing  long,  or  else  with  an  instrument  ap- 
pointed for  that  use.  They  take  great  pleasure  to  decke  their 
harps  and  clairschoes  with  silver  and  precious  stones  ;  the  poore 
ones  that  cannot  attayne  hereunto,  decke  them  with  christall. 
They  sing  verses  prettily  compound,  contayning  (for  the  most 
part)  prayses  of  valiant  men.  There  is  not  almost  any  other 
argument,  whereof  their  rhymes  intreat.  They  speak  the  an- 
cient French  language  altered  a  little."1 — "  The  harp  and 
clairschoes  are  now  only  heard  in  the  Highlands  in  ancient  song. 
At  what  period  these  instruments  ceased  to  be  used,  is  not  on 
record  ;  and  tradition  is  silent  on  this  head.  But,  as  Irish  harp- 
ers occasionally  visited  the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles  till 
lately,  the  harp  might  have  been  extant  so  late  as  the  middle 
of  the  last  century.  Thus  far  we  know,  that  from  remote 
times  down  to  the  present,  harpers  were  received  as  welcome 
guests,  particularly  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland  ;  and  so  late 
as  the  latter  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  as  appears  by  the 
above  quotation,  the  harp  was  in  common  use  among  the  na- 
tives of  the  Western  Isles.  How  it  happened  that  the  noisy 
and  unharmonious  bagpipes  banished  the  soft  and  expressive 
harp,  we  cannot  say  ;  but  certain  it  is,  that  the  bagpipe  is  now 
the  only  instrument  that  obtains  universally  in  the  Highland 
districts." — Campbell's  Journey  through  North  Britain. 
Lond.  1808,  4to.  I.  175. 

Mr.  Gunn,  of  Edinburgh,  has  lately  published  a  curious  Es- 
say upon  the  Harp  and  Harp  Music  of  the  Highlands  of  Scot- 
land. That  the  instrument  was  once  in  common  use  there,  is 
most  certain.  Clelland  numbers  an  acquaintance  with  it  among 
the  few  accomplishments  which  his  satire  allows  to  the  High- 
landers : — 

"  In  nothing  they're  accounted  sharp, 
Except  in  bagpipe  or  in  harp." 


Note  L. 


Mom's  genial  influence  roused  a  minstrel  gray. — P.  193. 

That  Highland  chieftains,  to  a  late  period,  retained  in  their 
service  the  bard,  as  a  family  officer,  admits  of  very  easy  proof. 
The  author  of  the  Letters  from  the  North  of  Scotland,  an  offi- 
cer of  engineers,  quartered  at  Inverness  about  1720,  who  cer- 
tainly cannot  be  deemed  a  favorable  witness,  gives  the  follow- 
ing account  of  the  office,  and  of  a  bard  whom  lie  heard  exer- 
cise his  talent  of  recitation  : — "  The  bard  is  skilled  in  the  gene- 
alogy if  all  the  Highland  families,  sometimes  preceptor  to  the 
youn^  laird,  celebrates  in  Irish  verse  the  original  of  the  tribe, 
the  famous  warlike  actions  of  the  successive  heads,  and  sings 
his  own  lyricks  as  an  opiate  to  the  chief  when  indisposed  for 
sleep ;  but  poets  are  not  equally  esteemed  and  honored  in  all 
countries.  I  happened  to  be  a  witness  of  the  dishonor  done  to 
the  muse  at  the  house  of  one  of  the  chiefs,  where  two  of  these 
bards  were  set  at  a  good  distance,  at  the  lower  end  of  a  long 
table,  with  a  parcel  of  Highlanders  of  no  extraordinary  appear- 

1  Vide,  "  Certayne  Matters  concerning  tlie  Realme  of  Scotland,  &c.  as 
*hey  were  Anno  IXnuni  1597.  Lond.  1603."    4to. 


ance,  over  a  cup  of  ale.  Poor  inspiration  !  They  were  not 
asked  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  at  our  table,  though  the  whols 
company  consisted  only  of  the  great  man,  one  of  his  near  re- 
lations, and  myself.  After  some  little  time,  the  chief  ordered 
one  of  them  to  sing  me  a  Highland  song.  The  bard  readily 
obeyed,  and  with  a  hoarse  voice,  and  in  a  tune  of  few  various 
notes,  began,  as  I  was  told,  one  of  his  own  lyricks ;  and  when 
he  had  proceeded  to  the  fourth  or  fifth  stanza,  I  perceived,  by 
the  names  of  several  persons,  glens,  and  mountains,  which  1 
had  known  or  heard  of  before,  that  it  was  an  account  of  soma 
clan  battle.  But  in  his  going  on,  the  chief  (who  piques  him- 
self upon  his  school-learning),  at  some  particular  passage,  bid 
him  cease,  and  cried  out,  '  There's  nothing  like  that  in  Virgil 
or  Homer.'  I  bowed,  and  told  him  I  believed  so.  This  vou 
may  believe  was  very  edifying  and  delightful." — Letters,  la 
167. 


Note  M. 


The  Ormme.—P.  194. 

The  ancient  and  powerful  family  of  Graham  (which,  for  met- 
rical reasons,  is  here  spelt  after  the  Scottish  pronunciation) 
held  extensive  possessions  in  the  counties  of  Dumbarton  and 
Stirling.  Few  families  can  boast  of  more  historical  renown, 
having  claim  to  three  of  the  most  remarkable  characters  in  the 
Scottish  annals.  Sir  John  the  Graeme,  the  faithful  and  un- 
daunted partaker  of  the  labors  and  patriotic  warfare  of  Wal- 
lace, fell  in  the  unfortunate  field  of  Falkirk,  in  1298.  The  cel- 
ebrated Marquis  of  Montrose,  in  whom  De  Retz  saw  realized 
his  abstract  idea  of  the  heroes  of  antiquity,  was  the  second  of 
these  worthies.  And,  notwithstanding  the  severity  of  his  tem- 
per, and  the  rigor  with  which  he  executed  the  oppressive  man- 
dates of  the  princes  whom  he  served,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  name 
as  a  third,  John  Grieme  of  Claverhouse,  Viscount  of  Dundee, 
whose  heroic  death  in  the  arms  of  victory  may  be  allowed  to 
cancel  the  memory  of  his  cruelty  to  the  non-conformists,  during 
the  reigns  of  Charles  II.  and  James  II. 


Note  N. 
This  harp,  which  erst  Saint  Modan  sway'd. — P.  194. 
I  am  not  prepared  to  show  that  Saint  Modan  was  a  per- 
former on  the  harp.  It  was,  however,  no  unsaintly  accom- 
plishment ;  for  Saint  Dunstan  certainly  did  play  upon  that 
instrument,  which  retaining,  as  was  natural,  a  portion  of  the 
sanctity  attached  to  its  master's  character,  announced  future 
events  by  its  spontaneous  sonnd.  "  But  laboring  once  in 
these  mechanic  arts  for  a  devout  matrone  that  had  sett  him 
on  work,  his  violl,  that  hung  by  him  on  the  wall,  of  its  own 
accord,  without  anie  man's  helpe,  distinctly  sounded  this  an- 
thime : — Gaudent  in  cmlis  animce  sanctorum  qui  Christi 
vestigia  sunt  secuti ;  et  quia  pro  eius  amore  sanvianem 
suum  fuderunt,  idco  cum  Christo gaudent  sternum.  Where- 
at all  the  companie  being  much  astonished,  turned  their  eyes 
from  beholding  him  working,  to  looke  on  that  strange  acci- 
dent." *  *  *  "  Not  long  after,  manie  of  the  court  that 
hitherunto  had  borne  a  kind  of  fayned  friendship  towards  him 
began  now  greatly  to  envie  at  his  progress  and  rising  in  good- 
nes,  using  manie  crooked,  backbiting  meanesto  diffame  his  ver- 
tues  with  the  black  maskes  of  hypocrisie.  And  the  better  to 
authorize  their  calnmnie,  they  brought  in  this  that  happened 
in  the  violl,  affirming  it  to  have  been  done  by  art  magiok 
What  more  1  This  wicked  rumour  increased  dayly,  till  the 
king  and  others  of  the  nobilitie  taking  hould  thereof,  Dunstan 
grew  odious  in  their  sight.  Therefore  he  resolued  to  leaue  the 
court  and  go  to  Elphegus,  surnamed  the  Bauld,  then  Bishop  of 
Winchester,  who  was  his  cozen.  Which  his  enemies  under* 
standing,  they  layd  wayt  for  him    in    the  way,  and  hauin* 


tu 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


throwne  him  off  his  horse,  beate  him,  and  dragged  him  in  the 
durt  in  the  most  miserable  manner,  meaning  to  have  slaine 
him,  had  not  a  companie  of  mastiue  dogges  that  came  unlookt 
uppon  them  defended  and  redeemed  hha  fwta  their  crueltie. 
When  with  sorrow  he  was  asliai::'.-.;;  to  see  dogges  more  hu- 
mane than  they.  And  giuing  UuutktN  io  Almightie  God,  he 
sensibly  againe  perceiued  that  ihe  tunes  ~£  his  violl  had  giuen 
him  a  warning  of  future  accidents." — Floistr  of  the  Lives  of 
the  most  renowned  Saincts  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ire- 
land, by  the  R.  Father  Hieromk  Porter.  Doway,  1632, 
Ito.  tome  i.  p.  438. 

The  same  supernatural  circumstance  is  alludet'  to  by  the 
anonymous  author  of  "  Grim,  the  Collier  of  Croydon." 


-[Dmistan's  harp  sounds  on  the  wall]. 


"  Forest.  Hark,  hark,  my  lords,  the  holy  abbot's  harp 
Sounds  by  itself  so  hanging  on  the  wall ! 

"  Dunstan.  Unhallow'd  man,  that  scorn'st  the  sacred  rede, 
Hark,  how  the  testimony  of  my  truth 
Bounds  heavenly  music  with  an  angel's  hand, 
To  testify  Dunstan's  integrity 
And  prove  thy  active  boast  of  no  effect." 


Note  0. 


Ere  Douglases,  to  ruin  driven, 

Were  exiled  from  their  native  heaven. — P.  194. 

The  downfall  of  the  Douglases  of  the  house  of  Angus  during 
the  reign  of  James  V.  is  the  event  alluded  to  in  the  text.  The 
Earl  of  Angus,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  married  the  queen 
dowager,  and  availed  himself  of  the  ri^'ht  which  he  thus  ac- 
quired, as  well  as  of  his  extensive  power,  to  retain  the  king 
in  a  sort  of  tutelage,  which  approached  very  near  to  captivity. 
Several  open  attempts  were  made  to  rescue  James  from  this 
thraldom,  wi*fi  which  he  was  well  known  to  be  deeply  dis- 
gusted ;  but  the  valor  of  the  Douglases  and  their  allies  gave 
them  the  victory  in  every  conflict.  At  length  the  King,  while 
residing  at  Falkland,  contrived  to  escape  by  night  out  of  his 
own  court  and  palace,  and  rode  full  speed  to  Stirling  Castle, 
where  the  governor,  who  was  of  the  opposite  faction,  joyfully 
received  him.  Being  thus  at  liberty,  James  speedily  sum- 
moned around  him  such  peers  as  he  knew  to  be  most  inimical 
to  the  domination  of  Angus — and  laid  his  complaint  before 
them,  says  Pitscottie,  "  with  great  lamentation  ;  showing  to 
them  how  he  was  holden  in  subjection,  thir  years  bygone,  by 
the  Earl  of  Angus  and  his  kin  and  friends,  who  oppressed  the 
whole  country  and  spoiled  it,  under  the  pretence  of  justice  and 
his  authority  ;  and  had  slain  many  of  his  lieges,  kinsmen,  and 
friends,  because  they  would  have  had  it  mended  at  their  hands, 
and  put  him  at  liberty,  as  he  ought  to  have  been,  at  the  coun- 
sel of  his  whole  lords,  and  not  have  been  subjected  and 
corrected  with  no  particular  men,  by  the  rest  of  his  nobles. 
Therefore,  said  he,  I  desire,  my  lords,  that  I  may  be  satisfied 
of  the  said  earl,  his  kin,  and  friends  ;  for  I  avow  that  Scotland 
shall  not  hold  us  both  while  [»,  e.  till]  I  be  revenged"  on  him 
and  his. 

"  The  lords,  hearing  the  king's  complaint  and  lamentation, 
and  also  the  great  rage,  fury,  and  malice  that  he  bore  towards 
the  Earl  of  Angus,  his  kin  and  friends,  they  concluded  all,  and 
thought  it  best  that  he  should  be  summoned  to  underly  the 
law  ;  if  he  found  no  caution,  nor  yet  compear  himself,  that 
he  should  be  put  to  the  horn,  with  all  his  kin  and  friends,  so 
many  as  were  contained  in  the  letters.  And  farther,  the  lords 
ordained,  by  advice  of  his  majesty,  that  his  brother  and  friends 
should  be  summoned  to  find  caution  to  underly  the  law  within 
a  certain  day,  or  else  be  put  to  the  horn.  But  the  earl  ap- 
peared not,  nor  none  for  him  ;  and  so  he  was  put  to  the  horn, 
with  all  his  kin  and  friends  :  so  many  as  were  contained  in 
the  summons  that  compeared  not  were  banished,  and  holden 
traitors  to  the  king." 


Note  P. 
In  Holy-Rood  a  Knight  he  slew.—?.  195. 

This  was  by  no  means  an  uncommon  occurrence  in  the 
Court  of  Scotland  ;  nay,  the  presence  of  the  sovereign  himself 
scarcely  restrained  the  ferocious  and  inveterate  feuds  which 
were  the  perpetual  source  of  bloodshed  among  the  Scottish 
nobility.  The  following  instance  of  the  murder  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam Stuart  of  Ochiltree,  called  The  Bloody,  by  the  celebrated 
Francis,  Earl  of  Bothwell,  may  be  produced  among  many  ; 
but  as  the  offence  given  in  the  royal  court  will  hardly  bear  a 
vernacular  translation,  1  shall  leave  the  story  in  Johnstone's 
Latin,  referring  for  farther  particulars  to  the  naked  simplicity 
of  Birrell's  Diary,  30th  July,  1588. 

"  Mors  improbi  hominis  non  tarn  ipsa  immerita,  quam 
pessimo  exemp/o  in  publicum,  fade  perpetrata.  Ouliclmus 
Stuartus  Alkiltrius,  Arani  fratcr,  naturd  ac  moribus,  cu- 
jus  septus  memini,  vulgo  propter  sitem  sanguinis  sangui- 
narius  dictus,  a  Rothvelio,  in  Sanctis  Cruets  Rrgid,  extirth- 
sccnte  ird,  mendaeii  probro  lacessitus,  obscmnum  oscit/nm 
liberius  retorquebat ;  Rothvelius  hanc  contumeliam  tacitus 
tulit,  sed  ingentum  irarum  molem  animo  concepit.  Utrin- 
que  postridie  F.dinburgi  conventum,  totidem  numero  comiti- 
bus  armatis,pratsidii  causa,  et  acriter  pugnatum  est ;  cete- 
ris amicis  et  clitntibus  metu  torpentibus,  aut  vi  absterritis, 
ipse  Stuartus  fortissime  dimicat  ;  tandem  excusso  gladio  a 
Bothvelio,  Scythicd  feritate  transfoditur,  sine  cujusquam 
misericordid  ;  habuit  itaque  quern  debuit  cxitum.  Dignus 
erat  Stuartus  qui  pateretur  ;  Rothvelius  qui  faceret.  Val- 
gus sanguivrm  sanguine  proedicabit,  et  horum  cruore  innoc- 
uorum  miivibus  egregie parentatuyn.'" — Johnstoni  Historia 
Rerum  Rrit.avnicarum,  ah  anno  1572  ad  annum  1628.  Am- 
stelodami,  1655,  fol.  p.  135. 


Note  Q. 

The  Douglas,  like  a  stricken  deer, 
Disown' d  by  every  noble  peer. — P.  195. 

The  exile  state  of  this  powerful  race  is  not  exaggerated  in 
this  and  subsequent  passages.  The  hatred  of  James  against 
the  race  of  Douglas  was  so  inveterate,  that  numerous  as  their 
allies  were,  and  disregarded  as  the  regal  authority  had  usual!) 
been  in  similar  cases,  their  nearest  friends,  even  in  the  mosl 
remote  parts  of  Scotland,  durst  not  entertain  them,  unless  un 
der  the  strictest  and  closest  disguise.  James  Douglas,  son  o/ 
the  banished  Earl  of  Angus,  afterwards  well  known  by  the 
title  of  Earl  of  Morton,  lurked,  during  the  exile  of  his  family, 
in  the  north  of  Scotland,  under  the  assumed  name  of  James 
lnnes,  otherwise  James  the  Ghrieve  (i.  e.  Reve  or  Bailiff"). 
"  And  as  he  bore  the  name,"  says  Godscroft,  "  so  did  he  also 
execute  the  office  of  a  grieve  or  overseer  of  the  lands  and 
rents,  the  corn  and  cattle  of  him  with  whom  he  lived."  From 
the  habits  of  frugality  and  observation  which  he  acquired  in 
his  humble  situation,  the  historian  traces  that  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  popular  character  which  enabled  him  to  rise 
so  high  in  the  state,  and  that  honorable  economy  by  which  he 
repaired  and  established  the  shattered  estates  of  Angus  an** 
Morton. —  History  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  Edinburgh, 
1743,  vol.  ii.  p.  160. 


Note  R. 

■Jllarosnan's  ecu. — r.  195. 


The  parish  of  Kilmaronock,  at  tb.  eastern  extremity  of  Loch 
Lomond,  derives  its  name  tro-  a  cell  or  chapel,  dedicated  to 
Saint  Maronock,  or  Marnc^k,  or  Maronnan,  abo'it  whose 
sanctity  very  little  is  now  remembered.  There  is  a  fountain 
devoted  to  him  in  the  same  parish  ;  but  its  virtues,  like  th« 
merits  of  it"  patron,  have  fallen  into  oblivion. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


24: 


Note  S. 
•Bracklinn's  thundering  wave. — P.  195. 


This  is  a  beautiful  cascade  made  by  a  mountain  stream 
called  the  Keltie,  at  a  place  called  the  Bridge  of  Bracklinn, 
about  a  mile  from  the  village  of  Calleruler  in  Menteith.  Above 
a  chasm,  where  the  brook  precipitates  itself  from  a  height  of 
at  least  fifty  feet,  there  is  thrown,  for  ihe  convenience  of  the 
neighborhood,  a  rustic  footbridge,  of  about  three  feej  in 
breadth,  and  without  ledges,  which  is  scarcely  to  be  crossed 
by  a  stranger  without  awe  and  apprehension. 


Note  T. 


For  Tine-man  forged  by  fairy  lore. — P.  196. 

Archibald,  the  third  Earl  of  Douglas,  was  so  unfortunate 
in  all  his  enterprises,  that  he  acquired  the  epithet  of  Tin- 
man, because  he  tined,  or  lost,  his  followers  in  every  battle 
which  he  fought.  He  was  vanquished,  as  every  reader  must 
remember,  in  "the  bloody  battle  of  Homildon-hill,  near  Wooler, 
where  he  himself  lost  an  eye,  and  was  made  prisoner  by  Hot- 
spur. He  was  no  less  unfortunate  when  allied  with  Percy, 
being  wounded  and  taken  at  the  battle  of  Shrewsbury.  He 
was  so  unsuccessful  in  an  attempt  to  besiege  Roxburgh  Castle 
that  it  was  called  the  Foal  Raid,  or  disgraceful  expedition. 
His  ill  fortune  left  him  indeed  at  the  battle  of  Beauge  in 
France  ;  but  it  was  only  to  return  with  double  emphasis  at  the 
subsequent  action  of  Vernoil,  the  last  and  most  unlucky  of 
his  encounters,  in  which  he  fell,  with  the  flower  of  the  Scot- 
tish chivalry,  then  serving  as  auxiliaries  in  France,  and  about 
two  thousand  common  soldiers,  a.  d.  1424. 


Note  U. 


Did,  self-unscabbarded.  foreshow 
The  footstep  of  a  secret  foe. — P.  196. 

The  ancient  warriors,  whose  hope  and  confidence  rested 
chiefly  in  their  blades,  were  accustomed  to  deduce  omens 
from  them,  especially  from  sucli  as  were  supposed  to  have 
been  fabricated  by  enchanted  skill,  of  which  we  have  various 
instances  in  the  romances  and  legends  of  the  time.  The  won- 
derful sword  Skofnung,  wielded  by  the  celebrated  Hrolf 
Kraka,  was  of  this  description.  It  was  deposited  in  the  tomb 
of  the  monarch  at  his  death,  and  taken  from  thence  by  Skeg- 
go,  a  celebrated  pirate,  who  bestowed  it  upon  his  son-in-law, 
Korinak,  with  the  following  curious  directions  : — "  '  The  man- 
ner of  using  it  will  appear  strange  to  you.  A  small  bag  is  at- 
tached to  it,  which  take  heed  not  to  violate.  Let  not  the  rays 
of  the  sun  touch  the  upper  part  of  the  handle,  nor  unsheathe 
it,  unless  thou  art  ready  for  battle.  But  when  thou  comest  to 
the  place  of  fight,  go  aside  from  the  rest,  grasp  and  extend  the 
sword,  and  breathe  upon  it.  Then  a  small  worm  will  creep 
out  of  the  handle  ;  lower  the  handle,  that  he  may  more  easily 
return  into  it.'  Kormak,  after  having  received  the  sword,  re- 
turned home  to  his  mother.  He  showed  the  s\yord,  and  at- 
tempted to  draw  it,  as  unnecessarily  as  ineffectually,  for  he 
could  not  pluck  it  out  of  the  sheath.  His  mother,  Dalla,  ex- 
claimed, 'Do  not  despise  the  counsel  given  to  thee,  my  son.' 
Kormak,  however,  repeating  his  efforts,  pressed  down  the  han- 
dle with  his  feet,  and  tore  off*  the  bag,  when  Skofnung  emitted 
a  hollow  groan  :  but  still  he  could  not  unsheathe  the  sword. 
Kormak  then  went  out  with  Bessus,  whom  he  had  challenged 
to  right  with  him,  and  drew  apart  at  the  place  of  combat.  He 
Bat  down  upon  the  ground,  and  ungirdiug  the  sword,  which  he 
bore  above  his  vestments,  did  not  remember  to  shield  the  hilt 
from  the  rays  of  the  sun.  In  vain  he  endeavored  to  draw  it, 
till  he  placed  his  foot  against  the  hilt  ;  then  the  worm  issued 
from  it.     But  Kormak  did  not  rightly  handle  the  weapon,  in 


consequence  whereof  good  fortune  deserted  it.  As  he  un 
sheathed  Skofnung,  it  emitted  a  hollow  murmur." — Bartho* 
lini  de  Causis  Contempts  a  Danis  adhuc  Gentilibus  Mortis, 
Libri  Tres.     Hofnitu,  1689,  4to.  p.  574. 

To  the  history  of  this  sentient  and  prescient  weapon,  I  beg 
leave  to  add,  from  memory,  the  following  legend,  for  which  I 
cannot  produce  any  better  authority.  A  young  nobleman,  of 
high  hopes  and  fortune,  chanced  to  lose  his  way  in  the  towi 
which  he  inhabited,  the  capital,  'f  I  mistake  not,  of  a  Gt  roiaa 
province.  He  had  accidentally  involved  himself  among  the 
narrow  and  winding  streets  of  a  suburb,  inhabited  by  the  low- 
est order  of  the  people,  and  an  approachirf  thunder-shower 
determined  him  to  ask  a  short  refuge  in  the  rr.cst  decent  hab- 
itation that  was  near  him.  He  knocked  at  the  coor,  which 
was  opened  by  a  tall  man,  of  a  grisly  and  ferocious  aspect, 
and  sordid  dress.  The  stranger  was  readily  ushered  to  a  cham- 
ber, where  swords,  scourges,  and  machines,  which  seemed  to 
be  implements  of  torture,  were  suspended  on  the  wall.  One 
of  these  swords  dropped  from  its  scabbard,  as  the  nobleman, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  crossed  the  threshold.  His  host 
immediately  stared  at  him  with  such  a  marked  expression, 
that  the  young  man  could  not  help  demanding  his  name  and 
business,  and  the  meaning  of  his  looking  at  him  so  fixedly. 
"I  am,"  answered  the  man,  "  the  public  executioner  of  this 
city ;  and  the  incident  you  have  observed  is  a  sure  augury 
that  I  shall,  in  discharge  of  my  duty,  one  day  cut  off  your 
head  with  the  weapon  which  has  just  now  spontaneously  un- 
sheathed itself."  The  nobleman  lost  no  time  in  leaving  his 
place  of  refuge  ;  but,  engaging  in  some  of  the  plots  of  the 
period,  was  shortly  after  decapitated  by  that  very  man  and 
instrument. 

Lord  Lovat  is  said,  by  the  author  of  the  Letters  from  Scot- 
land, to  have  affirmed,  that  a  number  of  swords  that  hung  up 
in  the  hall  of  the  mansion-house,  leaped  of  themselves  out  of 
the  scabbard  at  the  instant  he  was  born.  The  story  passed 
current  among  his  clan,  but,  like  that  of  the  story  I  have  just 
quoted,  proved  an  unfortunate  omen. — Letters  from  Scotland 
vol.  ii.  p.  214. 


Note  V. 


Those  thrilling  sounds  that  call  the  might 
Of  old  Clan- Alpine  to  the  fight.— P.  196. 

The  connoisseurs  in  pipe-music  affect  to  discover  in  a  we*ft 
composed  pibroch,  the  imitative  sounds  of  march,  conflict, 
flight,  pursuit,  and  all  the  "current  of  a  heady  fight."  To 
this  opinion  Dr.  Beattie  has  given  his  suffrage,  in  the  following 
elegant  passage  : — "  A  pibroch  is  a  species  of  tune,  peculiar, 
I  think,  to  the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles  of  Scotland.  It 
is  performed  on  a  bagpipe,  and  differs  totally  from  all  other 
music.  Its  rhythm  is  so  irregular,  and  its  notes,  especially  in 
the  quick  movement,  so  mixed  and  huddled  together,  that  a 
stranger  finds  it  impossible  to  reconcile  his  ear  to  it,  so  as  to 
perceive  its  modulation.  Some  of  these  pibrochs,  being  in- 
tended to  represent  a  battle,  begin  with  a  grave  motion  resem- 
bling a  march  ;  then  gradually  quicken  into  the  onset ;  run  off 
with  noisy  confusion,  and  turbulent  rapidity,  to  imitate  the 
conflict  and  pursuit ;  then  swell  into  a  few  flourishes  of  trium- 
phant joy  ;  and  perhaps  close  with  the  wild  and  slow  wa'linga 
of  a  funeral  procession." — Essay  on  Laughter  and  Ludi- 
crous  Composition,  chap.  iii.  Note. 


Note  "W. 

Roderigh  Fich  Alpine  dhu,  ho!  ieroe! — P  197. 

Besides  his  ordinary  name  and  surname,  which  were  chieflj 
used  in  the  intercourse  with  the  Lowlands,  every  Highla»- 


246 


SCOTT'S  POETJOAL  WORKS. 


chief  had  an  epithet  expressive  of  his  patriarchal  dignity  as 
head  of  the  clan,  and  winch  was  common  to  all  his  predeces- 
sors and  successors,  as  Pharaoh  to  the  kings  of  Egypt,  or  Ar- 
saces  to  those  of  Parthia.  This  hkiae  was  usually  a  patro- 
nymic, expressive  of  his  descent  from  the  founder  of  the  family. 
Thus  the  Duke  of  Argyle  is  called  MacCallum  More,  or  the 
son  of  Colin  the  Great.  Sometimes,  however,  it  is  derived 
from  fcfmorial  distinctions,  or  the  memory  of  some  great  feat ; 
thus  Lord  Seaforth,  as  chief  of  the  Mackenzies,  or  Clan-Ken- 
lel,  bears  the  epithet  of  Caber-fae,  or  Buck's  Head,  as  repre- 
sentative of  Colin  Fitzgerald,  founder  of  the  family,  who 
saved  the  Scottish  king  when  endangered  by  a  stag.  But 
besides  this  title,  which  belonged  to  his  office  and  dignity,  the 
chieftain  had  usually  another  peculiar  to  himself,  which  dis- 
tinguished him  from  the  chieftains  of  the  same  race.  This 
was  sometimes  derived  from  complexion,  as  dhu  or  roy ; 
sometimes  from  size,  as  beg  or  more  ;  at  other  times  from  some 
peculiar  exploit,  or  from  some  peculiarity  of  habit  or  appear- 
ance.    The  line  of  the  text  therefore  signifies, 

Black  Roderick,  the  descendant  of  Alpine. 

The  song  itself  is  intended  as  an  imitation  of  the  jorrams, 
or  boat-songs,  of  the  Highlanders,  which  were  usually  com- 
posed in  honor  of  a  favorite  chief.  They  are  so  adapted  as 
to  keep  time  with  the  sweep  of  the  oars,  and  it  is  easy  to  dis- 
tinguish between  those  intended  to  be  sung  to  the  oars  of  a 
galley,  where  the  stroke  is  lengthened  and  doubled,  as  it 
were,  and  those  which  were  timed  to  the  rowers  of  an  ordi- 
nary boat. 


Note  X. 


The  best  of  Loch  Lomond  lie  dead  on  her  side. — P.  197. 

The  Lennox,  as  the  district  is  called,  which  encircles  the 
lower  extremity  of  Loch  Lomond,  was  peculiarly  exposed  to 
the  incursions  of  the  mountaineers,  who  inhabited  the  inac- 
cessible fastnesses  at  the  upper  end  of  the  lake,  and  the  neigh- 
boring district  of  Loch  Katrine.  These  were  often  marked  by 
circumstances  of  great  ferocity,  of  which  the  noted  conflict  of 
Glen-l'ruin  is  a  celebrated  instance.  This  was  a  clan-battle,  in 
which  the  Macgregors,  headed  by  Aliaster  Macgregor,  chief  of 
the  clan,  encountered  the  sept,  of  Colquhouns,  commanded 
by  Sir  Humphry  Colquhoun  of  Luss.  It  is  on  all  hands 
allowed  that  the  action  was  desperately  fought,  and  that  the 
Colquhouns  were  defeated  with  great  slaughter,  leaving  two 
hundred  of  their  name  dead  upon  the  field.  But  popular  tra- 
dition lias  added  other  horrors  to  the  tale.  It  is  said  that  Sir 
Humphry  Colquhoun,  who  was  on  horseback,  escaped  to  the 
castle  of  Benechra,  or  Banochar,  and  was  next  day  dragged 
out  and  murdered  by  the  victorious  Macgregors  in  cold  blood. 
Buchanan  of  Auchmar,  however,  speaks  of  his  slaughter  as  a 
subsequent  event,  and  as  perpetrated  by  the  Macfarlanes. 
Again,  it  is  reported  that  the  Macgregors  murdered  a  number 
of  youths,  whom  report  of  the  intended  battle  had  brought  to 
be  spectators,  and  whom  the  Colquhouis,  anxious  for  their 
safety,  had  shut  up  in  a  barn  to  be  out  of  danger.  One  ac- 
count of  the  Macgregors  denies  this  circumstance  entirely  :  an- 
other ascribes  it  to  the  savage  and  blood-thirsty  disposition  of  a 
single  individual,  the  bastard  brother  of  the  Laird  of  Macgregor, 
who  amused  himself  with  this  second  massacre  of  the  innocents, 
in  express  disobedience  to  their  chief,  by  whom  he  was  left 
their  guardian  during  tiie  pursuit  of  the  Colquhouns.  It  is 
added,  that  Macgregor  bitterly  lamented  this  atrocious  action, 
and  prophesied  the  ruin  which  it  must  bring  upon  their  ancient 
clan.  The  following  account  of  the  conflict,  which  is  indeed 
drawn  up  by  a  friend  of  the  Clan-Gregor,  is  altogether  silent 
on  the  murder  of  the  youths.     "  In  the  spring  of  the  year  1602,    j 


there  happened  great  dissensions  and  troubles  between  the  laird 
of  Luss,  chief  of  the  Colquhouns,  and  Alexander,  laird  of  Mao? 
gregor.  The  original  of  these  quarrels  proceeded  from  injuries 
and  provocations  mutually  given  anil  received,  not  long  before. 
Macgregor,  however,  wanting  to  have  them  ended  in  friendly 
conferences,  marched  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  of  his  clan 
to  Leven,  which  borders  on  Luss,  his  country,  with  a  view  of 
settling  matters  by  the  mediation  of  friends  :  but  Luss  had  no 
suci»  intentions,  and  projected  his  measures  with  a  different 
view  ;  for  he  privately  drew  together  a  body  of  300  horse  and  500 
foot,  composed  partly  of  his  own  clan  and  their  followers,  and 
partly  of  the  Buchanans,  his  neighbors,  and  resolved  to  cut  off 
Macgregor  and  his  party  to  a  man,  in  case  the  issue  of  the  con- 
ference did  not  answer  his  inclination.  But  matters  fell  other- 
wise than  he  expected  ;  and  though  Macgregor  had  previous 
information  of  his  insidious  design,  yet  dissembling  his  resent- 
ment, he  kept  the  appointment,  and  parted  good  friends  in 
appearance. 

"  No  sooner  was  he  gone,  than  Luss,  thinking  to  surprise 
him  and  his  party  in  full  security,  and  without  any  dread  or 
apprehension  of  his  treachery,  followed  with  a}l  speed,  and 
came  up  with  him  at  a  place  called  Glenfroon.  Macgregor, 
upon  the  alarm,  divided  his  men  into  two  parties,  the  great- 
est part  whereof  he  commanded  himself,  and  the  other  he 
committed  to  the  care  of  his  brother  John,  who,  by  his  or- 
ders, led  them  about  another  way,  and  attacked  the  Colqu- 
houns in  flank.  Here  it  was  fought  with  great  bravery  on 
both  sides  for  a  considerable  time  ;  and,  notwithstanding  the 
vast  disproportion  of  numbers,  Macgregor,  in  the  end,  ob- 
tained an  absolute  victory.  So  great  was  the  rout,  that  200  of 
the  Colquhouns  were  left  dead  upon  the  spot,  most  of  the 
leading  men  were  killed,  and  a  multitude  of  prisoners  taken. 
But  what  seemed  most  surprising  and  incredible  in  this  defeat, 
was,  that  none  of  the  Macgregors  were  missing,  except  John, 
the  laird's  brother,  and  one  common  fellow,  though  indeed 
many  of  them  wee  wounded." — Professor  Ross's  History  of 
the  family  of  Sutherland,  1631. 

The  consequences  of  the  battle  of  Glen-fruin  were  very 
calamitous  to  the  family  of  Macgregor,  who  had  already  been 
considered  as  an  unruly  clan.  The  widows  of  the  slain  Col- 
quhouns, sixty,  it  is  said,  in  number,  appeared  in  doleful  pro- 
cession before  the  King  at  Stirling,  each  riding  upon  a  white 
palfrey,  and  bearing  in  her  hand  the  bloody  shirt  of  her  hus- 
band displayed  upon  a  pike.  James  VI.  was  so  much  moved 
by  the  complaints  of  this  "  choir  of  mourning  dames,"  that 
he  let  loose  his  vengeance  against  the  Macgregors,  vvithoul 
either  bounds  or  moderation.  The  very  name  of  the  clan 
was  proscribed,  and  those  by  whom  it  had  been  borne  wert 
given  up  to  sword  and  fire,  and  absolutely  hunted  down  bj 
bloodhounds  like  wild  beasts.  Argyle  and  the  Campbells,  on 
the  one  hand,  Montrose,  with  the  Grahames  and  Buchanans, 
on  the  other,  are  said  to  have  been  the  chief  instruments  in 
suppressing  this  devoted  clan.  The  Laird  of  Macgregor  sur- 
rendered to  the  former,  on  condition  that  he  would  take  him 
out  of  Scottish  ground.  But,  to  use  Bin-all's  expression,  he 
kept  "  a  Highlandman's  promise  ;"  and,  although  he  fulfilled 
his  word  to  the  letter,  by  carrying  him  as  far  as  Berwick,  he 
afterwards  brought  him  back  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  war. 
executed  with  eighteen  of  his  clan." — Birrel's  Diary,  2d 
Oct.  1603.  The  Clan-Gregor  being  thus  driven  to  utter  de- 
spair, seem  to  have  renounced  the  laws  from  the  benefit  of 
which  they  were  excluded,  and  their  depredations  produced 
new  acts  of  council,  confirming  the  severity  of  their  proscrip- 
tion, which  had  only  the  effect  of  rendering  them  still  more 
united  and  desperate.  It  is  a  most  extraordinary  proof  of 
the  ardent  and  invincible  spirit  of  clanship,  that,  notwith- 
standing the  repeated  proscriptions  providently  ordained  by 
the  legislature,  "  for  the  timeous  preventing  the  disorders 
and  oppression  that  may  fall  out  by  the  said  name  and  clap 
of  Macgregors,  and  their  followers,"  they  were  in  1715  and 
17 15  a  potent  clan,  and  continue  to  subsist  as  a  distinct  and 
numerous  race. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


247 


Note  Y. 

The  King's  vindictive  pride 

Boasts  to  have  tamed  the  Border-side. — P.  199. 

In  1529,  James  V.  made  a  convention  at  Edinburgh  for  the 
purpose  of  considering  the  best  mode  of  quelling  the  Border 
robbers,  who,  during  the  license  of  his  minority,  and  the 
troubles  which  followed,  had  committed  many  exorbitances. 
Accordingly,  he  assembled  a  flying  army  of  ten  thousand 
men,  consisting  of  his  principal  nobility  and  their  followers, 
who  were  directed  to  bring  their  hawks  and  dogs  with  them, 
that  the  monarch  might  refresh  himself  with  sport  during  the 
intervals  of  military  execution.  With  this  array  he  swept 
through  Ettrick  Forest,  where  he  hanged  over  the  gate  of  his 
own  castle,  Piers  Cockburn  of  Henderland,  who  had  prepared, 
according  to  tradition,  a  feast  for  his  reception.  He  caused 
Adam  Scott  of  Tushielaw  also  to  be  executed,  who  was  dis- 
tinguished by  the  title  of  King  of  the  Border.  But  the  most 
noted  victim  of  justice,  during  that  expedition,  was  John 
Armstrong  of  Gilnockie,1  famous  in  .Scottish  song,  who,  con- 
fiding in  his  own  supposed  innocence,  met  the  King,  with  a 
retinue  of  thirty-six  persons,  all  of  whom  were  hanged  at 
Oarleurig,  near  the  source  of  the  Teviot.  The  efi'ect  of  this 
seventy  was  sucii,  that,  as  the  vulgar  expressed  it,  "  the  rush- 
bush  kept  the  cow,"  and,  "thereafter  was  great  peace  and 
rest  a  long  time,  wherethrough  the  King  had  great  profit ;  for 
he  had  ten  thousand  sheep  going  in  the  Ettrick  Forest  in 
keepiug  by  Andrew  Bell,  who  made  the  King  as  good  count 
of  them  as  they,  had  goue  in  the  bounds  of  Fife." — Pis  cot-- 
Tin's  History ,  p.  153. 


Note  Z. 


What  grace  for  Highland  Chiefs,  judge  ye 
By  fate  of  Border  chivalry— P.  199. 

James  was  in  fact  equally  attentive  to  restrain  rapine  and 
feudal  oppression  in  every  part  of  his  dominions.  "  The  king 
past  to  the  Isles,  and  there  held  justice  courts,  and  punished 
both  thief  and  traitor  according  to  their  demerit.  And  also  he 
caused  great  men  to  show  their  holdings,  wherethrough  he 
found  many  of  the  said  lands  in  non-entry  ;  the  which  he  con- 
fiscate and  brought  home  to  Ins  own  use,  and  afterwards  an- 
nexed them  to  the  crown,  as  ye  shall  hear.  Syne  brought 
many  of  the  great  men  of  the  Isles  captive  with  him,  such  as 
Mudyart,  M'Connel,  M'Loyd  of  the  Lewes,  M'Neil,  M'JLane, 
M'lntosh,  John  Mudyart,  M'Kay,  M'Kenzie,  with  many  other 
that  I  cannot  rehearse  at  this  time.  Some  of  them  he  put  in 
ward  and  some  in  court,  and  some  he  took  pledges  for  good 
rule  in  time  coming.  So  he  brought  the  Isles,  both  north  and 
south,  in  good  rule  and  peace  ;  wherefore  he  had  great  profit, 
service,  and  obedience  of  people  a  long  time  thereafter ;  and 
as  long  as  he  had  the  heads  of  the  country  in  subjection,  they 
lived  in  great  peace  and  rest,  and  there  was  great  riches  and 
policy  by  the  King's  justice." — Pitscottie,  p.  152. 


Note  2  A. 


Rest  safe  till  morning ;  pity  'twere 

Such  cheek  should  feel  the  midnight  air. — P.  201. 

Hardihood  was  in  every  respect  so  essential  to  the  charac- 
ter of  a  Highlander,  that  the  reproach  of  effeminacy  was  the 
most  Lilter  which  could  be  thrown  upon  him.  Yet  it  was 
K»inet.ir.es  hazarded  on  what  we  might  presume  to  think 
light  grounds.     It  is  reported  of  Old  Sir  Ewen  Cameron  of 

I  See  Border  Minshalsy, vol.  i.  p.  392. 


Lochiel,  when  upwards  of  seventy,  that  he  was  surprised  by 
night  on  a  hunting  or  military  expedition.  He  wrapped  him 
in  ids  plaid,  and  lay  contentedly  down  upon  the  snow,  with 
which  the  ground  happened  to  be  covered.  Among  his 
attendants,  who  were  preparing  to  take  their  rest  in  the  same 
manner,  he  observed  that  one  of  his  grandsons,  for  his  better 
accommodation,  had  rolled  a  large  snow-ball,  and  placed  it 
below  his  head.  The  wrath  of  the  ancient  chief  was  awakened 
by  a  symptom  of  what  he  conceived  to  be  degenerate  luxury. 
— "  Out  upon  thee,"  said  he,  kicking  the  frozen  bolster  from 
the  head  which  it  supported  ;  "  art  thou  so  effeminate  as  to 
need  a  pillow  ?"  The  officer  of  engineers,  whose  curious  let- 
ters from  the  Highlands  have  been  more  than  once  quoted, 
tells  a  similar  story  of  Macdonald  of  Keppoch,  ai>d  subjoins 
the  following  remarks: — "This  and  many  other  stories  are 
romantic  ;  but  there  is  one  thing,  that  at  first  thought  might 
seem  very  romantic,  of  which  I  have  been  credibly  assured, 
that  when  the  Highlanders  are  constrained  to  lie  among  the 
hills,  in  cold  dry  windy  weather,  they  sometimes  soak  the 
plaid  in  some  river  or  burn  (i.  e.  brook),  and  then,  holding  up 
a  corner  of  it  a  little  above  their  heads,  they  turn  themselves 
round  and  round,  till  they  are  enveloped  by  the  whole  man- 
tle. They  then  lay  themselves  down  on  the  heath,  upon  the 
leeward  side  of  some  hill,  where  the  wet  and  the  warmth  of 
their  bodies  make  a  steam  like  that  of  a  boiling  kettle.  The 
wet,  they  say,  keeps  them  warm  by  thickening  the  stuff,  and 
keeping  the  wind  from  penetrating.  I  must  confess  I  should 
have  been  apt  to  question  this  fact,  had  I  not  frequently  seen 
them  wet  from  morning  to  night,  and  even  at  the  beginning 
of  the  rain,  not  so  much  as  stir  a  few  yards  to  shelter,  but 
continue  in  it  without  necessity,  till  they  were,  as  we  say,  wet 
through  and  through.  And  that  is  soon  effected  by  the  loose- 
ness and  sponginess  of  the  plaiding  ;  but  the  bonnet  is  fre- 
quently taken  off  and  wrung  like  a  dish-clout,  and  then  put 
on  again.  They  have  been  accustomed  from  their  infancy  to 
be  often  wet,  and  to  take  the  water  like  spaniels,  and  this  is 
become  a  second  nature,  and  can  scarcely  be  called  a  hardship 
to  them,  insomuch  that  I  used  to  say,  they  seemed  to  be  of 
the  duck  kind,  and  to  love  water  as  well.  Though  I  never 
saw  this  preparation  for  sleep  in  windy  weather,  yet,  setting 
out  early  in  a  morning  from  one  of  the  huts,  I  have  seen  the 
marks  of  their  lodging,  where  the  ground  has  been  free  froui 
rime  or  snow,  which  remained  all  round  the  spot  where  they 
had  lain." — Letters  from  Scotland,  Loud.  1754,  8vo  ii. 
p.  108. 


Note  2  B. 


his  henchman  came. — P.  201. 


"  This  officer  is  a  sort  of  secretary,  and  is  to  be  ready,  upon 
all  occasions,  to  venture  his  life  in  defence  of  his  master ;  and 
at  drinking-bouts  he  stands  behind  his  seat,  at  his  haunch, 
from  whence  his  title  is  derived,  and  watches  the  conversa- 
tion, to  see  if  any  one  offends  his  patron.  An  English  officer 
being  in  company  with  a  certain  chieftain,  and  several  ather 
Highland  gentlemen,  near  Killichumen,  had  an  argument  with 
the  great  man ;  and  both  being  well  warmed  with  usky,2  at 
last  the  dispute  grew  very  hot.  A  youth  who  was  henchman, 
not  understanding  one  word  of  English,  imagined  his  chief  was 
insulted,  and  thereupon  drew  his  pistol  from  his  side,  and 
snapped  it  at  the  officer's  head  :  but  the  pistol  missed  fire, 
otherwise  it  is  more  than  probable  he  might  have  suffered  death 
from  the  hand  of  that  little  vermin.  But  it  is  very  disagree- 
able to  an  Englishman  over  a  bottle,  with  the  Highlanders,  to 
see  every  one  of  them  have  his  gilly,  that  is,  his  servant,  stand- 
ing behind  him  all  the  white,  let  what  will  be  the  subject  o 
conversation." — Letters  from  Scotland,  ii.  159. 

a  Whiskv. 





248 


feCvJii.b  JPOJUICAL    WORKS. 


Note  2  C. 

And  while  the  Fiery  Cross  glanced,  like  a  meteor,  round. — 
P.  202. 

When  a  chieftain  desired  to  summon  his  clan,  upon  any 
sudden  or  important  emergency,  he  slew  a  goat,  and  making 
a  cross  of  any  light  wood,  seared  its  extremities  in  the  fire, 
and  extinguished  them  in  the  blood  of  the  animal.  This  was 
called  the  Fiery  Cross,  also  Crean  Tarigh,  or  the  Cross  of 
Shame,  because  disobedience  to  what  the  symbol  implied,  in- 
ferred infamy.  It  was  delivered  to  a  swift  and  trusty  messen- 
ger, who  ran  full  speed  with  it  to  the  next  hamlet,  where  he 
presented  it  to  the  principal  person,  with  a  single  word,  imply- 
ing the  place  of  rendezvous.  He  who  received  the  symbol 
was  bound  to  send  it  forward,  with  equal  dispatch,  to  the 
text  village  ;  and  thus  it  passed  with  incredible  celerity  through 
all  the  district  which  owed  allegiance  to  the  chief,  and  also 
among  his  allies  and  neighbors,  if  the  danger  was  common  to 
them.  At  sight  of  the  Fiery  Cross,  every  man,  from  sixteen 
years  old  to  sixty,  capable  of  bearing  arms,  was  obliged  in- 
stantly to  repair,  in  his  best  arms  and  accoutrements,  to  the 
place  of  rendezvous.  He  who  failed  to  appear  suffered  the 
extremities  of  fire  and  sword,  which  were  emblematically  de- 
nounced to  the  disobedient  by  the  bloody  and  burnt  marks 
upon  this  warlike  signal.  During  the  civil  war  of  1745-6,  the 
Fiery  Cross  often  made  its  circuit ;  and  upon  one  occasion  it 
passed  through  the  whole  district  of  Breadalbane,  a  tract  of 
thirty-two  miles,  in  three  hours.  The  late  Alexander  Stewart, 
Esq.,  of  Invernahyle,  described  to  me  his  having  sent  round 
the  Fiery  Cross  through  the  district  of  Appine,  during  the  same 
commotion.  The  coast  was  threatened  by  a  descent  from  two 
English  frigates,  and  the  flower  of  the  young  men  were  with 
the  army  of  Prince  Charles  Edward,  then  in  England  ;  yet  the 
summons  was  so  effectual,  that  even  old  age  and  childhood 
obeyed  it ;  and  a  force  was  collected  in  a  few  hours,  so  numer- 
ous and  so  enthusiastic,  that  all  attempt  at  the  intended  diver- 
sion upon  the  country  of  the  absent  warriors  was  in  prudence 
abandoned,  as  desperate. 

This  practice,  like  some  others,  is  common  to  the  Highland- 
ers with  the  ancient  Scandinavians,  as  will  appear  by  the  fol- 
lowing extract  from  Olaus  Magnus  : — 

"  When  the  enemy  is  upon  the  sea-coast,  or  within  the 
limits  of  northern  kingdomes,  then  presently,  by  the  command 
of  the  principal  governours,  with  the  counsel  and  consent  of 
the  old  soldiers,  who  are  notably  skilled  in  such  like  business, 
a  staff  of  three  hands  length,  in  the  common  sight  of  them 
all,  is  carried,  by  the  speedy  running  of  some  active  young 
man,  unto  that  village  or  city,  with  this  command, — that  on 
the  third,  fourth,  or  eighth  day,  one,  two,  or  three,  or  else 
every  man  in  particular,  from  fifteen  years  old,  shall  come 
with  his  arms,  and  expenses  for  ten  or  twenty  days,  upon 
pain  that  his  or  their  houses  shall  be  burnt  (which  is  intimated 
by  the  burning  'if  the  staff),  or  else  the  master  to  be  hanged 
(which  is  signif  *1  by  the  cord  tied  to  it),  to  appear  speedily  on 
such  a  bank,  oi  field,  or  valley,  to  hear  the  cause  he  is  called, 
and  to  hear  orders  from  the  said  provincial  governours  what 
he  shall  do.  Wherefore  that  messenger,  swifter  than  any 
post  or  waggon,  having  done  his  commission,  comes  slowly 
back  again,  bringing  a  token  with  him  that  he  hath  done  all 
legally,  and  every  moment  one  or  another  runs  to  every  village, 
and  lells  those  places  what  they  must  do."  ....  "The 
messengers,  therefore,  of  the  footmen,  that  are  to  give  warning 
to  the  people  to  meet  for  the  battail,  run  fiercely  and  swiftly  ; 
for  no  snow,  no  rain,  nor  heat  can  stop  them,  nor  night  hold 
them ;  but  they  will  soon  run  the  race  they  undertake.  The 
first  messenger  tells  it  to  the  next  village,  and  that  to  the 
next;  and  so  tins  hubbub  runs  all  over  till  they  all  know  it 


1  The  Monition  against  the  Robbers  of  Tynedale  and  Redesdale,  with 
Which  I  was  favored  by  my  friend,  Mr.  Surtees,  of  Mainsforth,  may  be 


in  that  stift  or  territory,  where,  when,  and  wherefore  they  must 
meet."— Olaus  Maonus'  History  of  the  Goths,  Englishet 
by  J.  S.,  Lond.  1658,  book  It.  chap.  3,  4. 


Note  2  D. 


That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face. — P   203. 

The  state  of  religion  in  the  middle  ages  afforded  considerabl 
facilities  for  those  whose  mode  of  life  excluded  them  from 
regular  worship,  to  secure,  nevertheless,  the  ghostly  assistance 
of  confessors,  perfectly  willing  to  adapt  the  nature  of  their 
doctrine  to  the  necessities  and  peculiar  circumstances  of  their 
flock.  Robin  Hood,  it  is  well  known,  had  his  celebrated  do- 
mestic chaplain,  Friar  Tuck.  And  that  same  curtal  friar  was 
probably  matched  in  manners  and  appearance  by  the  ghostly 
fathers  of  the  Tynedale  robbers,  who  are  thus  described  in  an 
excommunication  fulminated  against  their  patrons  by  Richard 
Fox,  Bishop  of  Durham,  tempore  Henrici  VIII.  "We  have 
further  understood,  that  there  are  many  chaplains  in  the  said 
territories  of  Tynedale  and  Redesdale,  who  are  public  and  open 
maintainers  of  concubinage,  irregular,  suspended,  excommuni- 
cated, and  interdicted  persons,  and  withal  so  utterly  ignorant  of 
letters,  that  it  has  been  found  by  those  who  objected  this  to 
them,  that,  there  were  some  who,  having  celebrated  mass  for 
ten  years,  were  still  unable  to  read  the  sacramental  service. 
We  have  also  understood  there  are  persons  among  them  who, 
although  not  ordained,  do  take  upon  them  tiie  offices  of  priest- 
hood ;  and,  in  contempt  of  God,  celebrate  the  divine  and  sa- 
cred rites,  and  administer  the  sacraments,  not  only  in  sacred 
and  dedicated  places,  but  in  those  which  are  profane  and  in* 
terdicted,  and  most  wretchedly  ruinous  ;  they  themselves  being 
attired  in  ragged,  torn,  and  most  filthy  vestments,  altogether 
unfit  to  be  used  in  divine,  or  even  in  temporal  offices.  The 
which  said  chaplains  do  administer  sacraments  and  sacramental 
rights  to  the  aforesaid  manifest  and  infamous  thieves,  robbers, 
depredators,  receivers  of  stolen  goods,  and  plunderers,  and  that 
without  restitution,  or  intention  to  restore,  as  evinced  by  the 
act ;  and  do  also  openly  admit  them  to  the  rites  of  ecclesiasti- 
cal sepulchre,  without  exacting  security  for  restitution,  al- 
though they  are  prohibited  from  doing  so  by  the  sacred  canons, 
as  well  as  by  the  institutes  of  the  saints  and  fathers.  All 
which  infers  the  heavy  peril  of  their  own  souls,  and  is  a  per- 
nicious example  to  the  other  believers  in  Christ,  as  well  as  no 
slight,  but  an  aggravated  injury,  to  the  numbers  despoiled  and 
plundered  of  their  goods,  gear,  herds,  and  chattels. "1 

To  this  lively  anti  picturesque  description  of  the  confessors 
and  churchmen  of  predatory  tribes,  there  may  be  added  some 
curious  particulars  respecting  the  priests  attached  to  the  seve- 
ral septs  of  native  Irish,  during  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 
These  friars  had  indeed  to  plead,  that  the  incursions,  which 
they  not  only  pardoned,  but  even  encouraged,  were  made  upon 
those  hostile  to  them,  as  well  in  religion  as  from  national  an- 
tipathy ;  but  by  Protestant  writers  they  are  uniformly  al'cged 
to  be  the  chief  instruments  of  Irish  insurrection,  the  very  well- 
spring  of  all  rebellion  towards  the  English  government.  Lith- 
gow,  the  Scottish  traveller,  declares  the  Irish  wood-kerne,  01 
predatory  tribes,  to  be  but  the  hounds  of  their  hunting  priests, 
who  directed  their  incursions  by  their  pleasure,  partly  for  sus- 
tenance, partly  to  gratify  animosity,  partly  to  foment  general 
division,  and  always  for  the  better  security  and  easier  domina- 
tion of  the  friars.2  Derrick,  the  liveliness  and  minuteness  of 
whose  descriptions  may  frequently  apologize  for  his  doggere1 
verses,  after  describing  an  Irish  feast,  and  the  encouragement 
given,  by  the  songs  of  the  bards,  to  its  termination  in  an  incur- 
sion  upon  the  parts  of  the  country   more  immediately  unde* 

found  in  the  original  Latin,  in  the  Appendix  to  the  Introduction  to  m< 
Border  Minstrelsy,  No.  VII.  vol.  i.  p.  274. 
2  Lithgow's  Travels,  first  edition,  p.  431. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


249 


the  dominion  of  the  English,  records  the  no  less  powerful  argu- 
lenta  used  by  the  friar  to  excite  their  animosity  : — 

'  And  more  t'  augment  the  flame, 

and  rancour  of  their  harte, 
The  frier,  of  his  counsells  vile, 

to  rebelles  doth  imparte, 
Affirming  that  it  is 

an  almose  deede  to  God, 
To  make  the  English  subjectes  taste 

the  Irish  rebells'  rodde. 
To  spoile,  to  kill,  to  burne 

this  frier's  counsell  is  ; 
And  for  the  doing  of  the  same, 

he  warrantes  heavenlie  blisse. 
He  tells  a  holie  tale  ; 

the  white  he  tournes  to  black  ; 
And  through  the  pardons  in  his  male, 

he  workes  a  knavishe  knacke." 

The  wreckful  invasion  of  a  part  of  the  English  pale  is  then 
described  with  some  spirit ;  the  burning  of  houses,  driving  off 
cattle,  and  all  pertaining  to  such  predatory  inroads,  are  illus- 
trated by  a  rude  cut.  The  defeat  of  the  Irish,  by  a  party  of 
English  soldiers  from  the  next  garrison,  is  then  commemorated, 
and  in  like  manner  adorned  with  an  engraving,  in  which  the 
frier  is  exhibited  mourning  over  the  slain  chieftain  ;  or,  as  the 
rubric  expresses  it, 

"The  frier  then,  that  treacherous  knave  ;  with  ough  ough- 

hone  lament, 
To  see  his  cousin  Devill's-son  to  have  so  foul  event." 

The  matter  is  handled  at  great  length  in  the  text,  of  which 
me  following  verses  are  more  than  sufficient  sample  : 

•  The  frier  seyng  this, 

laments  that  lucklesse  parte, 
And  curseth  to  the  pitte  of  hell 

the  death  man's  sturdie  hearte  ; 
Yet  for  to  quight  them  with 

the  frier  taketh  paine, 
For  all  the  synnes  that  ere  he  did 

remission  to  obtaine. 
And  therefore  serves  his  booke, 

the  candell  and  the  bell ; 
But  thinke  you  that  such  apishe  toies 

bring  damned  souls  from  hell  ? 
It  'longs  not  to  my  parte 

infernall  things  to  knowe  ; 
But  I  beleve  till  later  daie, 

thei  rise  not  from  belowe 
Yet  hope  that  friers  give 

to  this  rebellious  rout, 
If  that  their  souls  should  chaunce  in  hell, 

to  bring  them  quicklie  out, 
Doeth  make  them  leau  suche  lives, 

as  neither  God  nor  man, 
Without  revenge  for  their  desartes, 

permitte  or  suffer  can. 
Thus  friers  are  the  cause, 

the  fountain,  and  the  spring, 
Of  hurleburles  in  this  lande, 

of  eche  unhappie  thing. 
Thei  cause  them  to  rebell 

against  their  soveraigne  quene, 
And  through  rebellion  often  tymes, 

their  lives  do  vanish  clene. 
So  as  by  friers  meanes, 


in  whom  all  follie  swimme, 
The  Irishe  karne  doe  often  lose 
the  life,  with  hedde  and  limrae."1 

As  the  Irish  tribes,  and  those  of  the  Scottish  Highlands, 
are  much  more  intimately  allied,  by  language,  manners,  dress, 
and  customs,  than  the  antiquaries  of  either  country  hare  been 
willing  to  admit,  I  flatter  myself  I  have  here  produced  a  stroruj 
warrant  for  the  character  sketched  in  the  text.  The  following 
picture,  though  of  a  different  kind,  serves  to  establish  the  ex- 
istence of  ascetic  religionists,  to  a  comparatively  late  period  in 
the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
simplicity  in  the  description,  for  which,  as  for  much  similar  in- 
formation, I  am  obliged  to  Dr.  John  Martin,  who  visited  the 
Hebrides  at  the  suggestion  of  Sir  Robert  Sibbald,  a  Scottish 
antiquarian  of  eminence,  and  early  in  the  eighteenth  century 
published  a  description  of  them,  which  procured  him  admission 
into  the  royal  society.  He  died  in  London  about  1719.  His 
work  is  a  strange  mixture  of  learning,  observation,  and  gross 
credulity. 

"  I  remember,"  says  this  author,  "  I  have  seen  an  old  lay- 
capuchin  here  (in  the  island  of  Benbecula),  called  in  their  lan- 
guage Brahir-bocht,  that  is,  Poor  Brother  ;  which  is  literally 
true  ;  for  he  answers  this  character,  having  nothing  but  what 
is  given  him  ;  he  holds  himself  fully  satisfied  with  food  and 
rayment,  and  lives  in  as  great  simplicity  as  any  of  his  order ; 
his  diet  is  very  mean,  and  he  drinks  only  fair  water  ;  his  habit 
is  no  less  mortifying  than  that  of  his  brethren  elsewhere  :  he 
wears  a  short  coat,  which  comes  no  farther  than  his  middle, 
with  narrow  sleeves  like  a  waistcoat :  he  wears  a  plad  above 
it,  girt  about  the  middle,  which  reaches  to  his  knee  :  the  plad 
is  fastened  on  his  breast  with  a  wooden  pin,  his  neck  bare,  and 
his  feet  often  so  too :  he  wears  a  hat  for  ornament,  and  the 
string  about  it  is  a  bit  of  a  fisher's  line,  made  of  horse-hair 
This  plad  he  wears  instead  of  a  gown  worn  by  those  of  his  or- 
der in  other  countries.  I  told  him  he  wanted  the  flaxen  girdle 
that  men  of  his  order  usually  wear :  he  answered  me,  that  he 
wore  a  leathern  one,  which  was  the  same  thing.  Upon  the 
matter,  if  he  is  spoke  to  when  at  meat,  he  answers  again  ; 
which  is  contrary  to  the  custom  of  his  order.  This  poor  man 
frequently  diverts  himself  with  angling  of  trouts  ;  he  lies  upon 
straw,  and  has  no  bell  (as  others  have)  to  call  him  to  his  devo- 
tions, but  only  his  conscience,  as  he  told  me." — Martin's 
Description  of  the  Western  Highlands,  p.  82. 


Note  2  E. 

Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told. — P.  203. 

The  legend  which  follows  is  not  of  the  author's  invention. 
It  is  possible  he  may  differ  from  modern  critics,  in  supposing 
that  the  records  of  human  superstition,  if  peculiar  to,  and  char- 
acteristic of,  the  country  in  which  the  scene  is  laid,  are  a  legit- 
imate subject  of  poetry.  He  gives,  however,  a  ready  assent  to 
the  narrower  proposition  which  condemns  all  attempts  of  an 
irregular  and  disordered  fancy  to  excite  terror,  by  accumulating 
a  train  of  fantastic  and  incoherent  horrors,  whether  borrowed 
from  all  countries,  and  patched  upon  a  narrative  belonging  to 
one  which  knew  them  not,  or  derived  from  the  author's  own 
imagination.  In  the  present  case,  therefore,  I  appeal  to  the 
record  which  I  have  transcribed,  with  the  variation  of  a  very 
few  words,  from  the  geographical  collections  made  by  the 
Laird  of  Macfarlane.  I  know  not  whether  it  be  necessary  t* 
remark,  that  the  miscellaneous  concourse  of  youths  and  maid 
ens  on  the  night  and  on  the  spot  where  the  miracle  is  said  to 
have  taken  place,  might,  even  in  a  credulous  age,  have  some- 
what diminished  the  wonder  which  accompanied  the  concep- 
tion of  Gilli-Doir-Magrevollich. 


1  This  curious  picture  of  Ireland  was  inserted  by  the  author  in  the  re-       inserted,  from  the  only  impressions  known  to  exist,  belonging  to  the  copy 
imblication  of  Somers'  Tracts,  vol.  i.,  in  which  the  plates  have  been  also       in  the  Advocates'  Library.    See  Somers'  Tracts,  vol.  i.  pp.  591,  6M. 
32 


!50 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  There  is  bot,  two  myles  from  Inverloghie,  the  church  of 
Kilmalee,  inLochyeld.  In  aneiottymes  there  was  anechurcli 
builded  upon  ane  hill,  wliich  was  above  this  church,  which 
doet.h  now  stand  in  this  toune  ;  and  ancient  men  doeth  say, 
that  there  was  a  battell  foughtenon  ane  litle  hill  not  the  tenth 
part  of  a  myle  from  this  church,  be  certaine  men  which  they 
did  not  know  what  they  were.  And  long  tyme  thereafter, 
certaine  herds  of  that  toune,  and  of  the  next  toune,  called  Un- 
latt,  both  wenches  and  youthes,  did  on  a  tyme  conveen  with 
oliers  on  that  hill;  and  the  day  being  somewhat  cold,  did 
gather  the  bones  of  the  dead  men  that  were  slayne  long  tyme 
before  in  that  place,  and  did  make  a  fire  to  warm  them.  At 
last  they  did  all  remove  from  the  fire,  except  one  maid  or 
wench,  which  was  verie  cold,  and  she  did  remaine  there  for  a 
space.  She  being  quyetlie  her  alone,  without  anie  other  com- 
pauie,  took  up  her  cloaths  above  her  knees,  or  thereby,  to 
warm  her  ;  a  wind  did  come  and  caste  the  ashes  upon  her,  and 
she  was  conceived  of  ane  man-ehyld.  Severall  tymes  there- 
after she  was  verie  sick,  and  at  last  she  was  kuowne  to  be  with 
chyld.  And  then  her  parents  did  ask  at  her  the  matter  heiroff, 
which  the  wench  could  not  weel  answer  which  way  to  satisfie 
them.  At  last  she  resolved  them  with  ane  answer.  As  for- 
tune fell  upon  her  concerning  this  marvellous  miracle,  the 
chyld  being  borne,  his  name  was  called  Oi/i-doir  Maghrevol- 
lich,  that  is  to  say,  the  Black  Child,  Son  to  the  Bones.  So 
called,  his  grandfather  sent  him  to  school,  and  so  he  was  a 
good  schollar,  and  godlie.  He  did  build  this  church  wliich 
doeth  now  stand  in  Lochyeld,  called  Kiluialie." — Macfar- 
lane,  ut  supra,  ii.  188. 


Note  2  F. 


Yet  ne'er  again  to  braid  her  hair 

The  virgin  snood  did  Mice  wear. — P.  203. 

The  snood,  or  riband,  with  which  a  Scottish  lass  braided 
her  hair,  had  an  emblematical  signification,  and  applied  to  her 
maiden  character.  It  was  exchanged  for  the  curch,  toy,  or 
coif,  when  she  passed,  by  marriage,  into  the  matron  state. 
But  if  the  damsel  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  lose  pretensions  to 
the  name  of  maiden,  without  gaining  a  right  to  that  of  mat- 
ron, she  was  neither  permitted  to  use  the  snood,  nor  advanced 
to  the  graver  dignity  of  the  curch.  In  old  Scottish  songs  there 
occur  many  sly  allusions  to  such  misfortune ;  as  in  the  old 
words  to  the  popular  tune  of  "  Ower  the  muir  amang  the 
heather  :" 

'  Down  amang  the  broom,  the  broom, 
Down  amang  the  broom,  my  dearie, 
The  lassie  lost  her  silken  snood, 

That  gard  her  greet  till  she  was  wearie. ' ' 


Note  2  G. 


The  desert  gave  him  visions  wild, 

Such  as  might  suit  the  spectre's  child. — P.  204. 

fn  adopting  the  legend  concerning  the  birth  of  the  Founder 
of  the  Church  of  Kilmalie,  the  author  has  endeavored  to  trace 
the  effects  which  such  a  belief  was  likely  to  produce,  in  a  bar- 
barous age,  on  the  person  to  whom  it  related.  It  seems  likely 
that  he  must,  have  become  a  fanatic  or  an  impostor,  or  that 
mixture  of  both  which  forms  a  more  frequent,  character  than 
either  of  them,  as  existing  separately.  In  truth,  mad  persons 
are  frequently  more  anxious  to  impress  upon  others  a  faith  in 
thoir  visions,  than  they  are  themselves  confirmed  in  their  real- 
ity ;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  difficult  for  the  most  cool- 
headed  impostor  long  to  personate  an  enthusiast,  without  in 
some  degree  believing  what  he  is  so  eager  to  have  believed. 
tt  was  a  natural  attribute  of  such  a  character  as  the  supposed 


hermit,  that  he  should  credit  the  numerous  superstitions  with 
which  the  minds  of  ordinary  Highlanders  are  almost  always 
imbued.  A  few  of  these  are  slightly  alluded  to  in  this  stanza.  . 
The  River  Demon,  or  River-horse,  for  it  is  that  form  which  lis 
commonly  assumes,  is  the  Kelpy  of  the  Lowlands,  an  evil  and 
malicious  spirit,  delighting  to  forebode  and  to  witness  calamity. 
He  frequents  most  Highland  lakes  and  rivers;  and  one  of  his 
most  memorable  exploits  was  performed  upon  the  banks  oi 
Loch  Vennachar,  in  the  very  district  which  forms  the  scene 
of  our  action  :  it  consisted  in  the  destruction  of  a  funeral  pro- 
cession with  all  its  attendants.  The  "noontide  hag,"  called 
in  Gaelic  Olas-lich,  a  tall,  emaciated,  gigantic  female  figure, 
is  supposed  in  particular  to  haunt  the  district  of  Knoiuart.  A 
goblin,  dressed  in  antique  armor,  and  having  one  hand  covered 
with  blood,  called  from  that  circumstance,  lAam-dearg,  oi 
Red-hand,  is  a  tenant  of  the  forests  of  Glenmore  and  Pu>thie- 
murcus.  Other  spirits  of  the  desert,  all  frightful  in  shape  and 
malignant  in  disposition,  are  believed  to  frequent  different 
mountains  and  glens  of  the  Highlands,  where  any  unusual 
appearance,  produced  by  mist,  or  the  strange  lights  that  are 
sometimes  thrown  upon  particular  objects,  never  fails  to  pre- 
sent an  apparition  to  the  imagination  of  the  solitary  and  mel- 
ancholy mountaineer. 


Note  2  H. 


The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  boding  scream.— P.  204. 

Most  great  families  in  the  Highlands  were  supposed  to  have 
a  tutelar,  or  rather  a  domestic  spirit,  attached  to  them,  who 
took  an  interest  in  their  prosperity,  and  intimated,  by  its  wail- 
ings,  any  approaching  disaster.  That  of  Grant  of  Grant  was 
called  May  JUoullach,  and  appeared  in  the  form  of  a  girl,  who 
had  her  arm  covered  with  hair.  Grant  of  Rothiemurcus  had 
an  attendant  called  Bodach-an-dun,  or  the  Ghost  of  the  Hill  ; 
and  many  other  examples  might  be  mentioned.  The  Ban- 
Schie  implies  a  female  Fairy,  whose  lamentations  were  often 
supposed  to  precede  the  death  of  a  chieftain  of  particular  fam- 
ilies. When  she  is  visible,  it  is  in  the  form  of  an  old  woman, 
with  a  blue  mantle  and  streaming  hair.  A  superstition  of  the 
same  kind  is,  I  believe,  universally  received  by  the  inferior 
ranks  of  the  native  Irish. 

The  death  of  the  head  of  a  Highland  family  is  also  some- 
times supposed  to  be  announced  by  a  chain  of  lights  of  differ- 
ent colors,  called  Dr'eug,  or  death  of  the  Druid.  The  direc- 
tion which  it  takes,  marks  the  place  of  the  funeral.  [See  the 
Essay  on  Fairy  Superstitions  in  the  Border  Minstrelsy.] 


Note  2  I. 


Sounds,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast, 

Of  charging  steeds,  careering  fast 

Along  Benharrow's  shingly  side, 

Where  mortal  horsemen  ne'er  might  ride. — P.  204. 

A  presage  of  the  kind  alluded  to  in  the  text,  is  still  believed 
to  announce  death  to  the  ancient  Highland  family  of  M'Lean 
of  Lochbuy.  The  spirit  of  an  ancestor  slain  in  battle  is  heard 
to  gallop  along  a  stony  bank,  and  then  to  ride  thrice  around 
the  family  residence,  ringing  his  fairy  bridle,  and  thus  intima- 
ting the  approaching  calamity.  How  easily  the  eye,  as  well 
as  the  ear,  may  be  deceived  upon  such  occasions,  is  evident 
from  the  stories  of  armies  in  the  air,  and  other  spectral  phe- 
nomena with  which  history  abounds.  Such  an  apparition  is 
said  to  have  been  witnessed  upon  the  side  of  Southfell  moun- 
tain, between  Penrith  and  Keswick,  upon  the  23d  June,  1744, 
by  two  persons,  William  Lancaster  of  Blakeliills.  and  Daniel 
Stricket,  his  servant,  whose  attestation  to  the  fact,  with  a  full 
account  of  the  apparition,  dated  the  21st  July,  1745,  is  printed 
in  Clarke's  Survey  of  the  Lakes.     The  apparition  consisted  of 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY   OF  THE  LAKE. 


251 


leveral  troops  of  horse  moving  in  regular  order,  with  a  steady 
rapid  motion,  making  a  curved  sweep  around  the  fell,  and 
seeming  to  the  spectators  to  disappear  over  the  ridge  of  the 
mountain.  Many  persons  witnessed  this  phenomenon,  and 
observed  the  last,  or  last  but  one,  of  the  supposed  troop,  oc- 
casionally leave  his  rank,  and  pass  at  a  gallo,  to  th«  front, 
when  he  resumed  the  same  steady  pace.  This  curious  appear- 
ance, making  the  necessary  allowance  for  imagination,  may  be 
pert  ips  sufficiently  accounted  for  by  optical  deception. — Sur- 
vey of  the  Lakes,  p.  25. 

Superr.a'ural  intimations  of  approaching  fate  are  not,  1  be- 
lieve confined  to  Highland  families.  Howel  mentions  having 
seer,  at  a  lapidary's,  in  1632,  a  monumental  stone,  prepared 
for  four  persons  of  the  name  of  Oxenharn,  before  the  death  of 
each  of  whom,  the  inscription  stated  a  white  bird  to  have  ap- 
peared and  fluttered  around  the  bed  while  the  patient  was  in 
the  last  agony. — Familiar  Letters,  edit.  1726,  247.  Glanville 
mentions  one  family,  the  members  of  which  received  this  sol- 
emn sign  by  music,  the  sound  of  which  floated  from  the  family 
residence,  and  seemed  to  die  in  a  neighboring  wood  ;  another, 
that  of  Captain  Wood  of  Bampton,  to  whom  the  signal  was 
given  by  knocking.  But  the  most  remarkable  instance  of  the 
kind  occurs  in  the  MS.  Memoirs  of  Lady  Fanshaw,  so  exem- 
plary for  her  conjugal  affection.  Her  husband,  Sir  Richard, 
and  she,  chanced,  during  their  abode  in  Ireland,  to  visit  a 
friend,  the  head  of  a  sept,  who  resided  in  his  ancient  baronial 
castle,  surrounded  with  a  moat.  At  midnight  she  was  awa- 
kened by  a  ghastly  and  supernatural  scream,  and,  looking  out 
of  bed,  beheld,  by  the  moonlight,  a  female  face  and  part  of 
the  form,  hovering  at  the  window.  The  distance  from  the 
ground,  as  well  as  the  circumstance  of  the  moat,  excluded  the 
possibility  that  what  she  beheld  was  of  this  world.  The  face 
was  that  of  a  young  and  rather  handsome  woman,  but  pale  ; 
and  the  hair,  which  was  reddish,  was  loose  and  dishevelled. 
Tiie  dress,  which  Lady  Fanshaw's  terror  did  not  prevent  her 
remarking  accurately,  was  that  of  the  ancient  Irish.  This  ap- 
parition continued  to  exhibit  itself  for  some  time,  and  then 
vanished  with  two  shrieks,  similar  to  that  which  had  first  ex- 
cited Lady  Fanshaw's  attention.  In  the  morning,  with  infinite 
terror,  she  communicated  to  her  host  what  she  had  witnessed, 
and  found  him  prepared  not  only  to  credit  but  to  account  for 
the  apparition.  "  A  near  relation  of  my  family,"  said  he, 
"expired  last  night  in  tjjis  castle.  We  disguised  our  certain 
expectation  of  the  event  from  you,  lest  it  should  throw  a  cloud 
over  the  cheerful  reception  which  was  due  you.  Now,  be- 
fore such  an  event  happens  in  this  family  and  castle,  the  fe- 
male spectre  whom  you-  have  seen  always  is  visible.  She  is 
believed  to  be  the  spirit  of  a  woman  of  inferior  rank,  whom 
one  of  my  ancestors  degraded  himself  by  marrying,  and  whom 
afterwards,  to  expiate  the  dishonor  done  his  family,  he  caused 
to  be  drowned  in  the  castle  moat." 


Note  2  K. 


Wh^se  parents  in  Inch-Cailliach  wave 

Their  shadows  oyer  Clan- Alpine1  s  grave. — P.  204. 

Inch-Cailliach,  the  Isle  of  Nuns,  or  of  Old  Women,  is  a  most 
OidTitiful  island  at  the  lower  extremity  of  Loch  Lomond.  The 
church  belonging  to  the  former  nunnery  was  long  used  as  the 
place  of  worship  for  the  parish  of  Buchanan,  but  scarce  any 
vestiges  of  it  now  remain.  The  burial-ground  continues  to  be 
used,  and  contains  the  family  places  of  sepulture  of  several 
neighboring  clans.  The  monuments  of  the  lairds  of  Mae- 
jregor,  and  of  other  families,  claiming  a  descent  from  the  old 
Scottish  King  Aipino,  are  most  remarkable.  The  Highland- 
ers are  as  zealoui  of  their  rights  of  sepulture  as  may  be  ex- 
jected  from  a  people  whose  whole  laws  and  government,  if 


clanship  can  be  called  so,  turned  upon  the  single  principle  of 
family  descent.  "  May  his  ashes  be  scattered  on  the  water," 
was  one  of  the  deepest  and  most  solemn  imprecations  which 
they  used  against  an  enemy.  [See  a  detailed  description  ol 
the  funeral  ceremonies  of  a  Highland  chieftain  in  the  Fair  Maid 
of  Perth.  Waocrley  Novels,  vol.  43,  chaps,  x.  and  xi.  Edit. 
1834.]. 


Note  2  L. 


the  dun-deer'' s  hide 


On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied. — P.  205. 

The  present  brogue  of  the  Highlanders  is  made  of  half-dried 
leather,  with  holes  to  admit  and  let  out  the  water;  for  walk- 
ing the  moors  dry-shod  is  a  matter  altogether  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. The  ancient  buskin  was  still  ruder,  being  made  of  un- 
dressed deer's  hide,  with  the  hair  outwards;  a  circumstance 
which  procured  the  Highlanders  the  well-known  epithet  of 
Red-shanks.  The  process  is  very  accurately  described  by  one 
Elder  (himself  a  Highlander)  in  the  project  for  a  union  between 
England  and  Scotland,  addressed  to  Henry  VIII.  "  We  go 
a-hunting,  and  after  that  we  have  slain  red-deer,  we  flay  off 
the  skin,  by-and-by,  and  setting  of  our  bare-foot  on  the  inside 
thereof,  for  want  of  cunning  shoemakers,  by  your  grace's  par 
don,  we  play  the  cobblers,  compassing  and  measuring  so  much 
thereof  as  shall  reach  up  to  our  ankles,  pricking  the  upper 
part  thereof  with  holes,  that  the  water  may  repass  where  it 
enters,  and  stretching  it  up  with  a  strong  thong  of  the  same 
above  our  said  ankles.  So,  and  please  your  noble  grace,  we 
make  our  shoes.  Therefore,  we  using  such  manner  of  shoes, 
the  rough  hairy  side  outwards,  in  your  grace's  dominions  of 
England,  we  be  called  Roughfootcd  Scots." — Pinkkrton'* 
History,  vol.  ii.  p.  397. 


Note  2  M. 


The  dismal  coronach, — P.  206. 

The  Coronach  of  the  Highlanders,  like  the  Ulalatus  of  the 
Romans,  and  the  Ululoo  of  the  Irish,  was  a  wild  expression  of 
lamentation,  poured  forth  by  the  mourners  over  the  body  of  a 
departed  friend.  When  the  words  of  it  were  articulate,  they 
expressed  the  praises  of  the  deceased,  and  the  loss  the  clan 
would  sustain  by  his  death.  The  following  is  a  lamentation  of 
this  kind,  literally  translated  from  the  Gaelic,  to  some  of  the 
ideas  of  which  the  text  stands  indebted.  The  tune  is  so  popu- 
lar, that  it  has  since  become  the  war-march,  or  Gathering  of 
the  clan. 

Coronach  on  Sir  Lauchlan,  Chief  of  Maclean. 
u  Which  of  all  the  Senachies 
Can  trace  thy  line  from  the  root  up  to  Paradise, 
But  Macvuirih,  the  son  of  Fergus  7 
No  sooner  had  thine  ancient  stately  tree 
Taken  firm  root  in  Albion, 
Than  one  of  thy  forefathers  fell  at  Harlaw. — 
'Twas  then  we  lost  a  chief  of  deathless  name. 

"  'Tis  no  base  weed — no  planted  tree, 
Nor  a  seedling  of  last  Autumn  ; 
Nor  a  sapling  planted  at  Beltain  ;J 
Wide,  wide  around  were  spread  its  lofty  branches— 
But  the  topmost  bough  is  lowly  laid  ! 
Thou  hast  forsaken  us  before  Sawaine.2 

"  Thy  dwelling  is  the  winter  house  ; — 
Loud,  sad,  sad,  and  mighty  is  thy  death-song  f 


l  3«;i'u  flrii.  or  Whitsunday. 


252 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


*"*h  !  courteous  champion  of  Montrose ! 
Oh  !  stately  warrior  of  the  Celtic  Isles  ! 
Thou  shalt  buckle  thy  harness  on  no  more !" 

The  coronach  has  for  some  years  past  been  superseded  at 
funerals  by  the  use  of  the  bagpipe  ;  and  that  also  is,  like  many 
other  Highland  peculiarities,  falling  into  disuse,  unless  in  remote 
districts. 


Note  2  N. 


Benledi  saw  the  Cross  of  Fire, 

It  glanced  like  lightning  up  Strath-Ire. 


-P.  207. 


Inspection  of  the  provincial  map  of  Perthshire,  or  any  large 
map  of  Scotland,  will  trace  the  progress  of  the  signal  through 
the  small  district  of  lakes  and  mountains,  which,  in  exercise  of 
my  poetical  privilege,  I  have  subjected  to  the  authority  of  my 
imaginary  chieftain,  and  which,  at  the  period  of  my  romance, 
was  really  occupied  by  a  clan  who  claimed  a  descent  from 
Alpine  ;  a  clan  the  most  unfortunate,  and  most  persecuted,  but 
neither  the  least  distinguished,  least  powerful,  nor  least  brave, 
of  the  tribes  of  the  Gael. 

"  Slioch  non  rioghridh  duchaisach 
Bha-shios  an  Dun-Staiobhinish 
Aig  an  roubh  crun  na  Halba  othus 
'Stag  a  cheil  duchas  fast  ris." 

The  first  stage  of  the  Fiery  Cross  is  to  Duncraggan,  a  place 
near  the  Brigg  of  Turk,  where  a  short  stream  divides  Loch 
Achray  from  Loch  Vennachar.  From  thence,  it  passes  to- 
wards Callender,  and  then  turning  to  the  left  up  the  pass  of 
Leny,  is  consigned  to  Norman  at  the  Chapel  of  Saint  Bride, 
which  stood  on  a  small  and  romantic  knoll  in  the  middle  of 
the  valley,  called  Strath-Ire.  Tombea  and  Arnandave,  or 
Ardmandave,  are  names  of  places  in  the  vicinity.  The  alarm 
is  then  supposed  to  pass  along  the  lake  of  Lubnaig,  and 
through  the  various  glens  in  the  district  of  Balquidder,  in- 
cluding the  neighboring  tracts  of  Glenfinlas  and  Strathgartney. 


Note  2  0. 


Not  faster  o'er  thy  heathery  braes, 
Balquidder,  speeds  the  midnight  blaze.- 


-P.  208. 


It  may  be  necessary  to  inform  the  southern  reader,  that  the 
heath  on  the  Scottish  moorlands  is  often  set  fire  to,  that  the 
sheep  may  have  the  advantage  of  the  young  herbage  produced, 
in  room  of  the  tough  old  heather  plants.  This  custom  (exe- 
crated by  sportsmen)  produces  occasionally  the  most  beautiful 
nocturnal  appearances,  similar  almost  to  the  discharge  of  a 
volcano.  This  simile  is  not  new  to  poetry.  The  charge  of  a 
warrior,  in  the  fine  ballad  of  Hardy knute,  is  said  to  be  "  like 
fire  to  heather  set." 


Note  2  P. 

No  oath,  but  by  his  chieftain's  hand, 

No  law,  but  Roderick  Dhu's  command. — P.  208. 

The  deep  and  implicit  respect  paid  by  the  Highland  clans- 
men to  their  chief,  rendered  this  both  a  common  and  a  solemn 
oath.  In  other  respects  they  were  like  most  savage  nations, 
capricious  in  their  ideas  concerning  the  obligatory  power  of 
oaths.  One  solemn  mode  of  swearing  was  by  kissing  the  dirk, 
impre  rating  upon  themselves  death  bv  that  or  a  similar  weapon, 


if  they  broke  their  vow.  But  for  oaths  in  the  usual  k»m,  thej 
are  said  to  have  little  respect.  As  for  the  reverence  dne  to  th« 
chief,  it  may  be  guessed  from  the  following  odd  example  of  a 
Highland  point  of  honor  : — 

"The  clan  whereto  the  above-mentioned  tribe  belongs,  is 
the  only  one  I  have  heard  of,  which  is  without  a  chief;  that 
is,  being  divided  into  families,  under  several  chieftains,  with- 
out any  particular  patriarch  of  the  whole  name.  And  this  is 
a  great  reproach,  as  may  appear  from  an  affair  that  fell  out  at 
my  table  in  the  Highlands,  between  one  of  that  name  and  a 
Cameron.  The  provocation  given  by  the  latter  was — '  Name 
your  chief.' — The  return  of  it  at  once  was — '  You  are  a  fool.' 
They  went  out  next  morning,  but  having  early  notice  of  it,  1 
sent  a  small  party  of  soldiers  after  them,  which,  in  all  proba- 
bility, prevented  some  barbarous  mischief  that  might  have  en- 
sued ;  for  the  chiefless  Highlander,  who  is  himself  a  petty  chief- 
tain, was  going  to  the  place  appointed  with  a  small-sword  and 
pistol,  whereas  the  Cameron  (an  old  man)  took  with  him  only 
his  broadsword,  according  to  the  agreement. 

"  When  all  was  over,  and  I  had,  at  least  seemingly,  recon- 
ciled them,  I  was  told  the  words,  of  which  I  seemed  to  think 
but  slightly,  were,  to  one  of  the  clan,  the  greatest  of  all  provo- 
cations."— Letters  from  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  221. 


Note  2  Q. 


-a  low  and  lonely  cell. 


By  many  a  bard,  in  Celtic  tongue, 
Has  Coir-nan- Uriskin  been  sung. 


■P.  209. 


This  is  a  v°ry  steep  and  most  romantic  hollow  in  the  moun- 
tain of  Benvenue,  overhanging  the  southeastern  extremity  of 
Loch  Katrine.  It  is  surrounded  with  stupendous  rocks,  and 
overshadowed  with  birch-trees,  mingled  with  oaks,  with  spon- 
taneous production  of  the  mountain,  even  where  its  cliffy  ap- 
pear denuded  of  soil.  A  dale  in  so  wild  a  situation,  and  amid 
a  people  whose  genius  bordered  on  the  romantic,  did  not  re- 
main without  appropriate  deities.  The  name  literally  implies 
the  Corri,  or  Den,  of  the  Wild  or  Shaggy  men.  Perhaps  this, 
as  conjectured  by  Mr.  Alexander  Campbell,1  may  have  origi- 
nally only  implied  its  being  the  haunt  of  a  ferocious  banditti. 
But  tradition  has  ascribed  to  the  Urisk,  who  gives  name  to 
the  cavern,  a  figure  between  a  goat  and  a  man  ;  in  short,  how- 
ever much  the  classical  reader  may  be  startled,  precisely  that 
of  the  Grecian  Satyr.  The  Urisk  seems  not  to  have  inherited 
with  the  form,  the  petulance  of  the  silvan  deity  of  the  classics  ■ 
his  occupation,  on  the  contrary,  resembled  those  of  Milton's 
Lubbar  Fiend,  or  of  the  Scottish  Brownie,  though  he  differed 
from  both  in  name  and  appearance.  "The  Urisks,"  says 
Dr.  Graham,  "  were  a  set  of  lubberly  supernaturals,  who,  like 
the  Brownies,  could  be  gained  over  by  kind  attention,  to  per- 
form the  drudgery  of  the  farm,  and  it  was  believed  that  many 
of  the  families  in  the  Highlands  had  one  of  the  order  attached 
to  it.  They  were  supposed  to  be  dispersed  over  the  Highlands, 
each  in  his  own  wild  recess,  but  the  solemn  stated  meetings  of 
the  order  were  regularly  held  in  this  Cave  of  Benvenue.  This 
current  superstition,  no  doubt,  alludes  to  some  circumstance  in 
the  ancient  history  of  this  country." — Scenery  on  the  Southern 
Confines  of  Perthshire,  p.  19,  1806.— It  must  be  owned  that 
the  Coir,  or  Den,  does  not,  in  its  present  state,  meet  our  ideas 
of  a  subterraneous  grotto,  or  cave,  being  only  a  small  and 
narrow  cavity,  among  huge  fragments  of  rocks  rudely  piled 
together.  But  such  a  scene  is  liable  to  convulsions  of  nature, 
whic  a  a  Lowlander  cannot  estimate,  and  which  may  have 
choked  up  what  was  originally  a  cavern.  At  least  the  name 
and  tradition  warrant  the  author  of  a  fictitious  tale  to  assort  its 
having  been  such  at  the  remote  period  in  which  this  scene  if 
laid. 

1  Journey  from  Edinburgh,  1802,  p.  109. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


255 


Note  2  R. 

The  wild  pass  of  Beal-nam-bo. — P.  209. 

Bealach-nam-bo,  or  the  pass  of  cattle,  is  a  most  magnificent 
glade,  overhung  with  aged  hirch-trees,  a  little  higher  up  the 
mountain  than  the  Coir-nan-Uriskin,  treated  of  in  a  former  note. 
The  whole  composes  the  most  sublime  piece  of  scenery  that 
imagination  can  conceive. 


Note  2  S. 


Ji  single  page,  to  hear  his  sword, 
Alone  attended  on  his  lord. — P.  209. 

A  Highland  chief,  being  as  absolute  in  his  patriarchal  au- 
thority as  any  prince,  had  a  corresponding  number  of  officers 
attached  to  his  person.  He  had  his  body-guards,  called 
JLuichttach,  picked  from  his  clan  for  strength,  activity,  and 
entire  devotion  to  his  person.  These,  according  to  their  de- 
serts, were  sure  to  share  abundantly  in  the  rude  profusion  of 
his  hospitality.  It  is  recorded,  for  example,  by  tradition,  that 
Allan  MacLean,  chief  of  that  clan,  happened  upon  a  time  to 
hear  one  of  these  favorite  retainers  observe  to  his  comrade, 
that  their  chief  grew  old. — "  Whence  do  you  infer  that?"  re- 
plied the  other. — "  When  was  it,"  rejoined  the  first,  "  that  a 
soldier  of  Allan's  was  obliged,  as  I  am  now,  not  only  to  eat 
the  flesh  from  the  bone,  but  even  to  tear  off  the  inner  skin,  or 
filament  t"  The  hint  was  quite  sufficient,  and  MacLean  next 
morning,  to  relieve  his  followers  from  such  dire  necessity,  un- 
dertook an  inroad  on  the  mainland,  the  ravage  of  which  alto- 
gether effaced  the  memory  of  his  former  expeditions  for  the  like 
purpose. 

Our  officer  of  Engineers,  so  often  quoted,  has  given  us  a 
distinct  list  of  the  domestic  officers  who,  independent  of 
Luichttach,  or  gardes  de  corps,  belonged  to  the  establishment 
of  a  Highland  Chief.  These  are,  1.  The  Henchman.  See 
these  Notes,  p.  247.  2.  The  Bard.  See  p.  243.  3.  Bladier, 
or  spokesman.  4.  Oillie-morc,  or  sword-bearer,  alluded  to  in 
the  text.  5.  Gillie-casflue,  who  carried  the  chief,  if  on  foot, 
over  the  fords.  6.  Oillie-comstraine,  who  leads  the  chief's 
horse.  7.  Qillie-Trushanarinsh,  the  baggage  man.  8.  The 
piper.  9.  The  piper's  gillie  or  attendant,  who  carries  the 
bagpipe.1  Although  this  appeared,  naturally  enough,  very 
ridiculous  to  an  English  officer,  who  considered  the  master  of 
such  a  retinue  as  no  more  than  an  English  gentleman  of  .£500 
a-year,  yet  in  the  circumstances  of  the  chief,  whose  strength 
and  importance  consisted  in  the  number  and  attachment  of  his 
followers,  it  was  of  the  last  consequence,  in  point  of  policy,  to 
have  in  his  gift  subordinate  offices,  which  called  immediately 
round  his  person  those  who  were  most  devoted  to  him,  and, 
being  of  value  in  their  estimation,  were  also  the  means  of  re- 
warding them. 


Note  2  T. 


The  Taghairm  calVd;  by  which,  afar, 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war. — P.  211. 

The  Highlanders,  like  all  rude  people,  had  various  super- 
stitious modes  of  inquiring  into  futurity.  One  of  the  most 
noted  was  the  Taghairm,  mentioned  in  the  text.  A  person 
was  wrapped  up  in  the  skin  of  a  newly-slain  bullock,  and  de- 
posited beside  a  waterfall,  or  at  the  bottom  of  a  precipice,  or 
in  some  other  strange,  wild,  and  unusual  situation,  where  the 
icenery  around  him  suggested  nothing  but  objects  of  horror. 
In  this  situation,  he  revolved  in  his  mind  the  question  pro- 
posed ;  and  whatever  was  impressed  upon  him  by  his  exalted 
imagination,  passed    for  the  inspiration   of  the  disembodied 

1  Letters  from  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p  15. 

•  The  reader  may  ha-«»  ret  with  the  story  of  the  "  King  of  the  Cats," 


spirits,  who  haunt  the  desolate  recesses.  In  some  of  these 
Hebrides,  they  attributed  the  same  oracular  power  to  a  large 
black  stone  by  the  sea-shore,  which  they  approached  with  cer- 
tain solemnities,  and  considered  the  first  fancy  which  came  iito 
their  own  minds,  after  they  did  so,  to  be  the  undoubted  dictate 
of  the  tutelar  deity  of  the  stone,  and,  as  such,  to  oe,  if  posii 
hie,  punctually  complied  with.  Martin  has  recorded  the  fol- 
lowing curious  modes  of  Highland  augury,  in  which  th« 
Taghairm,  and  its  effects  upon  the  person  who  was  subjected 
to  it,  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  text. 

"  It  was  an  ordinary  thing  among  the  over-curiont  to  con- 
sult an  invisible  oracle,  concerning  the  fate  of  families  and 
battles,  &c.  This  was  performed  three  different  ways :  the 
first  was  by  a  company  of  men,  one  of  whom,  being  detached 
by  lot,  was  afterwards  carried  to  a  river,  which  was  the  boun- 
dary between  two  villages ;  four  of  the  company  laid  hold 
on  him,  and,  having  shut  his  eyes,  they  took  him  by  the  legs 
and  arms,  and  then,  tossing  him  to  and  again,  struck  his  hips 
with  force  against  the  bank.  One  of  them  cried  out,  What 
is  it  you  have  got  here  ?  another  answers,  A  log  of  birch- 
wood.  The  other  cries  again,  Let  his  invisible  friends  appear 
from  all  quarters,  and  let  them  relieve  him  by  giving  an  answer 
to  our  present  demands  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  after,  a  number 
of  little  creatures  came  from  the  sea,  who  answered  the  ques- 
tion, and  disappeared  suddenly.  The  man  was  then  set  at 
liberty,  and  they  all  returned  home,  to  take  their  measures 
according  to  the  prediction  of  their  false  prophets  ;  but  the 
poor  deluded  fools  were  abused,  for  their  answer  was  still  am- 
biguous. This  was  always  practised  in  the  night,  and  may 
literally  be  called  the  works  of  darkness. 

"  I  had  an  account  from  the  most  intelligent  and  judicious 
men  in  the  Isle'of  Skie,  that  about  sixty-two  years  ago,  tha 
oracle  was  thus  consulted  only  once,  and  that  was  in  the  pa- 
rish of  Kilmartin,  on  the  east  side,  by  a  wicked  and  mischie- 
vous race  of  people,  who  are  now  extinguished,  both  root  and 
branch. 

"  The  second  way  of  consulting  the  oracle  was  by  a  party 
of  men,  who  first  retired  to  solitary  places,  remote  from  any 
house,  and  there  they  singled  out  one  of  their  number,  and 
wrapt  him  in  a  big  cow's  hide,  which  they  folded  about  him  ; 
his  whole  body  was  covered  with  it,  except  his  head,  and  so 
left  in  this  posture  all  night,  until  his  invisible  friends  relieved 
him,  by  giving  a  proper  answer  to  the  question  in  hand  ;  which 
he  received,  as  he  fancied,  from  several  persons  that  he  found 
about  him  all  that  time.  His  consorts  returned  to  him  at  the 
break  of  day,  and  then  he  communicated  his  news  to  them  ; 
which  often  proved  fatal  to  those  concerned  in  such  unwar- 
rantable inquiries. 

"  There  was  a  third  way  of  consulting,  which  was  a  confir- 
mation of  the  second  above  mentioned.  The  same  company 
who  put  the  man  into  the  hide,  took  a  live  cat,  and  put  him 
on  a  spit ;  one  of  the  number  was  employed  to  turn  the  spit, 
and  one  of  his  consorts  inquired  of  him,  What  are  you  doing? 
he  answered,  I  roast  this  cat,  until  his  friends  answer  the  ques- 
tion ;  which  must  be  the  same  that  was  proposed  by  the  man 
shut  up  in  the  hide.  And  afterwards,  a  very  big  cat2  comes, 
attended  by  a  number  of  lesser  cats,  desiring  to  relieve  lh« 
cat  turned  upon  the  spit,  and  then  answers  the  question.  11 
this  answer  proved  the  same  that  was  given  to  the  man  in  the 
hide,  then  it  was  taken  as  a  confirmation  of  the  other,  which 
in  this  case,  was  believed  infallible. 

"Mr.  Alexander  Cooper,  present  minister  of  North- Vist, 
told  me,  that  one  John  Erach,  in  the  Isle  of  Lewis,  assured 
him,  it  was  his  fate  to  have  been  led  by  his  curkwity  with 
some  who  consulted  this  oracle,  and  that  he  was  a  night  within 
the  hide,  as  above  mentioned  ;  during  which  time  lie  felt  and 
hoard  such  terrible  things,  that  he  could  not  express  them  ;  the 
impression  it  made  on  him  was  such  as  could  never  go  off,  and 
he  said,  for  a  thousand  worlds  he  would  never  again  be  con 

in  Lord  Littleton's  Lettert.   It  is  well  known  in  the  Highlands  an  a  nurse* 


254 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


cerned  in  the  like  performance,  for  this  had  disordered  him  to  a 
high  degree.  He  confessed  it  ingenuously,  and  with  an  air  of 
"reat  remorse,  and  seemed  to  be  very  penitent  under  a  just 
«ense  of  so  great  a  crime  :  he  declared  this  about  five  years 
since,  and  is  still  living  in  the  Lewis  for  any  thing  I  know." — 
Description  of  the  Western  Isles,  p.  110.  See  also  Pkn- 
Mvt's  Scottish  Tour,  vol.  ii.  p.  361. 


Note  2  U. 
The  choicest  of  the  prey  we  had, 
When  swept  our  merry-men  Gallangad. — P  211. 

1  know  not  if  it  be  worth  observing,  that  this  passage  is 
taken  almost  literally  from  the  mouth  of  an  old  Highland 
Kern  or  Ketteran,  as  they  were  called.  He  used  to  narrate 
the  merry  doings  of  the  good  old  time  when  he  was  follower 
of  Rob  Roy  MaeGregor.  This  leader,  on  one  occasion,  thought 
proper  to  make  a  descent  upon  the  lower  part  of  the  Loch 
Lomond  district,  and  summoned  all  the  heritors  and  farmers 
to  meet  at  the  Kirk  of  Drymen,  to  pay  him  black-mail,  i.  e. 
tribute  for  forbearance  and  protection.  As  this  invitation  was 
supported  by  a  band  of  thirty  or  forty  stout  fellows,  only  one 
gentleman,  an  ancestor,  if  I  mistake  not,  of  the  present  Mr. 
Grahame  of  Gartmore,  ventured  to  decline  compliance.  Rob 
Roy  instantly  swept  his  land  of  all  he  could  drive  away,  and 
among  the  spoil  was  a  bull  of  the  old  Scottish  wild  breed, 
whose  ferocity  occasioned  great  plague  to  the  Ketterans.  "  But 
ere  we  had  reached  the  Row  of  Dennan,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  a  child  might  have  scratched  his  ears."1  The  circumstance 
is  a  minute  one,  but  it  paints  the  times  when  the  poor  beeve 
was  compelled 

"  To  hoof  it  o'er  as  many  weary  miles, 
With  goading  pikemen  hollowing  at  his  heels, 
As  e'er  the  bravest  antler  of  the  woods." 

Ethwald. 


Note  2  V. 


That  huge  cliff,  whose  ample  verge 

Tradition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe. — P.  211. 

There  is  a  rock  so  named  in  the  Forest  of  Glenfinlas,  by 
which  a  tumultuary  cataract  takes  its  course.  This  wild  place 
is  said  in  former  times  to  have  afforded  refuge  to  an  outlaw, 
who  was  supplied  with  provisions  by  a  woman,  who  lowered 
them  down  from  the  brink  of  the  precipice  above.  His  water 
he  procured  for  himself,  by  letting  down  a  flagon  tied  to  a 
string,  into  the  black  pool  beneath  the  fall. 


Note  2  W. 


Raven 

That,  watching  while  the  deer  is  broke, 
His  morsel  claims  with  sullen  croak  1 — P.  211. 
Broke — Quartered.— "Every  thing  belonging  to  the  chase  was 
tmtter  of  solemnity  among  our  ancestors ;  but  nothing  was 
nore  so  than  the  mode  of  cutting  up,  or,  as  it  was  technically 
tilled,  breaking,  the  slaughtered  stag.  The  forester  had  his 
allotted  portion  ;  the  hounds  had  a  certain  allowance  ;  and,  to 
make  the  division  as  general  as  possible,  the  very  birds  had 
their  share  also.  "  There  is  a  little  gristle,"  says  Turberville, 
"  which  is  upon  the  spoone  of  the  brisket,  which  we  call  the 
raven's  bone  ;  and  I  have  seen  in  some  places  a  raven  so  wont 
and  accustomed  to  it,  that  she  would  never  fail  to  croak  and 
cry  for  it  &u  the  time  you  were  in  breaking  up  of  the  deer, 
and  would  not  depart  till  she  had  it."     In  the  very  ancient 

1  This  anecdote  was,  in  former  editions,  inaccurately  ascribed  to  George 
Macgregor  of  Glengyle,  called  Ghlune  Dhu,  or  Black-knee,  a  relation  of 


metrical  romance  of  Sir  Tristrem,  that  peerless  knight,  who  ii 
said  to  have  been  the  very  deviser  of  all  rules  of  chase,  did 
not  omit  the  ceremony  : — 

"  The  rauen  he  yaue  his  yiftes 
Sat  on  the  fourched  tre." 

Sir  Tristrem. 

The  raven  might  also  challenge  his  rights  by  the  Book  of  St 
Albans  ;  for  thus  says  Dame  Juliana  Berners  : — 

"  Slitteth  anon 

The  bely  to  the  side,  from  the  corbyn  bone  ; 
That  is  corbyn's  fee,  at  the  death  he  will  be." 

Jonson,  in  "  The  Sad  Shepherd,"  gives  a  more  poetical  ac- 
count of  the  same  ceremony  : 

"  Marian. — He  tiiat  undoes  him, 

Doth  cleave  the  brisket  bone,  upon  the  spoon 

Of  which  a  little  gristle  grows — you  call  it — 

Robin  Hood. — The  raven's  bone. 

Marian. — Now  o'er  head  sat  a  raven 
On  a  sere  bough,  a  grown,  great  bird,  and  hoarse, 
Who,  all  the  while  the  deer  was  breaking  up, 
So  croak'd  and  cried  for't,  as  all  the  huntsmen, 
Especially  old  Scathlock,  thought  it  ominous." 


Note  2  X. 


Which  spills  the  foremost  foeman' 's  life. 
That  party  conquers  in  the  strife. — P.  212. 

Though  this  be  in  the  text  described  as  a  response  of  the 
Taghairm,  or  Oracle  of  the  Hide,  it  was  of  itself  an  augury 
frequently  attended  to.  The  fate  of  the  battle  was  often  an- 
ticipated in  the  imagination  of  the  combatants,  by  observing 
which  party  first  shed  blood.  It  is  said  that  the  Highlanders 
under  Montrose  were  so  deeply  imbued  with  this  notion,  that 
on  the  morning  of  the  battle  of  Tippermoor,  they  murdered  j. 
defenceless  herdsman,  whom  they  found  in  the  fields,  merely 
to  secure  an  advantage  of  so  much  consequence  to  their 
party. 


Note  2  Y. 

Mice  Brand.—?.  213. 

This  little  fairy  tale  is  founded  upon  a  very  curious  Danish 
ballad,  which  occurs  in  the  Kcempe  Viser,  a  collection  ot 
heroic  songs,  first  published  in  1591,  and  reprinted  in  1G95, 
inscribed  by  Anders  Sofrensen,  the  collector  and  editor,  to 
Sophia,  Q.ueen  of  Denmark.  I  have  been  favored  with  a 
literal  translation  of  the  original,  by  my  learned  friend  Mr. 
Robert  Jamieson,  whose  deep  knowledge  of  Scandinavian  an- 
tiquities will,  1  hope,  one  day  be  displayed  in  illustration  of 
the  history  of  Scottish  Ballad  and  Song,  for  which  no  man 
possesses  more  ample  materials.  The  story  will  remind  the 
readers  of  the  Border  Minstrelsy  of  the  tale  of  Young  Tam- 
lane.  But  this  is  only  a  soKtary  and  not  very  marked  instance 
of  coincidence,  whereas  several  of  the  other  ballads  in  the 
same  collection  find  exact  counterparts  in  the  Kampe  Viser. 
Which  may  have  been  the  originals,  will  be  a  question  for 
future  antiquaries.  Mr.  Jamieson,  to  secure  the  power  of 
literal  translation,  has  adopted  the  old  Scottish  idiom,  which 
approaches  so  near  to  that  of  the  Danish,  as  almost  to  give 
word  for  word,  as  well  as  line  for  line,  and  indeed  in  many 
verses  the  orthography  alone  is  altered.  As  Wester  Haf, 
mentioned  in  the  first  stanzas  of  the  ballad,  means  the  West 
Sea,  in  opposition  to  the  Baltic,  or  East  Sea,  Mr.  Jamieson 


Rob  Roy,  but, 
cesses.— Note  ! 


i  I  have  been  assured, 
Third  Edition. 


addicted  to  his  predatory  ex 


APPENDIX  TO  THE 

LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                        2&5 

inclines  to  be  of  opinion,  that,  the  scene  of  the  disenchantment 
is  laid  in  one  of  the  Orkney,  or  Hehride  Islands.     To  each 
verse  in  the  original  is  added  a  burden,  having  a  kind  of  mean- 
ing of  its  own,  but  not  applicable,  at  least  not  uniformly  ap- 
plicable, to  the  sense  of  the  stanza  to  which  it  is  subjoined  : 
•his  is  very  common  both  in  Danish  and  Scottish  song. 

They  nighed  near  the  husband's  honse  ; 
Sae  lang  their  tails  did  hing. 

9. 
The  hound  he  yowls  i'  the  yard, 

The  herd  toots  in  his  horn  ; 
The  earn  scraighs,  and  the  cock  craws, 

As  the  husbande  has  gi'eti  him  his  corn. 

THE  ELFIN  GRAY. 

10. 

TRANSLATED    FROM    THE  DANISH  KiEMPE  VISER,  p.  143, 
AND  FIRST  PUBLISHED  IN  1591. 

Der  ligger  en  void  i  Vester  Haf, 

Der  agter  en  bonde  at  bygge  : 
Hand  fbrer  did  baade  hog  og  hand, 

Og  agter  der  om  vinteren  at  ligge. 
(De  vildk  diur  og  DIURKNE  udi  skofven.) 

The  El  fen  were  five  score  and  seven, 

Sae  laidly  and  sae  grim  ; 
And  they  the  husbande's  guests  maun  be, 

To  eat  and  drink  wi'  him. 

11. 

The  husbande,  out  o'  Villenshaw, 
At  his  win  nock  the  Elves  can  see : 

"  Help  me,  now,  Jesu,  Mary's  son  ; 
Thir  Elves  they  mint  at  me  !" 

There  liggs  a  wold  in  Wester  Haf, 
There  a  husbande  means  to  bigg, 

And  thither  he  carries  baith  hawk  and  hound, 
There  meaning  the  winter  to  ligg. 

{The  wild  deer  and  daes  V  the  shaw  out.) 

2. 

12. 
In  every  nook  a  cross  he  coosl, 

In  his  chahner  maist  ava  ; 
The  Elfen  a'  were  fley'd  thereat, 

And  flew  to  the  wild-wood  shaw. 

He  taks  wi'  him  baith  bound  and  cock, 
The  langer  he  means  to  stay, 

The  wild  deer  in  the  shaws  that  are 
May  sairly  rue  the  day. 

{The  wild  deer,  S,c.) 

13. 
And  some  flew  east,  and  some  flew  west. 

And  some  to  the  norwart  flew  ; 
And  some  they  flew  to  the  deep  dale  down, 

There  still  they  are,  I  trow. 2 

3. 

He's  hew'd  the  beech,  and  he's  fell'd  the  aik, 

Sae  has  he  the  poplar  gray  ; 
And  grim  in  mood  was  the  grewsome  elf, 

That  be  sae  bald  he  may. 

14. 

It  was  then  the  weiest  Elf, 

In  at  the  door  braids  be  ; 
Agast  was  the  husbande,  for  that  Elf 

For  cross  nor  sign  wad  flee. 

4. 

He  hew'd  him  kipples,  he  hew'd  him  bawks, 

Wi'  mickle  moil  and  haste, 
Syne  speer'd  the  Elf  i'  the  knock  that  bade, 
Wha's  hacking  here  sae  fast  1" 

15. 
The  huswife  she  was  a  canny  wife, 

She  set  the  Elf  at  the  board  ; 
She  set  before  him  baith  ale  and  meat. 

Wi'  mony  a  weel-waled  word. 

5. 

Syne  up,  and  spak  the  weiest  Elf, 
Crean'd  as  an  immert  sma  : 

"  It's  here  is  come  a  Christian  man  ; — 
I'll  fley  him  or  he  ga." 

16. 

"  Hear  thou,  Gudeman  o'  Villenshaw, 

What  now  I  say  to  thee  ; 
Wha  bade  thee  bigg  within  our  boundg, 

Without  the  leave  o'  me  ? 

6. 

It's  up  syne  started  the  firsten  Elf, 
And  glower  d  about  sae  grim  : 

u  It's  we'll  awa'  to  the  husbande's  house, 
And  hald  a  court  on  him. 

17. 
"  But,  an'  thou  in  our  bounds  will  bigg 

And  bide,  as  well  may  be, 
Then  thou  thy  dearest  huswife  maun 

To  me  for  a  lemman  gie." 

7. 
'  Here  hews  he  down  baith  skugg  and  shaw, 

And  works  us  skaith  and  scorn  : 
His  huswife  he  sail  gie  to  me  ; — 

They's  rue  the  day  they  were  born  1" 

18. 
Up  spak  the  luckless  husbande  then, 

As  God  the  grace  him  gae  ; 
"  Eline  she  is  to  me  sae  dear, 

Her  thou  may  nae-gate  hae." 

8. 
The  Ellen  a'  i'  the  knock  that  were, 
Gaed  dancing  in  a  string  ; 

19. 

Till  the  Elf  he  answer'd  as  he  couth  : 
"  Let  but  my  huswife  be, 

I  This  lingular  quatrain  etands  thus  in  the  original  :— 
"  Hunden  hand  gi6r  i  gaarden  ; 

Hiorden  tude  i  git  horn  ; 
CErnen  skriger,  og  hanen  galer, 
Som  bonden  hafde  gifvet  ait  korn." 

2  In  the  Danish  :— 

"  Somme  flOye  oster,  og  somme  floye  vester 

Nogle  flfjye  n6r  paa ; 
Nogle  floye  ned  i  dybene  date, 
Jeg  troer  de  ere  aer  endnu." 

256 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  tak  whate'er,  o'  glide  or  gear, 

As  mends  for  Eline  his  huswife ; — 

Is  mine,  awa  wi'  thee." — 

Thou's  be  my  heartis  dear." 

20. 

32. 

"  Then  I'll  thy  Eline  tak  and  thee, 

"  Thou  nobil  knyght,  we  thank  now  God 

Aneath  my  feet  to  tread  ; 

That  has  freed  us  frae  skaith  ; 

And  hide  thy  goud  and  white  monie 

Sae  wed  thou  thee  a  maiden  free, 

Aneath  my  dwalling  stead." 

And  joy  attend  ye  baith  ! 

21. 

33. 

The  husbande  and  his  household  a' 

"  Sin'  I  to  thee  nae  maik  can  be 

In  sary  rede  they  join  : 

My  dochter  may  be  thine  ; 

"  Far  bettet  that  she  be  now  forfairn, 

And  thy  gud  will  right  to  fulfill, 

Nor  that  we  a'  should  tyne." 

Lat  this  be  our  propine." — 

22. 

34. 

Up,  will  of  rede,  the  husbande  stood, 

"  1  thank  thee,  Eline,  thou  wise  woman  ; 

Wi'  heart  fu'  sad  and  sair ; 

My  praise  thy  worth  sail  ha'e  ; 

And  he  has  gien  his  huswife  Eline 

And  thy  love  gin  I  fail  to  win, 

Wi'  the  young  Elfe  to  fare. 

Thou  here  at  hame  sail  stay." 

23. 

35. 

Then  blyth  grew  he,  and  sprang  about : 

The  husbande  biggit  now  on  his  tie, 

He  took  her  to  his  arm  : 

And  nae  ane  wrought  him  wrang  ; 

The  rud  it  left  her  comely  cheek, 

His  dochter  wore  crown  in  Engeland, 

Her  heart  was  clem'd  wi'  harm. 

And  happy  lived  and  lang. 

24. 

36. 

A  waefu'  woman  then  she  was  ane, 

Now  Eline,  the  husbande's  huswife,  has 

And  the  moody  tears  loot  fa'  : 

Cour'd  a'  her  grief  and  harms  ; 

"  God  rew  on  me,  unseely  wife, 

She's  mither  to  a  noble  queen 

How  hard  a  weird  I  fa'  I 

That  sleeps  in  a  kingis  arms. 

25. 

"  My  fay  I  plight  to  the  fairest  wight 

GLOSSARY. 

That  man  on  mold  mat  see  ; — 

St.  1.    Wold,  a  wood  ;  woody  fastness. 

Maun  I  now  mell  wi'  a  laidly  El, 

Husbande,  from  the  Dan.  hos,  with,  and  bonde,  » 

His  light  lemman  to  be  V 

villain,  or  bondsman,  who  was  a  cultivator  of  the 

26. 

ground,  and   could  not  quit  the  estate  to  which   lie 

was  attached,  without  the  permission  of  his  lord. 

He  minted  ance — he  minted  twice, 

This  is  the  sense  of  the  word,  in  the  old  Scottish 

H'ae  wax'd  her  heart  that  syth  : 

records.     In  the  Scottish  "  Burghe  Laws,"  trans- 

Syne the  laidliest  fiend  he  grew  that  e'er 

lated  from  the  Reg.  JUajest.  (Auchinleck  MS.  in 

To  mortal  ee  did  kyth. 

the  Adv.  Lib.),  it  is  used  indiscriminately  with  the 

Dan.  and  Swed.  bonde. 

27. 

Bigg,  build. 

When  he  the  thirden  time  can  mint 

Ligg,  lie. 

To  Mary's  son  she  pray'd, 

Daes,  does. 

And  the  laidly  Elf  was  clean  awa, 

2.  Shaw,  wood. 

And  a  fair  knight  in  his  stead. 

Sairly,  sorely. 

3.  Jiik,  oak. 

28. 

Grewsome,  terrible. 

This  fell  under  a  linden  green, 

Bald,  bold. 

That  again  his  shape  he  found, 

4.  Kipples  (couples),  beams  joined  at  the  top,  for  sup- 

0' wae  and  care  was  the  word  nae  mair, 

porting  a  roof,  in  building. 

A'  were  sae  glad  that  stound. 

Bawks,  balks  ;  cross-beams. 

Moil,  laborious  industry. 

29. 

Speer'd,  asked. 

"  0  dearest  Eline,  hear  thou  this, 

Knock,  hillock. 

And  thou  my  wife  sail  be, 

5.  Weiest,  smallest. 

And  a'  the  goud  in  merry  England 

Crean'd,  shrunk,  diminished  ;  from  the  Gaelic,  crian, 

Sae  freely  I'll  gi'e  thee  ! 

very  small. 

Immert,  emmet ;  ant. 

30. 

Christian,  used  in  the  Danish  ballads,  &c.  in  contra- 

" Whan  I  was  but  a  little  wee  bairn, 

distinction  to  demoniac,  as  it  is  in  England  in  con- 

My mither  died  me  fra ; 

tradistinction  to  brute ;  in  which  sense,  a  person  of 

My  stepmither  sent  me  awa'  fra  her ; 

the  lower  class  in  England,  would  call  a  Jew  or  > 

I  turn'd  till  an  Elfin  Gray. 

Turk  a  Christian. 

Fley,  frighten. 

31. 

6.  Glower'1  d,  stared. 

'  To  thy  husbande  I  a  gift  will  gie, 

Hald,  hold. 

Wi'  mickle  state  and  gear, 

7.  Skugg,  shade 

APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE.                          257 

Skaith,  harm. 

ciple  ;  an  intelligence ;  a  spirit ;  an  angel.     In  the 

8.  Nighed,  approached. 

Hebrew  it  bears  the  same  import. 

9.  Yowls,  howls. 

26.  Minted,  attempted ;  meant ;  showed  a  mind,  or  in- 

Toots.—In  the   Dan.  tvde  is  applied  both  to  the 

tention  to.     The  original  is  — 

howling  of  a  dog,  and  the  sound  of  a  horn. 

"  Hand  mindte  hende  forst — og  anden  gang  ; — 

Scraighs,  screams. 

Hun  giordis  i  hiortet  sa  vee  : 

10.  Lately,  loathly  ;  disgustingly  ugly. 

End  blef  hand  den  lediste  deif-vel 

Grim,  fierce. 

Mand  kunde  med  oyen  see. 

11.  Winnock,  window. 

Der  hand  vilde  minde  den  tredie  gang,"  &o 

Mint,  aim  at. 

Syth,  tide  ;  time. 

12.  Coost,  cast. 

Kyth,  appear. 

Chahner,  chamber 

28.  Stound,  hour  ;  time  ;  moment. 

Maist,  most. 

29.  Merry   (old   Teut.   mere),  famous ;  renowned  ;  an- 

Ava, of  all. 

swering,  in  its  etymological  meaning,  exactly  to  the 

13.  Norwart,  northward. 

Latin  mactus.     Hence  merry-men,  as  the  address  of 

Trow,  believe. 

a  chief  to  his  followers  ;  meaning,  not  men  of  mirth, 

14.  Braids,  strides  quickly  forward. 

but  of  renown.     The  term  is  found  in  its  original 

Wad,  would. 

sense  in  the  Gael,  mora,  and  the  Welsh  mawr,  great ; 

15.  Canny,  adroit. 

and  in  the  oldest  Teut.  Romances,  mar,  mer,  and 

Jllony,  many. 

mere,  have  sometimes  the  same  signification. 

Weel- waled,  well  chosen. 

31.  Mends,  amends  ;  recompense. 

17.  An,  if. 

33.  Maik,  match  ;  peer ;  equal. 

Bide,  abide. 

Propine,  pledge ;  gift. 

Lemman,  mistress. 

35.  Oe,  an  island  of  the  second  magnitude  ;  an  island  of 

18.  JVae-gate,  nowise. 

the  first  magnitude  being  called  a  land,  and  one  of 

19.  Couth,  could,  knew  how  to. 

the  third  magnitude  a  holm. 

Lat  be,  let  alone. 

36.  Cour'd,  recover'd. 

Qnde,  goods  ;  property. 

20.  Aneat.h,  beneath. 

Dwalling-stead,  dwelling-place 

21.  Sary,  sorrowful. 

Rede,  counsel ;  consultation. 

THE  GHAIST'S  WARNING. 

Forfairn,  forlorn  ;  lost ;  gone. 

Tyne,  (verb,  neut.)  be  lost ;  perish. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  DANISH  KjEMPE  VISER,    p.   /2» 

22.  Will  of  rede,  bewildered  in  thought ;  in  the  Danish 

By  the  permission  of  Mr.  Jamieson,  this  ballad  is  added 
from  the  same  curious  Collection.     It  contains  som$ 

original  "  vildraadage  ;"  Lat.  "inops  consilii ;" 

Gr.  unopwv.     This  expression  is  left  among  the  de- 

passages of  great  pathos. 

siderata  in  the  Glossary  to  Ritson's  Romances, 

and  has  never  been  explained.     It  is  obsolete  in  the 

Danish  as  well  as  in  English. 

Svend  Dyring  hand  rider  sig  op  under  Oe, 

Fare,  go. 

(Vare  jeg  selver  ung) 

23.  Rud,  red  of  the  cheek. 

Der  f teste  hand  sig  saa  ven  en  mde. 

Clem'd,  in  the  Danish,  klemt  ;  (which  in  the  north 

(Mig  lyster  udi  lunden  at  ride,)  SrC 

of  England  is  still  in  use,  as  the  word  starved  is 



with  us  ;)  brought  to  a  dying  state.     It  is  used  by 

Child  Dyring  has  ridden  him  up  under  6e,i 

our  old  comedians. 

{And  0  gin  I  were  young !) 

Harm,  grief;  as  in  the  original,  and  in  the  old  Teu- 

There wedded  he  him  sae  fair^  a  may. 

tonic,  English,  and  Scottish  poetry. 

(/'  the  greenwood  it  lists  me  to  ride.) 

24.  Waefu\  woeful. 

Moody,  strongly  and  wilfully  passionate. 

Thegither  they  lived  for  seven  lang  year, 

Rew,  take  ruth  ;  pity. 

(And  0,  #c.) 

Vnseely,  unhappy  ;  unblest. 

And  they  seven  bairns  hae  gotten  in  lew* 

Weird,  fate. 

(/'  the  greenwood,  <$-c.) 

Fa,  (Isl.  Dan.  and  Swed.)  take  ;  get ;  acquire ;  pro- 

cure ;  have  for  my  lot. — This  Gothic  verb  answers, 

Sae  Death's  come  there  intill  that  stead, 

in  its  direct  and  secondary  significations,  exactly  to 

And  that  winsome  lily  flower  is  dead. 

the  Latin  capio  ;  and  Allan  Ramsay  was  right  in 

his  definition  of  it.     It  is  quite  a  different  word  from 

That  swain  he  has  ridden  him  up  under  de, 

fa\  an  abbreviation  of  'fall,  or  befall ;  and  is  the 

And  syne  he  has  married  anither  may. 

principal  root  in  fangen,  to  fang,  take,  or  lay  hold 

of. 

He's  married  a  may,  and  he's  fessen  her  hame ; 

25.  Fay,  faith. 

But  she  was  a  grim  and  a  laidly  dame. 

Mold,  mould ;  earth. 

Mat,  mote ;  might. 

When  into  the  castell  court  drave  she, 

Maun,  must. 

The  seven  bairns  stood  wi'  the  tear  in  their  ee 

Mell,  mix. 

El,  an  elf.     This  term,  in  the  Welch,  signifies  what 

The  bairns  they  stood  wi'  dule  and  doubt ;  - 

has  in  itself  the  power  of  motion  ;  a  moving  prin- 

She  up  wi'  her  foot,  and  she  kick'd  them  out. 

1 "  Under  8e." — The  original  expression  has  been  preserved  here  and  else- 

2 "  Fair."— The  Dan.  and  Swed.  ven,  van,  or  venne,  and  the  GnSl.  bin. 

where,  because  no  tfther  could  be  found  to  supply  its  place.    There  is  just  as 

in  the  oblique  cases    bhan  (van),  is  the  origin  of  the  Scottish  fcorroy, 

Bvuch  meaning  in  it  iu  the  translation  as  in  the  original ;   but  it  is  a  standard 

which  has  so  much  puzzled  all  the  etymologists. 

Vanish  ballad  phrase  ;  and  as  such,  it  is  honed,  it  will  be  allowed  to  pass. 
33 

258                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Nor  ale  nor  mead  to  th«  baimies  she  gave  : 

"  I  left  ahind  me  braw  bowsters  blae  ; 

"  But  hunger  and  hate  li-ae  me  ye's  have." 

My  bairnies  are  liggin'  i'  the  bare  strae. 

She  took  frae  them  the  bowster  blae, 

"  I  left  ye  sae  mony  a  groff  wax  light ; 

And  said,  "  Ye  sail  ligg  i'  the  bare  strae  !" 

My  bairnies  ligg  i'  the  mirk  a'  night. 

She  took  frae  them  the  groff  wax  light : 

"  Gin  aft  I  come  back  to  visit  thee, 

Says,  "  Now  ye  sail  ligg  i'  the  mirk  a'  night !" 

Wae,  dowy,  and  weary  thy  luck  shall  be." 

'Twas  lang  i'  the  night,  and  the  baimies  grat : 

Up  spak  little  Kirstin  in  bed  that  lay  : 

Their  mither  she  under  the  mools  heard  that ; 

"  To  thy  bairnies  I'll  do  the  best  I  may." 

That  heard  the  wife  under  the  eard  that  lay : 

Aye  when  they  heard  the  dog  nirr  and  bell, 

"  For  sooth  maun  I  io  my  baimies  gae  !" 

Sae  ga'e  they  the  bairnies  bread  and  ale. 

That  wife  can  stand  up  at  our  Lord's  knee, 

Aye  whan  the  dog  did  wow,  in  haste 

And  "  May  I  gang  and  my  bairnies  see  f" 

They  cross' d  and  sain'd  themsells  frae  the  ghaist. 

She  prigged  sae  sair,  and  she  priggeo.  sae  lang, 

Aye  whan  the  little  dog  yowl'd,  with  fear 

That  he  at  the  last  ga'e  her  leave  to  gang. 

(And  0  gin  I  were  young!) 

They  shook  at  the  thought  the  dead  was  near. 

K*  And  thou  sail  come  back  when  the  cock  does  craw, 

(/'  thr,  greenwood  it  lists  me  to  ride.) 

For  thou  nae  langer  sail  bide  awa." 

or, 

(Fair  words  sae  mony  a  heart  they  cheer  ^ 

Wi'  her  banes  sae  stark  a  bowt  she  gae  ; 

She's  riven  baith  wa'  and  marble  gray.1 

GLOSSARY. 

Whan  near  to  the  dwalling  she  can  gang, 

St.  1.  May,  maid. 

The  dogs  they  wow'd  till  the  lift  it  rang. 

Lists,  pleases. 

2.  Stead,  place. 

When  she  came  till  the  castell  yett, 

3.  Bairns,  children. 

Her  eldest  dochter  stood  thereat. 

In  fere,  together. 

Winsome,  engaging  ;  giving  joy,  (old  Teut.) 

"  Why  stand  ye  here,  dear  dochter  mine? 

4.  Syne,  then. 

How  are  sma'  brithers  and  sisters  thine  f" — 

5.  Fessen,  fetched  ;  brought 

6.  Drove,  drove. 

"  For  sooth  ye're  a  woman  baith  fair  and  fine  ; 

7.  Dale,  sorrow. 

But  ye  are  nae  dear  mither  of  mine." — 

Dout,  fear. 

8.  Bowster,  bolster ;  cushion  ;  bed. 

"  Och  !  how  should  I  be  fine  or  fair  ? 

Blae,  blue. 

My  cheek  it  is  pale,  and  the  ground's  my  lair." — 

Strae,  straw. 

10.  Groff,  great ;  large  in  gir* 

"  My  mither  was  white,  wi'  cheek  sae  red  ; 

Mark,  mirk  ;  dark. 

But  thou  art  wan,  and  liker  ane  dead." — 

11.  Lang  V  the  night,  late. 

Orat,  wept. 

"  Och  !  how  should  I  be  white  and  red, 

Mools,  mould  ;  earth. 

Sae  lang  as  I've  been  cauld  and  dead  ?" 

12.  Eard,  earth. 

Gae,  go. 

When  she  cam  till  the  chalmer  in, 

14.  Prigged,  entreated  earnestly  and  perseveringly. 

Down  the  bairns'  cheeks  the  tears  did  rin. 

Gang,  go. 

15.  Craw,  crow 

She  buskit  the  tane,  and  she  brush 'd  it  there  ; 

16.  Banes,  bones. 

She  kem'd  and  plaited  the  tither's  hair. 

Stark,  strong. 

Bowt,  bolt ;  elastic  spring,  like  tha«.  of  a  J<  /(  or  a 

The  thirden  she  doodl'd  upon  her  knee, 

row  from  a  bow. 

And  the  fourthen  she  dichted  sae  cannilie. 

Riven,  spilt  asunder. 

Wa',  wall. 

She's  ta'en  the  fifthen  upon  her  lap, 

17.  Wow'd,  howled. 

And  sweetly  suckled  it  at  her  pap. 

Lift,  sky,  firmament ;  air. 

18.  Yett,  gate. 

Till  her  eldest  dochter  syne  said  she, 

19.  Sma1,  small. 

*'  Ye  bid  Child  Dyring  come  here  to  me." 

22.  Lire,  complexion. 

23.  Cald,  cold. 

Whan  he  cam  till  the  chalmer  in, 

24.  Till,  to. 

Wi'  angry  mood  she  said  to  him : 

Rin,  run. 

25.  Buskit,  dressed. 

"  I  left  you  routh  o'  ale  and  bread : 

Kem'd,  combed. 

My  bairnies  quail  for  hunger  and  need. 

Tither,  the  other. 

1  Tht  original  of  this  and  the  following  stanza  u  very  fine. 

Der  bun  gik  ingennem  den  by.           , 

"  Hun  skod  op  sine  rnodige  been, 

De  hundi  de  tude  taa  hojt  t  sky." 

Der  revenede  incur  og  graa  marmorsteen. 

APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


28.  Routh,  plenty. 

Quail,  are  quelled  ;  des. 
Need,  want. 

29.  Ahind,  behind. 
Braw,  brave  ;  fine. 

81.  Dowy,  sorrowful. 

33.  Mrr,  snarl. 
Bell,  bark. 

34.  Sained.,  blessed ;  literally,  signed  with  the  sign  of 

the  cross.     Before  the  introduction  of  Christianity, 
Runes  were  used  in  saining,  as  a  spell  against  the 
power  of  enchantment  and  evil  genii. 
Ohaist,  ghost. 


Note  2  Z. 


the  moody  Elfin  King.—?.  214. 

In  a  long  dissertation  upon  the  Fairy  Superstitions,  publish- 
ed in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  the  most  valuable 
part  of  which  was  supplied  by  my  learned  and  indefatigable 
friend,  Dr.  John  Leyden,  most  of  the  circumstances  are  collect- 
ed which  can  throw  light  upon  the  popular  belief  which  even 
yet  prevails  respecting  them  in  Scotland.  Dr.  Grahame,  au- 
thor of  an  entertaining  work  upon  the  Scenery  of  the  Perth- 
shire Highlands,  already  frequently  quoted,  has  recorded,  with 
great  accuracy,  the  peculiar  tenets  held  by  the  Highlanders  on 
this  topic,  in  the  vicinity  of  Loch  Katrine.  The  learned  author 
is  inclined  to  deduce  the  whole  mythology  from  the  Druidical 
system, — an  opinion  to  which  there  are  many  objections. 

"The  Daoine  Shi',  or  Men  of  Peace  of  the  Highlanders, 
though  not  absolutely  malevolent,  are  believed  to  be  a  peevish, 
repining  race  of  beings,  who,  possessing  themselves  but  a  scanty 
portion  of  happiness,  are  supposed  to  envy  mankind  their  more 
complete  and  substantial  enjoyments.  They  are  supposed  to 
enjoy  in  their  subterraneous  recesses  a  sort  of  shadowy  happi- 
ness,— a  tinsel  grandeur  ;  which,  however,  they  would  willing- 
ly exchange  for  the  more  solid  joys  of  mortality. 

"  They  are  believed  to  inhabit  certain  round  grassy  eminen- 
ces, where  they  celebrate  their  nocturnal  festivities  by  the  light 
of  the  moon.  About  a  mile  beyond  the  source  of  the  Forth 
above  Lochcon,  there  is  a  place  called  Coirshi'an,  or  the  Cove 
of  the  Men  of  Peace,  which  is  still  supposed  to  be  a  favorite 
place  of  their  residence.  In  the  neighborhood  are  to  be  seen 
many  round  conical  eminences  ;  particularly  one,  near  the  head 
of  the  lake,  by  the  skirts  of  which  many  are  still  afraid  to  pass 
after  sunset.  It  is  believed,  that  if,  on  Hallow-eve,  any  person, 
alone,  goes  round  one  of  these  hills  nine  times,  towards  the  left 
band  {sinistrorsuni)  a  door  shall  open,  by  which  he  will  be 
admitted  into  their  subterraneous  abodes.  Many,  it  is  said,  of 
mortal  race,  have  been  entertained  in  their  secret  recesses. 
There  they  have  been  received  into  the  most  splendid  apart- 
ments, and  regaled  with  the  most  sumptuous  banquets,  and 
delicious  wines.  Their  females  surpass  the  daughters  of  men 
In  beauty.  The  seemingly  happy  inhabitants  pass  their  time 
in  festivity,  and  in  dancing  to  notes  of  the  softest  music.  But 
■nhappy  is  the  mortal  who  joins  in  their  joys,  or  ventures  to 
partake  of  their  dainties.  By  this  indulgence,  he  forfeits  for- 
ever the  society  of  men,  and  is  bound  down  irrevocably  to  the 
condition  of  Shi'ich,  or  Man  of  Peace. 

"  A  woman,  as  is  reported  n  the  Highland  tradition,  was 
conveyed,  in  days  of  yore,  into  the  secret  recesses  of  the  Men 
of  Peace.  There  she  was  recognised  by  one  who  had  formerly 
been  an  ordinary  mortal,  but  who  had,  by  some  fatality,  be- 
come associated  with  the  Shi'ichs.  This  acquaintance,  still 
retaining  some  portion  of  human  benevolence,  warned  her  of 
her  danger,  and  counselled  her,  as  she  valued  her  liberty,  to 
abstain  from  eating  and  drinking  with  them  for  a  certain  space 
*f  time.  She  complied  with  the  counsel  of  her  friend  ;  and 
»»hen  the  period  assigned  was  elapsed,  she  found  herself  again 


upon  earth,  restored  to  the  society  of  mortals.  It  is  added, 
that  when  she  examined  the  viands  which  had  been  presented 
to  her,  and  which  had  appeared  so  tempting  to  the  eye,  they 
were  found,  now  that  the  enchantment  was  lemoved,  to  con- 
sist only  of  the  refuse  of  the  earth." — P.  107-111. 


Note  3  A. 


Why  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beech  and  oak, 

Our  moonlight  circle's  screen  ? 
Or  who  comes  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

Beloved  of  our  Elfin  Queen  ? — P.  214. 

It  has  been  already  observed,  that  fairies,  if  not  positively 
malevolent,  are  capricious,  and  easily  offended.  They  are,  like 
other  proprietors  of  forests,  peculiarly  jealous  of  their  rights  oi 
vert  and  venison,  as  appears  from  the  cause  of  offence  taken, 
in  the  original  Danish  ballad.  This  jealousy  was  also  an  attri- 
bute of  the  northern  Duergar,  or  dwarfs ;  to  many  of  whose 
distinctions  the  fairies  seem  to  have  succeeded,  if,  indeed,  they 
are  not  the  same  class  of  beings.  In  the  huge  metrical  record 
of  German  Chivalry,  entitled  the  Helden-Buch,  Sir  Hildebrand, 
and  the  other  heroes  of  whom  it  treats,  are  engaged  in  one  of 
their  most  desperate  adventures,  from  a  rash  violation  of  the 
rose-garden  of  an  Elfin,  or  Dwarf  King. 

There  are  yet  traces  of  a  belief  in  this  worst  and  most  mali- 
cious order  of  fairies,  among  the  Border  wilds.  Dr.  Leyden  has 
introduced  such  a  dwarf  into  his  ballad  entitled  the  Cout  of 
Keeldar,  and  has  not  forgot  his  characteristic  detestation  of  the 
chase. 

"  The  third  blast  that  young  Keeldar  blew 
Still  stood  the  limber  fern, 
And  a  wee  man,  of  swarthy  hue, 
Upstarted  by  a  cairn. 

"  His  russet  weeds  were  brown  as  heath 
That  clothes  the  upland  fell ; 
And  the  hair  of  his  head  was  frizzly  red 
As  the  purple  heather-bell. 

"  An  urchin  clad  in  prickles  red, 
Clung  cow'ring  to  his  arm  ; 
The  hounds  they  howl'd,  and  backward  fled 
As  struck  by  fairy  charm. 

u  i  Why  rjses  high  the  stag-hound's  cry, 
Where  stag-hound  ne'er  should  be  ? 
Why  wakes  that  horn  the  silent  morn, 
Without  the  leave  of  me  V — 

"  '  Brown  dwarf,  that  o'er  the  moorland  strays, 
Thy  name  to  Keeldar  tell !' — 
'  The  Brown  man  of  the  Moors,  who  stays 
Beneath  the  heather-bell. 

"  '  'Tis  sweet  beneath  the  heather-bell 
To  live  in  autumn  brown  ; 
And  sweet  to  hear  the  lav'rock's  swell, 
Far,  far  from  tower  and  town. 

"  ■  But  woe  betide  the  shrilling  horn, 
The  chase's  surly  cheer  ! 
And  ever  that  hunter  is  forlorn, 
Whom  first  at  morn  I  hear.'  " 

The  poetical  picture  here  given  of  the  Dnergar  corresponds 
exactly  with  the  following  Northumbrian  legend,  with  which 
I  was  lately  favored  by  my  learned  and  kind  friend  Mr.  Sur- 
tees  of  Mainsforth,  who  has  bestowed  indefatigable  labor  upon 
the  antiquities  of  the  English  Border  counties.     The  subject  ii 


260 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


in  itself  so  curious,  that  the  length  of  the  note  will,  I  hope,  be 
pardoned. 

**  1  have  only  one  record  to  offer  of  the  appearance  of  our 
Northumbrian  Duergar.  My  narratrix  is  Elizabeth  Cockburn, 
an  old  wife  of  Offerton,  in  this  county,  whose  credit,  in  a  case 
of  this  kind,  will  not,  I  hope,  be  much  impeached,  when  I  add, 
that  she  is,  by  her  dull  neighbors,  supposed  to  be  occasionally 
insane,  but,  by  herself,  to  be  at  those  times  endowed  with  a 
faculty  of  seeing  visions,  and  spectral  appearances,  which  shun 
the  common  ken. 

"  In  the  year  before  the  great  rebellion,  two  young  men  from 
Newcastle  were  sporting  on  the  high  moors  above  Elsden,  and 
after  pursuing  their  game  several  hours,  sat  down  to  dine  in  a 
green  glen,  near  one  of  the  mountain  streams.  After  their  re- 
past, the  younger  lad  ran  to  the  brook  for  water,  and  after  stoop- 
ing to  drink,  was  surprised,  on  lifting  his  head  again,  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  brown  dwarf,  who  stood  on  a  crag  covered  with 
brackens,  across  the  burn.  This  extraordinary  personage  did 
not  appear  to  be  above  half  the  stature  of  a  common  man,  but 
was  uncommonly  stout  and  broad-built,  having  the  appearance 
of  vast  strength.  His  dress  was  entirely  brown,  the  color  of 
„he  brackens,  and  his  head  covered  with  frizzled  red  hair.  His 
countenance  was  expressive  of  the  most  savage  ferocity,  and 
his  eyes  glared  like  a  bull.  It  seems  he  addressed  the  young 
man  first,  threatening  him  with  his  vengeance,  for  having  tres- 
passed on  his  demesnes,  and  asking  him  if  he  knew  in  whose 
presence  he  stood  ?  The  youth  replied,  that  he  now  supposed 
him  to  be  the  lord  of  the  moors  ;  that  he  offended  through  ig- 
norance ;  and  offered  to  bring  him  the  game  he  had  killed. 
The  dwarf  was  a  little  mollified  by  this  submission,  but  re- 
marked, that  nothing  could  be  more  offensive  to  him  than  such 
an  offer,  as  he  considered  the  wild  animals  as  his  subject's,  and 
never  failed  to  avenge  their  destruction.  He  condescended  fur- 
ther to  inform  him,  that  he  was,  like  himself,  mortal,  though 
of  years  far  exceeding  the  lot  of  common  humanity  ;  and  (what 
I  should  not  have  had  an  idea  of)  that  he  hoped  for  salvation. 
He  never,  he  added,  fed  on  any  thing  that  had  life,  but  lived 
in  the  summer  on  whortle-berries,  and  in  winter  on  nuts  and  ap- 
ples, of  which  he  had  great  store  in  the  woods.  Finally,  he  in- 
vited his  new  acquaintance  to  accompany  him  home  and  par- 
take his  hospitality  ;  an  oifer  which  the  youth  was  on  the  point 
of  accepting,  and  was  just  going  to  spring  across  the  brook 
(which,  if  he  had  done,  says  Elizabeth,  the  dwarf  would  cer- 
tainly have  torn  him  in  pieces),  when  his  foot  was  arrested  by 
the  voice  of  his  companion,  who  thought  he  had  tarried  long ; 
and  on  looking  round  again,  'the  wee  brown  man  was  fled.' 
The  story  adds,  that  he  was  imprudent  enough  to  slight  the  ad- 
monition, and  to  sport  over  the  moors  on  his  way  homewards  ; 
but  soon  after  his  return,  he  fell  into  a  lingering  disorder,  and 
died  within  the  year." 


Note  3  C. 
For  thou  wcrt  christen'' d  man. — P.  214. 
The  elves  were  supposeo  greatly  to  envy  the  privileges  ao 
quired  by  Christian  initiation,  and  they  gave  to  those  mortals 
who  had  fallen  into  their  power  a  certain  precedence,  founded 
upon  this  advantageous  distinction.  Tamlane,  in  the  old  bal- 
lad, describes  his  own  rank  in  the  fairy  procession : — 

"  For  I  ride  on  a  milk-white  steed, 
And  aye  nearest  the  town  ; 
Because  I  was  a  christen'd  knight, 
They  gave  me  that  renown." 

1  presume  that,  in  the  Danish  ballad  of  the  Elfin  Gray  (see 
Appendix,  Note  3  A),  the  obstinacy  of  the  "  Weiest  Elf," 
who  would  not  flee  for  cross  or  sign,  is  to  be  derived  from  the 
circumstance  of  his  having  been  "  christen'd  man." 

How  eager  the  Elves  were  to  obtain  for  their  offspring  the 
prerogatives  of  Christianity  will  be  proved  by  the  following 
story  : — "  In  the  district  called  Haga,  in  Iceland,  dwelt  a  no- 
bleman called  Sigward  Forster,  who  had  an  intrigue  with  one 
of  the  subterranean  females.  The  elf  became  pregnant,  and 
exacted  from  her  lover  a  firm  promise  that  he  would  procure 
the  baptism  of  the  infant.  At  the  appointed  time,  the  mother 
came  to  the  churchyard,  on  the  wall  of  which  she  placed  a 
golden  cup,  and  a  stole  for  the  priest,  agreeable  to  the  custom 
of  making  an  offering  at  baptism.  She  then  stood  a  little  apart. 
When  the  priest  left  the  church,  he  inquired  the  meaning  of 
what  he  saw,  and  demanded  of  Sigward  if  he  avowed  himself 
the  father  of  the  child.  But  Sigward,  ashamed  of  the  connec- 
tion, denied  the  paternity.  He  was  then  interrogated  if  he  de- 
sired that  the  child  should  be  baptized  ;  but  this  also  he  an- 
iwtrqd  in  t he  negative,  lest,  by  such  request,  he  should  admit 
himself  to  be  the  father.  On  which  the  child  was  left  un- 
touched and  unbaptized.  Whereupon  the  mother,  in  extreme 
wrath,  snatched  up  the  infant  and  the  cup,  and  retired,  leaving 
the  priestly  cope,  of  which  fragments  are  still  in  preservation. 
But  this  female  denounced  and  imposed  upon  Sigward  and  his 
posterity,  to  the  ninth  generation,  a  singular  disease,  with  which 
many  of  his  descendants  are  afflicted  at  this  day."  Thus  wrote 
Einar  Dudmond,  pastor  of  the  parish  of  Garpsdale,  in  Iceland, 
a  man  profoundly  versed  in  learning,  from  whose  manuscript  it 
was  extracted  by  the  learned  Torfitus. — Historic.  Hrolfi  Era- 
kii,  Hafnice,  1715,  prefatio. 


Note  3  B. 

Who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

The  fairies'  fatal  green  ?— P.  214. 

As  the  Daoine  Shi' ,  or  Men  of  Peace,  wore  green  habits 
they  were  supposed  to  take  offence  when  any  mortals  ventured 
to  assume  their  favorite  color.  Indeed,  from  some  reason 
which  ;ias  been,  perhaps,  originally  a  general  superstition, 
green  is  held  in  Scotland  to  be  unlucky  to  particular  tribes  and 
counties.  The  Caithness  men,  who  hold  this  belief,  allege  as 
a  reason,  that  their  bands  wore  that  color  when  they  were  cut 
off  at  the  battle  of  Flodden  ;  and  for  the  same  reason  they 
avoid  crossing  the  Ord  on  a  Monday,  being  the  day  of  the  week 
on  which  their  ill-omened  array  set  forth.  Green  is  also  dis- 
liked by  those  of  the  name  of  Ogilvy  ;  but  more  especially  is  it 
held  fatal  to  the  whole  clan  of  Grahame.  It  is  remembered  of 
an  aged  gentleman  of  that  name,  that  when  his  horse  fell  in  a 
fox-chase,  he  accounted  for  it  at  once  by  observing,  that  the 
whipcord  attached  to  his  lash  was  of  this  unlucky  color. 


Note  3  D. 


And  gayly  shines  the  Fairy-land — 
But  all  is  glistening  show. — P.  214. 

No  fact  respecting  Fairy-land  seems  to  be  better  ascertained 
than  the  fantastic  and  illusory  nature  of  their  apparent  pleasure 
and  splendor.  It  has  been  already  noticed  in  the  former  quo- 
tations from  Dr.  Grahame's  entertaining  volume,  and  may  be 
confirmed  by  the  following  Highland  tradition  : — "  A  woman, 
whose  new-born  child  had  been  conveyed  by  them  into  their 
secret  abodes,  was  also  carried  thither  herself,  to  remain,  how- 
ever, only  until  she  should  suckle  her  infant.  She  one  day, 
during  this  period,  observed  the  Shi'ichs  busily  employed  in 
mixing  various  ingredients  in  a  boiling  caldron  :  and,  as  soon  a? 
the  composition  was  prepared,  she  remarked  that  they  all  care- 
fully anointed  their  eyes  with  it,  laying  the  remainder  aside 
for  future  use.  In  a  moment  when  they  were  all  absent,  sh< 
also  attempted  to  anoint  her  eyes  with  the  precious  drug,  but 
had  time  to  apply  it  to  one  eye  only,  when  the  Daoine  Shi'  re- 
turned. But  with  that  eye  she  was  henceforth  enabled  to  see 
every  thing  as  it  really  passed  in  their  secret  abodes.  She  saw 
every  object,  not  as  she  hitherto  had  done,  in  deceptive  splen- 
Jor  and  elegance,  but  in  its  genuine  colors  and  form.  The 
gaudy  ornaments  of  the  apartment  were  reduced  to  the  walli 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


261 


of  a  gloomy  cavern.  Soon  after,  having  discharged  her  office, 
•he  was  dismissed  to  her  own  home.  Still,  however,  she  re- 
tained the  faculty  of  seeing,  wit!  her  medicated  eye,  every 
thing  that  was  done,  anywhere  in  her  presence,  by  the  decep- 
tive art  of  the  order.  One  day,  amidst  a  throng  of  people,  she 
chanced  to  observe  the  Shi'ich,  or  man  of  peace,  in  whose  pos- 
session she  had  left  her  child  ;  though  to  every  other  eye  invisi- 
ble. Prompted  by  maternal  affection,  she  inadvertently  accosted 
him,  and  began  to  inquire  after  the  welfare  of  her  child.  The 
man  of  peace,  astonished  at  being  thus  recognized  by  one  of 
mortal  race,  demanded  how  she  had  been  enabled  to  discover 
him.  Awed  by  the  terrible  frown  of  his  countenance,  she  ac- 
knowledged what  she  had  done.  He  spat  in  her  eye,  and  ex- 
tinguished it  forever." — Grahame's  Sketches,  p.  116-118. 
it  is  very  remarkable,  that  this  story,  translated  by  Dr.  Gra- 
hame  from  popular  Gaelic  tradition,  is  to  be  found  in  the  Otia 
Imperialia  of  Gervase  of  Tilbury.1  A  work  of  great  interest 
might  be  compiled  upon  the  origin  of  popular  fiction,  and  the 
transmission  of  similar  tales  from  age  to  age,  and  from  country 
to  country.  The  mythology  of  one  period  would  then  appear 
to  pass  into  the  romance  of  the  next  century,  and  that  into  the 
nursery  tale  of  the  subsequent  ages.  Such  an  investigation, 
while  it  went  greatly  to  diminish  our  ideas  of  the  richness  of 
.uman  invention,  would  also  show,  that  these  fictions,  how- 
ever wild  and  childish,  possess  such  charms  for  the  populace, 
as  enable  them  to  penetrate  into  countries  unconnected  by  man- 
ners and  language,  and  having  no  apparent  intercourse  to  af- 
ford the  means  of  transmission.  It  would  carry  me  far  beyond 
my  bounds,  to  produce  instances  of  this  community  of  fable 
among  nations  who  never  borrowed  from  each  other  any  thing 
intrinsically  worth  learning.  Indeed,  the  wide  diffusion  of 
popular  fictions  may  be  compared  to  the  facility  with  which 
straws  and  feathers  are  dispersed  abroad  by  the  wind,  while 
valuable  metals  cannot  be  transported  without  trouble  and  la- 
bor. There  lives,  I  believe,  only  one  gentleman,  whose  unlim- 
ited acquaintance  with  this  subject  might  enable  him  to  do  it 
justice  ;  I  mean  my  friend,  Mr.  Francis  Douce,  of  the  British 
Museum,  whose  usual  kindness  will,  I  hope,  pardon  my  men- 
tioning his  name,  while  on  a  subject  so  closely  connected  with 
his  extensive  and  curious  researches. 


Note  3  E. 


-  /  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray, 
dnd,  'twixt  life  and  death,  was  snatch' d  away 
To  the  joyless  Elfin  bower. — P.  214. 

The  subjects  of  Fairy-land  were  recruited  from  the  regions 
of  humanity  by  a  sort  of  crimping  system,  which  extended  to 
adults  as  well  as  to  infants.  Many  of  those  who  were  in  this 
world  supposed  to  have  discharged  the  debt  of  nature,  had 
itnly  become  denizens  of  the  "  Londe  of  Faery."  In  the 
beautiful  Fairy  Romance  of  Orfee  and  Heuro:!iis  (Orpheus 
and  Eruydice)  in  the  Auchinleck  MS.  is  the  following  striking 
enumeration  of  persons  thus  abstracted  from  middle  earth. 
Mr.  Ritson  unfortunately  published  this  romance  from  a  copy 


1  [This  story  is  still  current  in  the  moors  of  Staffordshire,  and  adapted 
»y  the  peasantry  to  their  own  meridian.  I  have  repeatedly  heard  it  told, 
exactly  as  here,  by  rustics  who  could  not  read.  My  last  authority  was  a 
nailer  near  Cheadle.— R.  Jamikson.] 

"  One  other  legend,  in  a  similar  strain,  lately  communicated  by  a  very 
intelligent  young  lady,  is  given,  principally  because  it  furnishes  an  oppor- 
tunity of  pursuing  an  ingenious  idea  suggested  by  Mr.  Scott,  in  one  of  bis 
learned  notes  to  the  Lady  of  the  Ijike  : — 

["  A  young  man,  roaming  one  day  through  the  forest,  observed  a  num- 
ber of  persons  all  dressed  in  green,  issuing  from  one  of  those  round  emi- 
nences which  are  commonly  accounted  fairy  hills.  Each  of  them  in  suc- 
cession called  upon  a  person  by  name  to  fetch  his  horse.  A  caparisoned 
Jteed  instantly  appeared  ;  they  all  mounted,  and  sallied  forth  into  the  re- 
rioni  a?  air.    The  young  man,  like  AH  Baba  in  the  Arabian  Nights,  ven- 


in  which  the  following,  and  many  other  highly  poetical  pw 
sages,  do  not  occur  : — 

"  Then  he  gan  biholde  about  al, 
And  seighe  ful  liggeand  with  in  the  wal 
Of  folk  that  were  thidder  y-brought. 
And  thought  dede  and  nere  nought  < 
Some  stode  withouten  hadde  ; 
And  sum  non  amies  nade  ; 
And  some  thurch  the  bodi  hadde  v^ounde  ; 
And  some  lay  wode  y-bounde  ; 
And  sum  armed  on  hors  sete  ; 
And  sum  astrangled  as  thai  ete ; 
And  sum  war  in  water  adreynt ; 
And  sum  with  fire  al  forschreynt ; 
Wives  ther  lay  on  childe  bedde  ; 
Sum  dede,  and  sum  awedde  ; 
And  wonder  tele  ther  lay  besides, 
Right  as  thai  slepe  her  undertides  ; 
Eche  was  thus  in  the  warl  y-nome, 
With  fairi  thider  y-come." 


JSOTE  3  F. 


Who  ever  recWd,  where,  how,  or  when, 

The  prowling  fox  was  trapp'd  or  slain  ? — P.  219 

St.  John  actually  used  this  illustration  when  engaged  in  con« 
futing  the  plea  of  law  proposed  for  the  unfortunate  Earl  o. 
Strafford  :  "  It  was  true,  we  gave  laws  to  hares  and  deer,  be- 
cause they  are  beasts  of  chase ;  but  it  was  never  accounted 
either  cruelty  or  foul  play  to  knock  foxes  or  wolves  on  the 
head  as  they  can  be  found,  because  they  are  beasts  of  prey. 
In  a  word,  the  law  and  humanity  were  alike  ;  the  one  being 
more  fallacious,  and  the  other  more  barbarous,  than  in  any 
age  had  been  vented  in  such  an  authority." — Clarendon's 
History  of  the  Rebellion.     Oxford,  1702,  fol.  vol.  p   181 


Note  3  G. 
-his  Highland  cheer, 


The  harden' d  flesh  of  mountain-deer. — P.  219 

The  Scottish  Highlanders,  in  former  times,  had  a  concise 
mode  of  cooking  their  venison,  or  rather  of  dispensing  with 
cooking  it,  which  appears  greatly  to  have  surprised  the  French 
whom  chance  made  acquainted  with  it.  The  Vidame  of  Char- 
ters, when  a  hostage  in  England,  during  the  reign  of  Edward 
VI.,  was  permitted  to  travel  into  Scotland,  and  penetrated  as 
far  as  to  the  remote  Highlands  (au  fin  fond  des  Savvages). 
After  a  great  hunting  party,  at  which  a  most  wonderful  quan- 
tity of  game  was  destroyed,  he  saw  these  Scottish  Savages 
devour  a  part  of  their  venison  raw,  without  any  farther  prepa- 
ration than  compressing  it  between  two  batons  of  wood,  so  a» 


tured  to  pronounce  the  same  name,  and  called  for  his  horse.  The  steed 
immediately  appeared  ;  he  mounted,  and  was  soon  joined  to  the  fairy  choh. 
He  remained  with  them  for  S  year,  going  about  with  tHem  to  fairs  and 
weddings,  and  feasting,  though  unseen  by  mortal  eyes,  on  the  victuals  that 
were  exhibited  on  those  occasions.  They  had  one  day  gone  to  a  wedding 
where  the  cheer  was  abundant.  During  the  feast  the  bridegroom  sneezed. 
The  young  man,  according  to  the  usual  custom,  said, '  God  bless  you  I' 
The  fairies  were  offended  at  the  pronunciation  of  the  sacrec  name,  and  as 
sured  him,  that  if  he  dared  to  repeat  it,  they  would  punish  him.  The 
bridegroom  sneezed  a  second  time.  He  repeated  his  blesuing ;  they  threat- 
ened more  tremendous  vengeance.  He  sneezed  a  third  time  ;  he  blessed 
him  as  before.  The  fairies  were  enraged  ;  they  tumbled  him  from  a  pre- 
cipice ;  but  he  found  himself  unhurt,  and  was  restored  to  the  society  of 
mortals."— Dr.  Grahame's  Sketches,  second  edit.  p.  255-7.— rlee  Not* 
"  Fairy  Superstitions,"  Rob  Roy,  N.  edit.] 


262 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


to  force  out  the  blood,  and  render  it  extremely  hard.  This 
they  reckoned  a  great  delicacy  ;  and  when  the  Vidame  par- 
took of  it,  his  compliance  with  their  taste  rendered  him  ex- 
tremely popular.  This  curious  trait  of  manners  was  com- 
municated by  Mons.  de  Montmorency,  a  great  friend  of  the 
Vidame,  to  Brantome,  by  whom  it  is  recorded  in  Vies  des 
Hanmes  Illustres,  Discours  lxxxix.  art.  14.  The  process 
by  which  the  raw  venison  was  rendered  eatable  is  described 
very  minutely  in  the  romance  of  Perceforest,  where  Estonne,  a 
Scottish  knight-errant,  having  slain  a  deer,  says  to  his  com- 
panion Claudius  :  "  Sire,  or  mangerez  vous  et  moy  aussi. 
Voire  si  nous  auions  de  feu,  dit  Claudius.  Par  l'ame  de  mon 
pere,  dist  Estonne,  ie  vous  atourneray  et  cuiray  a  la  maniere 
de  nostre  pays  comme  pour  cheualier  errant.  Lors  tira  son 
espee,  et  sen  vint  a  la  branche  clung  arbre,  et  y  fait  vng  grant 
trou,  et  puis  fend  la  branche  bien  dieux  piedx,  et  boute  la 
'cuisse  du  serf  entredeux,  et  puis  prent  le  licol  de  son  cheval, 
et  en  lye  la  branche,  et  destraint  si  fort,  <jue  le  sang  et  les  hu- 
meurs  de  la  chair  saillent  hors,  et  demeure  la  chair  doulce  et 
seiche.  Lors  prent  la  chair,  et  oste  ius  le  cuir,  et  la  chaire 
demeure  aussi  blanche  comme  si  ce  feust  dung  chappon. 
Dont  dist  a  Claudius,  Sire,  ie  la  vous  aye  cuiste  a  la  guise  de 
mon  pays,  vous  en  pouez  manger  hardyement,  car  ie  mange- 
ray  premier.  Lors  met  sa  main  a  sa  selle  en  vng  lieu  quil  y 
auoit,  et  tire  hors  sel  et  poudre  de  poiure  et  gingembre,  mesle 
ensemble,  et  le  iecte  dessus,  et  le  frote  sus  bien  fort,  puis  le 
couppe  a  moytie,  et  en  donne  a  Claudius  l'une  des  pieces,  et 
puis  mort  en  l'autre  aussi  sauoureussement  quil  est  aduis  que 
il  en  feist  la  pouldre  voller.  Quant  Claudius  veit  quil  le  man- 
geoit  de  tel  goust,  il  en  print  grant  faim,  et  commence  a  man- 
ger tresvoulentiers,  et  dist  a  Estonne:  Par  Tame  de  moy,  ie 
ne  mangeay  oncquesmais  de  chair  atournee  de  telle  guise  : 
mais  doresenauant  ie  ne  me  retournproye  pas  hors  de  mon 
chemin  par  auoir  la  cuite.  Sire,  dist  Estonne,  quant  is  suis 
en  desers  d'Ecosse,  dont  ie  suis  seigneur,  ie  cheuaueheray  huit 
iours  ou  quinze  que  ie  n'entreray  en  chastel  ne  en  maison,  et 
si  ne  verray  feu  ne  personne  viuant  fors  que  bestes  sauuages, 
et  de  celles  mangeray  atournees  en  ceste  maniere,  et  mieulx 
me  plaira  que  la  viande  de  l'empereur.  Ainsi  sen  vont  man- 
geant  et  cheuauchant  iusques  adonc  quilz  arriuerent  sur  une 
moult  belle  fontaine  que  estoit  en  vne  valee.  Quant  Estonne 
la  vit  il  dist  a  Claudius,  allons  boire  a  ceste  fontaine.  Or  beu- 
uop.s,  dist  Estonne,  du  boir  que  le  grant  dieu  a  pourueu  a 
to  ites  gens,  et  que  me  plaist  mieulx  que  les  ceruoises  d'An- 
gleterre." — La  Tresdrgante  Hystoire  du  tresnoble  Boy 
Perceforest.     Paris,  1531,  fol.  tome  i.  fol.  lv.  vers. 

After  all,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  la  chaire  nostree,  for 
bo  the  French  called  the  venison  thus  summarily  prepared,  was 
any  thing  more  than  a  mere  rude  kind  of  deer-ham. 


Note  3  H. 


Not  then  claimed  sovereignty  his  due 

While  Albany,  with  feeble  hand, 

Held  borrowed  truncheon  of  command. — P. 


221. 


There  is  scarcely  a  more  disorderly  period  in  Scottish  his- 
tory than  that  which  succeeded  the  battle  of  Flodden,  and 
occupied  the  minority  of  James  V.  Feuds  of  ancient  stand- 
ing broke  out^ike  old  wounds,  and  every  quarrel  among  the 
independent  nobility,  which  occurred  daily,  and  almost  hour- 
V,  gave  rise  to  fresh  bloodshed.  "There  arose,"  says  Pits- 
cottie,  "  great  trouble  and  deadly  feuds  in  many  parts  of  Scot- 
land, both  in  the  north  and  west  parts.  The  Master  of  Forbes, 
n  the  north,  slew  the  Laird  of  Meldrum,  under  tryst ;"  (i.  e. 
at  an  agreed  and  secure  meeting.)  "  Likewise  the  Laird  of 
Drummelzier  slew  the  Lord  Fleming  at  the  hawking  :  and 
likewise  there  was  slaughter  among  many  other  great  lords." 
—P.  121.  Nor  was  the  matter  much  mended  under  the  gov- 
ernment of  the   Earl  of  Angus  ;    for  though  he  caused  the 


King  to  ride  through  all  Scotland,  "  under  the  pretence  and 
color  of  justice,  to  punish  thief  and  traitor,  none  were  found 
greater  than  were  in  their  own  company.  And  none  ,-t  that 
time  durst  strive  with  a  Douglas,  nor  yet  a  Douglas's  man 
for  if  they  would,  they  got  the  worst.  Therefore,  none  dursf 
plainzie  of  no  extortion,  theft,  reifF,  nor  slaughter,  done  t« 
them  by  the  Douglases,  or  their  men  ;  in  that  cause  they  were 
not  heard,  so  long  as  the  Douglas  had  the  court  in  guiding."— 
Ibid.  p.  133. 


Note  3  L 


The  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir, 

Shall,  with  strong  hand,  redeem  his  share. — P.  221. 

The  ancient  Highlanders  verified  in  their  practice  the  lines 
of  Gray  : — 

"  An  iron  race  the  mountain  cliffs  maintain, 
Foes  to  the  gentler  genius  of  the  plain  ; 
For  where  unwearied  sinews  must  be  found, 
With  side-long  p'ough  to  quell  the  flinty  ground ; 
To  turn  the  torrent's  swift  descending  flood  ; 
To  tame  the  savage  rushing  from  the  wood  ; 
What  wonder  if.  to  patient  valor  train'd. 
They  guard  with  spirit  what  by  strength  they  gain'd  : 
And  while  their  rocky  ramparts  round  they  see 
The  rough  abode  of  want  and  liberty 
(As  lawless  force  from  confidence  will  grow), 
Insult  the  plenty  of  the  vales  below  ?" 

Fragment  on  the  Alliance  of  Education 
and  Government. 

So  far,  indeed,  was  a  Creagh,  or  foray,  from  being  held  dis- 
graceful, that  a  young  chief  was  always  expected  to  show  his 
talents  for  command  so  soon  as  he  assumed  it,  by  leading  his 
clan  on  a  successful  enterprise  of  this  nature,  either  against  a 
neighboring  sept,  for  which  constant  feuds  usually  furnished 
an  apology,  or  against  the  Sassenach,  Saxons,  or  Lowlauders, 
for  which  no  apology  was  necessary.  The  Gael,  great  tradi- 
tional historians,  never  forgot  that  the  Lowlands  had,  at.  some 
remote  period,  been  the  property  of  their  Celtic  forefathers, 
which  furnished  an  ample  vindication  of  all  the  ravages  that 
they  could  make  on  the  unfortunate  districts  which  lay  within 
their  reach.  Sir  James  Grant  of  Grant  is  in  possession  of  a 
letter  of  apology  from  Cameron  of  Lochiel,  whose  men  had 
committed  some  depredation  upon  a  farm  called  Moines, 
occupied  by  one  of  the  Grants.  Lochiel  assures  Grant,  that, 
however  the  mistake  had  happened,  his  instructions  were  pre- 
cise, that  the  party  should  foray  the  province  of  Moray  (a 
Lowland  district),  where,  as  he  coolly  observes,  "  all  men  take 
their  prey." 


Note  3  K. 


-/  only  meant 


To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 
Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu. — P.  222. 

This  incident,  like  some  other  passages  in  the  poem,  iU«s- 
trative  of  the  character  of  the  ancient  Gael,  is  not  imaginary, 
but  borrowed  from  fact.  The  Highlanders,  with  the  incon- 
sistency of  most  nations  in  the  same  state,  were  alternately 
capable  of  great  exertions  of  generosity,  and  of  cruel  revenge 
and  perfidy.  The  following  story  I  can  only  quote  from  tra- 
dition, but  with  such  an  assurance  from  those  by  whom  it  was 
communicated,  as  permits  me  little  doubt  of  its  authenticity. 
Early  in  the  last  century,  John  Gunn,  a  noted  Cateran,  oi 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


203 


Highland  robber,  infested  Inverness-shire,  and  levied  Mack- 
mail  up  to  the  walls  of  the  provincial  capital.  A  garrison  was 
hen  maintained  in  the  castle  of  that  town,  and  their  pay 
(country  banks  being  unknown)  was  usually  transmitted  in 
specie,  under  the  guard  of  a  small  escort.  It  chanced  that 
the  officer  who  commanded  this  little  party  was  unexpectedly 
obliged  to  halt,  about  thirty  miles  from  Inverness,  at  a  miser- 
able inn.  About  night-fall,  a  stranger,  in  the  Highland  dress, 
and  of  very  prepossessing  appearance,  entered  the  same  house. 
Separate  accommodations  being  impossible,  the  Englishman 
offered  the  newly-arrived  guest  a  part  of  his  supper,  which 
was  accepted  with  reluctance.  By  the  conversation  he  foun<j 
his  new  acquaintance  knew  well  all  the  passes  of  the  country, 
which  induced  him  eagerly  to  request  his  company  on  the  en- 
suing morning.  He  neither  disguised  his  business  and  charge, 
nor  his  apprehensions  of  that  celebrated  freebooter,  John 
Gunn. — The  Highlander  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  frank- 
ly consented  to  be  his  guide.  Forth  they  set  in  the  morning  ; 
and,  in  travelling  through  a  solitary  and  dreary  glen,  the  dis- 
course again  turned  on  John  Gunn.  "  Would  you  like  to  see 
him?"  said  the  guide;  and,  without  waiting  an  answer  to 
this  alarming  question,  he  whistled,  and  the  English  officer, 
with  his  small  party,  were  surrounded  by  a  body  of  High- 
landers, whose  numbers  put  resistance  out  of  question,  and 
who  were  all  well  armed.  "  Stranger,"  resumed  the  guide, 
"  I  am  that  very  John  Gunn  by  whom  you  feared  to  be  inter- 
cepted, and  not  without  cause  :  for  I  came  to  the  inn  last  night 
with  the  express  purpose  of  learning  your  route,  that  I  and  my 
followers  might  ease  you  of  your  charge  by  the  road.  But  I 
am  incapable  of  betraying  the  trust  you  reposed  in  me,  and 
having  convinced  you  that  you  were  in  my  power,  I  can  only 
dismiss  you  unplundered  and  uninjured."  He  then  gave  the 
officer  directions  for  his  journey,  and  disappeared  with  his 
party  as  suddenly  as  they  had  presented  themselves. 


Note  3  L. 


On  Bochastle  the  mouldering  lines 
Where  Rome,  the  Empress  of  the  world, 
Of  yore  her  eagle-wings  unfurl1  d. — P.  223. 

The  torrent  which  discharges  itself  from  Loch  Vennachar, 
the  lowest  and  eastmost  of  the  three  lakes  which  form  the 
scenery  adjoining  to  the  Trosachs,  sweeps  through  a  flat  and 
extensive  moor,  called  Bochastle.  Upon  a  small  eminence, 
called  the  Dun  of  Bochastle,  and  indeed  on  the  plain  itself, 
are  some  intrenchments,  which  have  been  thought  Roman. 
There  is,  adjacent  to  Callender,  a  sweet  villa,  the  residence  of 
Captain  Fairfoul,  entitled  the  Roman  Camp. 

["  One  of  the  most  entire  and  beautiful  remains  of  a  Roman 
encampment  now  to  be  found  in  Scotland,  is  to  be  seen  at 
Ardoch,  near  Greenloaning,  about  six  miles  to  the  eastward 
of  Dunblane.  This  encampment  is  supposed,  on  good  grounds, 
to  have  *sen  constructed  during  the  fourth  campaign  of  Agri- 
cola  in  Britain  ;  it  is  1060  feet  in  length,  and  900  in  breadth  ; 
it  could  contain  26,000  men,  according  to  the  ordinary  distri- 
bution of  the  Roman  soldiers  in  their  encampments.  There 
appears  to  have  been  three  or  four  ditches,  strongly  fortified, 
surrounding  the  camp.  The  four  entries  crossing  the  lines 
are  still  to  be  seen  distinctly.  The  general's  quarter  rises 
above  the  level  of  the  camp,  but  is  not  exactly  in  the  centre. 
It  is  a  regular  square  of  twenty  yards,  enclosed  with  a  stone 
wall,  and  containing  the  foundations  of  a  house,  30  feet  by  20. 
There  is  a  subterraneous  communication  with  a  smaller  en- 
campment at  a  little  distance,  in  which  several  Roman  helmets, 
spears,  &c,  have  been  found.  From  this  camp  at  Ardoch, 
the  great  Roman  highway  runs  east  to  Bertha,  about  14  miles 
distant,  where  the  Roman  army  is  believed  to  have  passed  over 
the  Tay  into  Slrathmore." — Grahamk.] 


Note  3  M. 
See,  here,  all  vantageless  I  stand, 
Arm'd,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand. — P.  223. 

The  duellists  of  former  times  did  not  always  stand  upon 
those  punctilios  respecting  equality  of  arras,  which  are  now 
judged  essential  to  fair  combat.  It  is  true,  that  in  formei 
combats  in  the  lists,  the  parties  were,  by  the  judges  of  the 
field,  put  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  same  circumstances. 
But  in  private  duel  it  was  often  otherwise.  In  that  desperate 
combat  which  was  fought  between  Q,uelus,  a  minion  of  Henry 
III.  of  France,  and  Antraguet,  with  two  seconds  on  each  side, 
from  which  only  two  persons  escaped  alive,  Q,uelus  complained 
that  his  antagonist  had  over  him  the  advantage  of  a  poniard 
which  he  used  in  parrying,  while  his  left  hand,  which  he  was 
forced  to  employ  for  the  same  purpose,  was  cruelly  mangled. 
When  he  charged  A'.'traguet  with  this  odds,  "  Thou  hast  don* 
wrong,"  answered  he,  ''  to  forget  thy  dagger  at  home.  We  are 
here  to  fight,  and  not  to  settle  punctilios  of  arms."  In  a  similar 
duel,  however,  a  younger  brother  of  the  house  of  Aubanye,  in 
Angoulesme,  behaved  more  generously  on  the  like  occasion, 
and  at  once  threw  away  his  dagger  when  his  enemy  challenged 
it  as  an  undue  advantage.  But  at  this  time  hardly  any  thing 
can  be  conceived  more  horribly  brutal  and  savage  than  the 
mode  in  which  private  quarrels  were  conducted  in  France. 
Those  who  were  most  jealous  of  the  point  of  honor,  and 
acquired  the  title  of  Ruffines,  did  not  scruple  to  take  every 
advantage  of  strength,  numbers,  surprise,  and  arms,  to  ac- 
complish their  revenge.  The  Sieur  de  Brantome,  to  whose 
discourse  on  duels  I  am  obliged  for  these  particulars,  gives 
the  following  account  of  the  deatli  and  principles  of  his  friend 
the  Baron  de  Vitaux  : — 

"  J'ay  oui  conter  a  un  Tireur  d'armes,  qui  apprit  a  Millaud 
a  en  tirer,  lequel  s'appelloit  Seigneur  le  Jacques  Ferron,  de  la 
ville  d'Ast,  qui  avoit  este  a  moy,  il  fut  despuis  tue  a  Saincte- 
Basille  en  Gascogne,  lors  que  Monsieur  du  Mayne  l'assiegea 
lui  servant  d'Ingenieur;  et  de  malheur,  je  l'avois  addressn 
audit  Baron  quelques  trois  mois  auparavant,  pour  l'exercer  a 
tirer,  bien  qu'il  en  sceust  prou  ;  mais  il  ne'en  fit  compte  ;  et  le 
laissant,  Millaud  s'en  servit,  et  le  rendit  fort  adroit.  Se  Seig 
neur  Jacques  done  me  raconta,  qu'il  s'estoit  monte  sur  ui' 
noyer,  assez  loing,  pour  en  voir-  le  combat,  et  qu'il  ne  vist 
jamais  homme  y  aller  plus  bravement,  ny  plus  resolument, 
ny  de  grace  plus  asseuree  ny  determinee.  II  commenca  de 
marcher  de  cinquante  pas  vers  son  ennemy,  relevant  souvent 
ses  moustaches  en  haut  d'une  main  ;  et  estant  a  vingt  pas  de 
son  ennemy  (non  plustost),  il  mit  la  main  a  l'espee  qu'il  tenoit 
en  la  main,  non  qu'il  l'eust  tiree  encore  ;  mais  en  marchant,  il 
fit  voller  le  fourreau  en  l'air,  en  le  secouant,  ce  qui  est  le  beau 
de  cela,  et  qui  monstroit  bien  un  grace  de  combat  bien  as- 
seuree et  froide,  et  nullement  temeraire,  comme  il  y  en  a  qui 
tirent  leurs  espees  de  cinq  cents  pa9  de  Pennemy,  voire  de 
mille,  comme  j'en  ay  veu  aucuns.  Ainsi  mourut  ce  brave 
Baron,  le  parogon  de  France,  qu'on  nommoit  tel,  a  bien  ven- 
ger  ses  querelles,  par  grandes  et  determinees  resolutions.  I 
n'estoit  pas  seulement  estime  en  France,  mais  en  Italie, 
Espaigne,  Allemaigne,  en  Boulogne  et  Angleterre  ;  et  desi- 
roient  fort  les  Etrangers,  venant  en  France,  le  voir ;  car  je 
l'ay  veu,  tant  sa  renommee  volloit.  II  estoit  fort  petit  de 
corps,  mais  fort  grand  de  courage.  Ses  ennemis  disoient  qu'il 
ne  tuoit  pas  bien  ses  gens,  que  par  advantages  et  supercheries. 
Certes,  je  tiens  de  grands  capitaines,  et  mesme  d'ltaliens,  qui 
ont  estez  d'autres  fois  les  premiers  vengeurs  du  monde,  in 
ogni  modo,  disoient-ils,  qui  ont  tenu  cette  maxime,  qu'une 
supercherie  ne  se  devoit  payer  que  par  semblable  monnoye, 
etn'y  alloit  point  la  de  dt';shonneur." — Oeuvres  de  Brantome, 
Paris,  1787-8.  Tome  viii.  p.  90-92.  It  may  be  necessary  to 
inform  the  reader,  that  this  paragon  of  France  was  the  most 
foul  assassin  of  his  time,  and  had  committed  many  desperate 
murders,  chiefly  by  the  assistance  of  'is  hired  banditti ;  from 
which  it  may  be  conceived  how  litt.e  the  point  of  honor  oi  tin 
period  deserved  its  name.     I  have  chosen  to  give  my  heroes 


204 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


who  are  indeed  of  an  earlier  period,  a  stronger  tincture  of  the 
ipirit  of  chivalry. 


]STOTE  3  N". 


Ill  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu, 
That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw, 
For  train'' d  abroad  his  arms  to  wield, 
Fitz-Jam.es' s  blade  was  sword  and  shield.- 


-P.  223. 


A  round  target  of  light  wood,  covered  with  strong  leather, 
and  studded  with  brass  or  iron,  was  a  necessary  part  of  a 
Highlander's  equipment.  In  charging  regular  troops,  they 
received  the  thrust  of  the  bayonet  in  this  buckler,  twisted  it 
aside,  and  used  the  broadsword  against  the  encumbered 
soldier.  In  the  civil  war  of  1745,  most  of  the  front  rank  of 
the  clans  were  thus  armed  :  and  Captain  Grose  informs  us, 
that,  in  1747,  the  privates  of  the  42d  regiment,  then  in  Flan- 
ders, were,  for  the  most  part,  permitted  to  carry  targets. — 
Military  Antiquities,  vol.  i.  p.  164.  A  person  thus  armed 
had  a  considerable  advantage  in  private  fray.  Among  verses 
between  Swift  and  Sheridan,  lately  published  by  Dr.  Barret, 
there  is  an  account  of  such  an  encounter,  in  which  the  cir- 
cumstances, and  consequently  the  relative  superiority  of  the 
combatants,  are  precisely  the  reverse  of  those  in  the  text : — 

"  A  Highlander  once  fought  a  Frenchman  at  Margate, 
The  weapons,  a  rapier,  a  backsword,  and  target ; 
Brisk  Monsieur  advanced  as  fast  as  he  could, 
But  all  his  fine  pushes  were  caught  in  the  wood, 
And  Sawney,  with  backsword,  did  slash  him  and  nick  him, 
While  t'other,  enraged  that  he  could  not  once  prick  him, 
Cried,  '  Sirrah,  you  rascal,  you  son  of  a  whore, 
Me  will  fight  you,  be  gar  !  if  you'll  come  from  your  door.'  " 

The  use  of  defensive  armor,  and  particularly  of  the  buckler, 
or  target,  was  general  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  although  that 
of  the  6ingle  rapier  seems  to  have  been  occasionally  practised 
much  earlier.1  Rowland  Yorke,  however,  who  betrayed  the 
fort  of  Zutphen  to  the  Spaniards,  for  which  good  service  he 
was  afterwards  poisoned  by  them,  is  said  to  have  been  the  first 
who  brought  the  rapier  fight  into  general  use.  Fuller,  speak- 
ing of  the  swash-bucklers,  or  bullies,  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
time,  says, — "West  f-'mithfield  was  formerly  called  Ruffians' 
Hall,  where  such  men  usually  met,  casually  or  otherwise,  to 
try  masteries  with  sword  and  buckler.  More  were  fright- 
ened than  hurt,  more  hurt  than  killed  therewith,  it  being 
accounted  unmanly  to  strike  beneath  the  knee.  But  since  that 
desperate  traitor  Rowland  Yorke  first  introduced  thrusting 
with  rapiers,  sword  and  buckler  are  disused."  In  "  The  Two 
Angry  Women  of  Abingdon,"  a  comedy,  printed  in  1599,  we 
have  a  pathetic  complaint: — "Sword  and  buckler  fight  be- 
gins to  grow  out  of  use.  I  am  sorry  for  it :  1  shall  never  see 
good  manhood  again.  If  it  be  once  gone,  this  poking  fight  of 
rapier  and  dagger  will  come  up  ;  then  a  tall  man,  and  a  good 
sword-and-buckler  man,  will  be  spitted  like  a  cat  or  rabbit." 
But  the  rapier  had  upon  the  continent  long  superseded,  in 
private  duel,  the  use  of  sword  and  shield.  The  masters  of 
the  noble  science  of  defence  were  chiefly  Italians.  They  made 
great  mystery  of  their  art  and  mode  of  instruction,  never  suf- 
fered any  person  to  be  present  but  the  scholar  who  was  to  be 
taught,  and  even  examined  closets,  beds,  and  other  places  of 
possible  concealment.  Their  lessons  often  gave  the  most 
treacherous  advantages  ;  for  the  challenger,  having  the  right  to 
choose  his  weapons,  frequently  selected  some  strange,  unusual, 
and  inconvenient  kind  of  arms,  the  use  of  which  he  practised 
under  these  instructors,  and  thus  killed  at  his  ease  his  antago- 
nist, to  whom  it  was  presented  for  the  first  time  on  the  field  of 
batt.e.      See   Brantomk's    Discourse  on   Duels,   and   the 


Sfie  Do 


Illustrations  of  Shaltspeare,  vol.  Li. 


work  on  the  same  subject,  "  si  gentement  ecrit,"  by  tha 
venerable  Dr.  Paris  de  Puteo.  The  Highlanders  continued  to 
use  broadsword  and  target  until  disarmed  after  the  affair  of 
1745-6. 


Note  3  0. 


Thy  threats,  thy  mercy  I  defy ! 

Let  recreant  yield,  who  fears  to  die. — P.  224. 

I  have  not  ventured  to  render  this  duel  so  savagely  despe 
rate  as  that  of  the  celebrated  Sir  Ewan  of  Lochiel,  chief  ot 
the  clan  Cameron,  called,  from  his  sable  complexion,  Ewan 
Dhu.  He  was  the  last  man  in  Scotland  who  maintained  the 
royal  cause  during  the  great  Civil  War,  and  his  constant 
incursions  rendered  him  a  very  unpleasant  neighbor  to  the 
republican  garrison  at  Inverlochy,  now  Fort-William.  The 
governor  of  the  fort  detached  a  party  of  three  hundred  men 
to  lay  waste  Lochiel 's  possessions,  and  cut  down  his  trees  ; 
but,  in  a  sudden  and  desperate  attack  made  upon  them  by 
the  chieftain  with  very  inferior  numbers,  they  were  almost  all 
cut  to  pieces.  The  skirmish  is  detailed  in  a  curious  memoir  of 
Sir  Ewan's  life,  printed  in  the  Appendix  of  Pennant's  Scot- 
tish Tour. 

"  In  this  engagement,  Lochiel  himself  had  several  wonder- 
ful escapes.  In  the  retreat  of  the  English,  one  of  the  strong- 
est and  bravest  of  the  officers  retired  behind  a  bush,  when  he 
observed  Lochiel  pursuing,  and  seeing  him  unaccompanied 
with  any,  he  leapt  out,  and  thought  him  his  prey.  They  met 
one  another  with  equal  fury.  The  combat  was  long  and 
doubtful  :  the  English  gentleman  had  by  far  the  advantage  in 
strength  and  size  ;  but  Lochiel,  exceeding  him  in  nimbleness 
and  agility,  in  the  end  tript  the  sword  out  of  his  hand  :  they 
closed  and  wrestled,  till  both  fell  to  the  ground  in  each  other's 
arms.  The  English  officer  got  above  Lochiel,  and  pressed  him 
hard,  but  stretching  forth  his  neck,  by  attempting  to  disengage 
himself,  Lochiel,  who  by  this  time  had  his  hands  at  liberty, 
with  his  left  hand  seized  him  by  the  collar,  and  jumping  at  his 
extended  throat,  he  bit  it  with  his  teeth  quite  through,  and 
kept  such  a  hold  of  his  grasp,  that  he  brought  away  his 
mouthful  :  this,  he  said,  was  the  sweetest  bit  he  ever  had  in 
his  lifetime^— Vol.  i.  p.  375. 


Note  3  P. 


Ye  towers  !  within  whose  circuit  dread 
A  Douglas  by  his  sovereign  bled  ; 
And  thou,  O  sad  and  fatal  mound  I 

That  oft  hast  heard  the  death-axe  sound. — P.  225. 

An  eminence  on  the  northeast  of  the  Castle,  where  state 
criminals  were  executed.  Stirling  was  often  polluted  with 
noble  blood.     It  is  thus  apostrophized  by  J.  Johnston  : — 

"  Discordia  tristis 

Heu  quoties  procerum  sanguine  tinxit  humum! 
Hoc  uno  infelix,  et  felix  cetera:  nusquam 
Laetior  aut  coeli  frons  genius ve  soli." 

The  fate  of  William,  eighth  earl  of  Douglas,  whom  James 
II.  stabbed  in  Stirling  Castle  with  his  own  hand,  and  while 
under  his  royal  safe-conduct,  is  familiar  to  all  who  read  Scot- 
tish history.  Murdack  Duke  of  Albany,  Duncan  Earl  of  Len- 
nox, his  father-in-law,  and  his  two  sons,  Walter  and  Alexander 
Stuart,  were  executed  at  Stirling,  in  1425.  They  were  be- 
headed upon  an  eminence  without  the  castle  walls,  but  making 
part  of  the  same  hill,  from  whence  they  could  behold  their 
strong  castle  of  Doune,  and  their  extensive  possessions.  This 
"heading  hill,"  as  it  was  sometimes  termed,  bears  commonly 
the  less  terrible  name  of  Hurly-hacket,  from  its  having  been 
the  scene  of  a  courtly  amusement  alluded  to  by  Sir  David 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


265 


Lindsay,  who  says  of  the  pastimes  in  which  the  young  King 
was  engaged, 

"  Some  harled  him  to  the  Hurley-hacket ;" 

which  consisted  in  sliding,  in  some  sort  of  chair  it  may  be 
supposed,  from  top  to  bottom  of  a  smooth  bank.  The  boys  of 
Edinburgh,  about  twenty  years  ago,  used  to  play  at  the  hurly- 
hacket,  on  the  Calton-hill,  using  for  their  seat  a  horse's  skull. 


Note  3  Q. 
The  burghers  hold  their  sports  to-day. — P.  225. 

Every  burgh  of  Scotland,  of  the  least  note,  but  more  espe- 
cially the  considerable  towns,  had  their  solemn  play,  or  fes- 
tival, when  feats  of  archery  were  exhibited,  and  prizes  distrib- 
uted to  those  who  excelled  in  wrestling,  hurling  the  bar,  and 
the  other  gymnastic  exercises  of  the  period.  Stirling,  a  usual 
place  of  royal  residence,  was  not  likely  to  be  deficient  in  pomp 
upon  such  occasions,  especially  since  James  V.  was  very  par- 
tial to  them.  His  ready  participation  in  these  popular  amuse- 
ments was  one  cause  of  his  acquiring  the  title  of  King  of  the 
Commons,  or  Rex  Plebeiorum,  as  Lesley  has  latinized  it.  The 
usual  prize  to  the  best  shooter  was  a  silver  arrow.  Such  a  one 
is  preserved  at  Selkirk  and  at  Peebles.  At  Dumfries,  a  silver 
kun  was  substituted,  and  the  contention  transferred  to  fire- 
arms. The  ceremony,  as  there  performed,  is  the  subject  of  an 
excellent  Scottish  poem,  by  Mr.  John  Mayne,  entitled  the 
Siller  Gun,  1808,  which  surpasses  the  efforts  of  Fergusson,  and 
comes  near  to  those  of  Burns. 

Of  James's  attachment  to  archery,  Pitscottie,  the  faithful, 
though  rude  recorder  of  the  manners  of  that  period,  has  given 
us  evidence  : — 

"In  this  year  there  came  an  embassador  out  of  England, 
named  Lord  William  Howard,  with  a  bishop  with  him,  with 
many  other  gentlemen,  to  the  number  of  threescore  horse,  which 
were  all  able  men  and  waled  [picked]  men  for  all  kinds  of 
games  and  pastimes,  shooting,  louping,  running,  wrestling, 
and  casting  of  the  stone,  but  they  were  well  'sayed  [essayed 
or  tried]  ere  they  passed  out  of  Scotland,  and  that  by  their  own 
provocation ;  but  ever  they  tint :  till  at  last,  the  Queen  of 
Scotland,  the  King's  mother,  favoured  the  English-men,  be- 
cause she  was  the  King  of  England's  sister ;  and  therefore  she 
took  an  enterprise  of  archery  upon  the  English-men's  hands, 
contrary  her  son  the  king,  and  any  six  in  Scotland  that  he 
would  wale,  either  gentlemen  or  yeomen,  that  the  English-men 
should  shoot  against  them,  either  at  pricks,  revers,  or  buts,  as 
the  Scots  pleased. 

"  The  king,  hearing  this  of  his  mother,  was  content,  and 
gart  her  pawn  a  hundred  crowns,  and  a  tun  of  wine,  upon  the 
English-men's  hands ;  and  he  incontinent  laid  down  as  much 
for  the  Scottish-men.  The  field  and  ground  was  chosen  in 
St.  Andrews,  and  three  landed  men  and  three  yeomen  chosen 
to  shoot  against  the  English-men, — to  wit,  David  Wemyss  of 
that  ilk,  David  Arnot  of  that  ilk,  and  Mr.  John  Wedderburn, 
vicar  of  Dundee  ;  the  yeomen,  John  Thompson,  in  Leith,  Ste- 
ven Taburner,  with  a  piper,  called  Alexander  Bailie  ;  they 
shot  very  near,  and  warred  [worsted]  the  English-men  of  the 
enterprise,  and  wan  the  hundred  crowns  and  the  tun  of  wine, 
wnich  made  the  king  very  merry  that  his  men  wan  the  vic- 
tory."—P.  147. 


Note  3  R. 

Robin  Hood.— P.  226. 

The  exhibition  of  this  renowned  outlaw  and  his  band  was 

a  favorite  frolic  at  such  festivals  as  we  are  describing.     This 

1  Book  of  (he  Universal  Kirk,  p.  414. 

9  See  Scot  ish  Historical  and  Romantic  Ballads.    Glasgow,  1808,  vol. 

a.  pan.  ^ 


sporting,  in  which  kings  did  not  disdain  to  be  actors,  was  pro- 
hibited in  Scotland  upon  the  Reformation,  by  a  statute  of  the 
6th  Parliament  of  dueen  Mary,  c.  61,  A.  D.  1555,  which  or 
dered,  under  heavy  penalties,  that  "  na  manner  of  person  be 
chosen  Robert  Hude,  nor  Lrttle  John,  Abbot  of  Unreason, 
Queen  of  May,  nor  otherwise."  But  in  1561,  the  "  rascal 
multitude,"  says  John  Knox,  "were  stirred  up  to  make  i 
Robin  Hude,  whilk  enormity  was  of  many  years  left  and 
damned  by  statute  and  act  of  Parliament ;  yet  would  thej  rot 
be  forbidden."  Accordingly,  they  raised  a  very  serious  tu- 
mult, and  at  length  made  prisoners  the  magistrates  wl  o  en- 
deavored to  suppress  it,  and  would  not  release  them  till  they 
extorted  a  formal  promise  that  no  one  should  be  punished  for 
his  share  of  the  disturbance.  It  would  seem,  from  the  com- 
plaints of  the  General  Assemby  of  the  Kirk,  that  these  profane 
festivities  were  continued  down  to  1592. !  Bold  Robin  was,  to 
to  say  the  least,  equally  successful  in  maintaining  his  ground 
against  the  reformed  clergy  of  England  :  for  the  simple  and 
evangelical  Latimer  complains  of  coming  to  a  country  church, 
where  the  people  refused  to  hear  him,  because  it  was  Robin 
Hood's  day  ;  and  his  mitre  and  rochet  were  fain  to  give  way 
to  the  village  pastime.  Much  curious  information  on  this  sub- 
ject may  be  found  in  the  Preliminary  Dissertation  to  the  late 
Mr.  Ritson's  edition  of  the  songs  respecting  this  memorable 
outlaw.  The  game  of  Robin  Hood  was  usually  acted  in  May  ; 
and  he  was  associated  with  the  morrice-dancers,  on  whom  so 
much  illustration  has  been  bestowed  by  the  commentators  on 
Shakspeare.  A  very  lively  picture  of  these  festivities,  con- 
taining a  great  deal  of  curious  information  on  the  subject  of  the 
private  life  and  amusements  of  our  ancestors,  was  thrown,  by 
the  late  ingenious  Mr.  Strutt.  into  his  romance  entitled  Queen 
hoo  Hall,  published  after  his  death,  in  1808. 


Note  3  S. 


Indifferent  as  to  archer  wight, 

The  monarch  gave  the  arrow  bright. — P.  226. 

The  Douglas  of  the  poem  is  an  imaginary  person,  a  supposed 
uncle  of  the  Earl  of  Angus.  But  the  King's  behavior  during 
an  unexpected  interview  with  the  Laird  of  Kilspindie,  one  of 
the  banished  Douglases,  under  circumstances  similar  to  those 
in  the  text,  is  imitated  from  a  real  story  told  by  Hume  of 
Godscroft.  I  would  have  availed  myself  more  fully  of  the 
simple  and  affecting  circumstances  of  the  old  history,  had  they 
not  been  already  woven  into  a  pathetic  ballad  by  my  friend 
Mr.  Finlay.1 

"  His  (the  king's)  implacability  (towards  the  family  of 
Douglas)  did  also  appear  in  his  carriage  towards  Archibald  of 
Kilspindie,  whom  he,  when  he  was  a  child,  loved  singularly 
well  for  his  ability  of  body,  and  was  wont  to  call  him  his 
Gray-Steill.3  Archibald,  being  banished  into  England,  could 
not  well  comport  with  the  humor  of  that  nation,  which  he 
thought  to  be  too  proud,  and  that  they  had  too  high  a  conceit 
of  themselves,  joined  with  a  contempt  and  despising  of  all 
others.  Wherefore,  being  wearied  of  that  life,  and  remem- 
bering the  king's  favor  of  old  towards  him,  he  determined  to 
try  the  king's  mercifulness  and  clem2ncy.  So  he  comes  into 
Scotland,  and  taking  occasion  of  the  king's  hunting  in  the  park 
at  Stirling,  he  casts  himself  to  be  in  his  way,  as  he  was  coming 
home  to  the  castle.  So  soon  as  the  king  saw  him  afar  off,  ere 
he  came  near,  he  guessed  it  was  he,  and  said  to  one  of  his 
courtiers,  yonder  is  my  Gray-Steill,  Archibald  of  Kilspindie, 
if  he  be  alive.  The  other  answered,  that  it  could  not  be  jj, 
and  that  he  durst  not  come  into  the  king's  presence.  The  king 
approaching,  he  fell  upon  his  knees  and  craved  pardon,  and 
promised  from  thenceforward  to  abstain  from  meddling  in 
public  affairs,  and  to  lead  a  quiet  and  private  life.     The  king 

3  A  champion  of  popular  romance.    See  Ellis's  Romance*,  vol.  iii. 


266 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


went  by  without  giving  him  any  answer,  and  trotted  a  good 
round  pace  up  the  hill.  Kilspindie  followed,  and  though  he 
wore  on  him  a  secret,  or  shirt  of  mail,  for  his  particular  ene- 
mies, was  as  soon  at  the  castle  gate  as  the  king.  There  he  sat 
him  down  upon  a  stone  without,  and  entreated  some  of  the 
king's  servants  for  a  cup  of  drink,  being  weary  and  thirsty  ; 
but  they,  fearing  the  king's  displeasure,  durst  give  him  none. 
When  the  king  was  set  at  his  dinner,  he  asked  what  he  had 
done,  what  he  had  said,  and  whither  he  had  gone?  It  was 
told  him  that  he  had  desired  a  cup  of  drink,  and  had  gotten 
aone.  The  king  reproved  them  very  sharply  for  their  discour- 
tesy, and  told  them,  that  if  he  had  not  taken  an  oath  that  no 
Douglas  should  ever  serve  him,  he  would  have  received  him 
into  his  service,  for  he  had  seen  him  sometime  a  man  of  great 
ability.  Then  he  sent  him  word  to  go  to  Leith,  and  expect 
nis  further  pleasure.  Then  some  kinsman  of  David  Falconer, 
die  cannonier,  that  was  slain  at  Tantailon,  began  to  quarrel 
with  Archibald  about  the  matter,  wherewith  the  king  showed 
himself  not  well  pleated  when  he  heard  of  it.  Then  he  com- 
manded him  to  go  to  France  for  a  certain  space,  till  he  heard 
farther  from  him.  And  so  he  did,  and  died  shortly  after. 
This  gave  occasion  to  the  King  of  England  (Henry  VIII.)  to 
biame  his  nephew,  alleging  the  old  saying,  That  a  King's  face 
should  give  grace.  For  this  Archibald  (whatsoever  were  An- 
gus's or  Sir  George's  fault)  had  not  been  principal  actor  of  any 
thing,  nor  no  counsellor  nor  stirrer  up,  but  only  a  follower  of 
his  friends,  and  that  noways  cruelly  disposed." — IIcmk  of 
Godscroft,  ii.  107. 


Note  3  T. 


Prize  of  the  wrestling  match,  the  King 
To  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring. — P.  226. 

The  usual  prize  of  a  wrestling  was  a  ram  and  a  ring,  but  the 
animal  would  have  embarrassed  my  story.  Thus,  in  the  Cokes 
Tale  of  Gamelyn,  ascribed  to  Chaucer  : 

"  There  happed  to  be  there  beside 
Tryed  a  wrestling : 
And  therefore  there  was  y-setten 
A  ram  and  als  a  ring." 

Again  the  Litil  Geste  of  Robin  Hood  : 

"  By  a  bridge  was  a  wrestling, 

And  there  taryed  was  he, 
And  there  was  all  the  best  yemen 

Of  all  the  west  countrey. 
A  full  fayre  game  there  was  set  up, 

A  white  bull  up  y-pight, 
A  great  courser  with  saddle  and  brydle, 

With  gold  burnished  full  bryght ; 
A  payre  of  gloves,  a  red  golde  ringe, 

A  pipe  of  wyne,  good  fay  ; 
What  man  bereth  him  best,  I  wis, 

The  prize  shall  bear  away." 

Ritson's  Robin  Hood,  vol.  i. 


Note  3  U. 


These  drew  not  for  their  fields  the  sword, 
Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord, 
Nor  owiVd  the  patriarchal  claim 
Of  Chieftain  in  their  leader's  name; 
Adventurers  they P.  230. 

The  Scottish  armies  consisted  chiefly  of  the  nobility  and 
barons,  with  their  vassals,  who  held  lands  under  them,  for  mil- 

1  Though  less  to  my  purpose,  I  cannot  help  noticing  a  circumstance  re- 
jecting another  of  this  Mr.  Reid's  attendants,  which  occurred  during 


itary  service  by  themselves  and  their  tenants.  The  patriarcna 
influence  exercised  by  the  heads  of  clans  in  tne  Highlands  and 
Borders  was  of  a  different  nature,  and  sometimes  at  variance 
with  feudal  principles.  It  flowed  from  the  Patria  Potest  As, 
exercised  by  the  chieftain  as  representing  the  original  father  of 
the  whole  name,  and  was  often  obeyed  in  contradiction  to  the 
feudal  superior.  James  V.  seems  first  to  have  introduced,  in 
addition  to  the  militia  furnished  from  these  sources,  the  service 
of  a  small  number  of  mercenaries,  who  formed  a  body-guard, 
called  the  Foot-Band.  The  satirical  poet,  Sir  David  Liadeaj 
(or  the  person  who  wrote  the  prologue  to  his  play  of  the 
"  Three  Estaites"),  has  introduced  Finlay  of  the  Foot-Band, 
who,  after  much  swaggering  upon  the  stage,  is  at  length  put 
to  flight  by  the  Fool,  who  terrifies  him  by  means  of  a  sheep's 
skull  upon  a  pole.  I  have  rather  chosen  to  give  them  the 
harsh  features  of  the  mercenary  soldiers  of  the  period,  than  of 
this  Scottish  Thraso.  These  partook  of  the  character  of  the 
Adventurous  Companions  of  Froissart  or  the  Condottieri 
Italy. 

One  of  the  best  and  liveliest  traits  of  such  manners  is  the 
last  will  of  a  leader,  called  Geflroy  Tete  Noir,  who  having 
been  slightly  wounded  in  a  skirmish,  his  intemperance  brought 
on  a  mortal  disease.  When  he  found  himself  dying,  he  sum- 
moned to  his  bedside  the  adventurers  whom  he  commanded, 
and  thus  addressed  them  : — 

"  Fayre  sirs,  quod  Gettray,  I  knowe  well  ye  have  alwayes 
served  and  honoured  me  as  men  ought  to  serve  their  soveraygne 
and  capitayne,  and  I  shal  be  the  gladder  if  ye  wyll  agre  to 
have  to  your  capitayne  one  that  is  discended  of  my  blode. 
Beholde  here  Aleyne  Roux,  my  cosyn,  and  Peter  his  brother, 
who  are  men  of  armes  and  of  my  blode.  I  require  you  to 
make  Aleyne  your  capitayne,  and  to  swere  to  hym  faythe, 
obeysaunce,  love,  and  loyalte,  here  in  my  presence,  and  also 
to  his  brother :  howe  be  it,  I  wyll  that  Aleyne  have  the  sove- 
rayne  charge.  Sir,  quod  they,  we  are  well  content,  for  ye 
hauve  ryght  well  chosen.  There  all  the  companyons  made 
them  breke  no  poynt  of  that  ye  have  ordayned  and  com- 
maunded." — Lord  Bernkrs'  Froissart. 


Note  3  V. 

Thou  now  hast  glee-maiden  and  harp  I 
Get  thee  an  ape,  and  trudge  the  land, 
The  leader  of  a  juggler  band. — P.  231. 

The  jongleurs,  or  jugglers,  as  we  learn  from  the  elaborate 
work  of  the  late  Mr.  Strutt,  on  the  sports  and  pastimes  of  the 
people  of  England,  used  to  call  in  the  aid  of  various  assist- 
ants, to  render  these  performances  as  captivating  as  possible. 
The  glee-maiden  was  a- necessary  attendant.  Her  duty  was 
tumbling  and  dancing;  and  therefore  the  Anglo-Saxon  ver- 
sion of  Saint  Mark's  Gospel  states  Herodias  to  have  vaulted 
or  tumbled  before  King  Herod.  In  Scotland,  these  poor  crea- 
tures seem,  even  at  a  late  period,  to  have  been  bondswomen 
to  their  masters,  as  appears  from  a  case  reported  by  Fountain- 
hall  : — "  Reid  the  mountebank  pursues  Scott  of  Harden  and 
his  lady,  for  stealing  away  from  him  a  little  girl,  calls-  txz 
tumbling-lassie,  that  danced  upon  his  stage  ;  and  he  claimed 
damages,  and  produced  a  contract,  whereby  he  bought  her 
from  her  mother  for  .£30  Scots.  But  we  have  no  slaves  in 
Scotland,  and  mothers  cannot  sell  their  bairns  ;  and  physicians 
attested  the  employment  of  tumbling  would  kid  her  ;  and  her 
joints  were  now  grown  stiff,  and  she  declined  to  return  ;  though 
she  was  at  least  a  'prentice,  and  so  could  not  runaway  from  her 
master :  yet  some  cited  Moses's  law,  that  if  a  servant  shelter 
himself  with  thee,  against  his  master's  cruelty,  thou  shalt 
surely  not  deliver  him  up.  The  Lords,  renitente  canccllario, 
assoilzied  Harden,  on  the  27th  of  January  (1687)."— Fouw 
tainhall's  Decisions,  vol.  i.  p.  439. l 

James  II. 's  zeal  for  Catholic  proselytism,  and  is  told  by  Fountainhall, 
with  dry  Scotch  irony: — "January  nth,  1681. — Reid  the  mountebanl 


APPENDIX   TO  THE  LADY  OE  THE  LAKE. 


207 


The  facetious  qualities  of  the  ape  soon  rendered  him  an  ac- 
ceptable addition  to  the  strolling  band  of  the  jongleur.  Ben 
Jonson,  in  his  splenetic  introduction  to  the  comedy  of  "  Bar- 
tholomew Fair,"  is  at  pains  to  inform  the  audience  "  that  he 
has  ne'er  a  sword-and-buckler  man  in  his  Fair,  nor  a  juggler, 
with  a  well-educated  ape,  to  come  over  the  chaine  for  the 
King  of  England,  and  back  again  for  the  Prince,  and  sit  still 
on  his  haunches  for  the  Pope  and  the  King  of  Spaine." 


Note  3  W. 

That  stirring  air  that  peals  on  high, 
O'er  Dermid's  race  our  victory. — 
Strike  it  /—P.  233. 

There  are  several  instances,  at  least  m  tradition,  of  persons 
so  much  attached  to  particular  tunes,  as  to  require  to  hear 
them  on  their  deathbed.  Such  an  anecdote  is  mentioned  by 
the  late  Mr.  Riddel  of  Glenriddel,  in  his  collection  of  Border 
tunes,  respecting  an  air  called  the  "  Dandling  of  the  Bairns," 
for  which  a  certain  Gallovidian  laird  is  said  to  have  evinced 
this  strong  mark  of  partiality.  It  is  popularly  told  of  a  fa- 
mous freebooter,  that  he  composed  the  tune  known  by  the 
name  of  Macpherson's  Rant,  while  under  sentence  of  death, 
and  played  it  at  the  gallows-tree.  Some  spirited  words  have 
been  adapted  to  it  by  Burns.  A  similar  story  is  recounted 
of  a  Welsh  bard,  who  composed  and  played  on  his  deathbed 
the  air  called  Dafyddy  Oarregg  Wen.  But  the  most  curious 
example  is  given  by  Brantome,  of  a  maid  of  honor  at  the 
court  of  France,  entitled,  Mademoiselle  de  Limeuil.  "  Du- 
rant  sa  malauie,  dont  elle  trespass,  jamais  elle  ne  cessa,  ains 
causa  tousjours  ;  car  elle  estoit  fort  grande  parleuse,  brocar- 
deuse,  et  tres-bien  et  fort  a  propos,  et  tres-belle  avec  cela. 
Quand  l'heure  de  sa  fin  fut  venue,  elle  fit  venir  a  soy  son  valet 
(ainsi  que  le  filles  de  la  cour  en  out  chacune  un),  qui  s'ap-^ 
pelloit  Julieu,  et  scavoit  tres-bien  jolier  du  vioion.  '  Julien,' 
luy  dit  elle,  '  prenez  vostre  vioion,  et  sonnez  moy  tousjours  jus- 
ques  a  ce  que  vous  me  voyez  morte  (car  je  m'y  en  vais)  la 
defaite  des  Suisses,  et  le  mieux  que  vous  pourrez,  et  quand 
vous  serez  sur  le  mot,  "  Tout  est  perdu,"  sonnez  le  par  quatre 
ou  cing  fois  le  plus  piteusement  que  vous  pourrez,'  ce  qui  fit 
I'autre,  et  elle-mesme  luy  aidoit  de  la  voix,  et  quand  ce  vint 
'  tout  est  perdu,'  elle  le  re'itera  par  deux  fois  ;  et  se  tournant  de 
I'autre  coste  du  chevet,  elle  dit  a  ses  compagnes  :  4  Tout  est 
perdu  a  ce  coup,  et  b  bon  escient ;'  et  ainsi  deceda.  Voila  une 
morte  joyeuse  et  plaisante.  Je  tiens  ce  conte  de  deux  de  ses  com- 
pagnes, dignes  de  foi,  qui  virent  jour  ce  mystere." — Oeuvres 
de  Brantome,  iii.  507.  The  tune  to  which  this  fair  lady  chose 
to  make  her  final  exit,  was  composed  on  the  defeat  of  the 
Swiss  at  Marignano.  The  burden  is  quoted  by  Panurge,  in 
Rabelais,  and  consists  of  these  words,  imitating  the  jargon  of 
th*  Swiss   which  is  a  mixture  of  French  and  German  : 

"  Tout  est  verlore, 

La  Tintelore, 

Tout  est  verlore.  hi  Got !" 


Note  3  X. 

Battle  of  BeaV  an  Duine.—P.  233. 

A  skirmish  actually  took  place  at  a  pass  thus  called  in  the 
Trosachs,  and  closed  with  the  remarkable  incident  mentioned 
in  the  text.  It  was  greatly  posterior  in  date  to  the  reign  of 
James  V. 

is  received  into  the  Popish  church,  and  one  of  his  blackamores  was  persua- 
ded to  accept  of  baptism  from  the  Popish  priests,  and  to  tatn  Christian 
papist ;  which  was  a  great  trophy  :  he  was  called  James,  after  the  king 
and  chanceVor,  and  the  Apostle  James."     Ibid,  p.  440. 


"  In  this  roughly-wooded  island,1  the  country  people  s<* 
creted  their  wives  and  children,  and  their  most  valuable  ef« 
fects,  from  the  rapacity  of  Cromwell's  soldiers,  during  th^ti 
inroad  into  this  country,  in  the  time  of  the  republic.  The»a 
invaders,  not  venturing  to  ascend  by  the  ladders,  along  the 
side  of  the  lake,  took  a  more  circuitous  road,  through  the 
heart  of  the  Trosachs,  the  most  frequented  path  at  that  time 
which  penetrates  the  wilderness  about  half  way  between  Bi- 
nean  and  the  lake,  by  a  tract  called  Yea-chilleach,  or  the  Old 
Wife's  Bog. 

"  In  one  of  the  defiles  of  this  by-road,  the  men  of  the  coun- 
try at  that  time  hung  upon  the  rear  of  the  invading  enemy, 
and  shot  one  of  Cromwell's  men,  whose  grave  marks  the  scene 
of  actipn,  and  gives  name  to  that  pass.2  In  revenge  of  this 
insult,  the  soldiers  resolved  to  plunder  the  island,  to  violate 
the  women,  and  put  the  children  to  death.  With  this  brutal 
intention,  one  of  the  party,  more  expert  than  the  rest,  swam 
towards  the  island,  to  fetch  the  boat  to  his  comrades,  which 
had  carried  the  women  to  their  asylum,  and  lay  moored  in  one 
of  the  creeks.  His  companions  stood  on  the  shore  of  the  main- 
land, in  full  view  of  all  that  was  to  pass,  waiting  anxiously  for 
his  return  with  the  boat.  But  just  as  the  swimmer  had  got  to 
the  nearest  point  of  the  island,  and  was  laying  hold  of  a  black 
rock,  to  get  on  shore,  a  heroine,  who  stood  on  the  very  point 
where  he  meant  to  land,  hastily  snatching  a  dagger  from  be- 
low her  apron,  with  one  stroke  severed  his  head  from  the 
body.  His  party  seeing  this  disaster,  and  relinquishing  all  fu 
ture  hope  of  revenge  or  conquest,  made  the  best  of  their  way 
out  of  their  perilous  situation.  This  amazon's  great-grandson 
lives  at  Bridge  of  Turk,  who,  besides  others,  attests  the  anec- 
dote.— Sketch  of  the  Scenery  near  Callendar,  Stirling,  1806, 
p.  20.  I  have  only  to  add  to  this  account,  that  the  heroin*' 
name  was  Helen  Stuart. 


Note  3  Y. 

And  Snowdoun's  Knight  is  Scotland's  King. — P.  237. 

This  discovery  will  probably  remind  the  reader  of  the  beauti- 
ful Arabian  tale  of  II  Bondocani.  Yet  the  incident  is  not 
borrowed  from  that  elegant  story,  but  from  Scottish  tradition. 
James  V.,  of  whom  we  are  treating,  was  a  monarch  whose 
good  and  benevolent  intentions  often  rendered  his  romantic 
freaks  venial,  if  not  respectable,  since,  from  his  anxious  at 
tendon  to  the  interests  of  the  lower  and  most  oppressed  class 
of  his  subjects,  he  was,  as  we  have  seen,  popularly  termed 
the  King  of  the  Commons.  For  the  purpose  of  seeing  that 
justice  was  regularly  administered,  and  frequently  from  the 
less  justifiable  motive  of  gallantry,  he  used  to  traverse  the 
vicinage  of  his  several  palaces  in  various  disguises.  The  two 
excellent  comic  songs,  entitled,  "  The  Gaberlunzie  man,"  and 
"  We'll  gae  nae  mair  a  roving,"  are  said  to  have  been  founded 
upon  the  success  of  his  amorous  adventures  when  travelling 
in  the  disguise  of  a  beggar.  The  latter  is  perhaps  the  test 
comic  ballad  in  any  language. 

Another  adventure,  which  had  nearly  cost  James  hi»  ife, 
is  said  to  have  taken  place  at  the  village  of  Cramond,  near 
Edinburgh,  where  he  had  rendered  his  addresses  acceptable 
to  a  pretty  girl  of  the  lower  rank.  Four  or  five  persons, 
whether  relations  or  lovers  of  his  mistress  is  uncertain,  beset 
the  disguised  monarch  as  he  returned  from  his  rendezvous. 
Naturally  gallant,  and  an  admirable  master  of  his  weapon, 
the  king  took  post  on  the  high  and  narrow  bridge  over  the 
Almond  river,  and  defended  himself  bravely  with  his  sword. 
A  peasant,  who  was  thrashing  in  a  neighboring  barn,  cama 
out  upon  the  noue,  and  whether  moved  by  compassion  or  bj 

1  That  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  Loch  Katrine,  so  often  mentioned  U 
the  text. 

2  Beallach  an  duine. 


268 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


natural  gallantry,  took  the  weaker  side,  and  laid  about  with 
his  flail  so  effectually,  as  to  disperse  the  assailants,  well 
thrashed,  even  according  to  the  letter.  He  then  conducted 
the  king  into  his  barn,  where  his  guest  requested  a  basin  and 
a  towel,  to  remove  the  stains  of  the  broil.  This  being  pro- 
cured with  difficulty,  James  employed  himself  in  learning 
what  was  the  summit  of  his  deliverer's  earthly  wishes,  and 
found  that  they  were  bounded  by  the  desire  of  possessing,  in 
property,  the  farm  of  Braehead,  upon  which  he  labored  as 
a  bondsman.  The  lands  chanced  to  belong  to  the  crown  ; 
*nd  James  directed  him  to  come  to  the  palace  of  Holyrood, 
*.»?d  inquire  for  the  Guidman  (i.  e.  farmer)  of  Ballengiech,  a 
name  by  which  he  was  known  in  his  excursions,  and  which 
answered  to  the  II  Bondocani  of  Haroun  Alraschid.  He 
presented  himself  accordingly,  and  found,  with  due  astonish- 
ment, that  he  had  saved  his  monarch's  life,  and  that  he  was 
to  be  gratified  with  a  crown  charter  of  the  lands  of  Braehead, 
under  the  service  of  presenting  a  ewer,  basin,  and  towel,  for 
the  king  to  wash  his  hands  when  he  shall  happen  to  pass  the 
Bridge  of  Cramond.  This  person  was  ancestor  of  the  Howi- 
sons  of  Braehead,  in  Mid-Lothian,  a  respectable  family,  who 
continue  to  hold  the  lands  (now  passed  into  the  female  line) 
under  the  same  tenure.1 

Another  of  James's  frolics  is  thus  narrated  by  Mr.  Camp- 
bell from  the  Statistical  Account : — "  Being  once  benighted 
when  out  a-hunting,  and  separated  from  his  attendants,  he 
happened  to  enter  a  cottage  in  the  midst  of  a  moor  at  the  foot 
of  the  Ochil  hills,  near  Alloa,  where,  unknown,  he  was  kindly 
received.  In  order  to  regale  their  unexpected  guest,  the  gude- 
man  (i.  e.  landlord,  farmer)  desired  the  gudcwife  to  fetch  the 
hen  that  roosted  nearest  the  cock,  which  is  always  the  plump- 
est, for  the  stranger's  supper.  The  king,  highly  pleased  with 
his  night's  lodging  and  hospitable  entertainment,  told  mine 
host  at  parting,  that  he  should  be  glad  to  return  his  civility, 
and  requested  that  the  first  time  he  came  to  Stirling,  lie  would 
call  at  the  etstle,  and  inquire  for  the  Gudeman  of  Ballen- 
guich. 

Donaldson,  the  landlord,  did  not  fail  to  call  on  the  Qudeman 
of  Ballcnguich,  when  his  astonishment  at  finding  that  the  king 
had  been  his  guest  afforded  no  small  amusement  to  the  merry 
monarch  and  his  courtiers  ;  and,  to  carry  on  the  pleasantry, 
he  was  henceforth  designated  by  James  with  the  title  of  King 
of  the  Moors,  which  name  and  designation  have  descended 
from  father  to  son  ever  since,  and  they  have  continued  in  pos- 
session of  the  identical  spot,  the  property  of  Mr.  Erskine  of 
Mar,  till  very  lately,  when  this  gentleman,  with  reluctance, 
turned  out  the  descendant  and  representative  of  the  King  of 
the  Moors,  on  account  of  his  majesty's  invincible  indolence, 
and  great  dislike  to  reform  or  innovation  of  any  kind,  although, 
from  the  spirited  example  of  his  neighbor  tenants  on  the  same 
estate,  he  is  convinced  similar  exertion  would  promote  his  ad- 
vantage." 

The  author  requests  permission  yet  farther  to  verify  the  sub- 
ject of  his  poem,  by  an  extract  from  the  genealogical  work  of 
Buchanan  of  Auchmar,  upon  Scottish  surnames  : — 

"  This  John  Buchanan  of  Auchmar  and  Ampryor  was  after- 
wards termed  King  of  Kippen,'2  upon  the  following  account: 
King  James  V.,  a  very  sociable,  debonair  prince,  residing  at 
Stirling,  in  Buchanan  of  Arnpryor's  time,  carriers  were  very 
frequently  passing  along  the  common  road,  being  near  Arn- 
pryor's house,  with  necessaries  for  the  use  of  the  king's  fami.  y  ; 
and  he,  having  some  extraordinary  occasion,  ordered  one  of 
these  carriers  to  leave  his  load  at  his  house,  and  he  would  pay 
him  for  it ;  which  the  carrier  refused  to  do,  telling  him  he  was 
the  king's  carrier,  and  his  load  for  his  majesty's  use  ;  to  which 
Amproyer  seemed  to  have  small  regard,  compelling  the  carrier, 

1  The  reader  will  find  this  story  told  at  greater  length,  and  with  the 
addition  in  particular,  of  the  king  being  recognized,  like  the  Fitz-James 
of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  by  being  the  only  person  covered,  in  the  First 
Series  of  Tales  of  a  Grandfather,  vol.  iii.  p.  37.    The  heir  of  Braehead 


in  the  end,  to  leave  his  load  ;  telling  him,  if  King  James  was 
King  of  Scotland,  he  was  King  of  Kippen,  so  that  it  was  rea- 
sonable he  should  share  with  his  neighbor  king  in  some  oi 
these  loads,  so  frequently  carried  that  road.  The  carrier  rep- 
resenting this  usage,  and  telling  the  story,  as  Ampryor  spoke 
it,  to  some  of  the  king's  servants,  it  came  at  length  to  his 
majesty's  ears,  who,  shortly  thereafter,  with  a  few  attendants, 
came  to  visit  his  neighbor  king,  who  was  in  the  mean  time  at 
dinner.  King  James,  having  sent  a  servant  to  demand  access, 
was  denied  the  same  by  a  tall  fellow  with  a  battle-axe,  who 
stood  porter  at  the  gate,  telling,  there  could  be  no  access  till 
dinner  was  over.  This  answer  not  satisfying  the  king,  he  sent 
to  demand  access  a  second  time  ;  upon  which  he  was  desired 
by  the  porter  to  desist,  otherwise  he  would  find  cause  to  re- 
pent his  rudeness.  His  majesty  finding  this  method  would  not 
do,  desired  the  porter  to  tell  his  master  that  the  Goodman  of 
Ballageich  desired  to  speak  with  the  King  of  Kippen.  The 
porter  telling  Ampryor  so  much,  he,  in  all  humble  manner, 
came  and  received  the  king,  and  having  entertained  him  with 
much  sumptuonsness  and  jollity,  became  so  agreeable  to  King 
James,  that  he  allowed  him  to  take  so  much  of  any  provision 
he  found  carrying  that  road  as  he  had  occasion  for  ;  and  seeing 
he  made  the  first  visit,  desired  Ampryor  in  a  few  days  to  ratu.-n 
him  a  second  to  Stirling,  which  he  performed,  and  continued 
in  very  much  favor  with  the  king,  always  thereafter  being 
termed  King  of  Kippen  while  he  lived." — Buchanan's  Essay 
upon  the  Family  of  Buchanan.     Edin.  1775,  8vo.  p.  74. 

The  readers  of  Ariosto  must  give  credit  for  the  amiable  fea- 
tures with  which  he  is  represented,  since  he  is  generally  con- 
sidered as  the  prototype  of  Zerbino,  the  most  interesting  hero 
of  the  Orlando  Furioso. 


Note  3  Z. 


Stirling's  tower 


Of  yore  the  name  of  Snowdoun  claims.—?.  238. 

William  of  Worcester,  who  wrote  about  the  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  calls  Stirling  Castle  Snowdoun.  Sir  David 
Lindsay  bestows  the  same  epithet  upon  it  in  his  complaint  of 
the  Papingo : 

"  Adieu,  fair  Snawdoun,  with  thy  towers  high, 
Thy  chaple-royal.  park,  and  table  round  ; 
May,  June,  and  July,  would  I  dwell  in  thee, 
Were  1  a  man,  to  hear  the  birdis  sound, 
Whilk  doth  againe  thy  royal  rock  rebound." 

Mr.  Chalmers,  in  his  late  excellent  edition  of  Sir  David  Lind- 
say's works,  has  refuted  the  chimerical  derivation  of  Snawdoun 
from  snedding,  or  cutting.  It  was  probably  derived  from  the 
romantic  legend  which  connected  Stirling  with  King  Arthur, 
to  which  the  mention  of  the  Round  Table  gives  countenance. 
The  ring  within  which  justs  were  formerly  practised,  in  the 
castle  park,  is  still  called  the  Round  Table.  Snawdoun  is  the 
official  title  of  one  of  the  Scottish  heralds,,  whose  epithets  seem 
in  all  countries  to  have  been  fantastically  adopted  from  ancient 
history  or  romance. 

It  appears  (See  Note  3  Y)  that  the  real  name  by  which 
James  was  actually  distinguished  in  his  private  excursions, 
was  the  Goodman  of  Ballenguich  ;  derived  from  a  steep  pass 
leading  up  to  the  Castle  of  Stirling,  so  called.  But  the  epithet 
would  not  have  suited  poetry,  and  would  besides  at  once,  and 
prematurely,  have  announced  the  plot  to  many  of  my  country- 
men, among  whom  the  traditional  stories  above  mentioned  are 
still  current. 


discharged  his  duty  at  the  banquet  given  to  King  George  TV.  in  the  Par 
liament  House  at  Edinburgh,  in  1822.— E^. 


2  A  small  district  of  Perthshire. 


&\)t  Vision  of  Hon  ttoforick.1 


Quid  dig-num  memorare  tuis,  Hispania,  terris, 
Vox  humana  valet  I Claudian. 


PREFACE. 

The  following  Poem  is  founded  upon  a  Spanish 
Tradition,  particularly  detailed  in  the  Notes ;  but 
bearing,  in  general,  that  Don  Roderick,  the  last 
Gothic  King  of  Spain,  when  the  Invasion  of  the 
Moors  was  impending,  had  the  temerity  to  descend 
nto  an  ancient  vault,  near  Toledo,  the  opening  of 
.vhich  had  been  denounced  as  fatal  to  the  Spanish 
Monarchy.  The  legend  adds,  that  his  rash  curiosity 
was  mortified  by  an  emblematical  representation 
of  those  Saracens  who,  in  the  year  714,  defeated 
him  in  battle,  and  reduced  Spain  under  their  do- 
minion. I  have  presumed  to  prolong  the  Vision  of 
the  Revolutions  of  Spain  down  to  the  present 
eventful  crisis  of  the  Peninsula ;  and  to  divide  it, 
by  a  supposed  change  of  scene,  into  Three  Periods. 
The  First  of  these  represents  the  Invasion  of  the 
Moors,  the  Defeat  and  Death  of  Roderick,  and 
closes  with  the  peaceful  occupation  of  the  country 
by  the  Victors.  The  Second  Period  embraces  the 
state  of  the  Peninsula,  when  the  conquests  of  the 
Spaniards  and  Portuguese  in  the  East  and  West 
Indies  had  raised  to  the  highest  pitch  the  renown 
of  their  arms ;  sullied,  however,  by  superstition  and 
cruelty.  An  allusion  to  the  inhumanities  of  the 
Inquisition  terminates  this  picture.  The  Last  Part 
of  the  Poem  opens  with  the  state  of  Spain  previous 
to  the  unparalleled  treachery  of  Bonaparte  ;  gives 

i  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick  appeared  in  4to,  in  July  15, 
1811 ;  and  in  the  course  of  the  same  year  was  also  inserted  in 
the  second  volume  of  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register — which 
ifork  was  the  property  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  then  publishers, 
Mer.srs.  John  Ballantyne  and  Co. 

■  The  Right  Hon.  Robert  Blair  of  Avontoun,  President  of 
the  Court  of  Sessions,  was  the  son  of  the  Rev.  Robert  Blair, 
author  of  "  The  Grave."  After  long  filling  the  office  of  So- 
licitor-General in  Scotland  with  high  distinction,  he  was  de- 
rated to  the  Presidency  in  1808.  He  died  very  suddenly  on  the 
20th  May,  1811,  in  the  70th  year  of  his  age  ;  and  his  intimate 
friend,  Henry  Dundas,  first  Viscount  Melville,  having  gone  into 
Edinburgh  on  purpose  to  attend  his  remains  to  the  grave,  was 
taken  ill  not  less  suddenly,  and  died  there  the  very  hour  that 
the  funeral  took  place,  on  the  28th  of  the  same  month. 

*  la  a  letter  to  J.  B.  S.  Morritt,  Esq.,  Edinburgh,  July  1, 


a  sketch  of  the  usurpation  attempted  upon  thai 
unsuspicious  and  friendly  kingdom,  and  terminates 
with  the  arrival  of  the  British  succors.  It  may  be 
farther  proper  to  mention,  that  the  object  of  the 
Poem  is  less  to  commemorate  or  detail  particular 
incidents  than  to  exliibit  a  general  and  impressive 
picture  of  the  several  periods  brought  upon  the  stage. 

I  am  too  sensible  of  the  respect  due  to  the  Public, 
especially'by  one  who  has  already  experienced  more 
than  ordinary  indulgence,  to  offer  any  apology  for 
the  inferiority  of  the  poetry  to  the  subject  it  is  chiefly 
designed  to  commemorate.  Yet  I  tliink  it  proper  to 
mention,  that  while  I  was  hastily  executing  a  work, 
written  for  a  temporary  purpose,  and  on  passing 
events,  the  task  was  most  cruelly  interrupted  by  the 
successive  deaths  of  Lord  President  Blair,2  and 
Lord  Viscount  Melville.  In  those  distinguished 
characters  I  had  not  only  to  regret  persons  whose 
lives  were  most  important  to  Scotland,  but  also 
whose  notice  and  patronage  honored  my  entrance 
upon  active  fife ;  and,  I  may  add,  with  melancholy 
pride,  who  permitted  my  more  advanced  age  to 
claim  no  common  share  in  their  friendship.  Under 
such  interruptions,  the  following  verses,  which  my 
best  and  happiest  efforts  must  have  left  far  unworthy 
of  their  theme,  have,  I  am  myself  sensible,  an  appear- 
ance of  negligence  and  incoherence,  which,  in  other 
circumstances,  I  might  have  been  able  to  remove.' 

Edinburgh,  June  24,  1811. 


1811,  Scott  says — "  I  have  this  moment  got  your  kind  fett?r, 
just  as  I  was  packing  up  Don  Roderick  for  you.  This  patri- 
otic puppet-show  has  been  finished  under  wretched  auspices ; 
poor  Lord  Melville's  death  so  quickly  succeeding  that  of 
President  Blair,  one  of  the  best  and  wisest  judges  that  ever  dis- 
tributed justice,  broke  my  spirit  sadly.  My  official  situation 
placed  me  in  daily  contact  with  the  President,  and  his  ability 
and  candor  were  the  source  of  my  daily  admiration.  As  for 
poor  dear  Lord  Melville,  '  'tis  vain  to  name  him  whom  we 
mourn  in  vain.'  Almost  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  he  was  talk- 
ing of  you  in  the  highest  terms  of  regard,  and  expressing  great 
hopes  of  again  seeing  you  at  Dunira  this  summer,  where  I  pro- 
posed to  attend  you.  Hei  mihi!  quid  hei  mihil  humana 
perpessi  sumus.  His  loss  will  be  long  and  severely  felt  here, 
and  Envy  is  already  paying  her  cold  tribute  of  applause  to  th* 
worth  which  she  maligned  while  it  walked  upon  earth." 


270 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WuRKS. 


Stye  bmon  of  &)on  floiimck. 


JOHN  WHITftORE,  Esq. 


AND    TO   THE 

COMMITTEE    OF    SUBSCRIBERS    FOR    RELIEF    OF    THE    PORTUGUESE    SUFFERERS, 

IN    WHICH    HE    PRESIDES, 

THIS   POEM, 

(THE   VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK,) 

COMPOSED    FOR    THE    BENEFIT    OF    THE    FUND    UNDER    THEIR    MANAGEMENT,1 

IS    RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED    BY 

WALTER  SCOTT. 


INTRODUCTION". 


I. 
Lives  there  a  strain,  whose  sounds  of  mounting 
fire 
Maj'  rise  distinguish'd  o'er  the  din  of  war ; 
Or  died  it  with  yon  Master  of  the  Lyre, 

Who  sung  beleaguer'd  Ilion's  evil  star  ?3 
Such,  Wellington,  might  reach  thee  from  afar, 
Wafting  its  descant  wide  o'er  Ocean's  range ; 
Nor  shouts,  nor  clashing  arms,  its  mood  could  mar, 
All  as  it  swell'd  'twixt  each  loud  trumpet- 
change,3 
That  clangs  to  Britain  victory,  to  Portugal  revenge  !4 

1  "  The  letters  of  Scott  to  all  his  friends  have  sufficiently 
shown  the  unflagging  interest  with  which,  among  all  his  per- 
sonal labors  and  anxieties,  he  watched  the  progress  of  the  great 
contest  in  the  Peninsula.  It  was  so  earnest,  that  he  never  on 
any  journey,  not  even  in  his  very  frequent  passages  between 
Edinburgh  and  Ashestiel,  omitted  to  take  with  him  the  largest 
and  best  map  he  had  been  able  to  procure  of  the  seat  of  war ; 
upon  this  he  was  perpetually  pouring,  tracing  the  marches  and 
<ounter-marches  of  the  French  and  English  by  means  of  black 
and  white  pins  ;  and  not  seldom  did  Mrs.  Scott  complain  of 
this  constant  occupation  of  his  attention  and  her  carriage.  In 
the  beginning  of  1811,  a  committee  was  formed  in  London  to 
collect  subscriptions  for  the  relief  of  the  Portuguese,  who  had 
Been  their  lands  wasted,  their  vines  torn  up,  and  their  houses 
burnt  in  the  course  of  Massena's  last  unfortunate  campaign  ; 
and  Scott,  on  reading  the  advertisement,  immediately  addressed 
Mr.  Whitmore,  the  chairman,  begging  that  the  committee 
would  allow  him  to  contribute  to  their  fund  the  profits,  to 
whatever  they  might  amount,  of  a  poem  which  he  proposed  to 
write  upon  a  subject  connected  with  the  localities  of  the  patri- 
otic struggle.  His  offer  was  of  course  accepted  ;  and  The 
Vision  of  Don  Roderick  was  begun  as  soon  as  the  Spring 
"sacation  enabled  him  to  retire  to  Ashestiel. 


II. 

Yes !  such  a  strain,  with  all  o'er-pouring  mea- 
sure, 
Might  melodize  with  each  tumultuous  sound, 
Each  voice  of  fear  or  triumph,  woe  or  plea- 
sure, 
That  rings  Mondego's  ravaged  shores  around ; 
The   thundering   cry   of  hosts   with    conquest 
crown'd, 
The  female  shriek,  the  ruin'd  peasant's  moan, 
The   shout  of  captives   from   their  chains   un- 
bound, 
The  foil'd  oppressor's  deep  and  sullen  groan, 
A  Nation's  choral  hymn  for  tyranny  o'erthrowa 

"  The  poem  was  published,  in  4to,  in  July  ;  and  the  imme- 
diate proceeds  were  forwarded  to  the  board  in  London.  His 
friend  the  Earl  of  Dalkeith  (afterwards  Duke  of  Buccleuch) 
writes  thus  on  the  occasion  : — '  Those  with  ampler  fortunes 
and  thicker  heads  may  easily  give  one  hundred  guineas  to  a 
subscription,  but  the  man  is  really  to  be  envied  who  can  draw 
that  sum  from  his  own  brains,  and  apply  the  produce  so  bene- 
ficially and  to  so  exalted  a  purpose.'  " — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii. 
pp.  312,  315. 

2  MS. — "  Who  sung  the  changes  of  the  Phrygian  jar." 

3  MS. — "  Claiming  thine  ear   'twixt  each    loud    trumpet 

change." 

*  "  The  too  monotonous  close  of  the  stanza  is  sometimes 
diversified  by  the  adoption  of  fourteen-foot  verse, — a  license  in 
poetry  which,  since  Dryden,  has  (we  believe)  been  altogether 
abandoned,  but  which  is  nevertheless  very  deserving  of  revival, 
so  long  as  it  is  only  rarely  and  judiciously  used.  The  very 
first  stanza  in  this  poem  affords  an  instance  of  it ;  and,  intro- 
duced thus  in  the  very  front  of  the  battle,  we  cannot  help  con- 
sidering it  as  a  fault,  especially  clogged  as  it  is  with  the  asso- 
ciation of  a  defective  rhyme — change,  revenge." — Critical 
Review,  Aug.  1811.  , 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


271 


III. 

But  we,  weak  minstrels  of  a  laggard  day, 

Skill'd  but  to  imitate  an  elder  page, 
Timid  and  raptureless,  can  we  repay1 

The  debt  thou  claim'st  in  tliis  exhausted  age  ? 
Thou  givest  our  lyres  a  theme,  that  might  en- 
gage [land, 

Those  that  could  send  thy  name  o'er  sea  and 
While  sea  and  land  shall  last ;  for  Homer's  rage 

A  theme ;  a  theme  for  Milton's  mighty  hand— - 
How  much  unmeet  for  us,  a  faint  degenerate  band  I8 

IV. 

Ye    mountains   stern!    within    whose    rugged 
breast 
The  friends  of  Scottish  freedom  found  repose ; 
Ye  torrents  !  whose  hoarse  sounds  have  soothed 
their  rest, 
Returning  from  the  field  of  vanquish'd  foes ; 
Say,  have  ye  lost  each  wild  majestic  close, 

That  erst  the  choir  of  Bards  or  Druids  flung ; 
What  time  their  hymn  of  victory  arose,     [rung, 
And  Cattraeth's  glens  with  voice  of  triumph 
And  mystic  Merlin  harp'd,  and  gray-hair'd  Lly- 
warch  sung  !3 

V. 

0  !  if  your  wilds  such  minstrelsy  retain, 

As  sure  your  changeful  gales  seem  oft  to  say, 
When  sweeping  wild  and  sinking  soft  again, 
Like  trumpet-jubilee,  or  harp's  wild  sway ; 
If  ye  can  echo  such  triumphant  lay, 

Then  lend  the  note  to  him  has  loved  you  long  ! 
Who  pious  gather'd  each  tradition  gray, 
•  That  floats  your  solitary  wastes  along,    [song, 
A.nd  with  affection  vain  gave  them  new  voice  in 

VI. 

For  not  till  now,  how  oft  soe'er  the  task 

Of  truant  verse  hath  lighten'd  graver  care, 
From  Muse  or  Sylvan  was  he  wont  to  ask, 

In  phrase  poetic,  inspiration  fair ; 
Careless  he  gave  his  numbers  to  the  air, 

They  came  unsought  for,  if  applauses  came  ; 
Nor  for  himself  prefers  he  now  the  prayer; 

Let  but  his  verse  befit  a  hero's  fame, 
faiicrtal  be  the  verse  ! — forgot  the  poet's  name. 

VII. 
Hark,  from  yon  misty  cairn  their  answer  tost  :4 
"  Minstrel !  the  fame  of  whose  romantic  lyre, 


i  MS. — "  Unform'd  for  rapture,  how  shall  we  repay." 
»  MS. — "  Thou  givest  our  verse  a  theme  that  might  engage 
Lyres  that  could  richly  yield  thee  back  its  due  ; 
A  theme,  might  kindle  Homer's  mighty  rage  ; 
A  theme  more  grand  than  Maro  ever  knew — 
Mow  much  unmeet  for  us,  degenerate,  frail,  and  few  !" 


Capricious-swelling  now,  may  soon  be  lost, 

Like  the  light  flickering  of  a  cottage  fire  ; 
If  to  such  task  presumptuous  thou  aspire, 

Seek  not  from  us  the  meed  to  warrior  die: 
Age  after  age  has  gather'd  son  to  sire, 

Since  our  gray  cliffs  the  din  of  conflict  knew, 
Or,  pealing  through  our  vales,  victorious  bugle? 
blew. 

VIII. 
"  Decay'd  our  old  traditionary  lore,  [r ing, 

Save  where  the  lingering  fays  renew  their 
By  milk-maid  seen  beneath  the  hawthorn  hoar, 
Or  round  the  marge  of  Minchmore's  haunted 
spring  :5  [sing, 

Save  where  their  legends  gray-hair'd  shepherds 
That  now  scarce  win  a  listening  ear  but  thine, 
Of  feuds  obscure,  and  Border  ravaging, 
And  rugged  deeds  recount  in  rugged  line, 
Of  moonlight  foray  made  on  Teviot,  Tweed,  oi 
Tyne. 

IX. 

"  No  !  search  romantic  lands,  where  the  near  Sim 

Gives  with  unstinted  boon  ethereal  flame, 
Where  the  rude  villager,  his  labor  done,    [name, 

In   verse    spontaneous6   chants   some  favor'd 
Whether  Olalia's  charms  his  tribute  claim, 

Her  eye  of  diamond,  and  her  locks  of  jet ; 
Or  whether,  kindling  at  the  deeds  of  Graeme,7 

He  sing,  to  wild  Morisco  measure  set, 
Old  Albin's  red  claymore,  green  Erin's  bayonet ! 


"  Explore  those  regions,  where  the  flinty  crest 

Of  wild  Nevada  ever  gleams  with  snows, 
Where  in  the  proud  Alhambra's  ruin'd  breast 

Barbaric  monuments  of  pomp  repose  ; 
Or  where  the  banners  of  more  ruthless  foes 

Than  the  fierce  Moor,  float  o'er  Toledo's  fane, 
From  whose  tall  towers  even  now  the  patriot 
throws 

An  anxious  glance,  to  spy  upon  the  plain 
The  blended  ranks  of  England,  Portugal,  and  Spain 

XL 

"  There,  of  Numantian  fire  a  swarthy  spark 
Still  lightens  in  the  sun-burnt  native's  eye ; 

The  stately  port,  slow  step,  and  visage  dark, 
Still  mark  enduring  pride  and  constancy. 


s  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

*  MS. — "  Hark,  from  gray  Needpath's  mists,  the  Brothers'  \ 
cairn,  \ 

Hark,  from  the  Brothers'  cairn  the  answer  tost."  > 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  B.  6  ibid.  Note  C. 

1 1bid.  Note  D. 


— — 


272 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And,  if  the  glow  of  feudal  chivalry 

Beam  not,  as  once,  thy  nobles'  dearest  pride, 
Iberia  !  oft  thy  crestless  peasantry 

Have  seen  the  plumed  Hidalgo  quit  their  side, 
Have  seen,  yet  dauntless  stood — 'gainst  fortune 
fought  and  died. 

XII. 

*  And  cherish'd  still  by  that  unchanging  race,1 

Are   themes  for  minstrelsy  more  high  than 
thine ; 
Of  strange  tradition  many  a  mystic  trace, 

Legend  and  vision,  prophecy  and  sign ; 
Where  wonders  wild  of  Arabesque  combine 

With  Gothic  imagery  of  darker  shade, 
Forming  a  model  meet  for  minstrel  line,     [said : 

Go,  seek  such  theme  !" — The  Mountain  Spirit 
With  filial  awe  I  heard — I  heard,  and  I  obey'd.2 


SI)e  lliBion  of  ©on  Koirmck. 
i. 

Rearing  their  crests  amid  the  cloudless  skies, 

And  darkly  clustering  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
Toledo's  holy  towers  and  spires  arise, 

As  from  a  trembling  lake  of  silver  white. 
Their  mingled  shadows  intercept  the  sight 

Of  the  broad  burial-ground  outstretch'd  below, 
And  naught  disturbs  the  silence  of  the  night ; 

All  sleeps  in  sullen  shade,  or  silver  glow, 
All  save  the  heavy  swell  of  Teio's  ceaseless  flow.8 

•II. 

All  save  the  rushing  swell  of  Teio's  tide, 

Or,  distant  heard,  a  courser's  neigh  or  tramp ; 
Their  changing  rounds   as   watchful  horsemen 
ride, 
To  guard  the  limits  of  King  Roderick's  camp. 
For,  tlirough  the  river's  night-fog  rolling  damp, 

Was  many,  a  proud  pavilion  dimly  seen,4 
Which  glimmer'd  back,  against  the  moon's  fair 
lamp, 


1  MS. — "  And  lingering  still  'mid  that  unchanging  race." 

2  "The  Introduction,  we  confess,"  says  the  Quarterly  Re- 
viewer, "  does  not  please  us  so  well  as  the  rest  of  the  poem, 
though  the  reply  of  the  Mountain  Spirit  is  exquisitely  writ- 
ten." The  Edinburgh  critic,  after  quoting  stanzas  ix.  x.  and 
xi.  says: — "The  Introduction,  though  splendidly  written,  is 
too  long  for  so  short  a  poem  ;  and  the  poet's  dialogue  with  his 
native  mountains  is  somewhat  too  startling  and  unnatural. 
The  most  spirited  part  of  it,  we  think,  is  their  direction  to 
Spanish  themes." 

s  The  Monthly  Review,  for  1811,  in  quoting  this  stanza, 
says — "  Scarcely  any  poet,  of  any  age  or  country,  has  excelled 
Mr.  Scott  in  bringing  before  our  sight  the  very  scene  which  he 
is  describing — in  giving  a  reality  of  existence  to  every  object  on 


Tissues  of  silk  and  silver  twisted  sheen, 
And  standards  proudly  pitch'd,  and  warders  arm'd 
between. 

III. 
But  of  then-  Monarch's  person  keeping  ward, 
Since  last  the  deep-mouth'd  bell  of  vespers 
toll'd, 
The  chosen  soldiers  of  the  royal  guaid 

The  post  beneath  the  proud  Cathedral  hold : 
A  band  unlike  their  Gothic  sires  of  old, 

Who,  for  the  cap  of  steel  and  iron  mace, 
Bear  slender  darts,6  and  casques  bedeck'd  with 
gold, 
While   silver-studded  belts   their   shoulders 
grace, 
Where  ivory  quivers  ring  in  the  broad  falchion's 
place.6 

IY. 

In  the  light  language  of  an  idle  court, 

They  murmur'd  at  their  master's  long  delay, 
And  held  his  lengthen'd  orisons  in  sport : — 
"  What !  will  Don  Roderick  here  till  morning 
stay, 
To  wear  in  shrift  and  prayer  the  night  away  ? 

And  are  his  hours  in  such  dull  penance  past, 
For  fair  Florinda's  plunder'd  charms  to  pay  ?" — T 
Then  to  the  east  their  weary  eyes  they  cast, 
And  wish'd   the  lingering  dawn  would  glimmer 
forth  at  last. 

y. 

But,  far  within,  Toledo's  Prelate  lent 

An  ear  of  fearful  wonder  to  the  King ; 
The  silver  lamp  a  fitful  lustre  sent, 

So  long  that  sad  confession  witnessing : 
For  Roderick  told  of  many  a  hidden  thing, 

Such  as  are  lothly  utter'd  to  the  air. 
When  Fear,  Remorse,  and  Shame,  the  bosom 
wring, 
And  Guilt  his  secret  burden  cannot  bear, 
And  Conscience  seeks  in  speech  a  respite  from  De- 
spair. 


which  he  dwells  ;  and  it  is  on  such  occasions,  especially  suited 
as  they  seem  to  the  habits  of  his  mind,  that  his  style  itself 
catches  a  character  of  harmony,  which  is  far  from  being  uni- 
versally its  own.     How  vivid,  yet  how  soft,  is  this  picture  1" 

4  MS. — "  For,  stretch'd  beside  the  river's  margin  damp, 

Their  proud  pavilions  hide  the  meadow  green." 
s  MS. — "  Bore  javelins  slight." 

6  The  Critical  Reviewer,  having  quoted  stanzas  i.  ii.  and  iii. 
says — "  To  the  specimens  with  which  his  former  works  abound, 
of  Mr.  Scott's  unrivalled  excellence  in  the  descriptions,  both 
of  natural  scenery  and  romantic  manners  and  costume,  these 
stanzas  will  be  thought  no  mean  addition." 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  E 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


273 


VI. 

Full  on  the  Prelate's  face,  and  silver  hair, 

The  stream  of  failing  light  was  feebly  roll'd  r1 
But  Roderick's  visage,  though  his  head  was  bare, 

Was  shadow'd  by  his  hand  and  mantle's  fold. 
While  of  his  hidden  soul  the  sins  he  told, 

Proud  Alaric's  descendant  could  not  brook,2 
That  mortal  man  his  bearing  should  behold, 

Or  boast  that  he  had  seen,  when  Conscience 

shook,  [look.3 

Fear  tame  a  monarch's  brow,  Remorse  a  warrior's 

VII. 

The  old  man's  faded  cheek  wax'd  yet  more  pale, 

As  many  a  secret  sad  the  King  bewray'd  ; 
A.s  sign  and  glance  eked  out  the  unfinish'd  tale, 

When  in  the  midst  his  faltering  whisper  staid. 
'*  Thus  royal  Witiza4  was  slain," — he  said ; 

"  Yet,  holy  Father,  deem  not  it  was  I." 
Thus  still  Ambition  strives  her  crimes  to  shade. — 

"  Oh !  rather  deem  'twas  stern  necessity ! 
Self-preservation  bade,  and  I  must  kill  or  die. 

VIII. 

■  And  if  Florinda's  shrieks  alarm'd  the  air, 

If  she  invoked  her  absent  sire  in  vain, 
And  on  her  knees  implored  that  I  would  spare, 
Yet,  reverend  priest,  thy  sentence  rash  refrain ! 
All  is  not  as  it  seems — the  female  train 

Know   by   their   bearing    to    disguise    their 

mood :" — 

But  Conscience  here,  as  if  in  high  disdain, 

Sent   to   the   Monarch's   cheek   the   burning 

blood —  [stood. 

He  stay'd  his  speech  abrupt — and  up  the  Prelate 


roll'd.' 


1  MS. — "  The  feeble  lamp  in  dying  lustre 

The  waves  of  broken  light  were  feebly 

2  MS. — "  The  haughty  monarch's  heart  could  evil  brook." 

3  The  Quarterly  Reviewer  says — ' '  The  moonlight  scenery 
of  the  camp  and  burial-ground  is  evidently  by  the  same  pow- 
erful hand  which  sketched  the  Abbey  of  Melrose  ;  and  in  this 
picture  of  Roderick's  confession,  there  are  traits  of  even  a 
higher  cast  of  sublimity  and  pathos." 

The  Edinburgh  Reviewer  introduces  his  quotations  of  the  i. 
ii.  v.  and  vi.  stanzas  thus — "  The  poem  is  substantially  di- 
vided into  two  compartments  ; — the  one  representing  the  fabu- 
lous or  prodigious  acts  of  Don  Roderick's  own  time, — and  the 
Other  the  recent  occurrences  which  have  since  signalized  the 
game  quarter  of  the  world.  Mr.  Scott,  we  think,  is  most  at 
home  in  the  first  of  these  fields  ;  and  we  think,  upon  the  whole, 
has  most  success  in  it.  The  opening  affords  a  fine  specimen  of 
his  unrivalled  powers  of  description." 

The  reader  may  be  gratified  with  having  the  following  lines, 
from  Mr.  Southey's  Roderick,  inserted  here  : — 


Then  Roderick  knelt 


Before  the  holy  man,  and  strove  to  speak  : 
'  Thou  seest,' — he  cried, —  i]iou  seest' — but  memory 
An''  3'iffbeating  thoughts  represt  the  word, 
And  shndderings,  like  an  ague  fit,  from  head 
To  foot  convulsed  him  :  till  at  length,  subduing 
35 


IX. 

"  0  harden'd  offspring  of  an  iron  race !         [say  ? 

What  of  thy  crimes,  Don  Roderick,  shall  I 
What  alms,  or  prayers,  or  penance,  can  efface 

Murder's  dark  spot,  wash  treason's  stain  away ! 
For  the  foul  ravisher  how  shall  I  pray, 

Who,  scarce  repentant,  makes  his  crime  hia 
boast  ?  » 

How  hope  Almighty  vengeance  shall  delay, 

Unless  in  mercy  to  yon  Christian  host, 
He  spare  the  shepherd,6  lest  the  guiltless  sheep 
be  lost." 

X. 

Then  kindled  the  dark  Tyrant  in  his  mood, 

And  to  his  brow  return'd  its  dauntless  gloom ; 
"And  welcome  then,"  he  cried,  "be  blood  for 
blood, 

For  treason  treachery,  for  dishonor  doom ! 
Yet  will  I  know  whence  come  they,  or  by  whom. 

Show,  for  thou  canst — give  forth  the  fated  key, 
And  guide  me,  Priest,  to  that  mysterious  room,* 

Where,  if  aught  true  in  old  tradition  be, 
His  nation's  future  fates  a  Spanish  King  shall  see."* 

XL 

"  Ill-fated  Prince !  recall  the  desperate  word, 

Or  pause  ere  yet  the  omen  thou  obey  ! 
Bethink,  yon  spell-bound  portal  would  afford" 

Never  to  former  Monarch  entrance-way ; 
Nor  shall  it  ever  ope,  old  records  say, 

Save  to  a  King,  the  last  of  all  his  line, 
What  time  his  empire  totters  to  decay, 

And  treason  digs,  beneath,  her  fatal  mine, 
And,  high  above,  impends  avenging  wrath  divine." 

His  nature  to  the  effort,  he  exclaim'd, 
Spreading  his  hands,  and  lifting  up  his  face, 
As  if  resolved  in  penitence  to  bear 
A  human  eye  upon  his  shame — '  Thou  seest 
Roderick  the  Goth  !     That  name  should  have  sufficed 
To  tell  the  whole  abhorred  history  : 
He  not  the  less  pursued, — the  ravisher, 
The  cause  of  all  this  ruin  !' — Having  said, 
In  the  same  posture  motionless  he  knelt, 
Arms  straiten'd  down,  and  hands  outspread,  and  eyei 
Raised  to  the  Monk,  like  one  who  from  his  voice 
Expected  life  or  death." — 
Mr.  Southey,  in  a  note  to  these  lines,  says,  "  The  viKcn  ol 
Don  Roderick  supplies  a  singular  contrast  to  the  picture  wiiich 
is  represented  in  this  passage.     I  have  great  pleasure  in  c  noting 
the  stanzas  (v.  and  vi.)  ;  if  the  contrast  had  been  intentional, 
it  could  not  have  been  more  complete." 

*  The  predecessor  of  Roderick  upon  the  Spanish  throne,  and 
slain  by  his  connivance,  as  is  affirmed  by  Rodriguez  of  Toledo, 
the  father  of  Spanish  history. 

6  MS. — "  He  spare  to  smite  the  shepherd,  lest  the  sheep  b« 

lost." 
«  MS. — "  And  guide  me,  prelate,  to  that  secret  room  " 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

8  MS. — "  Or  pause  the  omen  of  thy  fate  to  weigh  ! 

Bethink,  that  brazen  portal  would  afford." 


!7i 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XII 
"  Prelate  !  a  Monarch's  Me  brooks  no  delay ; 
Lead  on !" — The  ponderous  key  the  old  man 
took, 
And  held  the  winking  lamp,  and  led  the  way, 

By  winding  stair,  dark  aisle,  and  secret  nook, 
Then  on  an  ancient  gateway  bent  his  look ; 

And,  as  the  key  the  desperate  King  essay'd, 

Low  mutter'd  thunders  the  Cathedral  shook, 

And  twice  he  stopp'd,  and  twice  new  effort 

made,  [bray'd. 

Till  the  huge  bolts  roll'd  back,  and  the  loud  hinges 

XIII. 

Long,  large,  and  lofty,  was  that  vaulted  hall ; 

Roof,  walls,  and  floor,  were  all  of  marble  stone ; 
Of  polish'd  marble,  black  as  funeral  pall, 

Carved  o'er  with  signs  and  characters  unknown. 
A  paly  light,  as  of  the  dawning,  shone    [not  spy ; 

Through  the  sad  bounds,  but  whence  they  could 
For  window  to  the  upper  air  was  none ; 

Yet,  by  that  light,  Don  Roderick  could  descry 
Wonders  that  ne'er  till  then  were  seen  by  mortal 
eye. 

XIV. 

Grim  sentinels,  against  the  upper  wall,    [place  • 
Of  molten  bronze,  two   Statues   held  their 
Massive  their  naked  limbs,  their  stature  tall, 

Their  frowning  foreheads  golden  circles  grace. 
Moulded  they  seem'd  for  kings  of  giant  race, 
That  lived  and   sinn'd  before  the   avenging 
flood ; 
This  grasp'd  a  scythe,  that  rested  on  a  mace ; 
This  spread  Ins  wings  for  flight,  that  ponder- 
ing stood,  [mood. 
Each  stubborn  seem'd  and  stern,  immutable   of 

XV. 

Fix'd  was  the  right-hand  Giant's  brazen  look 

Upon  his  brother's  glass  of  shifting  sand, 
As  if  its  ebb  he  measured  by  a  book, 

Whose  iron  volume  loaded  his  huge  hand ; 
In  which  was  wrote  of  many  a  fallen  land, 

Of  empires  lost,  and  kings  to  exile  driven : 
And  o'er  that  pair  their  names  in  scroll  expand — 

"  Lo,  Destiny  and  Time  !  to  whom  by  Heaven 
The  guidance  of  the  earth  is  for  a  season  given." — 

XVI. 

Even  while  they  read,  the  sand-glass  wastes 
away ; 

And,  as  the  last  and  lagging  grains  did  creep, 
That  right-hand  Giant  'gan  his  club1  upsway, 

As  one  that  startles  from  a  heavy  sleep. 

1  MS. — **  Arm — mace — chtb." 
a  See  Appendix,  Note  6. 


Full  on  the  upper  wall  the  mace's  sweep 

At  once  descended  with  the  force  of  thunder 
And  hurtling  down  at  once,  in  crumbled  heap, 
The  marble  boundary  was  rent  asunder, 
And  gave  to  Roderick's  view  new  sights  of  feat 
and  wonder. 

XVII. 

For  they  might  spy,  beyond  that  mighty  breach 
Realms  as  of  Spain  in  vision'd  prospect  laid, 
Castles  and  towers,  in  due  proportion  each, 

As  by  some  skilful  artist's  hand  portray'd : 
Here,  crossed  by  many  a  wild  Sierra's  shade, 
And  boundless  plains  that  tire  the  traveller's 
eye; 
There,  rich  with  vineyard  and  with  olive  glade, 
Or  deep-embrown'd  by  forests  huge  and  high, 
Or  wash'd  by  mighty  streams,  that  slowly  mur- 
mur'd  by. 

XVIII. 

And  here,  as  erst  upon  the  antique  stage, 

Pass'd  forth  the  band  of  masquers  trimly  led, 
In  various  forms,  and  various  equipage, 

While  fitting  strains  the  hearer's  fancy  fed ; 
So,  to  sad  Roderick's  eye  in  order  spread, 

Successive  pageants  fill'd  that  mystic  scene, 
Showing  the  fate  of  battles  ere  they  bled, 

And  issue  of  events  that  had  not  been ; 
And,  ever  and  anon,  strange  sounds  were  heard 
between. 

XIX. 

First  shrill'd  an  unrepeated  female  shriek! — 
It  seem'd  as  if  Don  Roderick  knew  the  call, 

For  the  bold  blood  was  blanching  in  his  cheek- 
Then  answer'd  kettle-drum  and  atabal, 

Gong-peal  and  cymbal-clank  the  ear  appal, 
The  Tecbir  war-cry,  and  the  Lelie's  yell,3 

Ring  wildly  dissonant  along  the  hall. 

Needs   not  to   Roderick  their  dread  import 

tell—  [Tocsin  bell  I 

"  The  Moor  !"  he  cried,  "  the  Moor ! — ring  out  the 

XX. 

"  They  come !  they  come !  I  see  the  groaning  lanas 

White  with  the  turbans  of  each  Arab  horde ; 
Swart  Zaarah  joins  her  misbelieving  bands, 

Alia  and  Mahomet  their  battle-word, 
The  choice  they  yield,  the  Koran  or  the  Sword — 

See  how  the  Christians  rush  to  arms  amain  !— 
In  yonder  shout  the  voice  of  conflict  roar'd,8 

The  shadowy  hosts  are  closing  on  the  plain- 
Now,  God  and  Saint  Iago  strike,  for  the  good  cause 
of  Spain ! 

•  "  Oh,  who  could  tell  what  deeds  were  wrougrHt  that  day 
Or  who  endure  to  hear  the  tale  of  rage, 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


275 


XXI. 

*  By  Heaven,  the  Moors  prevail !  the  Christians 
yield ! 
Their  coward  leader  gives  for  flight  the  sign ! 
"The  sceptred  craven  mounts  to  quit  the  field — 

Is  not  yon  steed  Orelia  ? — Yes,  'tis  mine  I1 
But  ucvsr  was  she  turn'd  from  battle-line : 
Lo !  where  the  recreant  spurs  o'er  stock  and 
stone ! 
Curses  pursue  the  slave,  and  wrath  divine ! 
Rivers  ingulph  him !" — "  Hush,"  in  shudder- 
ing tone,  [form's  thine  own." 
rhe   Prelate   said ; — "  rash    Prince,   yon   vision'd 

XXII. 

Just  then,  a  torrent  cross'd  the  flier's  course ; 

The  dangerous  ford  the  Kingly  Likeness  tried ; 

But  the  deep  eddies  whelm'd  both   man   and 

horse, 

Swept  like  benighted  peasant  down  the  tide  ;2 

And  the  proud  Moslemah  spread  far  and  wide, 

As  numerous  as  their  native  locust  band ; 
Berber  and  Ismael's  sons  the  spoils  divide, 
With  naked  cimeters  mete  out  the  land, 
And  for  the  bondsmen  base  the  freeborn  natives 
Drand. 

XXIII. 
Then  rose  the  grated  Harem,  to  enclose 

The  loveliest  maidens  of  the  Christian  line ; 
Then,  menials,  to  then  misbelieving  foes 

Castile's  young  nobles  held  forbidden  wine ; 
Then,  too,  the  holy  Cross,  salvation's  sign, 

By  impious  hands  was  from  the  altar  thrown, 
And  the  deep  aisles  of  the  polluted  shrine 

Eeho'd,  for  holy  hymn  and  organ-tone,  [moan. 
1'he  Santon's  frantic  dance,  the  Fakir's  gibbering 


How  fares  Don 


XXIV. 

Roderick  ?- 


-E'en  as  one  who 
spies  [woof, 

Flames  dart  their  glare  o'er  midnight's  sable 
And  hears  around  his  children's  piercing  cries, 

Hatred,  and  madness,  and  despair,  and  fear, 
Horror,  and  wounds,  and  agony,  and  death, 
The  cries,  the  blasphemies,  the  shrieks  and  groans, 
And  prayer?,  which  mingled  in  the  din  of  arms, 
In  one  wild  uproar  of  terrific  sounds." 

Southey's  Roderick,  vol.  ii.  p.  171. 
-  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

* "  Upon  the  banks 

Of  Sella  was  Orelia  found,  his  legs 
And  flanks  incarnadined,  his  poitrel  smear'd 
With  froth  and  foam  and  gore,  his  silver  mane 
Sprinkled  with  blood,  -vhich  hung  on  every  hair, 
Aspersed  like  dew-drops ;  trembling  there  he  stood, 
From  the  toil  of  battle,  and  at  times  sent  forth 
His  tremulous  voice,  far-echoing,  loud  and  shrill, 
A  frequent,  anxious  cry,  with  which  he  seem'd 
To  call  the  master  whom  he  loved  so  well, 


And  sees  the  pale  assistants  stand  aloof; 
While  cruel  Conscience  brings  lum  bitter  proof, 
His  folly  or  his  crime  have  caused  his  grief; 
And  while  above  him  nods  the  crumbling  roof, 
He   curses   earth   and   Heaven — liimself    in 
chief —  [liefl 

Desperate  of  earthly  aid,  despairing  Heaven's  re* 

XXV. 

That  scythe-arm'd  Giant  turn'd  his  fatal  glass 
And  twilight   on   the   landscape  closed  her 
wings; 
Far  to  Asturian  lulls  the  war-sounds  pass, 

And  in  their  stead  rebeck  or  timbrel  rings ; 
And  to  the  sound  the  bell-deck' d  dancer  springs, 
Bazaars  resound  as  when  their  marts  are  met 
In  tourney  light  the  Moor  his  jerrid  flings, 
And  on  the  land  as  evening  seem'd  to  set, 
The  Imaum's  chant  was  heard   from  mosque  or 
minaret.* 

XXVI. 

So  pass'd  that  pageant.     Ere  another  came,4 
The  visionary  scene  was  wrapp'd  in  smoke, 
Whose  sulph'rous  wreaths  were  cross'd  by  sheets 
of  flame ; 
With  every  flash  a  bolt  explosive  broke, 
Till  Roderick  deem'd  the  fiends  had  burst  then 
yoke,  [falone  I 

And  waved  'gainst  heaven  the  infernal  gon- 
For  War  a  new  and  dreadful  language  spoke, 
Never  by  ancient  warrior  heard  or  known ; 
Lightning  and  smoke  her  breath,  and  thunder  was 
her  tone. 

XXVII. 
From  the  dim  landscape  roll  the  clouds  away — 

The  Christians  have  regain'd  their  heritage ; 
Before  the  Cross  has  waned  the  Crescent's  ray 

And  many  a  monastery  decks  the  stage, 
And  lofty  church,  and  low-brow'd  hermitage. 

The  land  obeys  a  Hermit  and  a  Knight, — 
The  Genii  those  of  Spain  for  many  an  age ; 

And  who  had  thus  again  forsaken  him. 
Siverian's  helm  and  cuirass  on  the  grass 
Lay! near;  and  Julian's  sword,  its  hilt  and  chain 
Clotted  with  blood  ;  but  where  was  he  whose  hand 
Had  wielded  it  so  well  that  glorious  day  J" 

Southey's  Roderick. 

9  "  The  manner  in  which  the  pageant  disappears  is  very 
beautiful." — Quarterly  Review. 

4  "  We  come  now  to  the  Second  Period  of  the  Vision  ;  and 
we  cannot  avoid  noticing  with  much  commendation  the  dex- 
terity and  graceful  ease  with  which  the  first  two  scenes  are 
connected.  Without  abruptness,  or  tedious  apology  for  tran- 
sition, they  melt  into  each  other  with  very  harmonious  effect ; 
and  we  strongly  recommend  this  example  of  skill,  perhaps,  ex- 
hibited without  any  effort,  to  the  imitation  of  contemporan 
poets." — Monthly  Review. 


!76 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


This  clad  in  sackcloth,  that  in  armor  bright, 
And   that  was  Valor  named,  this  Bigotry  was 
hight.1 

XXVIII 

Valor  was  harness'd  like  a  chief  of  old,  [gest  ;2 

Arm'd  at  all  points,  and  prompt  for  knightly 
His  sword  was  temper'd  in  the  Ebro  cold, 

Morena's  eagle  plume  adorn'd  his  crest, 
The  spoils  of  Afric's  lion  bound  his  breast,  [gage ; 

Fierce  he  stepp'd  forward  and  flung  down  liis 
As  if  of  mortal  kind  to  brave  the  best. 

Him  follow'd  his  Companion,  dark  and  sage, 
As  he,  my  Master,  sung  the  dangerous  Archimage. 

XXIX. 

Haughty  of  heart  and  brow  the  "Warrior  came, 

In  look  and  language  proud  as  proud  might  be, 
Vaunting  his  lordship,  lineage,  fights,  and  fame : 

Yet  was  that  barefoot  monk  more  proud  than 
And  as  the  ivy  climbs  the  tallest  tree,  [he : 

So  round  the  loftiest  soul  his  toils  he  wound, 
And  with  his  spells  subdued  the  fierce  and  free, 

Till  ermined  Age  and  Youth  in  arms  renown'd, 
Honoring  his  scourge  and  hair -cloth,  meekly  kiss'd 
the  ground. 

XXX. 

And  thus  it  chanced  that  Valor,  peerless  knight, 

Who  ne'er  to  King  or  Kaiser  veil'd  his  crest, 
Victorious  still  in  bull-feast  or  in  fight, 

Since  first  his  limbs  with  mail  he  did  invest, 
Stoop'd  ever  to  that  Anchoret's  behest ; 

Nor  reason'd  of  the  right,  nor  of  the  wrong, 
But  at  his  bidding  laid  the  lance  in  rest,  [along, 

And  wrought  fell  deeds  the  troubled  world 
For  he  was  fierce  as  brave,  and  pitiless  as  strong. 

XXXI. 

Oft  his  proud  galleys  sought  some  new-found 
world, 

That  latest  sees  the  sun,  or  first  the  morn ; 
Still  at  that  Wizard's  feet  their  spoils  he  hurl'd, — 

Ingots  of  ore  from  rich  Potosi  borne, 


1"  These  allegorical  personages,  which  are  thus  described, 
are  sketched  in  the  true  spirit  of  Spenser  ;  but  we  are  not  sure 
that  we  altogether  approve  of  the  association  of  such  imagi- 
nary beings  with  the  real  events  that  pass  over  the  stage  :  and 
these,  as  well  as  the  form  of  ambition  which  precedes  the  path 
of  Bonaparte,  have  somewhat  the  air  of  the  immortals  of  the 
Luxemburg  gallery,  whose  naked  limbs  and  tridents,  thunder- 
bolts and  caducei,  are  so  singularly  contrasted  with  the  ruffs 
and  whiskers,  the  queens,  archbishops,  and  cardinals  of  France 
and  Navarre." — Quarterly  Review. 

a  "  Armed  at  all  points,  exactly  cap-a-pee." — Havilet. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

4  "The  third  scene,  a  peaceful  state  of  indolence  and  ob- 
scurity, where,  though  the  court  was  degenerate,  the  peasant 
was  merry  and  contented,  is  introduced  with  exquisite  light- 
US?  and  gayety." — Quarterly  Review. 


Crowns  by  Caciques,  aigrettes  by  Omrahs  worn 
Wrought  of  rare  gems,  but  broken,  rent,  auc 
foul; 
Idols  of  gold  from  heathen  temples  torn, 

Bedabbled  all  with  blood. — With  grisly  scowl 
The  Hermit  mark'd  the  stains,  and  smiled  beneath 
his  cowL 

XXXII. 
Then  did  he  bless  the  offering,  and  bade  makt 
Tribute  to  Heaven  of  gratitude  and  praise  ; 
And  at  his  word  the  choral  hymns  awake, 

And  many  a  hand  the  silver  censer  sways, 
But  with  the  incense-breath  these  censers  raise, 
Mix  steams  from  corpses  smouldering  in  the 
fire; 
The  groans  of  prison'd  victims  mar  the  lays, 
And  shrieks  of  agony  confound  the  quire  ; 
While,   'mid   the   mingled   sounds,   the   darken'd 
scenes  expire. 

XXXIII. 

Preluding  light,  were  strains  of  music  heard, 

As  once  again  revolved  that  measured  sand ; 
Such  sounds  as  when,  for  sylvan  dance  prepared, 

Gay  Xeres  summons  forth  her  vintage  band ; 
When  for  the  light  bolero  ready  stand 

The  mozo  blithe,  with  gay  muchacha  met," 
He  conscious  of  his  broider'd  cap  and  band, 

She  of  her  netted  locks  and  light  corsette, 
Each  tiptoe  perch'd  to  spring,  and  shake  the  Cas- 
tanet. 

XXXIV. 

And  well  such  strains  the  opening  scene  became ; 

For  Valor  had  relax'd  his  ardent  look, 
And  at  a  lady's  feet,  like  lion  tame,         [brook 

Lay  stretch'd,  full  loth  the  weight  of  arms  to 
And  soften'd  Bigotry,  upon  his  book, 

Patter'd  a  task  of  little  good  or  ill : 
But  the  blithe  peasant  plied  his  pruning-hook, 

Whistled  the  muleteer  o'er  vale  and  lull, 
And  rung   from   village-green  the  merry  segui- 
dille.4 


"  The  three  grand  and  comprehensive  pictures  in  which  Mr. 
Scott  has  delineated  the  state  of  Spain,  during  the  three  pe- 
riods to  which  we  have  alluded,  are  conceived  with  much 
genius,  and  executed  with  very  considerable,  though  unequal 
felicity.  That  of  the  Moorish  dominion,  is  drawn,  we  think, 
with  the  greatest  spirit.  The  reign  of  Chivalry  and  Super 
stition  we  do  not  think  so  happily  represented,  by  a  long  and 
labored  description  of  two  allegorical  personages  called  Bigotry 
and  Valor.  Nor  is  it  very  easy  to  conceive  how  Don  Roderick 
was  to  learn  the  fortunes  of  his  country,  merely  by  inspecting 
the  physiognomy  and  furnishing  of  these  two  figurantes.  Tha 
truth  seems  to  be,  that  Mr.  Scott  has  been  tempted  on  this  oc- 
casion to  extend  a  mere  metaphor  into  an  allegory ;  and  to 
prolong  a  figure  which  might  have  given  great  grace  and  spirit 
to  a  single  stanza,  into  the  heavy  subject  of  seven  or  eight.  His 
representation  of  the  recent  state  of  Spain,  we  think,  display* 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


277 


XXXV. 
Gray  royalty,  grown  impotent  of  toil,1 

Let  the  grave  sceptre  slip  his  lazy  hold ; 
And,  careless,  saw  h/s  rule  become  the  spoil 

Of  a  loose  Female  and  her  minion  bold. 
But  peace  was  on  the  cottage  and  the  fold,  [far ; 
From  court  intrigue,  from  bickering  faction 
Beneath  the  chestnut-tree  Love's  tale  was  told, 
And  to  the  tinkling  of  the  light  guitar, 
Sweet  wtoop'd  the  western  sun,  sweet  rose  the 
v  yening  star. 

XXXVL 

As  that  soa  cloud,  in  size  like  human  hand, 

When  first  from  Carmel  by  the  Tishbite  seen, 
Came  slowly  o\  31  shadowing  Israel's  land,8 
A   while,    pe»cna.ice,   bedeck'd    with    colors 
sheen, 
While  yet  the  sunbeams  011  its  skirts  had  been, 
Limning  with  purple  aid  with  gold  its  shroud, 
Till  darker  folds  obscured  tho  Uue  serene, 
And  blotted  heaven  with  ono  Nioad  sable 
cloud, 
Then  sheeted  rain  burst  down,  and  x^-lwinds 
howl'd  aloud : — 

XXXVII. 

Even  so,  upon  that  peaceful  scene  was  pcur  J, 
Like  gathering  clouds,  full  many  a  foreign 
band, 
And  He,  their  leader,  wore  in  sheath  his  sword, 

And  offer'd  peaceful  front  and  open  hand, 
Veiling  the  perjured  treachery  he  plann'd, 

By  friendship's  zeal  and  honor's  specious  guise, 
Until  he  won  the  passes  of  the  land ; 

Then  burst  were  honor's  oath,  and  friendship's 

ties !  [his  prize. 

He  clutch'd  his  vulture-grasp,  and  call'd  fair  Spam 

XXXVIII. 
An  Iron  Crown  his  anxious  forehead  bore  ; 

And  well  such  diadem  his  heart  became, 
Who  ne'er  his  purpose  for  remorse  gave  o'er, 

Or  check'd  his  course  for  piety  or  shame ; 
Who,  train'd  a  soldier,  deem'd  a  soldier's  fame 

Might  flourish  in  the  wreath  of  battles  won, 
Though  neither  truth  nor  honor  deck'd  his  name ; 

the  talent  and  address  of  the  author  to  the  greatest  advantage  ; 
ror  the  subject  was  by  no  means  inspiring  ;  nor  was  it  easy,  we 
ihould  imagine,  to  make  the  picture  of  decay  and  inglorious  in- 
dolence so  engaging." — Edinburgh  Review,  which  then  quotes 
stanzas  xxxiv.  and  xxxv. 

J  "  The  opening  (if  the  third  period  of  the  Vision  is,  perhaps 
necessarily,  more  abrupt  than  that  of  the  second.  No  circnm- 
itance,  equally  marked  with  the  alteration  in  the  whole  system 
of  ancient  warfare,  could  be  introduced  in  this  compartment 
of  the  poem  ;  yet,  when  we  have  been  told  that  '  Valor  had 
•ilaxed  his  ardent  look,'  and  that '  Bigotry'  was  '  softened,'  we 


Who,  placed  by  fortune  on  a  Monarcn's  throne, 
Reck'd  not  of  Monarch's  faith,  or  Mercy's  kingly 
tone. 

XXXIX. 

From  a  rude  isle  his  ruder  lineage  came, 

The  spark,  that,  from  a  suburb-hovel's  hearth 
Ascending,  wraps  some  capital  in  flame, 

Hath  not  a  meaner  or  more  sordid  birth. 
And  for  the  soul  that  bade  him  waste  the  earth — 

The  sable  land-flood  from  some  swamp  obscure 
That  poisons  the  glad  husband-field  with  dearth. 

And  by  destruction  bids  its  fame  endure, 
Hath  not  a  source  more  sullen,  stagnant,  and  im- 
pure.* 

XL. 

Before  that  Leader  strode  a  shadowy  Form ; 
Her  limbs  like  mist,  her  torch  like  meteor 
show'd,  [storm, 

With  which  she  beckon'd  him  through  fight  and 
And  all  he  crush'd  that  cross'd  his  desperate 
road,  [trode. 

Nor  thought,  nor  fear'd,  nor  look'd  on  what  he 
Realms  could  not  glut  his  pride,  blood  could 
not  slake, 
So  oft  as  e'er  she  shook  her  torch  abroad — 
It  was  Ambition  bade  her  terrors  wake, 
Hor  deign'd  she,  as  of  yore,  a  milder  form  to  take. 

XLL 

No  longer  now  she  spurn'd  at  mean  revenge, 

Or  staid  her  hand  for  conquer'd  foeman's  moan ; 
Xn  when,  the  fates  of  aged  Rome  to  change, 

By  Caesar's  side  she  cross'd  the  Rubicon. 
Nor  joy'd  she  to  bestow  the  spoils  she  won, 
As  when  the  banded  powers  of  Greece  were 
task'd 
To  war  beneath  the  youth  of  Macedon : 
No  tieemly  veil  her  modern  minion  ask'd, 
He  saw  her  hideous  face,  and  loved  the  fiend  un- 
mask'd. 

XLII. 
That   Prelate   mark'd  his  march — On  banners 
blazed 
With  battles  won  in  many  a  distant  land, 


are  reasonably  prepared  for  what    follows." — Monthly  R» 
view. 

2  See  I.  Kings,  chap,  xviii.  v.  41-45. 

3  "  We  are  as  ready  as  any  of  our  countrymen  can  be,  to 
designate  Bonaparte's  invasion  of  Spain  by  its  proper  epithets  J 
but  we  must  declir.s  to  join  in  the  author's  declamation  against 
the  low  birth  of  the  invader  ;  and  we  cannot  help  reminding 
Mr.  Scott  that  such  a  topic  of  censure  is  unworthy  of  him, 
both  as  a  poet  and  as  a  Briton."— Monthly  Review. 

"  The  picture  of  Bonaparte,  considering  the  difficulty  of  all 
contemporary  delineations,  is  not  ill  executed." — Edinburgh 
Review. 


278 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


On  eagle-standards  and  on  arms  he  gazed  ; 
"  And  hopest  thou  then,"  he  said,  "  thy  power 
shall  stand  ? 
O,  thou  hast  builded  on  the  shifting  sand,  [flood ; 
And  thou  hast  temper'd  it  with  slaughter's 
And  know,  fell  scourge  in  the  Almighty's  hand, 
Gore-moisten' d  trees  shall  perish  in  the  bud, 
fVnd  by  a  bloody  death,  shall  die  the   Man   of 
Blood  I"1 

XLIII. 
The  ruthless  Leader  beckon'd  from  his  train 

A  wan  fraternal  Shade,  and  bade  him  kneel, 

And  paled  his  temples  with  the  crown  of  Spain, 

While    trumpets    rang,   and   heralds    cried, 

«  Castile  !"a 

Not  that  he  loved  him — No  ! — In  no  man's  weal, 

Scarce  in  his  own,  e'er  joy'd  that  sullen  heart ; 

Yet  round  that  throne  he   bade   his  warriors 

wheel, 

That  the  poor  Puppet  might  perform  his  part, 

Aid  be  a  sceptred  slave,  at  his  stern  beck  to  start. 

XLIV. 
But  on  the  Natives  of  that  Land  misused, 

Not  long  the  silence  of  amazement  hung, 
Nor  brook'd  they  long  their  friendly  faith  abused ; 
For,  with  a  common  shriek,  the  general  tongue 
Exclaim'd,  "  To  arms !" — and  fast  to  arms  they 
sprung. 
And  Valor  woke,  that  Genius  of  the  Land! 
Pleasure,  and  ease,  and  sloth,  aside  he  flung, 
As  burst  th'  awakening  Nazarite  his  band, 
When  'gainst  his  treacherous  foes  he  clench'd  his 
dreadful  hand.* 

XLV 
That  Mimic  Monarch  now  cast  anxious  eye 
Upon  the  Satraps  that  begirt  him  round, 
Now  doff'd  his  royal  robe  in  act  to  fly, 

And  from  his  brow  the  diadem  unbound. 
So  oft,  so  near,  the  Patriot  bugle  wound, 
From  Tarick's  walls  to  Bilboa's  mountains 
blown, 
These  martial  satellites  hard  labor  found, 
To  guard  a  while  lus  substituted  tlirone — 
Ligh^  recking  of  his  cause,  but  battling  for  their  own. 

XLVI. 

From  Alpuhara's  peak  that  bugle  rung, 

And  it  was  echo'd  from  Corunna's  wall ; 
Stately  Seville  responsive  war-shot  flung, 

i  "  We  are  not,  altogether  pleased  with  the  lines  which  fol- 
low the  description  of  Bonaparte's  birth  and  country.  In  his- 
torical truth,  we  believe,  his  family  was  not  plebeian ;  and, 
setting  aside  the  old  saying  of  'genus  et  proavos,'  the  poet  is 
here  evidently  becoming  a  chorus  to  his  own  scene,  and  ex- 
plaining a  fact  which  could  by  no  means  be  inferred  from  the 


Grenada  caught  it  in  her  Moorish  hall ; 
Galicia  bade  her  children  fight  or  fall, 

Wild  Biscay  shook  his  mountain-coronet, 
Valencia  roused  her  at  the  battle-call, 

And,  foremost  still  where  Valor's  sons  are  me 
First  started  to  his  gun  each  fiery  Miquelet. 

XL  VII. 
But  unappall'd,  and  burning  for  the  fight, 
The  Invaders  march,  of  victory  secure  ; 
Skilful  their  force  to  sever  or  unite, 

And  train'd  alike  to  vanquish  or  endure. 
Nor  skilful  less,  cheap  conquest  to  ensure, 
Discord  to  breathe,  and  jealousy  to  sow, 
To  quell  by  boasting,  and  by  bribes  to  lure ; 
While  naught  against  them  bring  the  unprac- 
tised foe, 
Save  hearts  for  Freedom's  cause,  and  hands  for 
Freedom's  blow. 

XLVIII. 
Proudly  they  march — but,  0  !  they  march  not 
forth 
By  one  hot  field  to  crown  a  brief  campaign, 
As  when  their  Eagles,  sweeping  through  the 
North, 
Destroy'd  at  every  stoop  an  ancient  reign  ! 
Far  other  fate  had  Heaven  decreed  for  Spain ; 
In  vain  the  steel,  in  vain  the  torch  was  plied, 
New  Patriot  armies  started  from  the  slain, 
High  blazed  the  war,  and  long,  and  far,  and 
wide,4 
And  oft  the  God  of  Battles  blest  the  righteous  side. 

XLIX. 

Nor  unatoned,  where  Freedom's  foes  prevail, 
Remain' d  their  savage  waste.     With  blade 
and  brand, 
By  day  the  Invaders  ravaged  hill  and  dale, 
But,  with  the  darkness,  the  Guerilla  band 
Came  like  night's  tempest,  and  avenged  the  land, 

And  claim'd  for  blood  the  retribution  due, 

Probed  the  hard  heart,  and  lopp'd  the  murd'rous 

hand ; 

And  Dawn,  when  o'er  the  scene  her  beams 

she  threw,  [knew. 

Midst  ruins  they  had  made,  the  spoilers'  corpses 


What  minstrel  verse  may  sing,  or  tongue  m>ty 
tell, 
Amid  the  vision'd  strife  from  sea  to  sea, 

pageant  that  passes  before  the  eyes  of  the  King  and  Prelate 
The  Archbishop's  observation  on  his  appearance  is  free,  how 
ever,  from  every  objection  of  this  kind." — Quarterly  Review 

2  Pee  Appendix,  Note  K. 

s  Fee  Book  of  Judges,  Chap.  xv.  9-16. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


279 


How  oft  the  Patriot  banners  rose  or  fell, 

Still  honor'd  in  defeat  as  victory  1 
For  that  sad  pageant  of  events  to  be, 

Show'd  every  form  of  fight  by  field  and  flood ; 
Slaughter  and  Ruin,  shouting  forth  their  glee, 
Beheld,  while  riding  on  the  tempest  scud, 
The  waters  choked  with  slain,  the  earth  bedrench'd 
with  blood  1 

LI. 
Then  Zaragoza — blighted  be  the  tongue 

That  names  thy  name  without  the  honor  due  ! 
For  never  hath  the  harp  of  Minstrel  rung, 
Of  faith  so  felly  proved,  so  firmly  true ! 
Mine,  sap,  and  bomb,  thy  shatter'd  ruins  knew, 

Each  art  of  war's  extremity  had  room, 
Twice  from  thy  half-sack'd  streets  the  foe  with- 
drew, 
And  when  at  length  stem  fate  decreed  thy 
doom,  [tomb.1 

They  won  not  Zaragoza,  but  her  children's  bloody 

LIT. 

Yet  raise  thy  head,  sad  city !  Though  in  chains, 

Enthrall'd  thou  canst  not  be !    Arise,  and  claim 

Reverence  from   every  heart  where   Freedom 

reigns,  [dame, 

For   what    thou   worshippest ! — thy   sainted 

She  of  the  Column,  honor'd  be  her  name, 

By  all,  whate'er  their  creed,  who  honor  love  ! 
And  like  the  sacred  relics  of  the  flame, 

That  gave  some  martyr  to  the  bless'd  above, 
To  every  loyal  heart  may  thy  sad  embers  prove  ! 

LIII. 

Nor  thine  alone  such  wreck.     Gerona  fair ! 

Faithful  to  death  thy  heroes  shall  be  sung, 
Manning  the  towers  while  o'er  their  heads  the  air 

Swart  as  the  smoke  from  raging  furnace  hung ; 
Now  thicker   dark'ning  where  the  mine   was 
sprung, 

Now  briefly  lighten'd  by  the  cannon's  flare, 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  M. 

2  MS.—"  Don  Roderick  turn'd  him  at  the  sudden  cry." 

3  MS.—  "  Right  for  the  shore  unnumber'd  barges  row'd." 

*  Con:,*re  with  this  passage,  and  the  Valor,  Bigotry,  and 
Ambition  oi  the  previous  stanzas,  the  celebrated  personifica- 
tion of  War,  in  tha  first  canto  of  Childe  Harold  : — 

'  Lo  !  where  the  Giant  on  the  mountain  stands, 
His  blood-red  tresses  deep'ning  in  the  sun, 
With  death-shot  glowing  in  his  fiery  hands, 
And  eye  that  scorcheth  all  it  glares  upon  : 
Restless  it  rolls,  now  fix'd,  and  now  anon 
Flashing  afar, — and  at  his  iron  feet 
Destruction  cowers,  to  mark  what  deeds  are  done ; 
For  on  this  morn  three  potent  nations  meet 

to  shed  before  his  shrine  the  blood  he  deems  most  sweet. 


Now  arch'd  with  fire-sparks  as  the  bomb  was 
flung, 
And  redd'ning  now  with  conflagration's  glare, 
While  by  the  fatal  fight  the  foes  for  storm  prepare. 

LIV. 
While  all  around  was  danger,  strife,  and  fear, 
While  the  earth  shook,  and  darken'd  was  the 

sky, 

And  wide  Destruction  stunn'd  the  hstening  ear, 
Appall'd  the  heart,  and  stupefied  the  eye, — 
Afar  was  heard  that  thrice-repeated  cry, 

In  which  old  Albion's  heart  and  tongue  unite, 
Whene'er  her  soul  is  up,  and  pulse  beats  high, 
Whether  it  hail  the  wine-cup  or  the  fight, 
And  bid  each  arm  be  strong,  or  bid  each  heart  be 
light. 

LV. 
Don  Roderick  turn'd  him  as  the  shout  grew 
loud—2 
A  varied  scene  the  changeful  vision  show'd, 
For,  where  the  ocean  mingled  with  the  cloud, 
A  gallant  navy  stemm'd  the  billows  broad. 
From  mast  and  stern  St.  George's  symbol  flow'd, 
Blent  with  the  silver  cross  to  Scotland  dear  ; 
Mottling  the  sea  their  landward  barges  row'd,3 
And  flash'd  the  sun  on  bayonet,  brand,  and 
spear,  [cheer.4 

And  the  wild  beach  return'd  the  seaman's  jovial 

LVI. 

It  was  a  dread,  yet  spirit-stirring  sight ! 

The  billows  foam'd  beneath  a  thousand  oars, 
Fast  as  they  land  the  red-cross  ranks  unite, 

Legions  on  legions  bright'ning  all  the  shores. 
Then  banners  rise,  and  cannon-signal  roars, 

Then  peals  the  warlike  thunder  of  the  drum, 
Thrills  the  loud  fife,  the  trumpet-flourish  pours, 

And  patriot  hopes  awake,  and  doubts  are 

dumb,  [come ! 

For,  bold  in  Freedom's  cause,  the  bands  of  Ocean 

"By  heaven  !  it  is  a  splendid  sight  to  see 
(For  one  who  hath  no  friend,  no  brother  there) 
Their  rival  scarfs  of  mix'd  embroidery, 
Their  various  arms,  that  glitter  in  the  air ! 
What  gallant  war-hounds  rouse  them  from  their  lair 
And  gnash  their  fangs,  loud  yelling  for  the  prey  ! 
All  join  the  chase,  but  few  the  triumph  share, 
The  grave  shall  bear  the  chiefest  prize  away, 

And  Havoc  scarce  for  joy  can  number  then*  array. 

"  Three  hosts  combine  to  offer  sacrifice ; 

Three  tongues  prefer  strange  orisons  on  high  ; 

Three  gaudy  standards  flout  the  pale  blue  skies ; 

The  shouts  are  France,  Spain,  Albion,  Victory  t 

The  foe,  the  victim,  and  the  fond  ally 

That  fights  for  all,  but  ever  fights  in  vain, 

Are  met — as  if  at  home  they  could  not  die — 

To  feed  the  crow  on  Talavera's  plain, 
A  id  fertilize  the  field  that  each  preterds  U  gain.* 


280 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


LVII. 

A  various  host  they  came — whose  ranks  display 
Each  mode  in  wliich  the  warrior  meets  the 
fight, 
The  deep  battalion  locks  its  firm  array, 

And  meditates  his  aim  the  marksman  light ; 
Far  glance  the  light  of  sabres  flashing  bright, 
Where  mounted  squadrons  shake  the  echoing 
mead,1 
Lacks  not  artillery  breathing  flame  and  night, 
Nor  the  fleet  ordnance  wliirl'd  by  rapid  steed, 
That  rivals  lightning's  flash  hi  ruin  and  in  speed.2 

LVIII. 

A  various  host — from  kindred  realms  they  came,3 

Brethren  in  arms,  but  rivals  in  renown — 
For  yon  fair  bands  shall  merry  England  claim, 

And  with  their  deeds  of  valor  deck  her  crown. 
Hers  their  bold  port,  and  hers  their  martial  frown, 
And  hers  their  scorn  of  death  in  freedom's 
cause, 
Their  eyes  of  azure,  and  their  locks  of  brown, 
And  the  blunt  speech  that  bursts  without  a 
pause, 
&nd  freeborn  thoughts,  which  league  the  Soldier 
with  the  Laws. 

LIX. 

And,  0 !  loved  warriors  of  the  Minstrel's  land ! 

Yonder  your  bonnets  nod,  your  tartans  wave  ! 
The  rugged  form  may  mark  the  mountain  band, 
And  harsher  features,  and  a  mien  more  grave  ; 
But  ne'er  in  battle-field  throbb'd  heart  so  brave, 
As  that  which  beats   beneath   the    Scottish 
plaid ; 
And  when  the  pibroch  bids  the  battle  rave, 
And  level  for  the  charge  your  arms  are  laid, 
Where  lives  the  desperate  foe  that  for  such  onset 
staid ! 

LX. 
Hark!  from  yon  stately  ranks  what  laughter 
rings, 
Mingling  wild  mirth  with  war's  stem  min- 
strelsy, 


MS.- 


-"  the  dusty  mead." 


*  "  The  landing  of  the  English  is  admirably  described  ;  nor 
f  there  any  thing  finer  in  the  whole  poem  than  the  following 
lassage  (stanzas  lv.  lvi.  lvii.),  with  the  exception  always  of  the 
ihree  concluding  lines,  which  appear  to  us  to  be  very  nearly  as 
oad  as  possible." — Jeffrey. 

3  "  The  three  concluding  stanzas  (lviii.  lix.  Ix.)  are  elaborate  ; 
out  we  think,  on  the  whole,  successful.  They  will  probably 
be  oftener  quoted  than  any  other  passage  in  the  poem." — Jef- 
frey. 

*  MS. — "  His  jest  each  careless  comrade  round  him  flings." 
6  For  details  of  the  battle  of  Vimeira,  fought  21st  Aug.  1808 

-of  Corunna,  16th  Jan.  1809— of  Talavera,  28th  July,  1809— 
and  of  Busaco,  27th  Sept.  1810— See  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Life  of 
Napoieon,  volume  vi.  under  these  dates. 

I 


His  jest  while  each  blithe  comrade  round  him 

flings,* 

And  moves  to  death  with  military  glee :    [free, 

Boast,  Erin,  boast  them!   tameless,  frank,  and 

In  kindness  warm,  and  fierce  in  danger  known, 

Rough  nature's  children,  humorous  as  she: 

And  He,  yon  Chieftain — strike  the  proudest 

tone  [own. 

Of  thy  bold  harp,  green  Isle  ! —  the  Hero  is  thine 

LXI. 

Now  on  the  scene  Vimeira  should  be  shown, 

On  Talavera's  fight  should  Roderick  gaze, 
And  hear  Corunna  wail  her  battle  won, 

And  see  Busaco's  crest  with  lightning  blaze : — * 
But  shall  fond  fable  mix  with  heroes'  praise  ? 

Hath  Fiction's  stage  for  Truth's  long  triumphs 
room  ? 
And  dare  her  wild-flowers  mingle  with  the  bays, 

That  claim  a  long  eternity  to  bloom     [tomb ! 
Around  the  warrior's  crest,  and  o'er  the  warrior's 

LXII. 
Or  may  I  give  adventurous  Fancy  scope, 

And  stretch  a  bold  hand  to  the  awful  veil 
That  hides  futurity  from  anxious  hope, 

Bidding  beyond  it  scenes  of  glory  hail, 
And  painting  Europe  rousing  at  the  tale 

Of  Spain's  invaders  from  her  confines  hurl'd, 
While  kindling  nations  buckle  on  their  mail, 
And  Fame,  with  clarion- blast  and  wings  un- 
furl'd,  [World?6 

To   Freedom   and   Revenge   awakes   an    injured 

LXIII. 

O  vain,  though  anxious,  is  the  glance  I  cast, 

Since  Fate  has  mark' d  futurity  her  own : 

Yet  fate  resigns  to  worth  the  glorious  past, 

The  deeds  recorded,  and  the  laurels  won. 

Then,  though  the  Vault  of  Destiny1  be  gone, 

King,  Prelate,  all  the  phantasms  of  my  brain, 
Melted  away  like  mist-wreaths  in  the  sun, 
Yet  grant  for  faith,  for  valor,  and  for  Sp.'iin, 
One  note  of  pride  and  fire,  a  Patriot's   parting 
strain !" 

o  "  The  nation  will  arise  regenerate  ; 

Strong  in  her  second  youth  and  beautiful, 
And  like  a  spirit  that  hath  shaken  off 
The  clog  of  dull  mortality,  shall  Spain 
Arise  in  glory." — Southey's  Roderick. 

^  Fee  Appendix,  Note  N. 

8  "  For  a  mere  introduction  to  the  exploits  of  our  English 
commanders,  the  story  of  Don  Roderick's  sins  and  confessions. 
— the  minute  description  of  his  army  and  attendants, — and  thfc 
whole  interest  and  machinery  of  the  enchanted  vault,  with  the 
greater  part  of  the  Vision  itself,  are  far  too  long  and  elaborate. 
They  withdraw  our  curiosity  and  attention  from  the  objects  ioi 
which  they  had  been  bespoken,  and  gradually  engage  them 
upon  a  new  and  independent  series  of  romantic  adventures,  in 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


281 


®t)e  tJision  of  JDon  lilokridf. 


CONCLUSIOl 


"  "Who  shall  command  Estrella's  mountain-tide1 
Back  to  the  source,  when  tempest-chafed,  to 
hie? 
Who,  when  Gascogne's  vex'd  gulf  is  raging  wide, 

Shall  hush  it  as  a  nurse  her  infant's  cry  ? 
His  magic  power  let  such  vain  boaster  try, 

And  when  the  torrent  shall  his  voice  obey, 
And  Biscay's  whirlwinds  list  his  lullaby, 

Let  him  stand  forth  and  bar  mine  eagles'  way, 
And  they  sliall  heed  his  voice,  and  at  his  bidding 
stay. 

II 

**  Else  ne'er  to  stoop,  till  high  on  Lisbon's  towers 
They  close  their  wings,  the  symbol  of  our  yoke, 
And  their  own  sea  hath  whelm'd  yon  red-cross 
Powers !" 
Thus,  on  the  summit  of  Alverca's  rock, 
To  Marshal,  Duke,   and  Peer,  Gaul's  Leader 
spoke. 
While  downward  on  the  land  his  legions  press, 
Before  them  it  was  rich  with  vine  and  flock, 
And  smiled  like  Eden  in  her  summer  dress ; — 
Behind  their  wasteful  march,  a  reeking  wilder- 


Ill. 

And  shall  the  boastful  Chief  maintain  his  word, 
Though  Heaven  hath  heard  the  wailings  of 
the  land, 
Though  Lusitania  whet  her  vengeful  sword, 
Though  Britons  arm  and  Wellington  com- 
mand! 
No  !  grim  Busaco's  iron  ridge  shall  stand 

An  adamantine  barrier  to  his  force ;      [band, 

And   from  its  base   sliall  wheel  his  shattcr'd 

As  from  the  unshaken  rock  the  torrent  hoarse 

Bears  off  its  broken  waves,  and  seeks  a  devious 

course. 

which  it  fs  rot  easy  to  see  how  Lord  Wellington  and  Bonar 
parte  ca  .u73  any  concern.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  no 
sooner  is  this  new  interest  excited, — no  sooner  have  we  surren- 
dered our  imaginations  into  the  hands  of  this  dark  enchanter, 
and  heated  our  fancies  to  the  proper  pitch  for  sympathizing  in 
the  fortunes  of  Gothic  kings  and  Moorish  invaders,  with  their 
imposing  accompaniments  of  harnessed  knights,  ravished  dam- 
sels, and  enchanted  statues,  than  the  whole  romantic  group 
vanishes  at  once  from  our  sight ;  and  we  are  hurried,  with 
minds  yet  disturbed  with  those  powerful  apparitions,  to  the 
comparatively  sober  and  cold  narration  of  Bonaparte's  villa- 
lies,  and  to  draw  battles  between  mere  mortal  coir.batants  in 
36 


IV. 

Yet  not  because  Alcoba's  mountain-hawk 

Hath  on  his  best  and  bravest  made  her  food. 
In  numbers  confident,  yon  Chief  shall  baulk 

His  Lord's  imperial  tliirst  for  spoil  and  blood 
For  full  in  view  the  promised  conquest  stood, 
And  Lisbon's  matrons  from  their  walls,  might 
sum 
The  myriads  that  had  half  the  world  subdued, 
And  hear  the  distant  thunders  of  the  drum, 
That  bids  the  bands  of  France  to  storm  and  haTOC 
come. 

V. 
Four  moons  have  heard  these  thunders  idly  roll'd, 
Have  seen  these  wistful  myriads  eye  their 
prey, 
As  famish'd  wolves  survey  a  guarded  fold — 

But  in  the  middle  path  a  Lion  lay ! 
At  length  they  move — but  not  to  battle  fray, 
Nor  blaze  yon  fires  where  meets  the  manly 
fight; 
Beacons  of  infamy,  they  light  the  way 

Where  cowardice  and  cruelty  unite      [flight ! 
To  damn  with  double  shame   their  ignominious 


VI. 
0  triumph  for  the  Fiends  of  Lust  and  Wrath ! 

Ne'er  to  be  told,  yet  ne'er  to  be  forgot,    [path ! 
What   wanton  horrors   mark'd  their   wreckful 

The  peasant  butcher'd  in  his  ruin'd  cot, 
The  hoary  priest  even  at  the  altar  shot,  [flame, 
Childhood  and  age  given  o'er  to  sword  and 
Woman  to  infamy ; — no  crime  forgot, 

By  which  inventive  demons  might  proclaim 
Immortal  hate  to  man,  and  scorn  of  God's  great 
name! 

VII. 
The  rudest  sentinel,  in  Britain  bom, 

With  horror  paused  to  view  the  havoc  done, 
Gave  his  poor  crust  to  feed  some  wretch  for- 
lorn,8 [gua 
Wiped  his  stern  eye,  then  fiercer  grasp'd  his 
Nor  with  less  zeal  shall  Britain's  peaceful  son 
Exult  the  debt  of  sympathy  to  pay ; 

English  and  French  uniforms.  The  vast  and  elaborate  vest! 
bule,  in  short,  in  which  we  had  been  so  long  detained, 

1  Where  wonders  wild  of  Arabesque  combine 
With  Gothic  imagery  of  darker  shade,' 

has  no  corresponding  palace  attached  to  it ;  and  the  long  no 
vitiate  we  are  made  to  serve  to  the  mysterious  powers  of  ro- 
mance is  not  repaid,  after  all,  by  an  introduction  to  their  awful 
presence." — Jeffrey. 

1  MS.—"  Who  shall  command  the  torrent's  headlong  tide." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  O.  3  Ibid.  NotP  P 


282 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Riches  nor  poverty  the  tax  shall  shun, 

Nor  prince  nor  peer,  the  wealthy  nor  the  gay, 
Nor  the  poor  peasant's  might,  nor  bard's  more 
worthless  lay1. 

VIII. 
But  thou — unfoughten  wilt  thou  yield  to  Fate, 

Minion  of  Fortune,  now  miscall'd  in  vain ! 
Can  vantage-ground  no  confidence  create, 

Marcella's  pass,  nor  Guarda's  mountain-chain  ? 
Vainglorious  fugitive  P  yet  turn  again ! 

Behold,  where,  named  by  some  prophetic  Seer- 
Flows  Honor's  Fountain,8  as  foredoom'd  the  stain 
From  thy  dishonor'd  name  and  arms  to  clear — 
Fallen  Child  of  Fortune,  turn,  redeem  her  favor 
here! 

IX. 

Yet,  ere  thou  turn'st,  collect  each  distant  aid ; 

Those  chief  that  never  heard  the  lion  roar  ! 
Within  whose  souls  lives  not  a  trace  portray'd, 

Of  Talavera,  or  Mondego's  shore  ! 
Marshal  each  band  thou  hast,  and  summon  more ; 

Of  war's  fell  stratagems  exhaust  the  whole ; 
Rank  upon  rank,  squadron  on  squadron  pour, 

Legion  on  legion  on  thy  foeman  roll,        [soul. 
And  weary  out  his  arm — thou  canst  not  quell  his 

X. 

O  vainly  gleams  with  steel  Agueda's  shore, 

Vainly  thy  squadrons  lude  Assuava's  plain, 
And  front  the  flying  thunders  as  they  roar, 

With  frantic  charge  and  tenfold  odds,  in  vain  !4 

And  what  avails  thee  that,  for  Cameron  slain,6 

Wild  from  his  plaided  ranks  the  yell  was 

given —  [rem, 

Vengeance  and  grief  gave  mountain-rage  the 

And,    at    the    bloody    spear-point    headlong 

driven,  [heaven. 

Thy  Despot's  giant  guards  fled  like  the  rack  of 

XL 

Go,  baffled  boaster  !  teach  thy  haughty  mood 
To  plead  at  thine  imperious  master's  throne, 

i  lhe  MS.  has,  for  the  preceding  five  linea — 

•'  And  in  pursuit  vindictive  hurried  on, 

And  O,  survivors  sad  !  to  you  belong 
Tributes  from  each  that  Britain  calls  her  son, 

From  all  her  nobles,  all  her  wealthier  throng, 
To  iter  poor  peasant's  mite,  and  minstrel's  poorer  song." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  (A. 

»  The  literal  translation  of  Fuentes  (T  Honoro. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  R.  f  Ibid.  Note  S. 

':  On  the  26th  of  April,  1811,  Scott  writes  thus  to  Mr.  Morritt: 
— "  I  rejoice  with  the  heart  of  a  Scotsman  in  the  success  of 
Lord  Wellington,  and  with  all  the  pride  of  a  seer  to  boot.  I 
Lnve  been  for  three  years  proclaiming  him  as  the  only  man  we 
(tad  to  trust  to— a  man  of  talent  and  genius — not  deterred  by 
obstacles,  nor  fettered  by  prejudices,  not  immured  within  the 


Say,  thou  hast  left  his  legions  in  their  blood, 

Deceived  Ins  hopes,  and  frustrated  thine  own; 
Say,  that  thine  utmost  skill  and  valor  shown, 

By  British  skill  and  valor  were  outvied  ; 
Last  say,  thy  conqueror  was  Wellington  !6 
And,  if  he  chafe,  be  his  own  fortune  tried-  — 
God  and  our  cause  to  friend,  the  venture  we'll 
abide. 

XII. 
But  you,  ye  heroes  of  that  well-fought  day, 

How  shall  a  bard,  unknowing  and  unknown, 
His  meed  to  each  victorious  leader  pay, 

Or  bind  on  every  brow  the  laurels  Avon  V 
Yet  fain  my  harp  would  wake  its  boldest  tone, 

O'er  the  wide  sea  to  hail  Cadogan  brave  ; 
And   he,  perchance,   the    minstrel-note   might 
own, 
Mindful  of  meeting  brief  that  Fortune  gave 
'Mid  yon  far  western  isles  that  hear  the  Atlantic 
rave. 

XIIL 
Yes !  hard  the  task,  when  Britons  wield  the 
sword,     J 
To  give  each  Chief  and  every  field  its  fame : 
Hark  !  Albuera  thunders  Beresford, 

And  Red  Barom  shouts  for  dauntless  Graeme! 
0  for  a  verse  of  tumult  and  of  flame, 

Bold  as  the  bursting  of  their  cannon  sound, 
To  bid  the  world  re-echo  to  their  fame ! 
For  never,  upon  gory  battle-ground, 
With  conquest's  well-bought  wreath  were  bra\  ei 
victors  crown'd ! 

XIV 

0  who  shall  grudge  him  Albuera's  bays,8 
Who  brought  a  race  regenerate  to  the  fluid, 

Roused  them  to  emulate  their  fathers'  prais  -, 
Temper'd  their  headlong  rage,  their  cjura^e 
steel'd,9 

And  raised  fair  Lusitania's  fallen  shield, 
And  gave  new  edge  to  Lusitania's  sword, 

And  taught  her  sons  forgotten  arms  to  wield — 

pedantries  of  his  profession — but  playing  the  gfLeiai  and  *he 
hero  when  most  of  our  military  commanders  would  h'.V3 
exhibited  the  drill  sergeant,  or  at  best  the  adjutant.  7  new 
campaigns  will  teach  us  what  we  have  long  needed  te  know, 
that  success  depends  not  on  the  nice  drilling  of  regiments,  but 
upon  the  grand  movements  and  combinations  of  a  .  army. 
We  have  been  hitherto  polishing  hinges,  when  we  shoi'ld  have 
studied  the  mechanical  union  of  a  huge  machine.  Now,  our 
army  begin  to  see  that  the  grand  secret,  as  the  Frenjh  call  it, 
consists  only  in  union,  joint  exertion,  and  concerl'jd  move- 
ment. This  will  enable  us  to  meet  the  dogs  on  /'air  terms  as 
to  numbers,  and  for  the  rest,  '  My  soul  and  body  on  „he  action 
both.'  " — Life,  vol.  iii.  p.  313. 
1  See  Appendix,  Editor's  Note  T. 

8  MS.—"  O  who  shall  gndge  yon  chief  the  vietoi 'b  bays.' 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


*8< 


Shiver'd  my  harp,  and  burst  its  every  chord, 
tf  it  forget  thy  worth,  victorious  Bekesford  ! 

XV.1 
Not  on  that  bloody  field  of  battle  won, 

Though  Gaul's  proud  legions  roll'd  like  mist 
away, 
Watt  half  his  self-devoted  valor  shown, — 

Ha  gaged  but  life  on  that  illustrious  day ; 
But  v^.en  he  toil'd  those  squadrons  to  array, 

Who  fought  like  Britons  in  the  bloody  game, 
Sharper  than  Polish  pike  or  assagay, 

He  braved  the  shafts  of  censure  and  of  shame, 
And,  dearer  far  than  life,  he  pledged  a  soldier's 
fame. 

XVI. 
Nor  be  Ins  praise  o'erpast  who  strove  to  hide 

Beneath  the  warrior's  vest  affection's  wound, 
Whose  wish  Heaven  for  liis  country's  weal  de- 
nied;2 
Danger  and  fate  he  sought,  but  glory  found. 
From  clime  to  clime,  where'er  war's  trumpets 
sound, 
The  wanderer  went ;  yet,  Caledonia !  still3 
Thine   was  Ins   thought  in  march  and  tented, 
ground ; 

»  MS. — "  Not  greater  on  that  mount  of  strife  and  blood, 

While  Gaul's  proud  legions  roll'd  like  mist  away, 

And  tides  of  gore  stain'd  Albuera's  flood, 
And  Poland's  shatter'd  lines  before  him  lay, 

And  clarions  hail'd  him  victor  of  the  day. 

Not  greater  when  he  toil'd  yon  legions  to  array, 
'Twas  life  he  perill'd  in  that  stubborn  game, 

And  life  'gainst  honor  when  did  soldier  weigh  ? 
But,  self-devoted  to  his  generous  aim, 

Far  dearer  than  his  life,  the  hero  pledged  his  fame." 

2  MS. — "  Nor  be  his  meed  o'erpast  who  sadly  tried 

With  valor's  wreath  to  hide  affection's  wound, 
To  whom  his  wish  Heaven  for  our  weal  denied." 

3  MS. — "  From  war  to  war  the  wanderer  went  his  round, 

Yet  was  his  soul  in  Caledonia  still ; 
Hers  was  his  thought,"  &c. 
*  MS. "  fairy  rill." 

"  These  lines  excel  the  noisier  and  more  general  panegyrics  of 
the  commanders  in  Portugal,  as  much  as  the  sweet  and  thrill- 
ing tones  of  the  harp  surpass  an  ordinary  flourish  of  drums  and 
trumpets." — Quarterly  Review. 

•* Perhaps  it  is  our  nationality  which  makes  us  lilrabetter 
the  tribute  to  General  Grahame — though  there  is  something, 
we  believe,  in  the  softness  of  the  sentiment  that  will  be  felt, 
•▼en  by  English  readers,  as  a  relief  from  the  exceeding  clamor 
■nd  loud  boastings  of  all  the  surrounding  stanzas." — Edin- 
\urgh  Review. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

6  "  Now,  strike  your  sailes,  yee  iolly  mariners, 

For  we  be  come  unto  a  quiet  rode, 
Where  we  must  land  some  of  our  passengers, 

And  light  this  weary  vessell  of  her  lone. 
Here  she  a  while  may  make  her  safe  abode, 

Till  she  repaired  have  her  tackles  spent 
And  wants  supplide :  and  then  againe  abroad 


He  dream'd  'mid  Alpine  cliffs  of  Athole's  liill 
And  heard  in  Ebro's  roar  his  Lyndoch's  lovely  rill. 

XVIL 
0  hero  of  a  race  renown'd  of  old, 

Whose  war-cry  oft  has  waked  the  battle-swell 
Since  first  distinguish' d  in  the  onset  bold, 

Wild  sounding  when  the  Roman  rampart  fell! 
By  Wallace'  side  it  rung  the  Southron's  knell, 

Alderne,  Kilsythe,  and  Tibber,  own'd  its  fame, 
Tummell's  rude  pass  can  of  its  terrors  tell. 
But  ne'er  from  prouder  field  arose  the  name. 
Than  when  wild   Honda  learn'd  the  conquering 
shout  of  Gileme  !5 

XVIII. 

But  all  too  long,  through  seas  unknown  and  dark 

(Witli  Spenser's  parable  I  close  my  tale,)* 
By  shoal  and  rock  hath  steer'd  my  venturous 
bark, 
And  landward  now  I  drive  before  the  gale. 
And  now  the  blue  and  distant  shore  I  hail, 

And  nearer  now  I  see  the  port  expand, 
And  now  I  gladly  furl  my  weary  sail, 

And  as  the  prow  light  touches  on  the  strand, 
I  strike  my  red-cross  flag  and  bind  my  skiff  tc 
land.T 

On  the  long  voiage  whereto  she  is  bent : 
Well  may  she  speede,  and  fairely  finish  her  intent !" 

Faerie  Queene,  book  i.  canto  12 

7  "  No  comparison  can  be  fairly  instituted  between  composi 
tions  so  wholly  different  in  style  and  designation  as  the  present 
poem  and  Mr.  Scott's  former  productions.  The  present  po&m 
neither  has,  nor,  from  its  nature,  could  have  the  interest  whiclj 
arises  from  an  eventful  plot,  or  a  detailed  delineation  of  char- 
acter ;  and  we  shall  arrive  at  a  far  more  accurate  estimation  of 
its  merits  by  comparing  it  with  '  The  Bard'  of  Gray,  or  that 
particular  scene  of  Ariosto,  where  Bradamante  beholds  tha 
wonders  of  Merlin's  tomb.  To  this  it  has  many  strong  and 
evident  features  of  resemblance  ;  but,  in  our  opinion,  greatly 
surpasses  it  both  in  the  dignity  of  the  objects  represented,  am. 
the  picturesque  effect  of  the  machinery. 

"  We  are  inclined  to  rank  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick,  not 
only  above  'The  Bard,'  but  (excepting  Adam's  Vision  from 
the  Mount  of  Paradise,  and  the  matchless  beauties  of  the  sixth 
book  of  Virgil)  above  all  the  historical  and  poetical  prospects 
which  have  come  to  our  knowledge.  The  scenic  representation 
is  at  once  gorgeous  and  natural ;  and  the  language,  and  im- 
agery, is  altogether  as  spirited,  and  bears  the  stamp  of  more 
care  and  polish  than  even  the  most  celebrated  of  the  author'i 
former  productions.  If  it  please  us  less  than  these,  we  must 
attribute  it  in  part  perhaps  to  the  want  of  contrivance,  and  in 
a  still  greater  degree  to  the  nature  of  the  subject  itself,  which  is 
deprived  of  all  the  interest  derived  from  suspense  or  sympathy, 
and,  as  far  as  it  is  connected  with  modern  politics,  represents  & 
scene  too  near  our  immediate  inspection  to  admit  the  interpo- 
sition of  the  magic  glass  of  fiction  and  poetry."—  Quarterly 
Review,  October,  1811. 


"  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick  has  been  received  with  lest 
interest  by  the  public  than  any  of  the  author's  other  per- 


28<1 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(brmances  ;  and  has  been  read,  we  should  imagine,  with  some 
degree  of  disappointment  even  by  those  who  took  it  up  with 
the  mcst  reasonable  expectations.  Yet  it  is  written  with  very 
considerable  spirit,  and  with  more  care  and  eflbrt  than  most 
of  the  author's  compositions  ; — with  a  degree  of  effort,  indeed, 
which  could  scarcely  have  failed  of  success,  if  the  author  had 
not  succeeded  so  splendidly  on  other  occasions  without  any 
effort  at  all,  or  had  chosen  any  other  subject  than  that  which 
fills  the  crj  of  our  alehouse  politicians,  and  supplies  the  gabble 
©fall  the  quidnuncs  in  this  country, — our  depending  campaigns 
in  Spain  and  Portugal, — with  the  exploits  of  Lord  Wellington 
and  the  spoliations  of  the  French  armies.  The  nominal  sub- 
ject of  the  poem,  indeed,  is  the  Vision  of  Don  Roderick,  in  the 
eighth  century ;  but  this  is  obviously  a  mere  prelude  to  the 
grand  piece  of  our  recent  battles, — a  sort  of  machinery  devised 
to  give  dignity  and  effect  to  their  introduction.  In  point  of 
fact,  the  poem  begins  and  ends  with  Lord  Wellington ;  and 
being  written  for  the  benefit  of  the  plundered  Portuguese,  and 
upon  a  Spanish  story,  the  thing  could  not  well  have  been 
otherwise.  The  public,  at  this  moment,  will  listen  to  nothing 
about  Spain,  but  the  history  of  the  Spanish  war ;  and  the  old 
Gothic  king,  and  the  Moors,  are  considered,  we  dare  say,  by 
Mr.  Scott's  most  impatient  readers,  as  very  tedious  interlopers 

in  the   proper  business  of  the  piece The  Poem  has 

scarcely  any  story,  and  scarcely  any  characters  ;  and  consists, 
in  troth,  almost  entirely  of  a  series  of  descriptions,  intermingled 
with  plaudits  and  execrations.  The  descriptions  are  many  of 
them  very  fine,  though  the  style  is  more  turgid  and  verbose 
than  in  the  better  parts  of  Mr.  Scott's  other  productions  ;  but 
the  invectives  and  acclamations  are  too  vehement  and  too 
frequent  to  be  either  graceful  or  impressive.  There  is  no 
climax  or  progression  to  relieve  the  ear,  or  stimulate  the  imagin- 
ation. Mr.  Scott  sets  out  on  the  very  highest  pitch  of  his 
voice,  and  keeps  it  up  to  the  end  of  the  measure.  There  are 
no  grand  swells,  therefore,  or  overpowering  bursts  in  his  song. 
All,  from  first  to  last,  is  loud,  and  clamorous,  and  obtrusive, — 
indiscriminately  noisy,  and  often  ineffectually  exaggerated. 
He  has  fewer  new  images  than  in  his  other  poetry — his  tone 
is  less  natural  and  varied, — and  he  moves,  upon  the  whole, 
with  a  slower  and  more  laborious  pace." — Jeffrey,  Edin- 
burgh Review,  1811. 


*'  The  Edinburgh  Reviewers  have  been  down  on  my  poor 
Don  hand  to  fist ;  but,  truly,  as  they  are  too  fastidious  to  ap- 
prove of  the  campaign,  I  should  be  very  unreasonable  if  I  ex- 
pected them  to  like  the  celebration  of  it.  I  agree  with  them, 
however,  as  to  the  lumbering  weight  of  the  stanza,  and  I 
threw  dly  suspect  it  would  require  a  very  great  poet  indeed  to 


prevent  the  tedium  arising  from  the  recurrence  of  rhymes. 
Our  language  is  unable  to  support  the  expenditure  of  so  raa^f 
for  each  stanza  ;  even  Spenser  himself,  with  all  the  license  of 
using  obsolete  words  and  uncommon  spellings,  sometimes  fa- 
tigues the  ear.  They  are  also  very  wroth  with  me  for  omitting 
the  merits  of  Sir  John  Moore  j1  but  as  I  never  exactly  discov- 
ered in  what  these  lay,  unless  in  conducting  his  advance  and 
retreat  upon  a  plan  the  most  likely  to  verify  the  desponding 
speculations  of  the  foresaid  reviewers,  I  must  hold  myself 
excused  for  not  giving  praise  where  I  was  unable  to  see  that 
much  was  due."— Scott  to  Mr.  Morritt,  Sept.  26,  1811. 
Life,  vol.  iii.  p.  328. 


"  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick  had  features  of  novelty,  both 
as  to  the  subject  and  the  manner  of  the  composition,  which 
excited  much  attention,  and  gave  rise  to  some  sharp  contro- 
versy. The  main  fable  was  indeed  from  the  most  picturesque 
region  of  old  romance  ;  but  it  was  made  throughout  the  vehi- 
cle of  feelings  directly  adverse  to  those  with  which  the  Whig 
critics  had  all  along  regarded  the  interference  of  Britain  in 
behalf  of  the  nations  of  the  Peninsula;  and  the  silence  which, 
while  celebrating  our  other  generals  on  that  scene  of  action, 
had  been  preserved  with  respect  to  Scott's  own  gallant  coun- 
tryman, Sir  John  Moore,  was  considered  or  represented  by 
them  as  an  odious  example  of  genius  hoodwinked  by  the  influ- 
ence of  party.  Nor  were  there  wanting  persons  who  affected 
to  discover  that  the  charm  of  Scott's  poetry  had  to  a  great 
extent  evaporated  under  the  severe  test  to  which  he  had  ex- 
posed it,  by  adopting,  in  place  of  those  comparatively  light 
and  easy  measures  in  which  he  had  hitherto  dealt,  the  most 
elaborate  one  that  our  literature  exhibits.  The  production, 
notwithstanding  the  complexity  of  the  Spenserian  stanza,  had 
been  very  rapidly  executed  ;  and  it  shows,  accordingly,  many 
traces  of  negligence.  But  the  patriotic  inspiration  of  it  found 
an  echo  in  the  vast  majority  of  British  hearts ;  many  of  the 
Whig  oracles  themselves  acknowledged  that  the  difficulties 
of  the  metre  had  been  on  the  whole  successfully  overcome  ; 
and  even  the  hardest  critics  were  compelled  to  express  un- 
qualified admiration  of  various  detached  pictures  and  pas- 
sages, which,  in  truth,  as  no  one  now  disputes,  neither  he  nor 
any  other  poet  ever  excelled.  The  whole  setting  or  framework 
— whatever  relates  in  short  to  the  last  of  the  Goths  himself— 
was,  I  think,  even  then  unanimously  pronounced  admirable  ; 
and  no  party  feeling  could  blind  any  man  to  the  heroic  splen- 
dor of  such  stanzas  as  those  in  which  the  three  equally  gii- 
lant  elements  of  a  British  army  are  contrasted." — Lockhaut 
Life,  vol.  iii.  p.  319. 

1  See  Appendix,  Editor's  Note  T. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


2  80 


APPENDIX 


Note  A. 

And  Cattreath's  glens  with  voice  of  triumph  rung, 
And  mystic  Merlin  harped,  and  gray-hair1  d  Llywarch 
sung!— P.  271. 

This  locality  may  startle  those  readers  who  do  not  recollect 
that  much  of  the  ancient  poetry  preserved  in  Wales  refers  less 
to  the  history  of  the  Principality  to  which  that  name  is  now 
limited,  than  to  events  which  happened  in  the  northwest  of 
England,  and  southwest  of  Scotland,  where  the  Britons  for  a 
long  time  made  a  stand  against  the  Saxons.  The  battle  of 
Cattreath,  lamented  by  the  celebrated  Aneurin,  is  supposed, 
by  the  learned  Dr.  Leyden,  to  have  been  fought  on  the  skirts 
of  Ettrick  Forest.  It  is  known  to  the  English  reader  by  the 
paraphrase  of  Gray,  beginning, 

"  Had  I  but  the  torrent's  might, 
With  headlong  rage  and  wild  affright,"  &c. 

But  it  is  not  so  generally  known  that  the  champions,  mourned 
in  this  beautiful  dirge,  were  the  British  inhabitants  of  Edin- 
burgh, who  were  cut  off  by  the  Saxons  of  Ddria,  or  Northum- 
berland, about  the  latter  part  of  the  sixth  century. — Turner's 
History  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  edition  1799,  vol.  i.  p.  222. 
Llywarch,  the  celebrated  bard  and  monarch,  was  Prince  of 
Argood,  in  Cumberland  ;  and  his  youthful  exploits  were  per- 
formed upon  the  Border,  although  in  his  age  he  was  driven 
into  Powys  by  the  successes  of  the  Anglo-Saxons.  As  for 
Merlin  Wyllt,  or  the  Savage,  his  name  of  Caledonia,  and  his 
retreat  into  the  Caledonian  v/ood,  appropriate  him  to  Scot- 
land. Fordun  dedicates  the  thirty-first  chapter  of  the  third 
book  of  his  Scoto-Chronicon,  to  a  narration  of  the  death  of 
this  celebrated  bard  and  prophet  near  Drumelzier,  a  village 
upon  Tweed,  which  is  supposed  to  have  derived  its  name 
(quasi  Tumulus  Merlini)  fram  the  event.  The  particular  spot 
in  which  he  is  buried  is  still  shown,  and  appears,  from  the 
following  quotation,  to  have  partaken  of  his  prophetic  quali- 
ties : — "There  is  one  thing  remarkable  here,  which  is,  that 
the  burn  called  Pausayl  runs  by  the  east  side  of  this  church- 
yard into  the  Tweed  ;  at  the  side  of  which  burn,  a  little  below 
the  churchyard,  the  famous  prophet  Merlin  is  said  to  be  bu- 
ried. The  particular  place  of  his  grave,  at  the  root  of  a  thorn- 
tree,  was  shown  me,  many  years  ago,  by  the  old  and  reverend 
minister  of  the  place,  Mr.  Richard  Brown  ;  and  here  was 
ihe  old  prophecy  fulfilled,  delivered  in  Scots  rhyme,  to  this 
ourpose : — 

'  When  Tweed  and  Pausayl  meet  at  Merlin's  grave, 
Scotland  and  England  shall  one  Monarch  have.' 

For,  the  same  day  that  our  King  James  the  Sixth  was 
erowned  King  of  England,  the  river  Tweed,  by  an  extraordi- 
nary flood,  so  far  overflowed  its  banks,  that  it  met  and  joined 
with  the  Pausayl  at  the  said  grave,  which  was  never  before 
observed  to  fall  out." — Pennycuick's  Description  of  Tweed- 
dale.     Edin.  1715,  iv.  p.  26. 


still  lingers  among  the  vulgar  in  Selkirkshire.  A  copious  foun 
tain  upon  the  ridge  of  Minehmore,  called  the  Cheesewe'u,  \i 
supposed  to  be  sacred  to  these  fanciful  spirits,  and  it  was  ens 
tomary  to  propitiate  them  by  throwing  in  something  upon  pass- 
ing it.  A  pin  was  the  usual  oblation  ;  and  the  ceremony  is 
still  sometimes  practised,  though  rather  in  jest  than  earnest. 


Note  B. 

Minchmore's  haunted  spring. — P.  271. 

A  belief  in  the  existence  and  nocturnal  revels  of  the  /airies 


Note  C. 


The  rude  villager,  his  labor  done, 

In  verse  spontaneous  chants  some  favor' d  name. — P.  271. 

The  flexibility  of  the  Italian  and  Spanish  languages,  and 
perhaps  the  liveliness  of  their  genius,  renders  these  countries 
distinguished  for  the  talent  of  improvisation,  which  is  found 
even  among  the  lowest  of  the  people.  It  is  mentioned  by  Ba- 
retti  and  other  travellers. 


Note  D. 

Kindling  at  the  deeds  of  Orccme. — P.  271. 

Over  a  name  sacred  for  ages  to  heroic  verse,  a  poet  may  be 
allowed  to  exercise  some  power.  I  have  used  the  freedom, 
here  and  elsewhere,  to  alter  the  orthography  of  the  name  of 
my  gallant  countryman,  in  order  to  apprise  the  Southern 
reader  of  its  legitimate  sound  ; — Grahame  being,  on  the  othe* 
side  of  the  Tweed,  usually  pronounced  as  a  dissyllable. 


Note  E. 


What !  will  Don  Roderick  here  till  morning  stay, 
To  wear  in  shrift  and  prayer  the  night  away  ? 

And  are  his  hours  in  such  dull  penance  past, 
For  fair  Florinda1  s  plunder1  d  charms  to  pay  1 — P.  272. 

Almost  all  the  Spanish  historians,  as  well  as  the  voice  01 
tradition,  ascribe  the  invasion  of  the  Moors  to  th°  forcible  vio- 
lation committed  by  Roderick  upon  Florincs  jailed  by  the 
Moors,  Caba  or  Cava.  She  was  the  daughifci  of  Count  Ju- 
lian, one  of  the  Gothic  monarch's  principal  lieutenants,  who, 
when  the  crime  was  perpetrated,  was  engaged  in  Hj*  defence 
of  Ceuta  against  the  Moors.  In  his  indignation  at  the  ingrati- 
tude of  his  sovereign,  and  the  dishonor  of  his  daughter,  Count 
Julian  forgot  the  duties  of  a  Christian  and  a  patriot,  and, 
forming  an  alliance  with  Musa,  then  the  Caliph's  lieutenant 
in  Africa,  he  countenanced  the  invasion  of  Spain  by  a  body  ot 
Saracens  and  Africans,  commanded  by  the  celebrated  Tarik  ; 
the  issue  of  which  was  the  defeat  and  death  of  Roderick,  and 
the  occupation  of  almost  the  whole  peninsula  by  the  Moors 
Voltaire,  in  his  General  History,  expresses  his  doubts  of  thii 
popular  story,  and  Gibbon  gives  him  some  countenance  ;  but 
the  universal  tradition  is  quite  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of 
poetry.  The  Spaniards,  in  detestation  of  Florinda's  memory, 
are  said,  by  Cervantes,  never  to  bestow  that  name  upon  any 
human  female,  reserving  it  for  their  dogs.  Nor  is  the  tradi- 
tion less  inveterate  among  the  Moors,  since  the  same  author 
mentions  a  promontory  on  the  coast  of  Barbary,  called  "  The 
Cape  of  the  Caba  Rumia,  which,  in  our  tongue,  is  the  <Hn« 


286 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


of  the  Wicked  Christian  Woman  ;  and  it  is  a  tradition  among 
the  Moors,  that  Caha,  the  daughter  of  Count  Julian,  who  was 
the  cause  of  the  loss  of  Spain,  lies  buried  there,  and  they  think 
it  ominous  to  be  forced  into  that  bay  ;  for  they  never  go  in  oth- 
erwise than  by  necessity." 


Note  F. 


Jlvd  guide,  me,  Priest,  to  that  mysterious  room, 
Where,  if  aught  true  in  old  tradition  be, 
His  nation' s  future  fate  a  Spanish  King  shall  sec. — P.  273. 

The  transition  of  an  incident  from  history  to  tradition,  and 
'rom  tradition  to  fable  and  romance,  becoming  more  marvel- 
lous at  each  step  from  its  original  simplicity,  is  not  ill  exem- 
plified in  the  account  of  the  "  Fated  Chamber"  of  Don  Rod- 
erick, as  given  by  his  namesake,  the  historian  of  Toledo,  con- 
trasted with  subsequent  and  more  romantic  accounts  of  the 
same  subterranean  discovery.  I  give  the  Archbishop  of  Tole- 
do's tale  in  the  words  of  Nonius,  who  seems  to  intimate 
(though  very  modestly)  that  the  fatale  palatium,  of  which  so 
nuch  had  been  said,  was  only  the  ruins  of  a  Roman  amphi- 
theatre. 

"  Extra  muros,  septentrionem  versus,  vestigia  magni  olim 
theatri  sparsa  visuntur.  Auctor  est  Rodericus,  Toletanus 
Archiepiscopus  ante  Arabum  in  Hispnnias  irruptionem,  hie 
*'atnlr  /Hi/atium  fuisse  ;  quod  invicti  vectes  seterna  ferri  rohora 
claudebant,  ne  reseratum  Hispania;  excidium  adferret;  quod 
iu  t'atis  non  vulgus  solum,  sed  et  prudentissimi  qnique  crede- 
haut.  Sed  Roderici  ultimi  Gothornm  Regis  animiim  infclix 
curiositas  subiit,  sciendi  quid  sub  tot  vetitis  elaustris  observa- 

tur ;  ingentes  ibi  superiorum  reguni  opes  et  arcanos  thesau- 
os  servari  ratus.  Seras  et  pessulos  perl'ringi  curat,  invitis 
omnibus;  nihil  praeter  arculam  repertum,  et  in  ea  linteum, 
quo  explicato  nova  et  insolentes  hominum  fades  habitusque 
apparucre,  cum  inscriptione  Latina.  Hispania  excidium  ah 
ilia  gciite  immincre ;  Vultus  hahitusque  Maurorum  erant. 
Quamohrcm  ex  Africa  tantam  cladem  instare  regi  Meterieque 
persuasum  ;  nee  falso  ut  Hispania'  annates  etiamnum  que- 
runtur."—  Hispania  Ludoric.  .Yon/j.  cap.  lix. 

But,  about  the  term  of  the  expulsion  of  the  Moors  from 
Grenada,  we  find,  in  the  "  Historia  Verdadeyra  del  Rcy  Don 
Rodrigo,"  a  (pretended)  translation  from  the  Arabic  of  the 
sage  Alcayde  Abulcacim  Tarif  Abentarique,  a  legend  which 
puts  to  shame  the  modesty  of  the  historian  Roderick,  with  his 
chest  and  prophetic  picture.  The  custom  of  ascribing  a  pre- 
tended Moorish  original  to  these  legendary  histories,  is  ridiculed 
by  Cervantes,  who  affects  to  translate  the  History  of  the  Knight 
of  the  Woful  Figure,  from  the  Arabic  of  the  sage  Cid  Hamet 
Benengeli.  As  I  have  been  indebted  to  the  Historia  V<rdud<y- 
ra  for  some  of  the  imagery  employed  in  the  text,  the  following 
literal  translation  from  the  work  itself  may  gratify  the  inquisi- 
tive reader : — 

"  One  mile  on  the  east  side  of  the  city  of  Toledo,  among 
wine  rocks,  was  situated  an  ancient  tower,  of  a  magnificent 
itrnctnre,  though  much  dilapidated  by  time,  which  consumes 
all  :  four  estadoes  (i.  e.  four  times  a  man's  height)  below  it, 
there  was  a  cave  with  a  very  narrow  entrance,  and  a  gate  cut 
out  of  the  solid  rock,  lined  with  a  strong  covering  of  iron,  and 
fastened  with  many  locks ;  above  the  gate  some  Greek  letters 
are  engraved,  which,  although  abbreviated,  and  of  doubtful 
meaning,  were  thus  interpreted,  according  to  the  exposition  of 
learned  men  : — '  The  King  who  opens  this  cave,  and  can  dis- 
cover the  wonders,  will  discover  both  good  and  evil  things.' — 
Many  Kings  desired  to  know  the  mystery  of  this  tower,  and 
nought  to  find  out  the  manner  with  much  care  ;  but  when  they 
opened  the  gate,  such  a  tremendous  noise  arose  in  the  cave, 
that  it  appeared  as  if  the  earth  was  bursting ;  many  of  those 
present  sickened  with  fear,  and  others  lost  their  lives.  In  order 
to  prevent  such  great  perils  (as  they  supposed  a  dangerous  en- 
chantment was  contained  within),  they  secured  the  gate  with 


new  locks,  concluding,  that,  though  a  King  was  destined  to 
open  it,  the  fated  time  was  not  yet  arrived.  At  last  King  Don 
Rodrigo,  led  on  by  his  evil  fortune  and  unlucky  destiny,  opened 
the  tower;  and  some  bold  attendants,  whom  he  had  brought 
with  him,  entered,  although  agitated  with  fear.  Having  pro- 
ceeded a  good  way,  they  fled  back  to  the  entrance,  terrified 
with  a  frightful  vision  which  they  had  beheld.  The  King  was 
greatly  moved,  and  ordered  many  torches,  so  contrived  that  the 
tempest  in  the  cave  could  not  extinguish  them,  to  be  lighted 
Then  the  King  entered,  not  without  fear,  before  all  the  others. 
They  discovered,  by  degrees,  a  splendid  hall,  apparently  built 
in  a  very  sumptuous  manner ;  in  the  middle  stood  a  Bronze 
Statue  of  very  ferocious  appearance,  which  held  a  battle-axe 
in  its  hands.  With  this  he  struck  the  floor  violently,  giving  it 
such  heavy  blows,  that  the  noise  in  the  cave  was  occasioned 
by  the  motion  of  the  air.  The  King,  greatly  affrighted,  and 
astonished,  began  to  conjure  this  terrible  vision,  promising  that 
he  would  return  without  doing  any  injury  in  the  cave,  after  he 
had  obtained  a  sight  of  what  was  contained  in  it.  The  statue 
ceased  to  strike  the  floor,  and  the  King,  with  his  followers, 
somewhat  assured,  and  recovering  their  courage,  proceeded  into 
the  hall  ;  and  on  the  left  of  the  statue  they  found  this  inscrip- 
tion on  the  wall,  '  Unfortunate  King,  thou  hast  entered  here  in 
evil  hour.'  On  the  right  side  of  the  wall  these  words  were  in- 
scribed, '  By  strange  nations  thou  shalt  be  dispossessed,  and  thy 
subjects  foully  degraded.'  On  the  shoulders  of  the  statue  other 
words  were  written,  which  said,  '  I  call  upon  the  Arabs.' 
And  upon  bis  breast  was  written,  'I  do  my  office.'  At  thf 
entrance  of  the  hall  there  was  placed  around  bowl,  from  which 
a  great  noise,  like  the  fall  of  waters,  proceeded.  They  found 
no  other  thing  in  the  hall :  and  when  the  King,  sorrowful  and 
greatly  affected,  had  scarcely  turned  about  to  leave  the  cavern, 
the  statue  again  commenced  his  accustomed  blows  upon  the 
floor.  After  they  had  mutually  promised  to  conceal  what  they 
had  seen,  they  again  closed  the  tower,  and  blocked  up  the  gate 
of  the  cavern  with  earth,  that  no  memory  might  remain  in  the 
world  of  such  a  portentous  and  evil-boding  prodigy.  The  en- 
suing midnight  they  heard  great  cries  and  clamor  from  the 
cave,  resounding  like  the  noise  of  battle,  and  the  ground 
shaking  with  a  tremendous  roar ;  the  whole  edifice  of  the 
old  tower  fell  to  the  ground,  by  which  they  were  greatly 
affrighted,  the  vision  which  they  had  beheld  appearing  to  them 
as  a  dream. 

"  The  King  having  left  the  tower,  ordered  wise  men  to  ex- 
plain what  the  inscriptions  signified  ;  and  having  consulted 
upon  and  studied  their  meaning,  they  declared  that  the  statue 
of  bronze,  with  the  motion  which  it  made  with  its  battle-axe, 
signified  Time  ;  and  that  its  office,  alluded  to  in  the  inscription 
on  its  breast,  was,  that  he  never  rests  a  single  moment.  The 
words  on  the  shoulders,  '  I  ball  upon  the  Arabs,'  they  expound- 
ed, that,  in  time,  Spain  would  be  conquered  by  the  Arabs. 
The  words  upon  the  left  wall  signified  the  destruction  of  King 
Rodrigo  ;  those  on  the  right,  the  dreadful  calamities  which 
were  to  fall  upon  the  Spaniards  and  Goths,  and  that  the  un- 
fortunate King  would  be  dispossessed  of  all  his  states.  Finally, 
the  letters  on  the  portal  indicated,  that  good  would  betide  to 
the  conquerors,  and  evil  to  the  conquered,  of  which  experience 
proved  the  truth." — Historia  Verdadeyra  del  Rey  Don  Rtfr 
rigo.     Cuinta  impression.     Madrid,  1654,  iv.  p.  23. 


Note  Q 

The  Tecbir  war-cry  and  the  Lehp's  yell. — P.  274. 

The  Tecbir  (derived  from  the  words  Alia  acbar,  God  is  most 
mighty)  was  the  original  war-cry  of  the  Saracens.  It  is  cele» 
Drated  by  Hughes  in  the  Siege  of  Damascus  : — 

"  We  heard  the  Tecbir ;  so  these  Arabs  call 
Their  shout  of  onset,  when,  with  loud  appeal 
They  challange  Heaven,  as  if  demanding  conquest.' 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  VISION  OF  DON   RODERICK. 


28' 


"The  Lelie,  well  known  to  the  Christians  during  the  cru- 
Bades,  in  the  shout  of  Mia  ilia  Alia,  the  Mahomedan  con- 
fession of  faith.  It  is  twice  used  in  poetry  by  my  friend  Mr. 
W.  Stewart  Rose,  in  the  romance  of  Partenopex,  and  in  the 
Crusade  of  St.  Lewis. 


Note  H. 


By  Heaven,  the  Moors  prevail !  the  Christians  yield! — 
Their  coward  leader  gives  for  flight  the  sign! 

The  scepter'' d  craven  mounts  to  auit  the  field — 
Is  not  yon  steed  Oreiia? — Yes,  'tis  mine! — 1\  275. 

Count  Julian,  the  father  of  the  injured  Florinda,  with  the 
connivance  and  assistance  of  Oppas,  Archbishop  of  Toledo, 
invited,  in  713,  the  Saracens  into  Spain.  A  considerable  army 
arrived  under  the  command  of  Tarik,  or  Tarif,  who  bequeathed 
the  well-known  name  of  Gibraltar  (Oibel  al  Tarik,  or  the 
mountain  of  Tarik)  to  the  place  of  his  landing.  He  was  joined 
by  Count  Julian,  ravaged  Andalusia,  and  took  Seville.  En  714, 
'.hey  returned  with  a  still  greater  force,  and  Roderick  marched 
into  Andalusia  at  the  head  of  a  great  army,  to  give  them 
battle.  The  field  was  chosen  near  Xeres,  and  Mariana  gives 
the  following  account  of  the  action  : — 

"  Both  armies  being  drawn  up,  the  King,  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  Gothic  kings  when  they  went  to  battle,  appeared 
in  an  ivory  chariot,  clothed  in  cloth  of  gold,  encouraging  his 
men  ;  Tarif,  on  the  other  side,  did  the  same.  The  armies, 
thus  prepared,  waited  only  for  the  signal  to  fall  on  ;  the  Goths 
gave  the  charge,  their  drums  and  trumpets  sounding,  and  the 
Moors  received  it  with  the  noise  of  kettle-drums.  Such  were 
the  shouts  and  cries  on  both  sides,  that  the  mountains  and 
valleys  seemed  to  meet.  First,  they  began  with  slings,  darts, 
javelins,  and  lances,  then  came  to  the  swords  ;  a  long  time  the 
battle  was  dubious  ,  but  the  Moors  seemed  to  have  the  worst, 
till  D.  Oppas,  the  archbishop,  having  to  that  time  concealed 
his  treachery,  in  >xe  heat  of  the  fight,  with  a  great  body  of  his 
followers  went  over  to  the  infidels.  He  joined  Count  Julian, 
with  whom  was  a  great  number  of  Goths,  and  both  together 
fell  upon  the  flank  of  our  army.  Our  men,  terrified  with  that 
unparalleled  treachery,  and  tired  with  fighting,  could  no  longer 
sustain  that  charge,  but  were  easily  put  to  flight.  The  King 
performed  the  part  not  only  of  a  wise  general,  but  of  a  resolute 
soldier,  relieving  the  weakest,  bringing  on  fresh  men  in  place  of 
those  that  were  tired,  and  stopping  those  that  turned  their 
backs.  At  length,  seeing  no  hopes  left,  he  alighted  out  of  his 
chariot  for  fear  of  being  taken,  and  mounting  on  a  horse  called 
Oreiia,  he  withdrew  out  of  the  battle.  The  Goths,  who  still 
stood,  missing  him,  were  most  part  put  to  the  sword,  the  rest 
betook  themselves  to  flight.  The  camp  was  immediately  en- 
tered, and  the  baggage  taken.  What  number  was  killed  was 
not,  known  :  I  suppose  they  were  so  many  it  was  hard  to  count 
them  ;  for  this  single  battle  robbed  Fpain  of  all  its  glory,  and  in 
it  perished  the  renowned  name  of  the  Goths.  The  King's  horse, 
upper  garment,  and  buskins,  covered  with  pearls  and  precious 
stones,  were  found  on  the  bank  of  the  river  Guadelite,  and 
there  being  no  news  of  him  afterwards,  it  was  supposed  he  was 
i/owt.ed  passing  the  river."— Mariana's  History  of  Spain, 
book  vi.  chap.  9. 

Oreiia,  the  courser  of  Don  Roderick,  mentioned  in  the  text, 
and  in  the  above  quotation,  was  celebrated  for  her  speed  and 
form.  She  is  mentioned  repeatedly  in  Spanish  romance,  and 
liv :  ?;  Cervantes. 


Note  L 

When  for  the  light  bolero  ready  stand 
The  mozo  blithe,  with  gay  muchacha  met. — P.  276. 

The  bolero  is  a  verj  light  and  active  dance,  much  practised 


by  the  Spaniards,  in  which  castanets  are  always  used.     Mozt 
and  muchacha  are  equivalent  to  our  phrase  of  lad  and  lass. 


Note  K. 
While  trumpets  rang,  and  heralds  cried  "Castue. 


•P.  278 


The  heralds,  at  the  coronation  of  a  Spanish  rronarch,  pre 
claim  his  name  three  times,  and  repeat  three  times  the  wore 
Castilla,  Castilla,  Cast  ilia  ;  which,  with  all  other  ceremoiwes, 
was  carefully  copied  in  the  mock  inauguration  of  Joseph  Bona- 
parte. 


Note  L. 


High  blazed  the  war,  und  long,  and  far,  and  wide. — P.  278 

Those  who  were  disposed  to  believe  that  mere  virtue  and 
energy  are  able  of  themselves  to  work  forth  the  salvation  of  an 
oppressed  people,  surprised  in  a  moment  of  confidence,  deprived 
of  their  officers,  armies,  and  fortresses,  who  had  every  means 
of  resistance  to  seek  in  the  very  moment  when  they  were  to  be 
made  use  of,  and  whom  the  numerous  treasons  among  the 
higher  orders  deprived  of  confidence  in  their  natural  leaders, — 
those  who  entertained  this  enthusiastic  but  delusive  opinion 
may  be  pardoned  for  expressing  their  disappointment  at  the 
protracted  warfare  in  the  Peninsula.  There  are,  however, 
another  class  of  persons,  who,  having  themselves  the  highest 
dread  or  veneration,  or  something  allied  to  both,  for  the  power 
of  the  modern  Attila,  will  nevertheless  give  the  heroical  Span 
iards  little  or  no  credit  for  the  long,  stubborn,  and  unsubdued 
resistance  of  three  years  to  a  nower  before  whom  their  formei 
well-prepared,  well-armed,  and  numerous  adversaries  fell  in  the 
course  of  as  many  months.  While  these  gentlemen  plead  for 
deference  to  Bonaparte,  and  crave 

"  Respect  for  his  great  place,  and  bid  the  devil 
Be  duly  honor' d  for  his  burning  throne," 

it  may  not  be  altogether  unreasonable  to  claim  some  modifi 
cation  of  censure  upon  those  who  have  been  long  and  to  a 
great  extent  successfully  resisting  this  great  enemy  of  man- 
kind. That  the  energy  of  Spain  has  not  uniformly  been 
directed  by  conduct  equal  to  its  vigor,  has  been  too  obvious  ; 
that  her  armies,  under  their  complicated  disadvantages,  have 
shared  the  fate  of  such  as  were  defeated  after  taking  the  field 
with  every  possible  advantage  of  arms  and  discipline,  is  surely 
not  to  be  wondered  at.  But  that  a  nation,  under  the  circum- 
stances of  repeated  discomfiture,  internal  treason,  and  the  mis- 
management incident  to  a  temporary  and  hastily  adopted  gov- 
ernment, should  have  wasted,  by  its  stubborn,  uniform,  and 
prolonged  resistance,  myriads  after  myriads  of  those  soldiers 
who  had  overrun  the  world — that  some  of  its  provinces  should, 
like  Galicia,  after  being  abandoned  by  their  allies,  and  overrur 
by  their  enemies,  have  recovered  their  freedom  by  their  own 
unassisted  exertions  ;  that  others,  like  Catalonia,  undismayed 
by  the  treason  which  betrayed  some  fortresses,  and  *he  force 
which  subdued  others,  should  not  only  have  continued  their 
resistance,  but  have  attained  over  their  victorious  enemy  a 
superiority,  which  is  even  now  enabling  them  to  besiege  an- 
retake  the  places  of  strength  which  had  been  wrested  from 
them,  is  a  tale  hitherto  untold  in  the  revolutionary  war.  To 
say  that  such  a  people  cannot  be  subdued,  would  be  pre- 
sumption similar  to  that  of  those  who  protested  that  Spain 
could  not  defend  herself  for  a  year,  or  Portugal  for  a  month  , 
but  that  a  resistance  which  has  been  continued  for  so  long  a 
space,  when  the  usurper,  except  during  the  short-lived  Aus- 
trian campaign,  had  no  other  enemies  on  the  continent,  should 
be  now  less  successful,  when  repeated  defeats  have  broken  the 
reputation  of  the  French  armies,  and  when  they  are  likely  (it 
would  seem  almost  in  desperation)  to  seek  occupation  else- 


2SS 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


where,  is  a  prophecy  as  improbable  as  ungracious.  And  while 
we  are  in  the  humor  of  severely  censuring  our  allies,  gallant 
and  devoted  as  they  have  shown  themselves  in  the  cause  of 
national  liberty,  because  they  may  not  instantly  adopt  those 
measures  which  we  in  our  wisdom  may  deem  essential  to  suc- 
cess, it  might  be  well  if  we  endeavored  first  to  resolve  the  pre- 
vious questions,— 1st,  Wheil.»  W«  do  not  at  this  moment  know 
much  less  of  the  Spaiiah  armies  than  those  of  Portugal,  which 
were  so  prom  pi  •  condemned  as  totally  inadequate  to  assist  in 
the  preservation  of  their  country  1  2d,  Whether,  independ- 
en1.lv  of  any  right  we  have  to  offer  more  than  advice  and 
assistance  to  our  independent  allies,  we  can  expect  that  they 
should  renounce  entirely  the  national  pride,  which  is  insepar- 
able from  patriotism,  and  at  once  condescend  not  only  to  be 
saved  by  our  assistance,  but  to  be  saved  in  our  own  way  ? 
3d,  Whether,  if  it  be  an  object  (as  undoubtedly  it  is  a  main 
one)  that  the  Spanish  troops  should  be  trained  under  British 
discipline,  to  the  flexibility  of  movement,  and  power  of  rapid 
concert  and  combination,  which  is  essential  to  modem  war; 
such  a  consummation  is  likely  to  be  produced  by  abusing  them 
in  newspapers  and  periodical  publications?  Lastly,  since  the 
undoubted  authority  of  British  officers  makes  us  now  ac- 
quainted witli  part  of  the  horrors  that  attend  invasion,  and 
Which  the  providence  of  God,  the  valor  of  our  navy,  and  per- 
haps the  very  efforts  of  these  Spaniards,  have  hitherto  diverted 
from  us,  it  may  be  modestly  questioned  whether  we  ought  to 
be  too  forward  to  estimate  and  condemn  the  feeling  of  tem- 
porary stupefaction  which  they  create;  lest,  in  so  doing,  we 
should  resemble  the  worthy  clergyman  who,  while  he  had  him- 
self never  snuffed  a  candle  with  his  fingers,  was  disposed  se- 
verely to  criticise  the  conduct  of  a  martyr,  who  winced  a  little 
among  his  flumes. 


Note  M. 


They  won  not  Zaragoza,  but  her  children's  bloody  tomb. — 

P.  279. 

The  interesting  account  of  Mr.  Vaughan  lias  made  most 
readers  acquainted  with  the  first  siege  of  Zaragoza.1  The  last 
and  fatal  siege  of  that  gallant  and  devoted  city  is  detailed  with 
great  eloquence  and  precision  in  the  "  Edinburgh  Annual  Re- 
gister" lor  1809,— a  work  in  which  the  affairs  of  Spain  have 
been  treated  of  with  attention  corresponding  to  their  deep  in- 
terest, and  to  the  peculiar  sources  of  information  open  to  the 
historian.  The  following  are  a  few  brief  extracts  from  this 
splendid  historical  narrative: — 

"  A  breach  was  soon  made  in  the  mud  walls,  and  then,  as  in 
the  former  siege,  the  war  was  carried  on  in  the  streets  and 
houses  ;  but  the  French  had  been  taught  by  experience,  that 
ik  this  species  of  warfare  the  Zarago/.ans  derived  a  superiority 
from  the  feeling  and  principle  which  inspired  them,  and  the 
cause  for  which  they  fought.  The  only  means  of  conquering 
Zaragoza  was  to  destroy  it  house  by  house,  and  street  by  street ; 
ami  upon  this  system  of  destruction  they  proceeded.  Three 
companies  of  miners,  and  eight  companies  of  sappers,  carried 
on  this  subterraneous  war  ;  the  Spaniards,  it  is  said,  attempted 
to  oppose  them  by  countermines  ;  these  were  operations  to 
■»  Inch  they  were  wholly  unused,  and,  according  to  the  French 
statement,  their  miners  were  every  day  discovered  and  suffoca- 
ted. Meantime,  the  bombardment  was  incessantly  kept  up. 
•  W;..iin  the  last  48  hours,'  said  Palafox  in  a  letter  to  his  friend 
Genera!  Doyle,  '  0000  shells  have  been  thrown  in.  Two-thirds 
of  the  town  are  in  ruins,  but  we  shall  perish  under  the  ruins  of 
the  remaining  third  rather  than  surrender.'  In  the  course  of 
•.he  siege,  above  17,000  bombs  were  thrown  at  the  town  ;  the 
utock  of  powder  with  which  Zaragoza  had  been  stored  was  ex- 
hausted ;  they  had  none  at  last  but  what  they  manufactured 

1  See  Narrative  of  the  Siege  of  Zaragoza,  by  Richard  Charles  Vaughan, 
Kiq.  1S09     Thr-  Right  Honorable  R.  C.  Vaughan  is  now  British  Minister 
Washington.     1833. 


day  by  day  ;  and  no  other  cannon-balls  than  those  which  were 
shot  into  the  town,  and  which  they  collected  and  fired  bact 
upon  the  enemy." 

In  the  midst  of  these  horrors  and  privations,  the  pestilence 
broke  out  in  Zaragoza.  To  various  causes,  enumerated  by  the 
annalist,  he  adds,  "scantiness  of  food,  crowded  quarters,  unu- 
sual exertion  of  body,  anxiety  of  mind,  and  the  impossibility 
of  recruiting  their  exhausted  strength  by  needful  rest,  in  a  city 
which  was  almost  incessantly  bombarded,  and  where  every 
hour  their  sleep  was  broken  by  the  tremendous  explosion  ol 
mines.  There  was  now  no  respite,  either  by  day  or  night,  for 
this  devoted  city  ;  even  the  natural  order  of  light  and  darkness 
was  destroyed  in  Zaragoza  ;  by  day  it  was  involved  in  a  red 
sulphureous  atmosphere  of  smoke,  which  hid  the  face  of 
heaven;  by  night,  the  fire  of  cannons  and  mortars,  and  the 
flames  of  burning  bouses,  kept  it  in  a  state  of  terrific  illumina- 
tion. 

"  When  once  the  pestilence  had  begun,  it  was  impossible  to 
check  its  progress,  or  confine  it  to  one  quarter  of  the  city.  Hos- 
pitals were  immediately  established, — there  were  above  thirty 
of  them  ;  as  soon  as  one  was  destroyed  by  the  bombardment, 
the  patients  were  removed  to  another,  and  thus  the  infection 
was  carried  to  every  part  of  Zaragoza.  Famine  aggravated 
the  evil ;  the  city  had  probably  not  been  sufficiently  provided 
at  the  commencement  of  the  siege,  and  of  the  provisions  which 
it  contained,  much  was  destroyed  in  the  daily  ruin  which  the 
mines  and  bombs  effected.  Had  the  Zaragozans  and  their  gar- 
rison proceeded  according  to  military  rules,  they  would  have 
surrendered  before  the  end  of  January  ;  their  batteries  had  then 
been  demolished,  there  were  open  breaches  in  many  parts  oi 
their  weak  walls,  and  the  enemy  were  already  within  the  city. 
On  the  30th,  above  sixty  houses  were  blown  up,  and  the 
French  obtained  possession  of  the  monasteries  of  the  Augus- 
tines  and  Las  Monicas,  which  adjoined  each  other,  two  of  the 
last  defensible  places  left.  The  enemy  forced  their  way  into 
the  church  ;  every  column,  every  chapel,  every  altar,  became 
a  point  of  defence,  which  was  repeatedly  attacked,  taken  and 
retaken  ;  the  pavement  was  covered  with  blood,  the  aisles  and 
body  of  the  church  strewed  with  the  dead,  who  were  trampled 
under  foot  by  the  combatants.  In  the  midst  of  this  conflict, 
the  roof,  shattered  by  repeated  bombs,  fell  in  ;  the  few  who 
were  not  crushed,  after  a  short  pause,  which  this  tremendous 
shock,  and  their  own  unexpected  escape,  occasioned,  renewed 
the  fight  with  rekindled  fury  ;  fresh  parties  of  the  enemy  pour 
ed  in  ;  monks,  and  citizens,  and  soldiers,  came  to  the  defence, 
and  the  contest  was  continued  upon  the  ruins,  and  the  bodies 
of  the  dead  aud  the  dying." 

Yet,  seventeen  days  after  sustaining  these  extremities,  did 
the  heroic  inhabitants  of  Zaragoza  continue  their  defence  ;  nor 
did  they  then  surrender  until  their  despair  had  extracted  from 
the  French  generals  a  capitulation,  more  honorable  than  has 
been  granted  to  fortresses  of  the  first  order. 

Who  shall  venture  to  refuse  the  Zaragozans  the  eulogium 
conferred  upon  them  by  the  eloquence  of  Wordsworth  ' — 
"Most  gloriously  have  the  citizens  of  Zaragoza  proved  that 
the  true  army  of  Spain,  in  a  contest  of  this  nature,  is  the 
whole  people.  The  same  city  has  also  exemplified  a  melan- 
choly, yea,  a  dismal  truth, — yet  consolatory  and  full  of  joy, — 
that  when  a  people  are  called  suddenly  to  fight  for  their  liberty, 
and  are  sorely  pressed  upon,  their  best  field  of  battle  is  the 
floors  upon  which  their  children  have  played  ;  the  chambers 
where  the  family  of  each  man  has  slept  (his  own  or  his  neigh- 
bors') ;  upon  or  under  the  roofs  by  which  they  have  been  shel- 
tered ;  in  the  gardens  of  their  recreation ;  in  the  street,  or  in 
the  market-place  ;  before  the  altars  of  their  temples,  and  among 
their  congregated  dwellings,  blazing  or  uprooted. 

"  The  government  of  Spain  must  never  forget  Zaragoza  for 
a  moment.  Nothing  is  wanting  to  produce  the  same  effects 
everywhere,  but  a  leading  mind,  such  as  that  city  was  blessed 
with.  In  the  latter  contest  this  has  been  proved  ;  for  Zarago- 
za contained,  at  the  time,  bodies  of  men  from  almost  all  parts 
of  Spain.     The  narrative  of  those  two  sieges  should  be  the 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


28!) 


manual  of  ewry  Spaniard.  He  may  add  to  it  the  ancient  sto- 
ries of  Numantia  and  Saguntura  ;  let  him  sleep  upon  the  book 
as  a  pillow,  and,  if  he  be  a  devout  adherent  to  the  religion  of 
his  country ,  let  him  wear  it  in  his  bosom  for  his  crucifix  to  rest 
upon." — Wordsworth  on  the  Convention  of  Cintra 


Note  N. 

The  fault  of  Destiny.— P.  280. 

Before  finally  dismissing  the  enchanted  cavern  of  Don  Rod- 
erick, it  may  be  noticed,  that  the  legend  occurs  in  one  of  Cal- 
deron's  plays,  entitled,  La  Virgin  del  Sagrario.  The  scene 
.pens  with  the  noise  of  the  chase,  and  Recisundo,  a  predeces- 
sor of  Roderick  upon  the  Gothic  throne,  enters  pursuing  a  stag. 
The  animal  assumes  the  form  of  a  man,  and  defies  the  king  to 
enter  the  cave,  which  forms  the  bottom  of  the  scene,  and  en- 
gage with  him  in  single  combat.  The  king  accepts  the  chal- 
lenge, and  they  engage  accordingly,  but  without  advantage  on 
either  side,  which  induces  the  Genie  to  inform  Recisundo,  that 
he  is  not  the  monarch  for  whom  the  adventure  of  the  enchant- 
ed cavern  is  reserved,  and  he  proceeds  to  predict  the  downfall 
of  the  Gothic  monarchy,  and  of  the  Christian  religion,  which 
shall  attend  the  discovery  of  its  mysteries.  Recisundo,  ap- 
palled by  these  prophecies,  orders  the  cavern  to  be  secured  by 
a  gate  and  bolts  of  iron.  In  the  second  part  of  the  same  play, 
we  are  informed  that  Don  Roderick  had  removed  the  barrier, 
and  transgressed  the  prohibition  of  his  ancestor,  and  had  been 
apprized  by  the  prodigies  which  he  discovered  of  the  approach- 
ing ruin  of  his  kingdom 


NoteO. 


While  downward  on  the  land  his  legions  press , 
Before  them  it  was  rich  with  vine  and  flock, 

And  smiled  like  Eden  in  her  summer  dress  ; — 
Behind  their  wasteful  march,  a  reeking  wilderness. — P.  281. 

I  have  ventured  to  apply  to  the  movements  of  the  French 
army  that  sublime  passage  in  the  prophecies  of  Joel,  which 
seems  applicable  to  them  in  more  respects  than  that  I  have 
adopted  in  the  text.  One  would  think  their  ravages,  their  mil- 
itary appointments,  the  terror  which  they  spread  among  invaded 
nations,  their  military  discipline,  their  arts  of  political  intrigue 
and  deceit,  were  distinctly  pointed  out  in  the  following  verses 
of  Scripture : — 

"2.  A  day  of  darknesse  and  of  gloominesse,  a  day  of  clouds 
and  of  thick  darknesse,  as  the  morning  spread  upon  the  moun- 
tains ;  a  great  people  and  a  strong,  there  hath  not  been  ever 
the  like,  neither  shall  be  any  more  after  it,  even  to  the  yeares 
of  many  generations.  3.  A  fire  devoureth  before  them,  and 
behicJ  them  a  flame  burneth  ;  the  land  is  as  the  garden  of 
Erlen  before  them,  and  behinde  them  a  desolate  wilderness, 
yea,  and  nothing  shall  escape  them.  4.  The  appearance  of 
them  is  as  the  appearance  of  horses  and  as  horsemen,  so  shall 
they  runne.  5.  Like  the  noise  of  chariots  on  the  tops  of  moun- 
tains, shall  they  leap,  like  the  noise  of  a  flame  of  fire  that  de- 
voureth the  stubble,  as  a  strong  people  set  in  battel  array. 
6.  Before  their  face  shall  tho  people  be  much  pained  ;  all  faces 
shall  gather  blacknesse.  7.  They  shall  run  like  mighty  men, 
they  shall  climb  the  wall  like  men  of  warre,  and  they  shall 
march  every  one  in  his  wayes,  and  they  shall  not  break  their 
ranks.  8.  Neither  shall  one  thrust  another,  they  shall  walk 
every  one  in  his  path  :  and  when  they  fall  upon  the  sword, 
they  shall  not  be  wounded.  9.  They  shall  run  to  and  fro  in 
the  citie  ;  they  shall  run  upon  the  wall,  they  shall  climbe  up  up- 
on tho  houses  :  they  shall  enter  in  at  the  windows  like  a  thief. 
)0.  The  earth  shall  quake  before  them,  the  heavens  shall 
37 


tremble,  the  sunne  and  the  moon  shall  be  dark,  and  the  starrei 
shall  withdraw  their  shining." 

In  verse  20th  also,  which  announces  the  retreat  of  the  nor- 
thern army,  described  in  such  dreadful  colors,  into  a  "land 
barren  and  desolate,"  and  the  dishonor  with  which  God  afflict 
ed  them  for  having  "  magnified  themselves  to  do  great  things, 
these  are  particulars  not  inapplicable  to  the  retreat  of  Massena  : 
— Divine  Providence  having,  in  all  ages,  attached  disgrace  aa 
the  natural  punishment  of  cruelty  and  presumption 


Note  P. 


The  rudest  sentinel,  in  Britain  born, 

With  horror  paused  to  view  the  havoc  done, 
Oave  his  poor  crust  to  feed  some  wretch  forlorn. — P.  281. 

Even  the  unexampled  gallantry  of  the  British  army  in  the 
campaign  of  1810-11,  although  they  never  fought  but  to  con- 
quer, will  do  them  less  honor  in  history  than  their  humanity, 
attentive  to  soften  to  the  utmost  of  their  power  the  horrors 
which  war,  in  its  mildest  aspect,  must  always  inflict  upon  the 
defenceless  inhabitants  of  the  country  in  which  it  is  waged, 
and  which,  on  this  occasion,  were  tenfold  augmented  by  the 
barbarous  cruelties  of  the  French.  Soup-kitchens  were  estab- 
lished by  subscription  among  the  officers,  wherever  the  troops 
were  quartered  for  any  length  of  time.  The  commissaries  con- 
tributed the  heads,  feet,  &c.  of  the  cattle  slaughtered  for  the 
soldiery :  rice,  vegetables,  and  bread,  where  it  could  be  had, 
were  purchased  by  the  officers.  Fifty  or  sixty  starving  peas- 
ants were  daily  fed  at  one  of  these  regimental  establishments, 
and  carried  home  the  relics  to  their  famishing  households.  The 
emaciated  wretches,  who  could  not  crawl  from  weakness,  were 
speedily  employed  in  pruning  their  vines.  While  pursuing 
Massena,  the  soldiers  evinced  the  same  spirit  of  humanity,  and 
in  many  instances,  when  reduced  themselves  to  short  allowance, 
from  having  out-marched  their  supplies,  they  shared  their  pit- 
tance with  the  starving  inhabitants,  who  had  ventured  back  to 
view  the  ruins  of  their  habitations,  burnt  by  the  retreating  en- 
emy, and  to  bury  the  bodies  of  their  relations  whom  they  had 
butchered.  Is  it  possible  to  know  such  facts  without  feeling  a 
sort  of  confidence,  that  those  who  so  well  deserve  victory  are 
most  likely  to  attain  it  1 — It  is  not  the  least  of  Lord  Welling- 
ton's military  merits,  that  the  slightest  disposition  towards  ma- 
rauding meets  immediate  punishment.  Independently  of  all 
moral  obligation,  the  army  which  is  most  orderly  in  a  friendly 
country,  has  always  proved  most  formidable  to  an  armed  en- 
emy. 


Note  Q. 
fain-glorious  fugitive  ! — P.  282. 

The  French  conducted  this  memorable  retreat  with  much  ol 
the  fanfarronade  proper  to  their  country,  by  which  they  at- 
tempt to  impose  upon  others,  and  perhaps  on  themselves,  a  be* 
lief  that  they  are  triumphing  in  the  very  moment  of  their  dis- 
comfiture. On  the  30th  March,  1811,  their  rear  guard  wan 
overtak»n  near  Pega  by  the  British  cavalry.  Being  well  posted, 
and  conceiving  themselves  safe  from  infantry  (who  were  indeed 
many  miles  in  the  rear),  and  from  artillery,  they  indulged  them- 
selves in  parading  their  bands  of  music,  and  actually  performed 
"  God  save  the  King."  Their  minstrelsy  was,  however,  de- 
ranged by  the  undesired  accompaniment  of  the  British  horse- 
artillery,  on  w  hose  part  in  the  concert  they  had  not  calculated. 
The  surprise  was  sudden,  and  the  rout  complete  ;  for  the  artil- 
lery and  cavalry  did  execution  upon  them  for  about  four  miles, 
pursuing  at  the  gallop  as  often  as  they  got  beyond  the  range  a 
the  guns 


290 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  R. 

Vainly  thy  squadrons  hide  Assuavd's  plain, 
And  front  the  flying  thunders  as  they  roar, 

With  frantic  charge  and  tenfold  odds,  in  vain  ! — P.  282. 

In  the  severe  action  of  Fuentes  d'Honoro,  upon  5th  May, 
1811,  the  grand  mass  of  the  French  cavalry  attacked  the  right 
of  the  British  position,  covered  by  two  guns  of  the  horse-artil- 
lery, and  two  squadrons  of  cavalry.  After  suffering  considera- 
bly from  the  fire  of  the  guns,  which  annoyed  them  in  every  at- 
tempt at  formation,  the  enemy  turned  their  wrath  entirely  to- 
wards them,  distributed  brandy  among  their  troopers,  and  ad- 
vanced to  carry  the  field-pieces  with  the  desperation  of  drunken 
fury.  They  were  in  nowise  checked  by  the  heavy  loss  which 
they  sustained  in  this  daring  attempt,  but  closed,  and  fairly 
mingled  with  the  British  cavalry,  to  whom  they  bore  the  pro- 
portion of  ten  to  one.  Captain  Ramsay  (let  me  be  permitted 
to  name  a  gallant  countryman),  who  commanded  the  two  guns, 
dismissed  them  at  the  gallop,  and  putting  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  mounted  artillerymen,  ordered  them  to  fall  upon  the 
French,  sabre-in-hand.  This  very  unexpected  conversion  of 
artillerymen  into  dragoons,  contributed  greatly  to  the  defeat  of 
the  enemy,  already  disconcerted  by  the  reception  they  had  met 
from  the  two  British  squadrons  ;  and  the  appearance  of  some 
small  reinforcements,  notwithstanding  the  immense  dispropor- 
tion of  force,  put  them  to  absolute  rout.  A  colonel  or  major 
of  their  cavalry,  and  many  prisoners  (almost  all  intoxicated), 
remained  in  our  possession.  Those  who  consider  for  a  moment 
the  difference  of  the  services,  and  how  much  an  artilleryman  is 
necessarily  and  naturally  led  to  identify  his  own  safety  and 
utility  with  abiding  by  the  tremendous  implement  of  war,  to 
the  exercise  of  which  he  is  chiefly,  if  not  exclusively  trained, 
will  know  how  to  estimate  the  presence  of  mind  which  com- 
manded so  bold  a  manoeuvre,  and  the  steadiness  and  confidence 
with  which  it  was  executed. 


Note  S. 


And  what  avails  thee  that,  for  Cameron  slain, 
Wild  from  his  plaided  ranks  the  yell  was  given. — P.  282. 

The  gallant  Colonel  Cameron  was  wounded  mortally  during 
the  desperate  contest  in  the  streets  of  the  village  called  Fuentes 
d'Honoro.  He  fell  at  the  head  of  his  native  Highlanders,  the 
71st  and  19th,  who  raised  a  dreadful  shriek  of  grief  and  rage. 
They  charged,  with  irresistible  fury,  the  finest  body  of  French 
grenadiers  ever  seen,  being  a  part  of  Bonaparte's  selected 
guard.  The  officer  who  led  the  French,  a  man  remarkable  for 
stature  and  symmetry,  was  killed  on  the  spot.  The  French- 
man who  stepped  out  of  his  rarvk  to  take  aim  at  Colonel  Cam- 
eron was  also  bayoneted,  pierced  with  a  thousand  wounds,  and 
almost  torn  to  pieces  by  the  furious  Highlanders,  who,  under 
the  command  of  Colonel  Cadogan,  bore  the  enemy  out  of  the 
contested  ground  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  Massena  pays 
my  countrymen  a  singular  compliment  in  his  account  of  the  at- 
Uck  and  defence  of  this  village,  in  which  he  says  die  British 
lost  many  officers,  and  Scotch. 


Note  T. 

But  you,  ye  heroes  of  that  well-fought  day,  <S-c— P.  282. 

[The  Edinburgh  Reviewer  offered  the  following  remarks  on 
what  he  considered  as  an' unjust  omission  in  this  part  of  the 
poem: — 

"  We  are  not  very  apt,"  he  says,  "  to  quarrel  with  a  poet 
for  his  politics  ;  and  really  supposed  it  next  to  impossible  that 
Mr.  Scott  should  have  given  us  any  ground  of  dissatisfaction 
on  this  score,  in  the  management  of  his  present  theme      Lord 


Wellington  and  his  fellow-soldiers  well  deserved  the  laurels 
they  have  won  : — nor  is  there  one  British  heart,  we  believe, 
that  will  not  feel  proud  and  grateful  for  all  the  honors  with 
which  British  genius  can  invest  their  names.  In  the  praises 
which  Mr.  Scott  has  bestowed,  therefore,  all  his  readers  wil.' 
sympathize ;  but  for  those  which  he  lias  withheld,  there  are 
some  that  will  not  so  readily  forgive  him  :  and  in  our  eyes  we 
will  confess,  it  is  a  sin  not  easily  to  be  expiated,  that  in  a  poom 
written  substantially  for  the  purpose  of  commemorating  the 
brave  who  have  fought  or  fallen  in  Spain  or  Portugal — and 
written  by  a  Scotchman — there  should  be  no  mention  of  the 
name  of  Moore  ! — of  the  only  commander-in-chief  who  has 
fallen  in  this  memorable  contest ; — of  a  commander  who  was 
acknowledged  as  the  model  and  pattern  of  a  British  soldier, 
when  British  soldiers  stood  most  in  need  of  such  an  example 
— and  was,  at  the  same  time,  distinguished  not  less  for  every 
manly  virtue  and  generous  affection,  than  for  skill  and  gallantry 
in  his  profession.  A  more  pure,  or  a  more  exalted  character, 
certainly  has  not  appeared  upon  that  scene  which  Mr.  Scott 
has  sought  to  illustrate  with  the  splendor  of  his  genius  ;  and  it 
is  with  a  mixture  of  shame  and  indignation  that  we  find  him 
grudging  a  single  ray  of  that  profuse  and  readily  yielded  glory 
to  gild  the  grave  of  his  lamented  countryman.  To  offer  a  lav- 
ish tribute  of  praise  to  the  living,  whose  task  is  still  incomplete, 
may  be  generous  and  munificent ; — but  to  departed  merit,  it  is 
due  in  strictness  of  justice.  Who  will  deny  that  Sir  John 
Moore  was  all  that  we  have  now  said  of  him  ?  or  who  will 
doubt  that  his  untimely  death  in  the  hour  of  victory  would 
have  been  eagerly  seized  upon  by  an  impartial  poet,  as  a  noble 
theme  for  generous  lamentation  and  eloquent  praise  ?  But  Mr. 
Scott's  political  friends  have  fancied  it  for  their  interest  to  ca- 
lumniate the  memory  of  this  illustrious  and  accomplished  per- 
son,— and  Mr.  Scott  has  permitted  the  spirit  of  party  to  stand 
in  the  way,  not  only  of  poetical  justice,  but  of  patriotic  and 
generous  feeling. 

"  It  is  this  for  which  we  grieve,  and  feel  ashamed  ; — this 
hardening  and  deadening  effect  of  political  animosities,  in  cases 
where  politics  should  have  nothing  to  do  ;— this  apparent  per- 
version, not  merely  of  the  judgment,  but  of  the  heart ; — this  im- 
placable resentment,  which  wars  not  ordy  with  the  fiving,  but 
with  the  dead  ; — and  thinks  it  a  reason  for  defrauding  a  de- 
parted warrior  of  his  glory,  that  a  political  antagonist  has  been 
zealous  in  his  praise.  These  things  are  lamentable,  and  they 
cannot  be  alluded  to  without  some  emotions  of  sorrow  and  re- 
sentment. But  they  affect  not  the  fame  of  him  on  whose  ac- 
count these  emotions  are  suggested.  The  wars  of  Spain,  and 
the  merits  of  Sir  John  Moore,  will  be  commemorated  in  a  more 
impartial  and  a  more  imperishable  record,  than  the  Vision  of 
Don  Roderick  ;  and  his  humble  monument  in  the  Citadel  of 
Corunna  will  draw  the  tears  and  the  admiration  of  thousands, 
who  concern  not  themselves  about  the  exploits  of  his  more  for- 
tunate associates." — Edinburgh  Review,  vol.  xviii.  1811. 

The  reader  who  desires  to  understand  Sir  Walter  Scott's  de 
liberate  opinion  on  the  subject  of  Sir  John  Moore's  military 
character  and  conduct,  is  referred  to  the  Life  of  Napoleon 
Bonaparte,  vol.  vi.  chap.  xlvi.  But  perhaps  it  may  be  neithei 
unamusing  nor  uninstructive  to  consider,  along  with  the  dia- 
tribe just  quoted  from  the  Edinburgh  Review,  some  reflections 
from  the  pen  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  himself  on  the  injustice  dont 
to  a  name  greater  than  Moore's  in  the  noble  stanzas  on  the 
Battle  of  Waterloo,  in  the  third  canto  of  Childe  Harold — an 
injustice  which  did  not  call  forth  any  rebuke  from  the  Edin 
burgh  critics.     Sir  Walter,  in  reviewing  this  canto,  said, 

"  Childe  Harold  arrives  on  Waterloo — a  scene  where  all 
men,  where  a  poet  es^cia^y,  and  a  poet  such  as  Lord  Byron 
must  needs  pause,  and  amid  the  quiet  simplicity  of  whose 
scenery  is  excited  a  moral  interest,  deeper  and  more  potent  even 
than  that  which  is  produced  by  gazing  upon  the  sublimesi 
efforts  of  Nature  in  her  most  romantic  recesses. 

"  That  Lord  Byron's  sentiments  do  not  correspond  with 
curs,  is  obvious,  and  we  are  sorry  for  both  our  sakes.  For  oui 
own — because  we  have  lost  that  note  of  triumph  with  whicli 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


291 


nis  harp  would  otherwise  have  rung  over  a  field  of  glory  such 
as  Britain  never  reaped  before  ;  and  on  Lord  Dyron's  account. 
— because  it  is  melancholy  to  see  a  man  of  genius  duped  by  the 
mere  cant  of  words  and  phrases,  even  when  facts  are  most 
broadly  confronted  with  them.  If  the  poet  has  mixed  with  the 
original,  wild,  and  magnificent  creations  of  his  imagination, 
prejudices  which  he  could  only  have  caught  by  the  contagion 
which  he  most  professes  to  despise,  it  is  he  himself  that  must 
be  the  loser.  If  his  lofty  muse  has  soared  in  all  her  brilliancy 
over  the  field  of  Waterloo  without  dropping  even  one  leaf  of 
laurel  on  the  head  of  Wellington,  his  merit  can  dispense  even 
with  the  praise  of  Lord  Byron.  And  as  when  the  images  of 
Brutus  were  excluded  from  the  triumphal  procession,  his  mem- 
ory became  only  the  more  powerfully  imprinted  on  the  souls  of 
the  Romans — the  name  of  the  British  hero  will  be  but  more 
eagerly  recalled  10  remem' ranee  by  the  very  lines  in  which  his 
praise  is  forgotten." — Qu-rterly  Review,  vol.  xvi.     1816. 

Ed. 


itfOTE  U. 


O  who  shall  grudf  i  him  Albuera's  bays, 
W ho  brought  a  raci  regenerate  to  the  field, 

Roused  them  to  t  -  ulate  their  fathers'  praise, 
Temper'd  their  het  dong  rage,  their  courage  steel1  d, 

And  raised  fair   Lusitania's  fallen  shield. — P.  282. 

Nothing  during  thf  *»ar  of  Portugal  seems,  to  a  distinct  ob- 
server, rr.ore  deservii  ^  of  praise,  than  the  self-devotion  of 
Field-Marshal  BereM,  rd,  who  was  contented  to  undertake  all 
the  hazard  of  obknjuy  which  might  have  been  founded  upon 
any  miscarriage  in  ae  highly  important  experiment  of  training 
the  Portuguese  ttv-.ps  to  an  improved  state  of  discipline.  In 
exposing  his  mil' .Sty  reputation  to  the  censure  of  imprudence 
from  the  most  >  /  .derate,  and  all  manner  of  unutterable  calum- 
nies from  the  if  i'jrant  and  malignant,  he  placed  at  stake  the 
dearest  pled*  *  /hich  a  military  man  had  to  offer,  and  nothing 
but  the  dee..' v.  conviction  of  the  high  and  essential  importance 
attach"!  \.i  '-access  can  be  supposed  an  adequate  motive. 
Uow  gn>*A.  :he  chance  of  miscarriage  was  Supposed,  may  be 


estimated  from  the  general  opinion  of  officers  of  unquestioned 
talents  and  experience,  possessed  of  every  opportunity  of  infor- 
mation ;  how  completely  the  experiment  has  succeeded,  aim 
how  much  the  spirit  and  patriotism  of  our  ancient  allies  had 
been  underrated,  is  evident,  not  only  from  those  victories  in 
which  they  have  borne  a  distinguished  share,  but  from  the  lib- 
eral and  highly  honorable  manner  in  which  these  opinions  have 
been  retracted.  The  success  of  this  plan,  with  all  its  important 
consequences,  we  owe  to  the  indefatigable  exertions  of  Field- 
Marshal  Beresford. 


Note  V. 


-a  race  renown' d  of  old, 


W hose  war-cry  oft  has  waked  the  battle-swell. 
the  conquering  shout  of  Qrame. — P.  283. 


This  stanza  alludes  to  the  various  achievements  of  the  war- 
like family  of  Graeme,  or  Grahame.  They  are  said,  by  tradi- 
tion, to  have  descended  from  the  Scottish  chief,  under. whose 
command  his  countrymen  stormed  the  wall  built  by  the  Em- 
peror Severus  between  the  Friths  of  Forth  and  Clyde,  the 
fragments  of  which  are  still  popularly  called  Gramme's  Dyke. 
Sir  John  the  Grteme,  "the  hardy  wight,  and  wise,"  is  well 
known  as  the  friend  of  Sir  William  Wallace.  Alderne,  Kil- 
sythe,  and  Tibbermuir,  were  scenes  of  the  victories  of  the  he- 
roic Marquis  of  Montrose.  The  pass  of  Killycrankie  is  famous 
for  the  action  between  King  William's  forces  and  the  High- 
landers in  1G89, 

"  Where  glad  Dundee  in  faint  huzzas  expired." 

It  is  seldom  that  one  line  can  number  so  many  heroes,  and 
yet  more  rare  when  it  can  appeal  to  the  glory  of  a  living  de- 
scendant in  support  of  its  ancient  renown. 

The  allusions  to  the  private  history  and  character  of  General 
Grahame,  may  be  illustrated  by  referring  to  the  eloquent  and 
affecting  speech  of  Mr.  Sheridan,  upon  the  vote  of  thanks  U 
the  Victor  of  Barosa. 


ft  0  k  t  b  a  : 

A  POEM,  IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833. 

Sra  "Walter  Scott  commenced  the  composition 
of  Rokeby  at  Abbotsford,  on  the  15th  of  Sep- 
tember, 1812,  and  finished  it  on  the  last  day  of  the 
following  December. 

The  reader  may  be  interested  with  the  follow- 
ing extracts  j-om  his  letters  to  his  friend  and 
printer,  Mr.  Ballantyne. 

"  Mbotsford,  28th  Oct.,  1812. 
"  Dear  James, — I  send  you  to-day  better  than 
the  third  sheet  of  Canto  II.,  and  I  trust  to  send 
the  other  three  sheets  in  the  course  of  the  week. 
I  expect  that  you  will  have  three  cantos  complete 
before  I  quit  this  place — on  the  11th  of  Novem- 
ber. Surely,  if  you  do  your  part,  the  poem  may 
be  out  by  Christmas ;  but  you  must  not  daudle 
over  your  typographical  scruples.  I  have  too 
much  respect  for  the  public  to  neglect  any  thing 
in  my  poem  to  attract  their  attention ;  and  you 
misunderstood  me  much  when  you  supposed  that 
I  designed  any  new  experiments  in  point  of  compo- 
sition. I  only  meant  to  say  that  knowing  well  that 
the  said  public  will  never  be  pleased  with  exactly 
the  same  thing  a  second  time,  I  saw  the  necessity 
of  giving  a  certain  degree  of  novelty,  by  tlirowing 
the  interest  more  on  character  than  in  my  former 
poems,  without  certainly  meaning  to  exclude  either 
incident  or  description.  I  think  you  will  see  the 
same  sort  of  difference  taken  in  all  my  former  po- 
ems, of  which  I  would  say,  if  it  is  fair  for  me  to 
say  any  thing,  that  the  force  in  the  Lay  is  tluown 
on  style,  in  Marmion  on  description,  and  in  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake  on  incident." 

"  3c?  November. — As  for  my  story,  the  conduct 
of  the  plot,  which  must  be  made  natural  and  easy, 
orevents  my  introducing  any  thing  light  for  some 
tune.  You  must  advert,  that  in  order  to  give 
poetical  effect  to  any  incident,  I  am  often  obliged 
to  be  much  longer  than  I  expected  in  the  detail. 
You  are  too  much  like  the  country  squire  in  the 
what  d'ye  call  it,  who  commands  that  the  play 
should  not  only  be  a  tragedy  and  comedy,  but 
that  it  should  be  crowned  with  a  spice  of  your 
pastoral.     As  for  what  is  popular,  and  what  peo- 


ple like,  and  so  forth,  it  is  all  a  joke.  Be  interest 
ing ;  do  the  thing  well,  and  the  only  difference 
will  be,  that  people  will  like  what  they  never 
liked  before,  and  will  like  it  so  much  the  better 
for  the  novelty  of  their  feelings  towards  it.  Dul- 
ness  and  tameness  are  the  only  irreparable  faults." 

"  December  31  st. — With  kindest  wishes  on  the 
return  of  the  season,  I  send  you  the  last  of  the 
copy  of  Rokeby.  If  you  are  not  engaged  at  home, 
and  like  to  call  in,  we  will  drink  good  luck  to  it ; 
but  do  not  derange  a  family  party. 

"  There  is  something  odd  and  melancholy  in  con- 
cluding a  poem  with  the  year,  and  I  could  be  al- 
most silly  and  sentimental  about  it.  I  hope  you 
think  I  have  done  my  best.  I  assure  you  of  my 
wishes  the  work  may  succeed ;  and  my  exertions 
to  get  out  in  tune  were  more  inspired  by  your  in- 
terest and  John's,  than  my  own.  And  so  vogue 
la  galere.  W.  S." 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

Between  the  publication  of  "  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  which  was  so  eminently  successful,  and 
that  of,"  Rokeby,"  in  1813,  three  years  had  inter- 
vened. I  shall  not,  I  believe,  be  accused  of  ever 
having  attempted  to  usurp  a  superiority  over 
many  men  of  genius,  my  contemporaries ;  but,  in 
point  of  popularity,  not  of  actual  talent,  the  ca- 
price of  the  public  had  certainly  given  me  such  a 
temporary  superiority  over  men,  of  whom,  in  re- 
gard to  poetical  fancy  and  feeling,  I  scarcely 
thought  myself  worthy  to  loose  the  shoe-latch. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  absurd  affectation 
in  me  to  deny,  that  I  conceived  myself  to  under- 
stand, more  perfectly  than  many  of  my  contempo- 
raries, the  manner  most  likely  to  interest  the  great 
mass  of  mankind.  Yet,  even  with  this  belief,  I 
must  truly  and  fairly  say,  that  I  always  considered 
myself  rather  as  one  who  held  the  bets,  in  time  to 
be  paid  over  to  the  winner,  than  as  having  any 
pretence  to  keep  them  in  my  own  right. 

In  the  mean  time  years  crept  on,  and  not  with- 
out their  usual  depredations  on  the  passing  gen- 
eration. My  sons  had  arrived  at  the  age  when 
the  paternal  home  was  no  longer  their  best  abode 


ROKEBY. 


293 


as  both  w  are  destined  tc  active  l;fe.  The  field- 
sports,  to  which  I  was  peculiarly  attached,  had 
now  less  interest,  aud  were  leplaced  by  other 
amusements  of  a  more  quiet  character ;  and  the 
means  and  opportunity  of  pursuing  these  were  to 
be  sought  for.  I  had,  indeed,  for  some  years  at- 
tended to  farming,  a  knowledge  of  which  is,  or  at 
least  was  then,  indispensable  to  the  comfort  of  a 
family  residing  in  a  solitary  country-house ;  but 
although  this  was  the  favorite  amusement  of  many 
of  my  friends,  I  have  never  been  able  to  consider 
it  as  a  source  of  pleasure.  I  never  could  think  it 
a  matter  of  passing  importance,  that  my  cattle  or 
crops  were  better  or  more  plentiful  than  those  of 
my  neighbors,  and  nevertheless  I  began  to  feel  the 
necessity  of  some  more  quiet  out-door  occupation, 
different  from  those  I  had  hitherto  pursued.  I 
purchased  a  small  farm  of  about  one  hundred 
acres,  with  the  purpose  of  planting  and  improving 
it,  to  which  property  circumstances  afterwards 
enabled  me  to  make  considerable  additions ;  and 
thus  an  era  took  place  in  my  life  almost  equal  to 
the  important  one  mentioned  by  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,  when  he  removed  from  the  Blue-room 
to  the  Brown.  In  point  of  neighborhood,  at  least, 
the  change  of  residence  made  little  more  differ- 
ence. Abbotsford,  to  which  we  removed,  was 
only  six  or  seven  miles  down  the  Tweed,  and  lay 
on  the  same  beautiful  stream.  It  did  not  possess 
the  romantic  character  of  Ashestiel,  my  former 
residence ;  but  it  had  a  stretch  of  meadow-land 
along  the  river,  and  possessed,  in  the  phrase  of 
the  landscape-gardener,  considerable  capabilities. 
Above  all,  the  land  was  my  own,  like  Uncle  To- 
by's Bowling-green,  to  do  what  I  would  with.  It 
had  been,  though  the  gratification  was  long  post- 
poned, an  early  wish  of  mine  to  connect  myself 
with  my  mother  earth,  and  prosecute  those  exper- 
iments by  which  a  species  of  creative  power  is 
exercised  over  the  face  of  nature.  I  can  trace, 
even  to  childhood,  a  pleasure  derived  from  Dods- 
ley's  account  of  Shenstone's  Leasowes,  and  I  en- 
vied the  poet  much  more  for  the  pleasure  of  ac- 
complishing the  objects  detailed  in  his  friend's 
sketch  of  his  grounds,  than  for  the  possession  of 
pipe,  crook,  flock,  and  Phillis  to  boot.  My  mem- 
ory, also,  tenacious  of  quaint  expressions,  still  re- 
tained a  phrase  which  it  had  gathered  from  an  old 
almanac  of  Charles  the  Second's  time  (when  every 
thing  down  to  almanacs  affected  to  be  smart),  in 
which  the  reader,  in  the  month  of  June,  is  advised 
for  health's  sake  to  walk  a  mile  or  two  every  day 
before  breakfast,  and  if  he  can  possibly  so  man- 
age, to  let  his  exercise  be  taken  upon  his  own  land. 
With  the  satisfaction  of  having  attained  the 
fulfilment  of  an  early  and  long-cherished  hope,  I 
commenced  my  improvements,  as  delightful  in 
their  progress  as  those  of  the  child  who  first  makes 


a  dress  for  a  new  doll.  The  nakedness  of  the  land 
was  in  tune  hidden  by  woodlands  of  considerable 
extent — the  smallest  of  possible  cottages  was  pro- 
gressively expanded  into  a  sort  of  dream  of  a 
mansion-house,  whimsical  in  the  exterior,  but  con- 
venient within.  Nor  did  I  forget  what  is  the  nat- 
ural pleasure  of  every  man  who  has  been  a  read- 
er ;  I  mean  the  filling  the  shelves  of  a  tolerably 
large  library.  All  these  objects  I  kept  in  view, 
to  be  executed  as  convenience  should  serve ;  and, 
although  I  knew  many  years  must  elapse  before 
they  could  be  attained,  I  was  of  a  disposition  to 
comfort  myself  with  the  Spanish  proverb,  "  Time 
and  I  against  any  two." 

The  difficult  and  indispensable  point,  of  finding 
a  permanent  subject  of  occupation,  was  now  at 
length  attained  ;  but  there  was  annexed  to  it  the 
necessity  of  becoming  again  a  candidate  for  public 
favor ;  for,  as  I  was  turned  improver  on  the  earth 
of  the  every-day  world,  it  was  under  condition 
that  the  small  tenement  of  Parnassus,  which  might 
be  accessible  to  my  labors,  should  not  remain  un- 
cultivated. 

I  meditated,  at  first,  a  poem  on  the  subject  Oi 
Bruce,  in  which  I  made  some  progress,  but  after- 
wards judged  it  advisable  to  lay  it  aside,  suppo 
sing  that  an  English  story  might  have  more  nov- 
elty; in  consequence,  the  precedence  was  given 
to  "  Rokeby." 

If  subject  and  scenery  could  have  influenced  the 
fate  of  a  poem,  that  of  "  Rokeby"  should  have  been 
eminently  distinguished  ;  for  the  grounds  belonged 
to  a  dear  friend,  with  whom  I  had  lived  in  habits 
of  intimacy  for  many  years,  and  the  place  itself 
united  the  romantic  beauties  of  the  wilds  of  Scot- 
land with  the  rich  and  smiling  aspect  of  the  south- 
ern portion  of  the  island.  But  the  Cavaliers  and 
Roundheads,  whom  I  attempted  to  summon  up  to 
tenant  this  beautiful  region,  had  for  the  public 
neither  the  novelty  nor  the  peculiar  interest  of  the 
primitive  Highlanders.  This,  perhaps,  was  scarce- 
ly to  be  expected,  considering  that  the  general 
mind  sympathizes  readily  and  at  once  with  the 
stamp  which  nature  herself  has  affixed  upon  the 
manners  of  a  people  living  in  a  simple  and  patri- 
archal state  ;  whereas  it  has  more  difficulty  in 
understanding  or  interesting  itself  in  manners 
founded  upon  those  peculiar  habits  of  thinking  or 
acting,  which  are  produced  by  the  progress  of  so- 
ciety. We  could  read  with  pleasure  the  tale  of 
the  adventures  of  a  Cossack  or  a  Mongol  Tartar, 
while  we  only  wonder  and  stare  over  those  of  the 
lovers  in  the  "  Pleasing  Chinese  History,"  where 
the  embarrassments  turn  upon  difficulties  arising 
out  of  unintelligible  delicacies  peculiar  to  the  cus- 
toms and  manners  of  that  affected  people. 

The  cause  of  my  failure  had,  however,  a  far 
deeper  root.     The  manner,  or  style,  which,  by  ita 


294 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


novelty,  attracted  the  public  in  an  unusual  degree, 
had  now,  after  having  been  three  times  before 
them,  exhausted  the  patience  of  the  reader,  and 
began  in  the  fourth  to  lose  its  charms.  The  re- 
viewers may  be  said  to  have  apostrophized  the 
author  in  the  language  of  Parnell's  Edwin : — 

"  And  here  reverse  the  charm,  he  cries, 
And  let  it  fairly  now  suffice, 
The  gambol  ha3  been  shown." 

The  licentious  combination  of  rhymes,  in  a  man 
ner  not  perhaps  very  congenial  to  our  language, 
had  not  been  confined  to  the  author.  Indeed,  in 
most  similar  cases,  the  inventors  of  such  novelties 
have  their  reputation  destroyed  by  their  own  imi- 
tators, as  Actaeon  fell  under  the  fury  of  his  own 
dogs.  The  present  author,  like  Bobadil,  had  taught 
his  trick  of  fence  to  a  hundred  gentlemen  (and  la- 
dies1), who  could  fence  very  nearly,  or  quite  as 
well  as  himself.  For  this  there  was  no  remedy  ; 
the  harmony  became  tiresome  and  ordinary,  and 
both  the  original  inventor  and  his  invention  must 
have  fallen  into  contempt  if  he  had  not  found  out 
another  road  to  public  favor.  What  has  been  said 
of  the  metre  only,  must  be  considered  to  apply 
equally  to  the  structure  of  the  Poem  and  of  the 
style.  The  very  best  passages  of  any  popular 
style  are  not,  perhaps,  susceptible  of  imitation, 
but  they  may  be  approached  by  men  of  talent ; 
and  those  who  are  less  able  to  copy  them,  at  least 
lay  hold  of  their  peculiar  features,  so  as  to  pro- 
duce a  strong  burlesque.  In  either  way,  the  effect 
of  the  manner  is  rendered  cheap  and  common ; 
and,  in  the  latter  case,  ridiculous  to  boot.  The 
evil  consequences  to  an  author's  reputation  are  at 
least  as  fatal  as  those  which  come  upon  the  musi- 
cal composer,  when  his  melody  falls  into  the  hands 
of  the  street  ballad-singer. 

Of  the  unfavorable  species  of  imitation,  the  au- 
thor's style  gave  room  to  a  very  large  number, 
owing  to  an  appearance  of  facility  to  which  some 
of  those  who  used  the  measure  unquestionably 
leaned  too  far.  The  effect  of  the  more  favorable 
imitations,  composed  by  persons  of  talent,  was  al- 
most equally  unfortunate  to  the  original  minstrel, 
by  showing  that  they  could  overshoot  him  with  his 
own  bow.  In  short,  the  popularity  which  once  at- 
tended the  School,  as  it  was  called,  was  now  fast 
ring. 


i  "  Scott  found  peculiar  favor  and  imitation  among  the  fair 
sex :  there  was  Miss  Halford,  and  Miss  Mitford,  and  Miss 
Francis :  but,  with  the  greatest  respect  be  it  spoken,  none  ol 
his  imitators  did  much  honor  to  the  original,  except  Hogg,  the 
Ettrick  Shepherd,  until  the  appearance  of  the  '  Bridal  of  Trier- 
main'  and  '  Harold  the  Dauntless,'  which,  in  the  opinion  of 
some,  equalled,  if  not  surpassed,  him  ;  and  lo  !  after  three  or 
four  years,  they  turned  out  to  be  the  Master's  own  composi- 
Uon*." — Byron's  Works,  vol.  xv.  p.  96. 

*  "These  two  Cantos  were  published  in  London  in  March, 


Besides  all  this,  to  have  kept  his  ground  at  the 
crisis  when  "  Rokeby"  appeared,  its  author  ought 
to  have  put  forth  his  utmost  strength,  and  to  have 
possessed  at  least  all  his  origiual  advantages,  for  a 
mighty  and  unexpected  rival  was  advancing  on 
the  stage — a  rival  not  in  poetical  powers  only,  but 
in  that  art  of  attracting  popularity,  in  which  the 
present  writer  had  hitherto  preceded  better  men 
than  himself.  The  reader  will  easily  see  that 
Byron  is  here  meant,  who,  after  a  little  velitation 
of  no  great  promise,  now  appeared  as  a  serious 
candidate,  in  the  "  First  two  Cantos  of  Childe  Har- 
old."3 I  was  astonished  at  the  power  evinced  by 
that  work,  which  neither  the  "  Hours  of  Idleness," 
nor  the  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers," 
had  prepared  me  to  expect  from  its  author.  There 
was  a  depth  in  Iris  thought,  an  eager  abundance  in 
Ins  diction,  which  argued  full  confidence  in  the  in- 
exhaustible resources  of  which  he  felt  himself  pos- 
sessed ;  and  there  was  some  appearance  of  that 
labor  of  the  file,  wliich  indicate  that  the  author 
is  conscious  of  the  necessity  of  doing  i^very  justice 
to  his  work,  that  it  may  pass  warrant.  Lord  By- 
ron was  also  a  traveller,  a  man  whose  ideas  were 
fired  by  having  seen,  in  distant  scenes  of  difficulty 
and  danger,  the  places  whose  very  names  are  re- 
corded in  our  bosoms  as  the  shrines  of  ancient 
poetry.  For  his  own  misfortune,  perhaps,  but  cer- 
tainly to  the  high  increase  of  his  poetical  charac- 
ter, nature  had  mixed  in  Lord  Byron's  system  tho^e 
passions  which  agitate  the  human  heart  with  most 
violence,  and  which  may  be  said  to  have  hurried 
his  bright  career  to  an  early  close.  There  would 
have  been  little  wisdom  in  measuring  my  force 
with  so  formidable  an  antagonist ;  and  I  was  as 
likely  to  tire  of  playing  the  second  fiddle  in  the 
concert,  as  my  audience  of  hearing  me.  Age  also 
was  advancing.  I  was  growing  insensible  to  those 
subjects  of  excitation  by  winch  youth  is  agitated. 
I  had  around  me  the  most  pleasant  but  least  ex- 
citing of  all  society,  that  of  kind  friends  and  an  af- 
fectionate family.  My  circle  of  employments  was 
a  narrow  one ;  it  occupied  me  constantly,  and  it 
became  daily  more  difficult  for  me  to  interest  my- 
self in  poetical  composition : — 

"  How  happily  the  days  of  Thalaba  went  by  I" 

Yet,  though  conscious  that  I  must  be,  in  the 
opinion  of  good  judges,  inferior  to  the  place  I  had 

1812,  and  immediately  placed  their  author  on  a  level  with  the 
very  highest  names  of  his  age.  The  impression  they  created 
was  more  uniform,  deck  e,  and  triumphant  than  any  that 
had  been  witnessed  in  this  country  for  at  least  two  generations. 
'  I  awoke  one  morning,'  he  says,  '  and  found  myself  famous.' 
In  truth,  he  had  fixed  himself,  at  a  single  bound,  on  a  sum- 
mit, such  as  no  English  poet  had  ever  before  attained,  but 
after  a  long  succession  of  painful  and  comparatively  neglected 
efforts." — Advertisement  to  Byron's  Life  and  Works,  vol 


K0KE13Y. 


295 


fcr  four  or  five  years  held  in  letters,  and  feeling 
alike  that  the  latter  was  one  to  which  I  had  only 
a  temporary  right,  I  could  not  brook  the  idea  of 
relinquishing  literary  occupation,  which  had  been 
so  long  my  cliief  diversion.  Neither  was  I  disposed 
to  choose  the  alternative  of  sinking  into  a  mere 
editor  and  commentator,  though  that  was  a  species 
of  labor  which  I  had  practised,  and  to  which  I  was 
attached.  But  I  could  not  endure  to  think  that  1 
might  not,  whether  known  or  concealed,  do  some- 
thing of  more  importance.  My  inmost  thoughts 
were  those  of  the  Trojan  captain  in  the  galley  race,— 

"  Non  jam,  prima  peto,  Mnestheus,  neque  vincere  certo  ; 
Uaanquam  O  ! — sed  superent,  quibus  hoc,  Neptune,  dedisti ; 
Extremos  pudeat  rediisse  :  hoc  vincite,  cives, 
Et  prohibete  nefas."i— A3n.  lib.  v.  194. 

I  had,  indeed,  some   private   reasons   for   my 
"  Quanquam  0 !"  which  were  not  worse  than  those 

i  "  I  seek  not  now  the  foremost  palm  to  gain  ; 

Though  yet — but  ah  !  that  haughty  wish  is  vain  ! 
Let  those  enjoy  it  whom  the  gods  ordain. 
But  to  be  last,  the  lags  of  all  the  race  ! — 
Redeem  yourselves  and  me  from  that  disgrace." 

Dryden. 
3  '  George  Ellis  and  Murray  have  been  talking  something 
ibouv  Scott  and  me,  George  pro  Scoto, — and  very  right  too. 


of  Mnestheus.  1  have  already  hinted  that  the  ma 
terials  were  collected  for  a  poem  on  the  subject  of 
Bruce,  and  fragments  of  it  had  been  shown  to  some; 
of  my  friends,  and  received  with  applause.  Not 
withstanding,  therefore,  the  eminent  success  of 
Byron,  and  the  great  chance  of  his  taking  the  wind 
out  of  my  sails,2  there  was,  I  judged,  a  species  of 
cowardice  in  desisting  from  the  task  wliich  I  had 
undertaken,  and  it  was  time  enough  to  retreat 
when  the  battle  should  be  more  decidedly  lost. 
The  sale  of  "  Rokeby,"  excepting  as  compared  with 
that  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  was  in  the  high- 
est degree  respectable  ;  and  as  it  included  fifteen 
hundred  quartos,3  in  those  quarto-reading  days, 
the  trade  had  no  reason  to  be  dissatisfied. 


W.S. 


Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 


If  they  want  to  depose  him,  I  only  wish  they  would  not  set  me 
up  as  a  competitor.  I  like  the  man — and  admire  his  works  to 
what  Mr.  Braham  calls  Entusymusy.  All  such  stuff  can  only 
vex  him,  and  do  me  no  good." — Byron's  Diary,  Nov.,  l8Vc 
—  Works,  vol.  ii.  p.  259. 

3  The  4to  Edition  was  published  by  John  Ballantyneand  Co 
£2  2s.  iu  Janu  ary,  1613. 


ftokebp: 

A  POEM  W  SIX  CANTOS. 


JOHN  B.   S.   MORRITT,  Esq., 
THIS  POEM, 

THE  SCENE  OF  WHICH  IS  LAID  IN  HIS  BEAUTIFUL  DEMESNE  OF  ROKEBT, 
LS  INSCRIBED,  IN  TOKEN  OF  SINCERE  FRIENDSHIP,  BY 

WALTER  SCOTT.1 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  Scene  of  this  Poem  is  laid  at  Rokeby,  near  Greta  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire,  and  shifts  to  the  adjacen\ 
fortress  of  Barnard  Castle,  and  to  other  places  in  that  Vicinity. 

The  Time  occupied  by  the  Action  is  a  space  of  Five  Days,  Three  of  which  are  supposed  to  elapse 
between  the  end  of  the  Fifth  and  beginning  of  the  Sixth  Canto. 

The  date  of  the  supposed  events  is  immediately  subsequent  to  the  great  Battle  of  Marston  Moor,  od 
July,  1 644.  This  period  of  public  confusion  has  been  chosen,  without  any  purpose  of  combining  the 
Fable  with  the  Military  or  Political  Events  of  the  Civil  War,  but  only  as  ajfoiding  a  degree  of  proba- 
bility to  the  Fictitious  Narrative  now  presented  to  the  Public? 


ilokcbg. 


CANTO    FIRST. 


The  Moon  is  in  her  summer  glow, 
But  hoarse  and  high  the  breezes  blow. 
And,  racking  o'er  her  face,  the  cloud 
Varies  the  tincture  of  her  shroud ; 
On  Barnard's  towers,  and  Tees's  stream  * 
She  changes  as  a  guilty  dream, 

1  Dec.  31,  1812. 

2  •'  Behold  another  lay  from  the  harp  of  that  indefatigable 
minstie'  who  has  so  often  provoked  the  censure,  and  extorter 
the  admiiation  of  his  critics  ;  and  who,  regardless  of  both,  and 
following  every  impulse  of  his  own  inclination,  has  yet  raised 
himself  at  once,  and  apparently  with  little  effort,  to  the  pinnacle 
of  public  favor. 

"A  poem  thus  recommended  may  be  presumed  to  have 
already  reached  the  whole  circle  of  our  readers,  and  we  be- 
lieve that  all  those  readers  will  concur  with  us  in  considering 
Rokeby  as  a  composition,  which,  if  it  had  preceded,  instead  of 
following,  Marmion,  and  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  would  have 
contributed,  as  effectually  as  they  have  done,  to  the  establish- 
ment ef  Mr.  Scott's   high  reputation.     Whether,  timed  as  it 


When  conscience,  with  remorse  and  fear, 
Goads  sleeping  Fancy's  wild  career. 
Her  light  seems  now  the  blush  of  shame, 
Seems  now  fierce  anger's  darker  flame, 
Sliifting  that  shade,  to  come  and  go, 
Like  apprehension's  hurried  glow ; 
Then  sorrow's  livery  dims  the  air, 
And  dies  in  darkness,  like  despair. 
Such  varied  hues  the  warder  sees 
Reflected  from  the  woodland  Tees, 
Then  from  old  Baliol's  tower  looks  forth, 
Sees  the  clouds  mustering  in  the  north, 

now  is,  it  be  likely  to  satisfy  the  just  expectations  wmcn  thai 
reputation  has  excited,  is  a  question  which,  perhaps,  will  not 
be  decided  with  the  same  unanimity.  Our  own  opinion  is  in 
the  affirmative,  but  we  confess  that  this  is  our  revised  opinion  , 
and  that  when  we  concluded  our  first  perusal  of  Rokeby,  our 
gratification  was  not  quite  unmixed  with  disappointment. 
The  reflections  by  which  this  impression  has  been  subsequent- 
ly modified,  arise  oat  of  our  general  view  of  the  poem  ;  of  the 
interest  inspired  by  the  fable  ;  of  the  masterly  delineations  of 
the  characters  by  whose  agency  the  plot  is  unravelled  ;  and  of 
the  spirited  nervous  conciseness  of  the  narrative." — Quarterly 
Review,  No.  xvi. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


canto  i.                                                  ROKEiJY.                                                          2M 

Hears,  upon  turret-roof  and  wall, 

Relax'd  that  grasp,  the  heavy  sigh, 

By  fits  the  plashing  rain-drop  fall,1 

The  tear  in  the  half-opening  eye, 

Lists  to  the  breeze's  boding  sound, 

The  pallid  cheek  and  brow,  confess'd 

And  wraps  his  shaggy  mantle  round. 

That  grief  was  busy  in  his  breast ; 

Nor  paused  that  mood — a  sudden  start 

II. 

Impell'd  the  life-blood  from  the  heart ; 

Taose  towers,  which  in  the  changeful  gleam* 

Features  convulsed,  and  mutterings  dread, 

Throw  murky  shadows  on  the  stream, 

Show  terror  reigns  in  sorrow's  stead. 

Those  towers  of  Barnard  hold  a  guest, 

That  pang  the  painful  slumber  broke,* 

The  emotions  of  whose  troubled  breast, 

And  Oswald  with  a  start  awoke.5 

In  wld  and  strange  confusion  driven, 

Rival  the  flitting  rack  of  heaven. 

IV. 

Ere  sl«ep  stern  Oswald's  senses  tied, 

He  woke,  and  fear'd  again  to  close 

Oft  had  he  changed  his  weary  side, 

His  eyelids  in  such  dire  repose  ; 

Composed  lus  limbs,  and  vainly  sought 

He  woke, — to  watch  the  lamp,  and  tell 

By  effort  strong  to  banish  thought. 

From  hour  to  hour  the  castle-bell, 

Sleep  came  at  length,  but  with  a  train 

Or  listen  to  the  owlet's  cry, 

Of  feeling*  true3  and  fancies  vain, 

Or  the  sad  breeze  that  whistles  by, 

Mingling,  in  wild  disorder  cast, 

Or  catch,  by  fits,  the  tuneless  rhyme 

The  expected  future  with  the  past. 

With  which  the  warder  cheats  the  time, 

Conscience,  anticipating  time, 

And  envying  think,  how,  when  the  sun 

Already  rues  the  enacted  crime, 

Bids  the  poor  soldier's  watch  be  done, 

And  calls  her  furies  forth,  to  shake 

Couch'd  on  his  straw,  and  fancy-free, 

The  sounding  scourge  and  hissing  snake ; 

He  sleeps  like  careless  infancy. 

While  her  poor  victim's  outward  throes 

Bear  witness  to  Ms  mental  woes, 

V. 

And  show  what  lesson  may  be  read 

Far  town-ward  sounds  a  distant  tread 

Beside  a  sinner's  restless  bed. 

And  Oswald,  starting  from  his  bed, 

Hath  caught  it,  though  no  human  ear 

III. 

Unsharpen'd  by  revenge  and  fear, 

Thus  Oswald's  laboring  feelings  trace 

Could  e'er  distinguish  horse's  clank 

Strange  changes  in  his  sleeping  face, 

Until  it  reach'd  the  castle  bank.8 

Rapid  and  ominous  as  these 

Now  nigh  and  plain  the  sound  appears, 

"With  which  the  moonbeams  tinge  the  Tees. 

The  warder's  challenge  now  he  hears  ;7 

There  might  be  seen  of  shame  the  blush, 

Then  clanking  chains  and  levers  tell, 

There  anger's  dark  and  fiercer  flush, 

That  o'er  the  moat  the  drawbridge  fell, 

While  the  perturbed  sleeper's  hand 

And,  in  the  castle  court  below, 

Seem'd  grasping  dagger-knife,  or  brand. 

Voices  are  heard,  and  torches  glow, 

i  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  original  MS. 

The  spur  hath  lanced  his  courser's  sides ; 

2  MS. "  shifting  gleam." 

Away,  away,  for  life  he  rides. 

8  MS. — "  Of  feelings  real,  and  fancies  vain.'" 

'Twas  but  a  moment  that  he  stood, 

*  MS. — "  Nor  longer  nature  bears  the  shock, 

Then  sped  as  if  by  death  pursued, 

That  pang  the  slumberer  awoke." 

But  in  that  instant  o'er  his  soul, 

Winters  of  memory  seem'd  to  roll, 

6  There  appears  some  resemblance   betwixt  the  visions  of 

And  gather  in  that  drop  of  time, 

Oswald's  sleep  and  the  waking-dream  of  the  Giaour : — 

A  life  of  pain,  an  age  of  crime." 

"  He  stood. — Some  dread  was  on  his  face. 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  ix.  p.  137 

Soon  Hatred  settled  in  its  place ; 

6  MS  — M  Till  underneath  the  castle  bank. 

It  rose  not  with  the  reddening  flush 

Nigh  and  more  nigh  the  sound  appears, 

Of  transient  Anger's  hasty  blush, 

The  warder's  challenge  next  he  hears  " 

But  pale  as  marble  o'er  the  tomb, 

Wl.ose  ghastly  whiteness  aids  its  gloom. 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

His  brow  was  bent,  his  eye  was  glazed  ; 

"  The  natural  superiority  of  the  instrument  over  the  em 

He  raised  his  arm,  and  fiercely  raised, 

ployer,  of  bold,  unhesitating,  practised  vice,  over  timid,  sel 

And  sternly  shook  his  hand  on  high, 

fish,  crafty  iniquity,  is  very  finely  painted  throughout  the  whole 

As  doubting  to  return  or  fly  ; 

of  this  scene,  and  the  dialogue  that  ensues.     That  the  mind  of 

Impatient  of  his  flight  delay'd, 

Wyclifle,  wrought  to  the  utmost  agony  of  suspense,  has  given 

Here  loud  his  raven  charger  neigh'd — 

such  acuteness  to  his  bodily  organs,  as  to  enable  him  to  distin- 

Down glanced  that  hand,  and  grasp'd  his  blade ; 

guish  the  approach  of  his  hired  bravo,  while  at  a  distance  be- 

That sound  had  burst  his  waking-dream, 

yond  the  reach  of  common  hearing,  is  grandly  imagined,  and 

As  slumber  starts  at  owlet's  scream. 
38 

admirably  true  to  nature."— Critical  Review. 

298                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                                c^roi 

As  marshalling  the  stranger's  way, 

Tidings  of  deep  and  dread  concern, 

Straight  for  the  room  -where  Oswald  lay ; 

Cursing  each  moment  that  his  guest 

The  cry  was, — "  Tidings  from  the  host,1 

Protracted  o'er  his  ruffian  feast.8 

Of  weight — a  messenger  comes  post." 

Yet,  viewing  with  alarm,  at  last, 

Stifling  the  tumult  of  his  breast, 

The  end  of  that  uncouth  repast, 

His  anewer  Oswald  thus  express' d — 

Almost  he  seem'd  their  haste  to  rue, 

'  Bring  food  and  wine,  and  trim  the  fire  • 

As,  at  his  sign,  his  train  withdrew, 

Admit  the  stranger,  and  retire. ! 

And  left  him  with  the  stranger,  freo 

To  question  of  his  mystery. 

VI. 

Then  did  his  silence  long  proclaim 

The  stranger  came  with  heavy  stride,3 

A  struggle  between  fear  and  shame. 

The  morion's  plumes  his  visage  hide, 

And  the  buff-coat,  an  ample  fold, 

VIII. 

Mantles  his  form's  gigantic  mould.* 

Much  in  the  stranger's  mien  appears, 

Full  slender  answer  deigned  he 

To  justify  suspicious  fears. 

To  Oswald's  anxious  courtesy, 

On  his  dark  face  a  scorching  clime, 

But  mark'd,  by  a  disdainful  smile, 

And  toil,  had  done  the  work  of  time, 

He  saw  and  scorn'd  the  petty  wile, 

Roughen' d  the  brow,  the  temples  bared, 

"When  Oswald  changed  the  torch's  place, 

And  sable  hairs  with  silver  shared, 

Anxious  that  on  the  soldier's  face4 

Yet  left — what  age  alone  could  tame — 

Its  partial  lustre  might  be  thrown, 

The  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame ;' 

To  show  his  looks,  yet  hide  his  own. 

The  full-drawn  lip  that  upward  curl'd, 

His  guest,  the  while,  laid  low  aside 

The  eye,  that  seem'd  to  scorn  the  world. 

The  ponderous  cloak  of  tough  bull's  hide, 

That  lip  had  terror  never  blench'd ; 

And  to  the  torch  glanced  broad  and  clear 

Ne'er  in  that  eye  had  tear-arop  quench'd 

The  corslet  of  a  cuirassier  ; 

The  flash  severe  of  swarthf  glow, 

Then  from  his  brows  the  casque  he  drew, 

That  mock'd  at  pain,  and  blew  not  woe. 

And  from  the  dank  plume  dash'd  the  dew, 

Inured  to  danger's  direst  form, 

From  gloves  of  mail  relieved  his  hands,6 

Tornade  and  earthquake,  flood  and  storm, 

And  spread  them  to  the  kindling  brands, 

Death  had  lie  seen  by  sudden  blow, 

And,  turning  to  the  genial  board,8 

By  wasting  plague,  by  tortures  slow,10 

Without  a  health,  or  pledge,  or  word 

By  mine  or  breach,  by  steel  or  ball, 

Of  meet  and  social  reverence  said, 

Knew  all  his  shapes,  and  scorn'd  them  all 

Deeply  he  drank,  and  fiercely  fed  ;T 

As  free  from  ceremony's  sway, 

IX. 

As  famish'd  wolf  that  tears  his  prey. 

But  yet,  though  Bertram's  harden'd  look, 

Unmoved,  could  blood  and  danger  brook, 

VII. 

Still  worse  than  apathy  had  place 

With  deep  impatience,  tinged  with  fear, 

On  his  swart  brow  and  callous  face ; 

His  host  beheld  him  gorge  his  cheer 

For  evil  passions,  cherish'd  long, 

And  quaff  the  full  carouse,  that  lent 

Had  plough'd  them  with  impressions  strong. 

His  brow  a  fiercer  hardiment. 

All  that  gives  gloss  to  sin,  all  gay 

Now  Oswald  stood  a  space  aside, 

Light  folly,  past  with  youth  away, 

Now  paced  the  room  with  hasty  stride, 

But  rooted  stood,  in  manhood's  hour, 

In  feverish  agony  to  learn 

The  weeds  of  vice  without  their  flower. 

i  MS, — "  The  cry  was — •  Heringham  comes  post, 

cumstances,  which  none  but  a  poetical  mind  could  have  coii 

With  tidings  of  a  battle  lost.' 

ceived,  give  great  relief  to  the  stronger  touches  with  which 

As  one  that  roused  himself  from  rest, 

this  excellent  sketch  is  completed." — Critical  Review. 

His  answer,"  &c. 

8  MS. — "  Protracted  o'er  his  savage  feast. 

8  MS. "  with  heavy  pace, 

Yet  with  alarm  he  saw  at  last." 

The  plumed  morion  hid  his  face  " 

fl  "  As  Roderick  rises  above  Marmion,  so  Bertram  ascends 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 

above  Roderick  Dhu  in  awfulness  of  stature  and  strength  of 

1  MS. — "  That  fell  upon  the  stranger's  face." 

coloring.     We  have  trembled  at  Roderick  ;  but  we  look  with 

i  MS. "  he  freed  his  hands." 

doubt  and  suspicion  at  the  very  shadow  of  Bertram — and,  af 

li  MS. — "  Then  turn'd  to  the  replenish'd  board.'* 

we  approach  him,  we  shrink  with  terror  and  antipathy  from 

i  "  The  description  of  Bertram  which  follows,  is  highly  pic- 

turesque ;  aircl  the  rude  air  of  conscious  superiority  with  which 

'  The  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame.'  " 

ne  treats  his  employer,  prepares  the  reader  to  enter  into  the 

British  Critic. 

full  spirit  of  *iis  character.     These,  and  many  other  little  cir- 

w  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

CANTO  I. 


ROKEBY. 


299 


An4|yet  the  soil  in  which  they  grew, 
Hadit  been  tamed  when  life  was  new, 
Had  depth  and  vigor  to  bring  forth1 
The  hardier  fruits  of  virtuous  worth. 
Not  that,  e'en  then,  his  heart  had  known 
The  gentler  feelings'  kindly  tone  ; 
But  lavish  waste  had  been  refined 
To  bounty  in  his  chasten'd  mind, 
And  lust  of  gold,  that  waste  to  feed, 
Been  lost  in  love  of  glory's  meed, 
And,  frantic  then  no  more,  his  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  virtue  for  its  guide. 

X. 

Even  now,  by  conscience  unrestrain'd, 
Clogg'd  by  gross  vice,  by  slaughter  stain'd, 
Still  knew  his  daring  soul  to  soar, 
And  mastery  o'er  the  mind  he  bore  ; 
For  meaner  guilt,  or  heart  less  hard, 
QuaiPd  beneath  Bertram's  bold  regard.2 
And  this  felt  Oswald,  while  in  vain 
He  strove,  by  many  a  winding  train, 
To  lure  his  sullen  guest  to  show, 
Unask'd,  the  news  he  long'd  to  know, 
While  on  far  other  subject  hung 
His  heart,  than  falter'd  from  his  tongue.3 
Yet  naught  for  that  his  guest  did  deign 
To  note  or  spare  his  secret  pain, 
But  still,  in  stern  and  stubborn  sort, 
Return' d  him  answer  dark  and  short, 
Or  started  from  the  theme,  to  range 
In  loose  digression  wild  and  strange, 
And  forced  the  embarrass'd  host  to  buy, 
By  query  close,  direct  reply. 

XI. 

A  while  he  glozed  upon  the  cause 
Of  Commons,  Covenant,  and  Laws, 
And  Church  Reform' d — but  felt  rebuke 
Beneath  grim  Bertram's  sneering  look, 
Then  stammer' d — "  Has  a  field  been  fought ' 
Has  Bertram  news  of  battle  brought  ? 


i  MS. — "  Show'd  depth  and  vigor  to  bring  forth 
The  noblest  fruits  of  virtuous  worth. 
Then  had  the  lust  of  gold  accurst 
Been  lost  in  glory's  nobler  thirst, 
And  deep  revenge  for  trivial  cause, 
Been  zeal  for  freedom  and  for  laws 
And,  frantic  then  no  more,  his  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  honor  for  its  guide." 

*  MS. "  stern  regard." 

3  "  The  '  mastery'  obtained  by  such  a  being  as  Bertram  over 
the  timid  wickedness  of  inferior  villains,  is  well  delineated  in 
the  conduct  of  Oswald,  who,  though  he  had  not  hesitated  to 
propose  to  him  the  murder  of  his  kinsman,  is  described  as  fear- 
ing to  ask  him  the  direct  question,  whether  the  crime  has 
Veen  accomplished.  We  must  confess,  for  our  own  parts,  that 
i»9  did  not,  till  we  came  to  the  second  reading  of  the  canto, 
perceive  the  propriety,  and  even  the  moral  beauty,  of  this  cir- 
•nmstance.     We  are  now  quite  convinced  that,  in  introducing 


For  sure  a  soldier,  famed  so  far 

In  foreign  fields  for  feats  of  war, 

On  eve  of  fight  ne'er  left  the  host, 

Until  the  field  were  won  and  lost." 

"  Here,  in  your  towers  by  circling  Tees, 

You,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  rest  at  ease  ;4 

Why  deem  it  strange  that  others  come 

To  share  such  safe  and  easy  home, 

From  fields  where  danger,  death,  and  toiL 

Are  the  reward  of  civil  broil  ?" — 6 

"  Nay,  mock  not,  friend !  since  well  we  know 

The  near  advances  of  the  foe, 

To  mar  our  northern  army's  work, 

Encamp'd before  beleaguer'd  York; 

Thy  horse  with  valiant  Fairfax  lay,8 

And  must  have  fought — how  went  the  day  ?"— 

XII. 

"  Wouldst  hear  the  tale  ? — On  Marston  heat! 
Met,  front  to  front,  the  ranks  of  death ; 
Flourish'd  the  trumpets  fierce,  and  now 
Fired  was  each  eye,  and  flush'd  each  brow ; 
On  either  side  loud  clamors  ring, 
'  God  and  the  Cause  !' — '  God  and  the  King  V 
Right  English  all,  they  rush'd  to  blows, 
With  naught  to  win,  and  all  to  lose. 
I  could  have  laugh' d — but  lack'd  the  time- 
To  see,  in  phrenesy  sublime, 
How  the  fierce  zealots  fought  and  bled, 
For  king  or  state,  as  humor  led  ; 
Some  for  a  dream  of  public  good, 
Some  for  church-tippet,  gown  and  hood, 
Draining  their  veins,  in  death  to  claim 
A  patriot's  or  a  martyr's  name. — 
Led  Bertram  Risingham  the  hearts,8 
That  counter'd  there  on  adverse  parts, 
No  superstitious  fool  had  I 
Sought  El  Dorados  in  the  sky ! 
Chili  had  heard  me  through  her  states, 
And  Lima  oped  her  silver  gates, 
Rich  Mexico  I  had  march'd  through, 
And  sack'd  the  splendors  of  Peru, 

it,  the  poet  has  been  guided  by  an  accurate  perception  of  the 
intricacies  of  human  nature.  The  scene  between  King  John 
and  Hubert  may  probably  have  been  present  to  his  mind  when 
he  composed  the  dialogue  between  Oswald  and  his  terribls 
agent ;  but  it  will  be  observed,  that  the  situations  of  the  re- 
spective personages  are  materially  different ;  the  mysterious 
caution  in  which  Shakspeare's  usurper  is  made  to  involve  the 
proposal  of  his  crime,  springs  from  motives  undoubtedly  more 
obvious  and  immediate,  but  not  more  consistent  with  truth  anc' 
probability,  than  that  with  which  Wycliffe  conceals  the  drift 
of  his  fearful  interrogatories." — Critical  Review. 

*  MS. — "  Safe  sit  you,  Oswald,  and  at  ease." 

«  MS. — "  Award  the  meed  of  civil  broil." 

6  MS. — "  Thy  horsemen  on  the  outposts  lay." 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

»  MS.—"  Led  I  but  half  of  such  bold  hearts 
Jls  counter'd  there,"  &c 


300 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANIO  I. 


Till  surdrPizarro's  daring  name, 
And,  Cortez,  thine,  in  Bertram's  fame." — * 
"  Still  from  the  purpose  wilt  thou  stray  1 
Good  gentle  friend,  how  went  the  day !" — 

XIII. 
"  Good  am  I  deem'd  at  trumpet-sound, 
And  good  where  goblets  dance  the  round, 
Though  gentle  ne'er  was  join'd,  till  now, 
V^ith  rugged  Bertram's  breast  and  brow. — 
But  I  resume.     The  battle's  rage 
Was  like  the  strife  which  currents  wage, 
Where  Orinoco,  in  his  pride, 
Bolls  to  the  main  no  tribute  tide, 
But  'gainst  broad  ocean  urges  far 
A  rival  sea  of  roaring  war ; 
While,  in  ten  thousand  eddies  driven, 
The  billows  fling  their  foam  to  heaven, 
And  the  pale  pilot  seeks  in  vain, 
Where  rolls  the  river,  where  the  main. 
Even  thus  upon  the  bloody  field, 
The  eddying  tides  of  conflict  wheel'd2 
Ambiguous,  till  that  heart  of  flame, 
Hot  Bupert,  on  our  squadrons  came, 
Hurling  against  our  spears  a  line 
Of  gallants,  fiery  as  their  wine  ; 
Then  ours,  though  stubborn  in  their  zeal, 
In  zeal's  despite  began  to  reel. 
What  wouldst  thou  more  ? — in  tumult  tost, 
Our  leaders  fell,  our  ranks  were  lost. 
A  thousand  men  who  drew  the  sword 
For  both  the  Houses  and  the  Word, 
Preach'd  forth  from  hamlet,  grange,  and  down, 
To  curb  the  crosier  and  the  crown, 
Now,  stark  and  stiff,  lie  stretch'd  in  gore, 
And  ne'er  shall  rail  at  mitre  more. — 
Thus  fared  it,  when  I  left  the  fight, 
With  the  good  Cause  and  Commons'  right." — 

XIV. 

"  Disastrous  news  !"  dark  Wycliffe  said ; 
Assumed  despondence  bent  his  head. 


i  The  Quarterly  Reviewer  (No.  xvi.)  thus  states  the  causes 
of  the  hesitation  he  had  had  in  arriving  at  the  ultimate  opin- 
on,  that  Rokeby  was  worthy  of  the  "  high  praise"  already 
quoted  from  the  commencement  of  his  article  : — "  We  con- 
fess, then,  that  in  the  language  and  versification  of  this  poem, 
we  were,  in  the  first  instance,  disappointed.  We  do  not  mean 
to  ray  that  either  is  invariably  faulty  ;  neither  is  it  within  the 
power  of  accident  that  the  conceptions  of  a  vigorous  and  highly 
cultivated  mind,  should  uniformly  invest  themselves  in  trivial 
expressions,  or  in  dissonant  rhymes  ;  but  we  do  think  that 
those  golden  lines,  which  spontaneously  fasten  themselves  on 
the  memory  of  the  reader  are  more  rare,  and  that  instances  of 
a.  culpable  and  almost  slovenly  inattention  to  the  usual  rules 
of  diction  and  of  metre,  are  more  frequent  in  this,  than  in  any 
preceding  work  of  Mr.  Scott.  In  support  of  this  opinion,  we 
adduce  the  following  quotation,  which  occurs  in  stanza  xii. : 
and  in  the  course  of  a  description  which  is,  in  some  parts,  un- 
"tsually  splendid — 


While  troubled  joy  was  in  his  eye, 

The  weil-feign'd  sorrow  to  belie. — 

*  Disastrous  news ! — when  needed  most, 

Told  ye  not  that  your  chiefs  were  lost  ? 

Complete  the  woful  tale,  and  say, 

Who  fell  upon  that  fatal  day  ; 

What  leaders  of  repute  and  name 

Bought  by  their  death  a  deathless  fame.9 

If  such  my  direst  foeman's  doom, 

My  tears  shall  dew  his  honor'd  tomb. — 

No  answer  ? — Friend,  of  all  our  host, 

Thou  know'st  whom  I  should  hate  the  most, 

Whom  thou  too,  once,  wert  wont  to  hate, 

Yet  leavest  me  doubtful  of  his  fate." — 

With  look  unmoved, — "  Of  friend  or  foe, 

Aught,"  answer'd  Bertram, "  wouldst  thou  knew 

Demand  in  simple  terms  and  plain, 

A  soldier's  answer  shalt  thou  gain ; — 

For  question  dark,  or  riddle  high, 

I  have  nor  judgment  nor  reply." 

XV. 

The  wrath  his  art  and  fear  suppress'd, 
Now  blazed  at  once  in  Wycliffe's  breast ; 
And  brave,  from  man  so  meanly  born, 
Roused  his  hereditary  scorn. 
"Wretch !  hast  thou  paid  thy  bloody  debt  ? 
Philip  of  Mortiiam,  lives  he  yet  ? 
False  to  thy  patron  or  thine  oath, 
Trait'rous  or  perjured,  one  or  both. 
Slave  !  hast  thou  kept  thy  promise  plight, 
To  slay  thy  leader  in  the  fight  ?"— 
Then  from  his  seat  the  soldier  sprung, 
And  Wycliffe's  hand  he  strongly  wrung ; 
His  grasp,  as  hard  as  glove  of  mail, 
Forced  the  red  blood-drop  from  the  nail — 
"  A  health  !"  he  cried ;  and,  ere  he  quaff 'd, 
Flung  from  him  Wycliffe's  hand,  and  laugh'd : 
— "  Now,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  speaks  thy  heart  1 
Now  play'st  thou  well  thy  genuine  part ! 
Worthy,  but  for  thy  craven  fear, 
Like  me  to  roam  a  bucanier. 


Led  Bertram  Risingham  the  hearts,' 


to 


1  And,  Cortez,  thine,  in  Bertram's  fame.' 
"The  author,  surely,  cannot  require  to  be  told,  that  tl.a 
feebleness  of  these  jingling  couplets  is  less  offensive  than  theii 
obscurity.  The  first  line  is  unintelligible,  because  the  condi- 
tional word  '  if,'  on  which  the  meaning  depends,  is  neither  ex 
pressed  nor  implied  in  it ;  and  the  third  line  is  equally  faulty, 
because  the  sentence,  when  restored  to  its  natural  order,  can 
only  express  the  exact  converse  of  the  speaker's  intention.  W« 
think  it  necessary  to  remonstrate  against  these  barbarous  inver- 
sions, because  we  consider  the  rules  of  grammar  as  the  only 
shackles  by  which  the  Hudibrastic  metre,  already  so  licentious 
can  be  confined  within  tolerable  limits." 


a  MS. 


The  doubtful  tides  of  battle  reel'd 


3  MS. — "  Chose  death  in  preference  to  shame.' 


SANTO  I. 


ROKEBY. 


30t 


What  reck'st  thou  of  the  Cause  divine, 
If  Mortham's  wealth  and  lands  be  thine  ? 
What  carest  thou  for  beleaguer' d  York, 
If  this  good  hand  have  done  its  work  ? 
Or  what,  though  Fairfax  and  his  best 
Are  reddening  Marston's  swarthy  breast, 
If  Philip  Mortham  with  them  he, 
Lending  his  life-blood  to  the  dye  ? — 1 
Sit,  then !  and  as  'mid  comrades  free 
Carousing  after  victory, 
When  tales  are  told  of  blood  and  fear, 
That  boys  and  women3  shrink  to  hear, 
From  point  to  point  I  frankly  tell8 
The  deed  of  death  as  it  befelL 

XVI. 

"  When  purposed  vengeance  I  forego, 

Term  me  a  wretch,  nor  deem  me  foe ; 

And  when  an  insult  I  forgive,4 

Then  brand  me  as  a  slave,  and  live  ! — 

Philip  of  Mortham  is  with  those 

Whom  Bertram  Risingham  calls  foes ; 

Or  whom  more  sure  revenge  attends,6 

If  number'd  with  ungrateful  friends. 

As  was  his  wont,  ere  battle  glow'd, 

Along  the  marshall'd  ranks  he  rode, 

And  wore  his  visor  up  the  while. 

I  saw  his  melancholy  smile, 

When,  full  opposed  in  front,  he  knew 

Where  Rokeby's  kindred  banner  flew. 

1  And  thus,'  he  said, '  will  friends  divide !' — 

I  heard,  and  thought  how,  side  by  side, 

We  two  had  turn'd  the  battle's  tide, 

In  many  a  well-debated  field, 

Where  Bertram's  breast  was  Philip's  shield. 

T  thought  on  Darien's  deserts  pale, 

Where  death  bestrides  the  evening  gale, 

How  o'er  my  friend  my  cloak  I  threw, 

And  fenceless  faced  the  deadly  dew ; 

I  thought  on  Quariana's  cliff, 

Where,  rescued  from  our  foundering  skiff, 

Through  the  white  breakers'  wrath  I  bore 

Exhausted  Mortham  to  the  shore ; 

And  when  his  side  an  arrow  found, 

I  suck'd  the  Indian's  venom'd  wound. 

These  thoughts  like  torrents  rush'd  along,8 

To  sweep  away  my  purpose  strong. 

XVII. 
"  Hearts  are  not  flint,  and  flints  are  rent ; 
Hearts  are  not  steel,  and  steel  is  bent. 

MS. — "  And  heart's-blood  lent  to  aid  the  dye? 
Sit,  then  !  and  as  to  comrades  boon 
Carousing  for  achievement  won." 
MS. — "That  boys  and  cowards,"  &c. 
3  MS. — "  Frank,  as  from  mate  to  mate,  I  tell 

What  way  the  deed  of  death  befell." 
•  MS    -"  Name  when  an  insult  I  forgave, 

And,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  call  me  slave." 


When  Mortham  bade  me,  as  of  yore, 

Be  near  him  in  the  battle's  roar, 

I  scarcely  saw  the  spears  laid  low, 

I  scarcely  heard  the  trumpets  blow ; 

Lost  was  the  war  in  inward  strife, 

Debating  Mortham's  death  or  life. 

'Twas  then  I  thought,  how,  lured  to  come, 

As  partner  of  his  wealth  and  home, 

Years  of  piratic  wandering  o'er, 

With  him  I  sought  our  native  shore.    • 

But  Mortham's  lord  grew  far  estranged 

From  the  bold  heart  with  whom  he  ranged ; 

Doubts,  horrors,  superstitious  fears, 

Sadden'd  and  dimm'd  descending  years ; 

The  wily  priests  their  victim  sought, 

And  damn'd  each  free-born7  deed  and  thought 

Then  must  I  seek  another  home  : 

My  license  shook  his  sober  dome ; 

If  gold  he  gave,  in  one  wild  day 

I  revell'd  thrice  the  sum  away. 

An  idle  outcast  then  I  stray' d, 

Unfit  for  tillage  or  for  trade. 

Deem'd,  like  the  steel  of  rusted  lance. 

Useless  and  dangerous  at  once. 

The  women  fear'd  my  hardy  look, 

At  my  approach  the  peaceful  shook , 

The  merchant  saw  my  glance  of  flame, 

And  lock'd  his  hoards  when  Bertram  came ; 

Each  child  of  coward  peace  kept  far 

From  the  neglected  son  of  war. 

XVIII. 
"  But  civil  discord  gave  the  call, 
And  made  my  trade  the  trade  of  all. 
By  Mortham  urged,  I  came  again 
His  vassals  to  the  fight  to  train. 
What  guerdon  waited  on  my  care  ?8 
I  could  not  cant  of  creed  or  prayer ; 
Sour  fanatics  each  trust  obtain' d, 
And  I,  dishonor'd  and  disdain'd, 
Gain'd  but  the  high  and  happy  lot, 
In  these  poor  arms  to  front  the  shot ! — 
All  this  thou  know'st,  thy  gestures  tell 
Yet  hear  it  o'er,  and  mark  it  well, 
"lis  honor  bids  me  now  relate 
Each  circumstance  of  Mortham's  fate. 

XIX. 
"Thoughts,  from  the  tongue  that  slowly  pait, 
Glance  quick  as  lightning  through  the  heart. 
As  my  spur  press'd  my  courser's  side, 

b  MS. — "  Whom  surest  his  revenge  attends, 

If  numher'd  once  among  his  friends." 

6  MS.—"  These  thoughts  rush'd  on,  like  torrent's  sway 

To  sweep  my  stern  resolve  away." 

7  MS.—"  Each  liberal  deed." 

8  MS.—"  But  of  my  labor  what  the  meed  ? 

I  could  not  cant  of  church  or  creed." 


302 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  i 


Philip  of  Mortham's  cause  was  tried, 

The  shepherd  sees  his  spectre  glide. 

And,  ere  the  charging  squadrons  mix'd, 

And  near  the  spot  that  gave  me  name, 

His  plea  was  cast,  his  doom  was  fix'd. 

The  moated  mound  of  Risingham,8 

I  watch'd  him  through  the  doubtful  fray, 

Where  Reed  upon  her  margin  sees 

That  changed  as  March's  moody  day,1 

Sweet  Woodburne's  cottages  and  trees, 

Till,  like  a  stream  that  bursts  its  bank,9 

Some  ancient  sculptor's  art  has  shown 

Fierce  Rupert  thunder  d  on  our  flank. 

An  outlaw's  image  on  the  stone  ;9 

'Twas  then,  midst  tumult,  smoke,  and  strife, 

TJnmatch'd  in  strength,  a  giant  he, 

Where  each  man  fought  for  death  or  life, 

With  quiver'd  back,10  and  kirtled  knee. 

'Twas  then  I  fired  my  petronel, 

Ask  how  he  died,  that  hunter  bold, 

And  Mortham,  steed  and  rider,  fell. 

The  tameless  monarch  of  the  wold, 

One  dying  look  he  upward  cast, 

And  age  and  infancy  can  tell, 

Of  wrath  and  anguish — 'twas  his  last. 

By  brother's  treachery  he  fell. 

Think  not  that  there  I  stopp'd,  to  view 

Thus  warn'd  by  legends  of  my  youth, 

What  of  the  battle  should  ensue ; 

I  trust  to  no  associate's  truth. 

But  ere  I  clear'd  that  bloody  press, 

Our  northern  horse  ran  masterless ; 

XXI. 

Monckton  and  Mitton  told  the  news," 

"  When  last  we  reason'd  of  this  deed, 

How  troops  of  roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 

Naught,  I  bethink  me,  was  agreed, 

And  many  a  bonny  Scot,  aghast, 

Or  by  what  rule,  or  when,  or  where, 

Spurring  his  palfrey  northward,  past, 

The  wealth  of  Mortham  we  should  share ; 

Cursing  the  day  when  zeal  or  meed 

Then  list,  while  I  the  portion  name,  p 

First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Tweed.* 

Our  differing  laws  give  each  to  claim. 

Yet  when  I  reach'd  the  banks  of  Swale, 

Thou,  vassal  sworn  to  England's  throne, 

Had  rumor  learn'd  another  tale ; 

Her  rules  of  heritage  must  own ; 

With  his  barb'd  horse,  fresh  tidings  say, 

They  deal  thee,  as  to  nearest  heir, 

Stout  Cromwell  has  redeem'd  the  day  :* 

Thy  kinsman's  lands  and  livings  fair, 

But  whether  false  the  news,  or  true, 

And  these  I  yield : — do  thou  revere 

Oswald,  I  reck  as  light  as  you." 

The  statutes  of  the  Bucanier.11 

Friend  to  the  sea,  and  foeman  sworn 

XX. 

To  all  that  on  her  waves  are  borne, 

Not  then  by  Wycliffe  might  be  shown, 

When  falls  a  mate  in  battle  broil, 

How  his  pride  startled  at  the  tone 

His  comrade  heirs  his  portion'd  spoil ; 

In  which  his  complice,  fierce  and  free, 

When  dies  in  fight  a  daring  foe, 

Asserted  guilt's  equality. 

He  claims  his  wealth  who  struck  the  blow; 

In  smoothest  terms  his  speech  he  wove, 

And  either  rule  to  me  assigns 

Of  endless  friendship,  faith,  and  love ; 

Those  spoils  of  Indian  seas  and  mines, 

Promised  and  vow'd  in  courteous  sort, 

Hoarded  in  Mortham's  caverns  dark ; 

But  Bertram  broke  profession  short. 

Ingot  of  gold  and  diamond  spark, 

"  Wycliffe,  be  sure  not  here  I  stay, 

Chalice  and  plate  from  churches  borne, 

No,  scarcely  till  the  rising  day ; 

And  gems  from  shrieking  beauty  torn, 

Warn'd  by  the  legends  of  my  youth,' 

Each  string  of  pearl,  each  silver  bar, 

I  trust  not  an  associate's  truth. 

And  all  the  wealth  of  western  war. 

Do  not  my  native  dales  prolong 

I  go  to  search,  where,  dark  and  deep, 

Of  Percy  Rede  the  tragic  song, 

Those  Trans-atlantic  treasures  sleep. 

Train'd  forward  to  his  bloody  fall, 

Thou  must  along — for,  lacking  thee, 

By  Girsonfield,  that  treacherous  Hall  ?T 

The  heir  will  scarce  find  entrance  free  ; 

Oft,  by  the  Pringle's  haunted  side, 

And  then  farewell.     I  haste  to  try 

1  MS. — "  That  changed  as  with  a  whirlwind's  sway." 

8  MS. — "  Taught  by  the  legends  of  my  youth 

9 '*  dashing 

To  trust  to  no  associate's  truth." 

On  thy  war-horse  through  the  ranks, 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

Like  a  stream  which  burst  its  hanks." 

6  MS. — "  Still  by  the  spot  that  gave  me  name, 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  x.  p.  275. 

The  moated  camp  of  Risingham, 

8  MS. — "  Hot  Rupert  on  the  spur  pursues  ; 

Whole  troops  of  fliers  choked  the  Ouse." 

A  giant  form  the  stranger  sees, 
Half  hid  by  rifted  rocks  and  trees." 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

io  MS.—"  With  bow  in  hand,"  &o 

»  Bee  Appendix,  Note  G 

11  See  Appendix,  Note  K 

canto  i.                                                   ROKEBY.                                                          303 

Each  varied  pleasure  wealth  can  buy ; 

Of  numerous  sons  were  Wycliffe's  grace, 

When  cloy'd  each  wish,  these  wars  afford 

On  Wilfrid  set  contemptuous  brand, 

Fresh  work  for  Bertram's  restless  sword." 

For  feeble  heart  and  forceless  hand : 
But  a  fond  mother's  care  and  joy 

XXII. 

Were  centred  in  her  sickly  boy. 

An  undecided  answer  hung 

No  touch  of  childhood's  frolic  mood 

On  Oswald's  hesitating  tongue. 

Show'd  the  elastic  spring  of  blood  ; 

Despite  his  craft,  he  heard  with  awe 

Hour  after  hour  he  loved  to  pore 

This  ruffian  stabber  fix  the  law  ; 

On  Shakspeare's  rich  and  varied  lore, 

While  his  own  troubled  passions  veer 

But  turn'd  from  martial  scenes  and  light, 

Through  hatred,  joy,  regret,  and  fear : — 

From  Falstaff 's  feast  and  Percy's  flight, 

Joy'd  at  the  soul  that  Bertram  flies, 

To  ponder  Jaques'  moral  strain, 

He  grudged  the  murderer's  mighty  prize, 

And  muse  with  Hamlet,  wise  in  vain ; 

Hated  his  pride's  presumptuous  tone, 

Ana  weep  himself  to  soft  repose 

And  fear'd  to  wend  with  him  alone. 

O'er  gentle  Desdemona's  woes. 

At  length,  that  middle  course  to  steer, 

To  cowardice  and  craft  so  dear, 

XXV. 

ft  His  charge,"  he  said,  "  would  ill  allow 

In  youth  he  sought  not  pleasures  found 

His  absence  from  the  fortress  now; 

By  youth  in  horse,  and  hawk,  and  hound, 

Wilfrid  on  Bertram  should  attend, 

But  loved  the  quiet  joys  that  wake 

His  son  should  journey  with  his  friend." 

By  lonely  stream  and  silent  lake  ; 

•                XXIII. 

In  Deepdale's  solitude  to  he, 

Where  all  is  cliff  and  copse  and  sky ; 

Contempt  kept  Bertram's  anger  down, 

To  climb  Catcastle's  dizzy  peak, 

And  wreathed  to  savage  smile  his  frown. 

Or  lone  Pendragon's  mound  to  seek.3 

"  Wilfrid,  or  thou — 'tis  one  to  me, 

Such  was  his  wont ;  and  there  his  dream 

Whichever  bears  the  golden  key. 

Soar'd  on  some  wild  fantastic  theme, 

Yet  think  not  but  I  mark,  and  smile 

Of  faithful  love,  or  ceaseless  spring, 

To  mark,  thy  poor  and  selfish  wile  ! 

Till  Contemplation's  wearied  wing 

If  injury  from  me  you  fear, 

The  enthusiast  could  no  more  sustain. 

What,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  shields  thee  here  ? 

And  sad  he  sunk  to  earth  again. 

I've  sprung  from  walls  more  high  than  these, 

I've   swam    through  deeper    streams    than 

XXVL 

Tees. 

He  loved — as  many  a  lay  can  telL 

Might  I  not  stab  thee,  ere  one  yell 

Preserved  in  Stanmore's  lonely  dell ; 

Could  rouse  the  distant  sentinel  ? 

For  his  was  minstrel's  skill,  he  caught 

Start  not — it  is  not  my  design, 

The  art  unteachable,  untaught ; 

But,  if  it  were,  weak  fence  were  thine ; 

He  loved — his  soul  did  nature  frame 

And,  trust  me,  that,  in  time  of  need, 

For  love,  and  fancy  nursed  the  flame ; 

This  hand  hath  done  more  desperate  deed. 

Vainly  he  loved — for  seldom  swain 

Go,  haste  and  rouse  thy  slumbering  son ; 

Of  such  soft  mould  is  loved  again ; 

Time  calls,  and  I  must  needs  be  gone. 

Silent  he  loved — in  every  gaze 

Was  passion,3  friendship  in  his  phrase. 

XXIV. 

So  mused  his  life  away — till  died 

Naught  of  his  sire's  ungenerous  part 

His  brethren  all,  their  father's  pride. 

Polluted  Wilfrid's  gentle  heart ; 

Wilfrid  is  now  the  only  heir 

A  heart  too  soft  from  early  life 

Of  all  his  stratagems  and  care, 

To  hold  with  fortune  needful  strife. 

And  destined,  darkling,  to  pursue 

His  sire,  while  yet  a  hardier  race1 

Ambition's  maze  by  Oswald's  clue.4 

*  MS. "  while  yet  around  him  stood 

Beattie's  Edwin  ;    but  in  some  essential   respects  it  is  made 

A  numerous  race  of  hardier  mood." 

more  true  to  nature  than  that  which  probably  served  for  its 

t  "  And  oft  the  craggy  cliff  he  loved  to  climb, 

original.     The  possibility  may  perhaps  be  questioned  (its  great 

When  all  in  mist  the  world  below  was  lost. 

improbability  is  unquestionable),  of  such  excessive  refinement, 

What  dreadful  pleasure  !  there  to  stand  sublime, 

such  over-strained,  and  even    morbid    sensibility,  as  are  por- 

Like shipwreck'd  mariner  on  desert  coast.1 ' 

trayed  in  the  character  of  Edwin,  existing  in  so  rude  a  state  ol 

Beattie's  Minstrel. 

society  as   that   which   Beattie   has   represented,— but   these 

•  MS. —  '  Was  love,  but  friendship  in  his  phrase." 

qualities,  even  when  found  in  the  most  advanced  and  polished 

'•  The   prototype  of  Wilfrid   may  perhaps   be    found  in 

stages  of  life,  are  rarely,  very  rarely,  united  with  a  robust  and 

304 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  1. 


XXVII. 

Wilfrid  must  love  and  woo1  the  bright 
Matilda,  heir  of  Rokeby's  knight. 
To  love  her  was  an  easy  hest, 
The  secret  empress  of  his  breast ; 
To  woo  her  was  a  harder  task 
To  one  that  durst  not  hope  or  ask. 
Yet  all  Matilda  could,  she  gave 
In  pity  to  her  gentle  slave ; 
Friendship,  esteem,  and  fair  regard, 
And  praise,  the  poet's  best  reward ! 
She  read  the  tales  his  taste  approved, 
And  sung  the  lays  he  framed  or  loved ; 
Yet,  loth  to  nurse  the  fatal  flame 
Of  hopeless  love  in  friendship's  name, 
In  kind  caprice  she  oft  withdrew 
The  favoring  glance  to  friendship  due,2 
Then  grieved  to  see  her  victim's  pain, 
And  gave  the  dangerous  smiles  again. 

XXVIII. 

So  did  the  suit  of  Wilfrid  stand, 

When  war's  loud  summons   waked  tho 

land. 
Three  banners,  floating  o'er  the  Tees, 
The  wo-foreboding  peasant  sees ; 
In  concert  oft  they  braved  of  old 
The  bordering  Scot's  incursion  bold ; 
Frowning  defiance  in  their  pride,' 
Their  vassals  now  and  lords  divide. 
From  his  fair  hall  on  Greta  banks, 
The  Knight  of  Rokeby  led  his  ranks, 
To  aid  the  valiant  northern  Earls, 
Who  drew  the  sword  for  royal  Charles. 
Mortham,  by  marriage  near  allied, — 
His  sister  had  been  Rokeby's  bride, 
Though  long  before  the  civil  fray, 
In  peaceful  grave  the  lady  lay, — 
Philip  of  Mortham  raised  his  band, ' 
And  march'd  at  Fairfax's  command 
While  Wycliffe,  bound  by  many  a  train 
Of  kindred  art  with  wily  Vane, 
Less  prompt  to  brave  the  bloody  field, 
Made  Barnard's  battlements  his  shield, 
Secured  them  with  his  Lunedale  powers, 
And  for  the  Commons  held  the  towers. 

lealthy  frame  of  body.  In  both  these  particulars,  the  char- 
icter  of  Wilfrid  is  exempt  from  the  objections  to  which  we 
chink  that  of  the  Minstrel  liable.  At  the  period  of  the  Civil 
Wars,  in  the  higher  orders  of  Society,  intellectual  refinement 
had  advanced  to  a  degree  sufficient  to  give  proDability  to  its 
existence.  The  remainder  of  our  argument,  will  be  best  ex- 
plained by  the  beautiful  lines  of  the  poet,"  (stanzas  xx-  and 
rxvi.) — Critical  Review. 

i  MS.—"  And  first  must  Wilfrid  woo,"  &c. 

a  MS.—"  The  fuel  fond  her  favor  threw." 

8  MS. — "  Now  frowning  dark  on  different  side 
Their  vassals  and  their  lords  divide. 

*  MS.—"  Dame  Alice  and  Matilda  bright, 


XXIX. 

The  lovely  heir  of  Rokeby's  Knight* 
Waits  in  his  halls  the  event  of  fight ; 
For  England's  war  revered  the  claim 
Of  every  unprotected  name, 
And  spared,  amid  its  fiercest  rage, 
Childhood  and  womanhood  and  age. 
But  Wilfrid,  son  to  Rokeby's  foe,6 
Must  the  dear  privilege  forego, 
By  Greta's  side,  in  evening  gray, 
To  steal  upon  Matilda's  way, 
Striving,6  with  fond  hypocrisy, 
For  careless  step  and  vacant  eye ; 
Claming  each  anxious  look  and  glance, 
To  give  the  meeting  all  to  chance, 
Or  framing,  as  a  fair  excuse, 
The  book,  the  pencil,  or  the  muse : 
Something  to  give,  to  sing,  to  say, 
Some  modern  tale,  some  ancient  lay. 
Then,  while  the  long'd-for  minutes  last,— 
Ah !  minutes  quickly  over-past ! — ' 
Recording  each  expression  free,        $? 
Of  kind  or  careless  courtesy, 
Each  friendly  look,  each  softer  tone, 
As  food  for  fancy  when  alone. 
All  this  is  o'er — but  still,  unseen, 
Wilfrid  may  lurk  in  Eastwood  green,8 
To  watch  Matilda's  wonted  round, 
While  springs  his  heart  at  every  sound 
She  comes  ! — 'tis  but  a  passing  sight, 
Yet  serves  to  cheat  his  weary  night ; 
She  comes  not — he  will  wait  the  hour 
When  her  lamp  lightens  in  the  tower  ;9 
'Tis  something  yet,  if,  as  she  past, 
Her  shade  is  o'er  the  lattice  cast. 
"  What  is  my  life,  my  hope  ?"  he  said ; 
"  Alas  !  a  transitory  shade." 

XXX. 

Thus  wore  his  life,  though  reason  strove 
For  mastery  in  vain  with  love, 
Forcing  upon  his  thoughts  the  sum 
Of  present  woe  and  ills  to  come, 
While  still  he  turn'd  impatient  ear 
From  Truth's  intrusive  voice  severe. 
Gentle,  indifferent,  and  subdued, 

Daughter  and  wife  of  Rokeby's  Knight, 
Wait  in  his  halls,"  &c. 
6  MS. — "  But  Wilfrid,  when  the  strife  arose, 
And  Rokeby  and  his  son  were  foes, 
Was  doom'd  each  privilege  to  lose, 
Of  kindred  friendship  and  the  muse." 

6  MS. — "  Aping,  with  fond  hypocrisy, 

The  careless  step,"  &c. 

7  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 


MS, 


Mav  Wilfrid  haunt  the 


thickets  j 


Wilfrid  haunts  ScargilPs 

9  MS. "  watch  the  hour, 

That  her  lamp  kindles  in  her  tower.' 


CANTO  I. 


ROKEBY. 


305 


In  all  but  this,  unmoved  he  view'd 
Each  outward  change  of  ill  and  good : 
But  Wilfrid,  docile,  soft,  and  mild, 
Was  Fancy's  spoil'd  and  wayward  child ; 
In  her  bright1  car  she  bade  him  ride, 
With  one  fair  form  to  grace  his  side, 
Or,  in  some  wild  and  lone  retreat,2 
Flung  her  high  spells  around  his  seat, 
Bathed  in  her  dews  his  languid  head, 
Her  fairy  mantle  o'er  him  spread, 
For  him  her  opiates  gave  to  flow, 
Which  he  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego, 
And  placed  him  in  her  circle,  free 
From  every  stern  reality, 
Till,  to  the  Visionary,  seem 
Her  day-dreams  truth,  and  truth  a  dream. 

XXXL 

Woe  to  the  youth  whom  fancy  gains, 
Winning  from  Reason's  hand  the  reins, 
Pity  and  woe !  for  such  a  mind 
Is  soft,  contemplative,  and  kind ; 
And  woe  to  those  who  train  such  youth, 
And  spare  to  press  the  rights  of  truth, 
The  mind  to  strengthen  and  anneal, 
While  on  the  stithy  glows  the  steel ! 
0  teach  him,  wliile  your  lessons  last, 
To  judge  the  present  by  the  past ; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  pursued, 
How  rich  it  glow'd  with  promised  good ; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  enjoy'd, 
How  soon  his  hopes  possession  cloy'd  ! 
Tell  him,  we  play  unequal  game, 
Whene'er  we  shoot  by  Fancy's  aim  ;3 
And,  ere  he  strip  him  for  her  race, 
Show  the  conditions  of  the  chase. 
Two  sisters  by  the  goal  are  set, 
Cold  Disappointment  and  Regret ; 
One  disenchants  the  winner's  eyes, 
And  strips  of  all  its  worth  the  prize. 


»  MS.—"  Wild  car." 

2  MS. — "  Or  in  some  fair  but  lone  retreat, 

Flung  her  wild  spells  around  his  seat, 
For  fcim  her  opiates  )  gave  to  )  a 

opiate   S  draughts  bade  > 
Which  he  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego, 
Taught  him  to  turn  impatient  ear 
From  truth's  intrusive  voice  severe." 

3  In  the  MS.,  after  this  couplet,  the  following  lines  conclude 
ine  stanza : — 

14  That  all  who  on  her  visions  press,  » 

Find  disappointment  dog  success  ; 
But,  miss'd  their  wish,  lamenting  hold 
Her  gilding  false  for  sterling  gold." 
•  "  Soft  and  smooth  are  Fancy's  flowery  ways, 
And  yet,  even  there,  if  left  without  a  guide, 
The  young  adventurer  unsafely  plays. 
Eyes,  dazzled  long  by  Fiction's  gaudy  rays, 
[n  modest  Truth  no  light  nor  beauty  find  ; 
And  who,  my  child,  would  trust  the  meteor  blaze 
39 


While  one  augments  its  gaudy  show, 
More  to  enhance  the  loser's  woe.4 
The  victor  sees  his  fairy  gold 
Transform'd,  when  won,  to  drossy  mold, 
But  still  the  vanquish'd  mourns  his  loss, 
And  rues,  as  gold,  that  glittering  dross. 

XXXII. 

More  wouldst  thou  know — yon  tower  survey, 
Yon  couch  unpress'd  since  parting  day, 
Yon  untrimm'd  lamp,  whose  yellow  gleam 
Is  mingling  with  the  cold  moonbeam, 
And  yon  thin  form !— the  hectic  red 
On  his  pale  cheek  unequal  spread  ;6 
The  head  reclined,  the  loosen'd  hair, 
The  limbs  relax'd,  the  mournful  air. — 
See,  he  looks  up ; — a  woful  smile 
Lightens  his  wo-worn  cheek  a  while, — 
'Tis  fancy  wakes  some  idle  thought, 
To  gild  the  ruin  she  has  wrought ; 
For,  like  the  bat  of  Indian  brakes, 
Her  pinions  fan  the  wound  she  makes, 
And  soothing  thus  the  dreamer's  pain, 
She  drinks  his  life-blood  from  the  vein.6 
Now  to  the  lattice  turn  his  eyes, 
Vain  hope !  to  see  the  sun  arise. 
The  moon  with  clouds  is  still  o'ercast, 
Still  howls  by  fits  the  stormy  blast ; 
Another  hour  must  wear  away, 
Ere  the  East  kindle  into  day, 
And  hark !  to  waste  that  weary  hour, 
He  tries  the  minstrel's  magic  power. 

XXXIII. 

TO  THE  MOON.T 

Hail  to  thy  cold  and  clouded  beam, 
Pale  pilgrim  of  the  troubled  sky  ! 
Hail,  though  the  mists  that  o'er  thee  stream 


That  soon  must  fail,  and  leave  the  wanderer  blind, 
More  dark  and  helpless  far,  than  if  it  ne'er  had  sinned  1 

"  Fancy  enervates,  while  it  soothes  the  heart, 
And,  while  it  dazzles,  wounds  the  mental  sight? 
To  joy  each  heightening  charm  it  can  imr  art, 
But  wraps  the  hour  of  woe  in  tenfold  night. 
And  often,  where  no  real  ills  affright, 
Its  visionary  fiends,  an  endless  train, 
Assail  with  equal  or  superior  might, 
And  through  the  throbbing  heart,  and  dizzy  brain, 
And  shivering  nerves,  shoot  stings  of  more  than  mortal 
pain."  Beattik 

8  MS. — "  On  his  pale  cheek  in  crimson  glow  ; 
The  short  and  painful  sighs  that  show 
The  shrivell'd  lip,  the  teeth's  white  row, 
The  head  reclined,"  &c. 

8  MS. "  the  sleeper's  pain, 

Drinks  his  dear  life-blood  from  the  vein.' 
1  "  The  little  poem  that  follows  is,  in  our  judgment,  one  of 


806 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOKKS. 


CANTO  IL 


Lend  to  thy  brow  their  sullen  dye  I1 
How:  should  thy  pure  and  peaceful  eye 

Untroubled  \iew  our  scenes  below, 
Or  how  a  tearless  beam  supply 

To  light  a  world  of  war  and  woe  ! 

Fail  Queen !  I  will  not  blame  thee  now, 

As  once  by  Greta's  fairy  side  ; 
Each  little  cloud  that  dimm'd  thy  brow 

Did  then  an  angel's  beauty  hide. 
And  of  the  shades  I  then  could  chide, 

Still  are  the  thoughts  to  memory  dear, 
For  while  a  softer  strain  I  tried, 

They  hid  my  blush,  and  calm'd  my  fear. 

Then  did  I  swear  thy  ray  serene 

Was  form'd  to  light  some  lonely  dell, 
By  two  fond  lovers  only  seen, 

Reflected  from  the  crystal  well, 
Or  sleeping  on  their  mossy  cell, 

Or  quivering  on  the  lattice  bright, 
Or  glancing  on  their  couch,  to  tell 

How  swiftly  wanes  the  summer  night ! 

XXXIV. 

He  starts — a  step  at  this  lone  hour  ! 
A  voice  ! — his  father  seeks  the  tower, 
With  haggard  look  and  troubled  sense, 
Fresh  from  his  dreadful  conference. 
"  Wilfrid  ! — what,  not  to  sleep  address'd ''. 
Thou  hast  no  cares  to  chase  thy  rest. 
Mortham  has  fall'n  on  Marston-moor  ;a 
Bertram  brings  warrant  to  secure 
•His  treasures,  bought  by  spoil  and  blood, 
For  the  State's  use  and  public  good. 
The  menials  will  thy  voice  obey  ; 
Let  his  commission  have  its  way,3 
In  every  point,  in  every  word." — 
Then,  in  a  wliisper, — "  Take  thy  sword  ! 
Bertram  is — what  I  must  not  tell. 
I  hear  his  hasty  step — farewell  '"* 

the  best  of  Mr.  Scott's  attempts  in  this  kind.     He,  certainly, 
is  not  in  general  successful  as  a  song-writer  ;  hut,  without  any 
extraordinary  effort,  here  are  pleasing  thoughts,  polished  ex- 
pressions, and  musical  versification." — Monthly  Review. 
i  MS. — "  Are  tarnishing  thy  lovely  dye  ! 
A  sad  excuse  let  Fancy  try — 

How  should  so  kind  a  planet  show 
Her  stainless  silver's  lustre  high, 
To  light  a  world  of  war  and  woe  !" 
*  MS. — "  Here's  Risingham  brings  tidings  sure, 
Mortham  has  fall'n  on  Marston-moor ; 
And  he  hath  warrant  to  secure,"  &c 
s  MS. — "  See  that  they  give  his  warrant  way." 
4  With  the  MS.  of  stanzas  xxviii.  to  xxxiv.  Scott  thus  ad- 
dresses his  printer:—  "I  send  you  the  whole  of  the  canto.     I 
wish  Erskine  and  you  would  look  it  over  together,  and  con- 
sider whevner  upon  the  whole  matter,  it  is  likely  to  make  an 
impression.     If  it  does  really  come  to  good,  I  think  there  are 
no  limits  to  the  interest  of  that  style  of  composition  ;  for  the 
variety  of  bfe  and  character  are  boundless. 


Vi  o  k  t  b  g . 


CANTO    SECOND, 


I. 

Far  in  the  chambers  of  the  west, 
The  gale  had  sigh'd  itself  to  rest ; 
The  moon  was  cloudless  now  and  clear, 
But  pale,  and  soon  to  disappear. 
The  thin  gray  clouds  wax  dimly  light 
On  Brusleton  and  Houghton  height ; 
And  the  rich  dale,  that  eastward  lay, 
Waited  the  wakening  touch  of  day, 
To  give  its  woods  and  cultured  plain, 
And  towers  and  spires  to  light  again. 
But,  westward,  Stanmore's  shapeless  swell, 
And  Lunedale  wild,  and  Kelton-fell, 
And  rock-begirdled  Gilmanscar, 
And  Arkingarth,  lay  dark  afar; 
While,  as  a  livelier  twilight  falls, 
Emerge  proud  Barnard's  banner'd  walls. 
High  crown'd  he  sits,  in  dawning  pale, 
The  sovereign  of  the  lovely  vale. 

II. 

What  prospects,  from  his  watch-tower  high, 
Gleam  gradual  on  the  warder's  eye! — 
Fai  sweeping  to  the  east,  he  sees 
Down  his  deep  woods  the  course  of  Tees,8 
And  tracks  his  wanderings  by  the  steam 
Of  summer  vapors  from  the  stream; 
And  ere  he  paced  his  destined  hour 
By  Brackenbury's  dungeon-tower,6 
These  silver  mists  shall  melt  away, 
And  dew  the  woods  with  glittering  spray. 
Then  in  broad  lustre  shall  be  shown 
That  mighty  trench  of  living  stone,7 
And  each  huge  trunk  that,  from  the  side, 
Reclines  him  o'er  the  darksome  tide, 

"I  don't  know  whether  to  give  Matilda  a  mother  or  not. 
Decency  requires  she  should  have  one  ;  hut  she  is  as  likely  ta 
be  in  my  way  as  the  gudeman's  mother,  according  to  the  prov- 
erb, is  always  in  that  of  the  gudewife.  Yours  truly,  W.  S. — 
Mbotsford,"  (Oct.  1812.) 

"  We  cannot  close  the  first  Canto  without  bestowing  the 
highest  praise  on  it.  The  whole  design  of  the  picture  is  ex- 
cellent ;  and  the  contrast  presented  to  the  gloomy  and  fearful 
opening  by  the  calm  and  innocent  conclusion,  is  masterly. 
Never  were  two  characters  more  clearly  and  forcibly  set  in 
opposition  than  those  of  Bertram  and  Wilfrid.  Oswald  com* 
pletes  the  group  ;  and,  for  the  moral  purposes  of  the  painter, 
is  perhaps  superior  to  the  others.     He  is  admirably  designed 

'  That  middle  course  to  steer 


To  cowardice  and  craft  so  dear.'  " 

Monthly  Review. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

6  MS. — "  Betwixt  the  gate  and  Baliol's  tower." 
*  MS. — "  Those  deep-hewn  banks  of  living  stone." 


canto*  ii.                                                   KOKE13Y.                                                            'sol 

Where  Tees,  full  many  a  fathom  low, 

Their  winding  path  then  eastward  east. 

Wears  with  his  rage  no  common  foe  ; 

And  Egliston  8  gray  ruins  pass'd  * 

For  pebbly  bank,  nor  sand-bed  here, 

Each  on  his  own  deep  visions  bent, 

Nor  clay-mound,  checks  his  fierce  career, 

Silent  and  sad  they  onward  went. 

Condemn' d  to  mine  a  channell'd  way, 

Well  may  you  think  that  Bertram's  mood,§ 

O'er  solid  sheets  of  marble  gray. 

To  Wilfrid  savage  seem'd  and  rude ; 

Well  may  you  think  bold  Risingham 

III. 

Held  Wilfrid  trivial,  poor,  and  tame ; 

Nor  Tees  alone,  in  dawning  bright, 

And  small  the  intercourse,  I  ween, 

Shal    rush  upon  the  ravish'd  sight ; 

Such  uncongenial  souls  between. 

But  many  a  tributary  stream 

Each  from  its  own  dark  dell  shall  gleam : 

V. 

Staindrop,  who,  from  her  silvan  bowers,1 

Stern  Bertram  shunn'd  the  nearer  way, 

Salutes  proud  Raby's  battled  towers  ; 

Through  Rokeby's  park  and  chase  that  lay, 

The  rural  brook  of  Egliston, 

And,  skirting  high  the  valley's  ridge, 

And  Balder,  named  from  Odin's  son ; 

They  cross'd  by  Greta's  ancient  bridge, 

And  Greta,  to  whose  banks  ere  long 

Descending  where  her  waters  wind 

We  lead  the  lovers  of  the  song  ; 

Free  for  a  space  and  unconfined, 

And  silver  Lune,  from  Stanmore  wild, 

As,  'scaped  from  Brignall's  dark-wood  glen, 

And  fairy  ThorsgiLTs  murmuring  cliild, 

She  seeks  wild  Mortham's  deeper  den. 

And  last  and  least,  but  loveliest  still, 

There,  as  his  eye  glanced  o'er  the  mound, 

Romantic  Deepdale's  slender  rill. 

Raised  by  that  Legion6  long  renown' d, 

Who  in  that  dim-wood  glen  hath  stray'd, 

Whose  votive  shrine  asserts  their  claim, 

Yet  long'd  for  Roslin's  magic  glade  ? 

Of  pious,  faithful,  conquering  fame, 

Who,  wandering  there,  hath  sought  to  change 

"  Stern  sons  of  war  !"  sad  Wilfrid  sigh'd. 

Even  for  that  vale  so  stern  and  strange, 

"  Behold  the  boast  of  Roman  pride  1 

Where  Cartland's  Crags,  fantastic  rent, 

What  now  of  all  your  toils  are  known  I 

Through  her  green  copse  like  spires  are  sent  ? 

A  grassy  trench,  a  broken  stone !" — 

Yet,  Albin,  yet  the  praise  be  thine, 

This  to  himself ;  for  moral  strain 

Thy  scenes  and  story  to  combine ! 

To  Bertram  were  address'd  in  vain. 

Thou  bid'st  him,  who  by  Roslin  strays, 

List  to  the  deeds  of  other  days  ;2 

VI. 

'Mid  Cartland's  Crags  thou  show'st  the  cave 

Of  different  mood,  a  deeper  sigh 

The  refuge  of  thy  champion  brave  ;3 

Awoke,  when  Rokeby's  turrets  high7 

Giving  each  rock  its  storied  tale, 

Were  northward  in  the  dawning  seen 

Pouring  a  lay  for  every  dale, 

To  rear  them  o'er  the  tlucket  green. 

Knitting,  as  with  a  moral  band, 

0  then,  though  Spenser's  self  had  stray'd 

Thy  native  legends  with  thy  land, 

Beside  him  tlirough  the  lovely  glade. 

To  lend  each  scene  the  interest  high 

Lending  his  rich  luxuriant  glow 

Which,  genius  beams  from  Beauty's  eye 

Of  fancy,  all  its  charms  to  show, 

Pointing  the  stream  rejoicing  free, 

IV. 

As  captive  set  at  liberty, 

Bertram  awaited  not  the  sight 

Flashing  her  sparkling  waves  abroad,8 

Which  sunrise  shows  from  Barnard's  height, 

And  clamoring  joyful  on  her  road  ; 

But  from  the  towers,  preventing  day, 

Pointing  where,  up  the  sunny  banks, 

Witli  Wilfrid  took  his  early  way, 

The  trees  retire  in  scatter'd  ranks, 

While  misty  dawn,  and  moonbeam  pale, 

Save  where,  advanced  before  the  rest, 

Still  mingled  in  the  silent  dale. 

On  knoll  or  hillock  rears  his  crest, 

By  Barnard's  bridge  of  stately  stone, 

Lonely  and  huge,  the  giant  Oak, 

The  southern  bank  of  Tees  they  won ; 

As  champions,  when  their  band  is  broke, 

1  MS. — "  Staindrop,  who,  on  her  silvan  way, 

Such  uncongenial  souls  between  ; 

Salutes  proud  Raby's  turrets  gray." 

Well  may  you  think  stern  Risingham 

2  See  Notes  to  the  song  of  Fair  Rosabelle,  in  the  Lay  of  the 

Held  Wilfrid  trivial,  poor,  and  tame; 

Last  Minstrel. 

And  naught  of  mutual  interest  lay 

3  Cartland  Crags,  near  Lanark,  celebrated  as  among  the  fa- 

To bind  the  comrades  of  the  way." 

vorite  re'r  =ats  of  Sir  William  Wallace. 

e  See  Appendix,  Note  N.                       »  ibid.  Note  O 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  M. 

6  MS.—  "  Flashing  to  heaven  her  sparkling  spray, 

'*  MS. — • '  For  brief  the  intercourse,  I  ween, 

And  c'imoring  joyful  on  her  way." 

S08                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               ca^to  11 

Stand  forth  to  guard  the  rearward  post, 

Oft,  too,  the  ivy  swathed  their  breast,9 

The  bulwark  of  the  scatter'd  host — 

And  wreathed  its  garland  round  their  crest, 

All  tliis,  and  more,  might  Spenser  say, 

Or  from  the  spires  bade  loosely  flare 

Yet  waste  in  vain  his  magic  lay, 

Its  tendrils  in  the  middle  air. 

While  Wilfrid  eyed  the  distant  tower, 

As  pennons  wont  to  wave  of  old 

Whose  lattice  lights  Matilda's  bower. 

O'er  the  high  feast  of  Baron  bold, 

When  revell'd  loud  the  feudal  rout, 

VII. 

And  the  arch'd  halls  return'd  their  shout ; 

The  open  vale  is  soon  pass'd  o'er, 

Such  and  more  wild  is  Greta's  roar, 

Rokeby,  though  nigh,  is  seen  no  more  ;* 

And  such  the  echoes  from  her  shore. 

Sinking  mid  Greta's  thickets  deep, 

And  so  the  ivied  banners  gleam,8 

A  wild  and  darker  course  they  keep, 

Waved  wildly  o'er  the  brawling  stream. 

A  stern  and  lone,  yet  lovely  road, 

As  e'er  the  foot  of  Minstrel  trode  !a 

IX. 

Broad  shadows  o'er  their  passage  fell, 

Now  from  the  stream  the  rocks  recede, 

Deeper  and  narrower  grew  the  dell ; 

But  leave  between  no  sunny  mead, 

It  seem'd  some  mountain,  rent  and  riven, 

No,  nor  the  spot  of  pebbly  sand, 

A  channel  for  the  stream  had  given, 

Oft  found  by  such  a  mountain  strand  ;7 

So  high  the  cliffs  of  limestone  gray 

Forming  such  warm  and  dry  retreat, 

Hung  beetling  o'er  the  torrent's  way, 

As  fancy  deems  the  lonely  seat, 

Yielding,  along  their  rugged  base,8 

Where  hermit,  wandering  from  his  cell, 

A  flinty  footpath's  niggard  space, 

His  rosary  might  love  to  tell. 

Where  he,  who  winds  'twixt  rock  and  wave, 

But  here,  'twixt  rock  and  river,  grew 

May  hear  the  headlong  torrent  rave, 

A  dismal  grove  of  sable  yew,8 

And  like  a  steed  in  frantic  fit, 

With  whose  sad  tints  were  mingled  seen 

That  flings  the  froth  from  curb  and  bit,4 

The  blighted  fir's  sepulchral  green. 

May  view  her  chafe  her  waves  to  spray, 

Seem'd  that  the  trees  their  shadows  cast, 

O'er  every  rock  that  bars  her  way, 

The  earth  that  nourish'd  them  to  blast ; 

Till  foam-globes  on  her  eddies  ride, 

For  never  knew  that  swarthy  grove 

Thick  as  the  schemes  of  human  pride 

The  verdant  hue  that  fairies  love ; 

That  down  life's  current  drive  amain, 

Nor  wilding  green,  nor  woodland  flow  v»r, 

As  frail,  as  frothy,  and  as  vain ! 

Arose  within  its  baleful  bower : 

The  dank  and  sable  earth  receives 

VIII. 

Its  only  carpet  from  the  leaves, 

The  cliffs  that  rear  their  haughty  head 

That,  from  the  withering  branches  cast, 

High  o'er  the  river's  darksome  bed, 

Bestrew'd  the  ground  with  every  blast. 

Were  now  all  naked,  wild,  and  gray, 

Though  now  the  sun  was  o'er  the  hill, 

Now  waving  all  with  greenwood  spray ; 

In  this  dark  spot  'twas  twilight  still,9 

Here  trees  to  every  crevice  clung, 

Save  that  on  Greta's  farther  side 

And  o'er  the  dell  their  branches  hung ; 

Some  straggling  beams  through  copsewood 

And  there,  all  splinter'd  and  uneven, 

glide ; 

The  shiver'd  rocks  ascend  to  heaven ; 

And  wild  and  savage  contrast  made 

1  MS. — "  And  Rokeby's  tower  is  seen  no  more  ; 

J  Waved  wildly  trembling  o'er  the  scene, 

(  Waved  wild  above  the  clamorous  stream." 

Sinking  mid  Greta's  thickets  green, 

The  journeyers  seek  another  scene." 

,        .      i . 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  P. 

Where  in  the  warm  and  dry  retreat, 

8  MS. — "  Yielding  their  rugged  base  beside 

May  fancy  form  some  hermit's  seat." 

A  |  fl!nty  ,  |  path  by  Greta's  tide." 
(  niggard  ) 

MS. — "  That  flings  the  foam  from  curb  and  bit, 

8  MS. — "  A  darksome  grove  of  funeral  yew, 

Where  trees  a  baleful  shadow  cast, 

t  tawny  \ 
Chafing  her  waves  to<  whiten  >  wrath, 

The  ground  that  nourish'd  them  to  blast, 

Mingled  with  whose  sad  tints  were  seen 

( spongy  ) 

The  blighted  fir's  sepulchial  green." 

O'er  every  rock  that  bars  her  path, 

»  MS.—"  In  this  dark  grove  'twas  twilight  still, 

Till  down  her  boiling  eddies  ride,"  &c. 

Save  that  upon  the  rocks  opposed 

»  MS. — "  The  frequent  ivy  swathed  their  breast, 

Some  straggling  beams  of  morn  reposed  ; 

And  wreathed  its  tendrils  round  their  crest, 

And  wild  and  savage  contrast  made 

Or  from  their  summit  bade  them  fall, 

That  bleak  and  dark  funereal  shade 

And  tremble  o'er  the  Greta's  brawl." 

With  the  bright  tints  of  early  day, 

•  MS  — "  And  so  the  ivy's  banners  \  &reen* 
(  gleam, 

Which,  struggling  through  the  greenwood  spray 

Upon  the  rock's  wild  summit  lay." 

CANTO  II. 


ROKEBY. 


S09 


That  dingle's  deep  and  funeral  shade, 
With  the  bright  tints  of  early  day, 
Wliich,  glimmering  through  the  ivy  spray, 
On  the  opposing  summit  lay. 

X. 

The  lated  peasant  shunn'd  the  dell ; 

For  Superstition  wont  to  tell 

Of  many  a  grisly  sound  and  sight, 

Scaring  its  path  at  dead  of  night. 

When  Christmas  logs  blaze  high  and  wide, 

Such  wonders  speed  the  festal  tide ; 

While  Curiosity  and  Fear, 

Pleasure  and  Pain,  sit  crouching  near, 

Till  childhood's  cheek  no  longer  glows, 

And  village  maidens  lose  the  rose. 

The  thrilling  interest  rises  higher,1 

The  circle  closes  nigh  and  nigher, 

And  shuddering  glance  is  cast  behind, 

As  louder  moans  the  wintry  wind. 

Believe,  that  fitting  scene  was  laid 

For  such  wild  tales  in  Mortham  glade  1 

For  who  had  seen,  on  Greta's  side, 

By  that  dim  light  fierce  Bertram  stride, 

In  such  a  spot,  at  such  an  hour, — 

If  touch'd  by  Superstition's  power, 

Might  well  have  deem'd  that  Hell  had  given 

A  murderer's  ghost  to  upper  Heaven, 

While  Wilfrid's  form  had  seem'd  to  glide 

Like  his  pale  victim  by  his  side. 

XL 

.Nor  think  to  village  swains  alone 
Are  these  unearthly  terrors  known ; 
For  not  to  rank  nor  sex  confined 
Is  this  vain  ague  of  the  mind : 
Hearts  firm  as  steel,  as  marble  hard, 
'Gainst  faith  and  love,  and  pity  barr'd, 
Have  quaked,  like  aspen  leaves  in  May, 
Beneath  its  universal  sway. 
Bertram  had  listed  many  a  tale 
Of  wonder  in  his  native  dale, 
That  in  his  secret  soul  retain'd 
The  credence  they  in  childhood  gain'd : 

i  MS. — "  The  interest  rises  high  and  higher." 

2  The  MS.  has  not  the  two  following  couplets. 

3  "  Also  I  shall  shew  very  briefly  what  force  conjurers  and 
witches  have  in  constraining  the  elements  enchanted  by  them 
or  others,  that  they  may  exceed  or  fall  short  of  their  natural 
order  :  premising  this,  that  the  extream  land  of  North  Finland 
and  Lapland  was  so  taught  witchcraft  formerly  in  heathenish 
times,  as  if  they  had  learned  this  cursed  art  from  Zoroastres  the 
Persian  ;  though  other  inhabitants  by  the  sea-coasts  are  reported 
to  be  bewitched  with  the  same  madness  ;  for  they  exercise  this 
devilish  art,  of  all  the  arts  of  the  world,  to  admiration  ;  and  in 
this,  or  other  such  like  mischief,  they  commonly  agree.  The 
Finlanders  were  wont  formerly,  amongst  their  other  errors  of 
gentilisme,  to  sell  winds  to  merchants  that  were  stopt  on  their 
toasts  by  contrary  weather ;  and  when  they  had  their  price, 
Uiey  knit  three  magical  knots,  not  like  to  the  laws  of  Cassius, 


Nor  less  his  wild  adventurous  youth 
Believed  in  every  legend's  truth ; 
Learn'd  when,  beneath  the  tropic  gale, 
Full  swell'd  the  vessel's  steady  sail, 
And  the  broad  Indian  moon  her  light 
Pour'd  on  the  watch  of  middle  night, 
Wlien  seamen  love  to  hear  and  tell 
Of  portent,  prodigy,  and  spell  :3 
What  gales  are  sold  on  Lapland's  shore 
How  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar, 
Of  witch,  of  mermaid,  and  of  sprite, 
Of  Erick's  cap  and  Elmo's  light  ;6 
Or  of  that  Phantom  Ship,  whose  form 
Shoots  like  a  meteor  through  the  storm ; 
"When  the  dark  scud  comes  driving  hard, 
And  lower'd  is  ever}'  topsail-yard, 
And  canvas,  wove  in  earthly  looms, 
No  more  to  brave  the  storm  presumes  1 
Then,  'mid  the  war  of  sea  and  sky, 
Top  and  top-gallant  hoisted  high, 
Full  spread  and  crowded  every  sail, 
The  Demon  Frigate  braves  the  gale  ;a 
And  well  the  doom'd  spectators  know 
The  harbinger  of  wreck  and  woe. 

XII. 
Then,  too,  were  told,  in  stifled  tone, 
Marvels  and  omens  all  their  own ; 
How,  by  some  desert  isle  or  key,7 
Where  Spaniards  wrought  their  cruelty 
Or  where  the  savage  pirate's  mood 
Repaid  it  home  in  deeds  of  blood, 
Strange  nightly  sounds  of  woe  and  fear 
Appall'd  the  listening  Bucanier, 
Whose  light-arm'd  shallop  anchor'd  lay 
In  ambush  by  the  lonely  bay. 
The  groan  of  grief,  the  shriek  of  pain, 
Ring  from  the  moonlight  groves  of  cane  ; 
The  fierce  adventurer's  heart  they  scare, 
"Who  wearies  memory  for  a  prayer, 
Curses  the  road-stead,  and  with  gale 
Of  early  morning  lifts  the  sail, 
To  give,  in  thirst  of  blood  and  prey, 
A  legend  for  another  bay. 

bound  up  with  a  thong,  and  they  gave  them  unto  ihe  mer 
chants  ;  observing  that  rule,  that  when  they  unloosed  the  first. 
they  should  have  a  good  gale  of  wind  ;  when  the  second,  a 
stronger  wind ;  but  when  they  untied  the  third,  they  should 
have  such  cruel  tempests,  that  they  should  not  be  able  to  look 
out  of  the  forecastle  to  avoid  the  rocks,  nor  move  a  foot  to  pull 
down  the  sails,  nor  stand  at  the  helm  to  govern  the  shio ;  and 
they  made  an  unhappy  trial  of  the  truth  of  it  who  denied  that 
there  was  any  such  power  in  those  knots." — Olaus  Magnus's 
History  of  the  Goths,  Swedes,  and  Vandals.  Lond.  1658,  fol 
p.  47.— [See  Note  to  The  Pirate,  "  Sale  of  Winds,"  Watvr- 
ley  Novels,  vol.  xxiv.  p.  136.] 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  Ci. 

e  Ibid.  Note  R. 

«  Ibid.  Note  S.  7  [bid.  Note  T. 


310                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  n, 

XIII. 

You  mark  him  by  the  crashing  bough, 

Thus,  as  a  man,  a  youth,  a  child. 

And  by  his  corselet's  sullen  clank, 

Train'd  in  the  mystic  and  the  wild, 

And  by  the  stones  spurn'd  from  the  bank, 

With  this  on  Bertram's  soul  at  times 

And  by  the  hawk  scared  from  her  nest, 

Rush'd  a  dark  feeling  of  lus  crimes ; 

And  ravens  croaking  o'er  their  guest, 

Such  to  his  troubled  soul  their  form, 

Who  deem  lus  forfeit  limbs  shall  pay 

As  the  pale  Death-ship  to  the  storm, 

The  tribute  of  his  bold  essay. 

And  such  their  omen  dim  and  dread, 

As  shrieks  and  voices  of  the  dead, — 

XV. 

That  pang,  whose  transitory  force1 

See,  he  emerges ! — desperate  now6 

Hover' d  'twixt  horror  and  remorse  ; 

All  farther  course — Yon  beetling  brow, 

That  pang,  perchance,  his  bosom  press' d, 

In  craggy  nakedness  sublime, 

As  Wilfrid  sudden  he  address' d : — 

What  heart  or  foot  shall  dare  to  climb  ? 

"  Wilfrid,  this  glen  is  never  trode 

It  bears  no  tendril  for  his  clasp, 

Until  the  sun  rides  high  abroad ; 

Presents  no  angle  to  his  grasp : 

Yet  twice  have  I  beheld  to-day 

Sole  stay  his  foot  may  rest  upon, 

A  Form,  that  seem'd  to  dog  our  way ; 

Is  yon  earth-bedded  jetting  stone. 

Twice  from  my  glance  it  seem'd  to  flee, 

Balanced  on  such  precarious  prop,6 

And  shroud  itself  by  cliff  or  tree. 

He  strains  his  grasp  to  reach  the  top. 

How  think'st  thou  ? — Is  our  path  waylaid  ? 

Just  as  the  dangerous  stretch  he  makes, 

Or  hath  thy  sire  my  trust  betray'd  ? 

By  heaven,  his  faithless  footstool  shakes  1 

If  so" Ere,  starting  from  liis  dream, 

Beneath  lus  tottering  bulk  it  bends, 

That  turn'd  upon  a  gentler  theme, 

It  sways, ...  it  loosens,  ...  it  descends  1 

Wilfrid  had  roused  him  to  reply, 

And  downward  holds  its  headlong  way, 

Bertram  sprung  forward,  shouting  high, 

Crasliing  o'er  rock  and  copsewood  spray. 

u  Whate'er  thou  art,  thou  now  shalt  stand !" — 

Loud  thunders  shake  the  echoing  dell ! — 

And  forth  he  darted,  sword  in  hand. 

Fell  it  alone  ? — alone  it  fell. 

Just  on  the  very  verge  of  fate, 

XIV. 

The  hardy  Bertram's  falling  weight 

As  bursts  the  levin  in  its  wrath,' 

He  trusted  to  his  sinewy  hands, 

He  shot  him  down  the  sounding  path ; 

And  on  the  top  unharni'd  he  stands ! — * 

Rock,  wood,  and  stream,  rang  wildly  out, 

To  his  loud  step  and  savage  shout.* 

XVI. 

Seems  that  the  object  of  lus  race 

Wilfrid  a  safer-  path  pursued ; 

Hath  scaled  the  cliffs ;  his  frantic  chase 

At  intervals  where,  roughly  hew'd, 

Sidelong  he  turns,  and  now  'tis  bent 

Rude  steps  ascending  from  the  dell 

Right  up  the  rock's  tall  battlement ; 

Render'd  the  cliffs  accessible. 

Straining  each  sinew  to  ascend, 

By  circuit  slow  he  thus  attain'd 

Foot,  hand,  and  knee,  their  aid  must  lend. 

The  height  that  Risingham  had  gain'd, 

Wilfrid,  all  dizzy  with  dismay, 

And  when  he  issued  from  the  wood, 

Views  from  beneath  lus  dreadful  way : 

Before  the  gate  of  Mortham  stood.8 

Now  to  the  oak's  warp'd  roots  he  clings 

'Twas  a  fair  scene  !  the7  sunbeam  lay 

Now  trusts  his  weight  to  ivy  strings ; 

On  battled  tower  and  portal  gray : 

Now,  like  the  wild-goat,  must  he  dare 

And  from  the  grassy  slope  he  sees 

An  unsupported  leap  in  air  ;4 

The  Gr c fa  flow  to  meet  the  Tees ; 

Hid  in  the  shrubby  rain-course  now, 

Where,  issuing  from  her  darksome  bed, 

1  MS. — "  Its  fell,  though  transitory  force 

His  progress — heart  and  foot  must  fail 

Hovere,  'twixt  pity  and  remorse." 

Yon  upmost  crag's  bare  peak  to  scale." 

*  MS.—"  As  bursts  the  levin-bolt  \  m  J  wrath." 

•  MS. — "  Perch'd  like  an  eagle  on  its  top, 

(  its  S 

Balanced  on  its  uncertain  prop. 

»  MS. — "  To  his  fierce  step  and  sa\age  shout, 

Just  as  the  perilous  stretch  he  makes, 

By  heaven,  his  tottering  footstool  shakes." 

Seems  that  the  object  of  his  \  race 

1  chase 

i  Opposite  to  this  line,  the  MS.  has  this  note,  meant  to 

Had  scaled  the  cliffs  ;  his  desperate  chase." 

amuse  Mr.  Ballantyue  : — "  If  my  readers  will  not  allow  that  1 

«  MS. — "  A  desperate  leap  through  empty  air  ; 

have  climbed  Parnassus,  they  must  grant  that  I  have  turned 

Hid  in  the  copse-clad  rain-course  row." 

the  Kittle  Nine  Steps.1' — See  note  to  Redgauntlet. —  Waverley 

»  MS  —  **  See,  he  emerges  ! — desperate  now 

Novels,  vol.  xxxv.  p.  0. 

Toward  the  naked  beetling  brow, 

b  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 

oanto  ii.                                                  ROKEBY.                                                          3H 

She  caught  the  morning's  eastern  red, 

That  none  should  on  his  steps  intrude, 

And  through  the  softening  vale  below 

Whene'er  he  sought  this  solitude. — 

Roll'd  her  bright  waves,  in  rosy  glow, 

An  ancient  mariner  I  knew, 

All  blushing  to  her  bridal  bed,1 

What  time  I  sail'd  with  Morgan's  crew, 

Like  some  shy  maid  in  convent  bred ; 

Who  oft,  'mid  our  carousals,  spake 

While  linnet,  lark,  and  blackbird  gay, 

Of  Raleigh,  Forbisher,  and  Drake ; 

Sing  forth  her  nuptial  roundelay. 

Adventurous  hearts  !  who  barter'd,  bold, 

Their  English  steel  for  Spanish  gold. 

XVII. 

Trust  not,  would  his  experience  say, 

'Twas  sweetly  sung  that  roundelay ; 

Captain  or  comrade  with  your  prey ; 

That  summer  morn  shone  blithe  and  gay ; 

But  seek  some  charnel,  when,  at  full. 

Bat  morning  beam,  and  wild-bud's  call, 

The  moon  gilds  skeleton  and  skull : 

Awaked  not  Mortham's  silent  hall." 

There  dig,  and  tomb  your  precious  heap ; 

No  porter,  by  the  low-brow'd  gate, 

And  b'd  the  dead  your  treasure  keep  ;6 

Took  in  the  wonted  niche  liis  seat ; 

Sure  stewards  they,  ii  fitting  spell 

To  the  paved  court  no  peasant  drew ; 

Their  service  to  the  task  compel. 

Waked  to  their  toil  no  menial  crew ; 

Lacks  there  such  charnel  ? — kill  a  slave,8 

The  maiden's  carol  was  not  heard, 

Or  prisoner,  on  the  treasure-grave ; 

As  to  her  morning  task  she  fared : 

And  bid  his  discontented  ghost 

In  the  void  offices  around, 

Stalk  nightly  on  his  lonely  post. — 

Rung  not  a  hoof,  nor  bay'd  a  hound ; 

Such  was  the  tale.     Its  truth,  I  ween, 

Nor  eager  steed,  with  shrilling  neigh, 

Is  in  my  morning  vision  seen." 

Accused  the  lagging  groom's  delay  ; 

Untrimm'd,  undress'd,  neglected  now, 

XIX. 

Was  alley'd  walk  and  orchard  bough : 

Wilfrid,  who  scorn'd  the  legend  wild, 

All  spoke  the  master's  absent  care,3 

In  mingled  mirth  and  pity  smiled, 

All  spoke  neglect  and  disrepair. 

Much  marvelling  that  a  breast  so  bold 

South  of  the  gate,  an  arrow  flight, 

In  such  fond  tale  belief  should  hold  ;7 

Two  mighty  elms  their  limbs  unite, 

But  yet  of  Bertram  sought  to  know 

As  if  a  canopy  to  spread 

The  apparition's  form  and  show. — 

O'er  the  lone  dwelling  of  the  dead ; 

The  power  within  the  guilty  breast, 

For  their  huge  boughs  in  arches  bent 

Oft  vanquish' d,  never  quite  suppress' d. 

Above  a  massive  monument, 

That  unsubdued  and  lurking  lies 

Carved  o'er  in  ancient  Gothic  wise, 

To  take  the  felon  by  surprise, 

With  many  a  scutcheon  and  device : 

And  force  him,  as  by  magic  spell, 

There,  spent  with  toil  and  sunk  in  gloom, 

In  his  despite  his  guilt  to  tell, — 8 

Bertram  stood  pondering  by  the  tomb. 

That  power  in  Bertram's  breast  awoke . 

Scarce  conscious  he  was  heard,  he  spoke ; 

XVIII. 

"  'Twas  Mortham's  form,  from  foot  to  head  t 

"  It  vanish'd,  like  a  flitting  ghost  1 

His  morion,  with  the  plume  of  red, 

Behind  tliis  tomb,"  he  said,  "  'twas  lost — 

His  sliape,  his  mien — 'twas  Mortham,  right 

This  tomb,  where  oft  I  deem'd  lies  stored 

.  As  when  I  slew  him  in  the  fight." 

Of  Mortham's  Indian  wealth  the  hoard. 

"  Thou  slay  him  ? — thou  ?" — With  conscious  start 

'Tis  true,,  the  aged  servants  said 

He  heard,  then  mann'd  his  haughty  hearv- 

Here  his  lamented  wife  is  laid  * 

"  I  slew  him  ? — 1 1 — I  had  forgot 

But  weightier  reasons  may  be  guess'd 

Thou,  stripling,  knew'st  not  of  the  plot. 

For  their  lord's  strict  and  stern  behest, 

But  it  is  spoken — nor  will  I 

M5-  — "  As  some  fair  maid  in  cloister  bred, 

*  MS. — "  Here  lies  the  partner  of  his  bed  ; 

la  blushing  to  her  bridal  led." 

But  weightier  reasons  should  appear 

a   'The  beautiful  prospect  commanded  by  that  eminence, 

For  all  his  moonlight  wanderings  here, 

leen  under  the  cheerful  light  of  a  summer's  morning,  is  finely 

And  for  the  sharp  rebuke  they  got, 

contrasted  with  the  silence  and  solitude  of  the  place." — Criti- 

That pried  around  his  favorite  spot." 

cal  Review. 

b  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

'  MS. — "  All  spoke  the  master  absent  far, 

6  MS. — "  Lacks  there  such  charnel-vault  ? — a  Blare, 

All  spoke  )"e»,ectandUivil  war. 
1  the  woes  of  S 

Close  by  the  gate,  an  arch  combined, 

Or  prisoner,  slaughter  on  the  grave." 

7  MS.—"  Should  faith  in  such  a  fable  hold." 

Two  haughty  elms  their  branches  twined." 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  W 

312 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II, 


Deed  done,  or  spoken  word,  deny. 
I  slew  him ;  I !  for  thankless  pride ; 
'Twas  by  tliis  hand  that  Mortham  died !" 

XX. 

Wilfrid,  of  gentle  hand  and  heart, 

Averse  to  every  active  part, 

But  most  averse  to  martial  broil, 

From  danger  shrunk,  and  turn'd  from  toil; 

Yet  the  meek  lover  of  the  lyre 

Nursed  one  brave  spark  of  noble  fire, 

Against  injustice,  fraud,  or  wrong, 

His  blood  beat  high,  his  hand  wax'd  strong. 

Not  his  the  nerves  that  could  sustain, 

Unshaken,  danger,  toil,  and  pain  ; 

But,  when  that  spark  blazed  forth  to  flame,1 

He  rose  superior  to  his  frame. 

And  now  it  came,  that  generous  mood ; 

And,  in  full  current  of  his  blood, 

On  Bertram  he  laid  desperate  hand, 

Placed  firm  his  foot,  and  drew  his  brand. 

"Should   every   fiend,   to   whom  thou'rt 

sold, 
Rise  in  thine  aid,  I  keep  my  hold. — 
Arouse  there,  ho !  take  spear  and  sword ! 
Attach  the  murderer  of  your  Lord !" 

XXI. 

A  moment,  fix'd  as  by  a  spell, 

Stood  Bertram — It  seem'd  miracle, 

That  one  so  feeble,  soft,  and  tame, 

Set  grasp  on  warlike  Risingham.2 

But  when  he  felt  a  feeble  stroke,3 

The  fiend  within  the  ruffian  woke  ! 

To  wrench  the  sword  from  Wilfrid's  hand, 

To  dash  him  headlong  on  the  sand, 

Was  but  one  moment's  work, — one  more 

Had  drench'd  the  blade  in  Wilfrid's  gore  : 

But,  in  the  instant  it  arose, 

To  end  his  life,  his  love,  his  woes, 

A  warlike  form,  that  mark'd  the  scene, 

Presents  his  rapier  sheathed  between, 

Parries  the  fast-descending  blow, 

And  steps  'twixt  Wilfrid  and  his  foe ; 

Nor  then  unscabbarded  his  brand, 

But,  sternly  pointing  with  his  hand, 

With  monarch's  voice  forbade  the  fight, 

And  motion'd  Bertram  from  his  sight. 


i  MS. — "  But,  when  blazed  forth  that  noble  flame." 
2  "  The  sudden  impression  made  on  the  mind  of  Wilfrid  by 
this  avowal,  is  one  of  the  happiest  touches  of  moral  poetry. 
The  effect  which  the  unexpected  burst  of  indignation  and 
valor  produces  on  Bertram,  is  as  finely  imagined." — Critical 
Review. — "  This  most  animating  scene  is  a  worthy  companion 
to  the  rencounter  of  Fitz-James  and  Roderick  Dhu,  in  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake." — Monthly  Review. 
*  MS.—"  At  length,  at  slight  and  feeble  stroke, 

That  razed  the  skin,  his  \     v     <  awoke." 


"  Go,  and  repent," — he  said,  "  while  time 
Is  given  thee ;  add  not  crime  to  crime." 

XXII. 

Mute,  and  uncertain,  and  amazed, 

As  on  a  vision  Bertram  gazed  ! 

'Twas  Mortham's  bearing,  bold  and  high,* 

His  sinewy  frame,  his  falcon  eye, 

His  look  and  accent  of  command, 

The  martial  gesture  of  his  hand, 

His  stately  form,  spare-built  and  tall, 

His  war-bleach'd  locks — 'twas  Mortham  all 

Through  Bertram's  dizzy  brain  career6 

A  thousand  thoughts,  and  all  of  fear ; 

His  wavering  faith  received  not  quite 

The  form  he  saw  as  Mortham's  sprite, 

But  more  he  fear'd  it,  if  it  stood 

His  lord,  in  living  flesh  and  blood. — 

What  spectre  can  the  charnel  send, 

So  dreadful  as  an  injured  friend  ? 

Then,  too,  the  habit  of  command, 

Used  by  the  leader  of  the  band, 

When  Risingham,  for  many  a  day, 

Had  march'd  and  fought  beneath  his  sway» 

Tamed  him — and,  with  reverted  face, 

Backwards  he  bore  his  sullen  pace  ;6 

Oft  stopp'd,  and  oft  on  Mortham  stared, 

And  dark  as  rated  mastiff  glared ; 

But  when  the  tramp  of  steeds  was  heard, 

Plunged  in  the  glen,  and  disappear'd ; — 

Nor  longer  there  the  Warrior  stood, 

Retiring  eastward  through  the  wood  ;7 

But  first  to  Wilfrid  warning  gives, 

"  Tell  thou  to  none  that  Mortham  lives 

XXIII. 
Still  rung  these  words  in  Wilfrid's  ear, 
Hinting  he  knew  not  what  of  fear  ; 
When  nearer  came  the  coursers'  tread, 
And,  with  his  father  at  their  head, 
Of  horsemen  arm'd  a  gallant  power 
Rein'd  up  their  steeds  before  the  tower. 
■  Whence  these  pale  looks,  my  son  ?"  he  said 
Where's  Bertram  ? — Why  that  naked  blade  V 
Wilfrid  ambiguously  replied 
(For  Mortham's  charge  his  honor  tied), 
"  Bertram  is  gone — the  villain's  word 
Avouch'd  him  murderer  of  his  lord ! 

*  MS. — "  'Twas  Mortham's  spare  and  sinewy  frame, 
His  falcon  eye,  his  glance  of  flame  " 

6  MS. — "  A  thousand  thoughts,  and  all  ot  tear, 
Dizzied  his  brain  in  wild  career ; 
Doubting,  and  not  receiving  quite, 
The  form  he  saw  as  Mortham's  sprite, 
Still  more  he  fear'd  it,  if  it  stood 
His  living  lord,  in  flesh  and  blood." 

6  MS. — "  Slow  he  retreats  with  sullen  pace." 

7  MS. — "  Retiring  through  the  thickest  wood. 

8  MS. — "  Rein'd  ud  their  steeds  by  Mortham  tower 


canto  n                                                   ROKEBY.                                                          313 

Even  now  we  fought — but,  when  your  tread 

Else  on  your  crests  sit  fear  and  shame, 

Announced  you  nigh,  the  felon  fled." 

And  foul  suspicion  dog  your  name  1" 

In  Wycliffe's  conscious  eye  appear 

A  guilty  hope,  a  guilty  fear ; 

XXVI. 

On  his  pale  brow  the  dewdrop  broke, 

Instant  to  earth  young  Redmoxd  sprung ; 

And  his  lip  quiver'd  as  he  spoke  : — 

Instant  on  earth  the  harness  rung 

Of  twenty  men  of  Wycliffe's  band, 

XXIV. 

Who  waited  not  their  lord's  command. 

*;  A  murderer ! — Philip  Mortham  died 

Redmond  his  spurs  from  buskins  drew, 

Amid  the  battle's  wildest  tide. 

His  mantle  from  his  shoulders  threw, 

Wilfrid,  or  Bertram  raves,  or  you ! 

His^pistols  in  his  belt  he  placed, 

Yet,  grant  such  strange  confession  true, 

The  green-wood  gain'd,  the  footsteps  traced, 

Pursuit  were  vain — let  him  fly  far — 

Shouted  like  huntsman  to  his  hounds, 

Justice  must  sleep  in  civil  war." 

"  To  cover,  hark !" — and  in  he  bounds. 

A  gallant  Youth  rode  near  his  side, 

Scarce  heard  was  Oswald's  anxious  cry, 

Brave  Rokeby's  page,  in  battle  tried ; 

"  Suspicion !  yes — pursue  him — fly- 

That  morn,  an  embassy  of  weight 

But  venture  not,  in  useless  strife, 

He  brought  to  Barnard's  castle  gate, 

On  ruffian  desperate  of  his  life, 

And  follow'd  now  in  Wycliffe's  train, 

Whoever  finds  him,  shoot  liim  dead  !* 

An  answer  for  his  lord  to  gain. 

Five  hundred  nobles  for  his  head !" 

His  steed,  whose  arch'd  and  sable  neck 

An  hundred  wreaths  of  foam  bedeck, 

XXVII. 

Chafed  not  against  the  curb  more  high 

The  horsemen  gallop'd,  to  make  good 

Than  he  at  Oswald's  cold  reply ; 

Each  path  that  issued  from  the  wood. 

He  bit  his  lip,  implored  Ins  saint, 

Loud  from  the  thickets  rung  the  shout 

(His  the  old  faith) — then  burst  restraint. 

Of  Redmond  and  his  eager  rout ; 

With  them  was  Wilfrid,  stung  with  ire, 

XXV. 

And  envying  Redmond's  martial  fire,6 

"Yes !  I  beheld  his  bloody  fall,1 

And  emulous  of  fame. — But  where 

By  that  base  traitor's  dastard  ball, 

Is  Oswald,  noble  Mortham's  heir  ? 

Just  when  I  thought  to  measure  sword, 

He,  bound  by  honor,  law,  and  faith, 

Presumptuous  hope !  with  Mortham's  lord. 

Avenger  of  his  kinsman's  death  ? — 

And  shall  the  murderer  'scape  who  slew 

Leaning  against  the  ehnin  tree, 

His  leader,  generous,  brave,  and  true  ?2 

With  drooping  head  and  slacken'd  knet^ 

Escape,  while  on  the  dew  you  trace 

And  clenched  teeth,  and  close-clasp'd  hands, 

The  marks  of  his  gigantic  pace  ? 

In  agony  of  soul  he  stands ! 

No !  ere  the  sun  that  dew  shall  dry,s 

His  downcast  eye  on  earth  is  bent, 

False  Risingham  shall  yield  or  die. — 

His  soul  to  every  sound  is  lent : 

Ring  out  the  castle  'larum  bell ! 

For  in  each  shout  that  cleaves  the  air, 

Arouse  the  peasants  with  the  knell ! 

May  ring  discovery  and  despair.6 

Meantime  disperse — ride,  gallants,  ride  1 

Beset  the  wood  on  every  side. 

XXVIII. 

But  if  among  you  one  there  be, 

What  'vail'd  it  him,  that  brightly  pla^d 

That  honors  Mortham's  memory, 

The  morning  sun  on  Mortham's  glade  ? 

Let  him  dismount  and  follow  me ! 

All  seems  in  giddy  round  to  ride, 

i  MS. — "  Yes !  I  beheld  him  foully  slain, 

use  epithets,  and  is  hallooing  after  the  men,  by  this  tuns  e» 

By  that  base  traitor  of  his  train." 

tering  the  wood.     The  simpler  the  line  the  better.     In  mj 

2  MS.  — "  A  knight,  so  generous,  brave  and  true." 

humble  opinion,  shoot  him  dead,  was  much  better  than  anj 

. 

other.     It  implies,  Do  not  even  approach  him;  kill  him  at  a 

8  MS. "  that  dew  shall  drain, 

distance.     I  leave  it,   however,  to  you,  only  saying,  that  I 

False  Risingham  shall  be  kill'd  or  ta'en." 

never  shun  common  words  when  they  are  to  the  purpose.     As 

*  MS.— To  the  Printer.— "  On  the  disputed  line,  it  may 

to  your  criticisms,  I  cannot  but  attend  to  them,  because  they 

itand  thus, — 

touch  passages  with  which  I  am  myself  discontented. — W.  S.' 

'  Whoever  finds  him,  strike  him  dead  ;' 

6  MS. — "  Jealous  of  Redmond's  noble  fire." 

Or,— 

6  "  Opposed  to  this  animated  picture  of  ardent  courage  and 

'  Who  first  shall  find  him,  strike  him  dead.' 

ingenuous  youth,  that  of  a  guilty  conscience,  which  imme- 

diately follows,  is  indescribably   terrible,    and    calculated  to 

But  I  think  the  addition  of  felon,  or  any  such  word,  will  im- 

achieve the  highest  and  noblest  purposes  of  dramatic  fiction 

pair  the  strength  of  the  passage.     Oswald  is  too  anxious  to 

— Critical  Review. 

314                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  in 

Like  objects  on  a  stormy  tide, 

Unwilling  takes  his  proffer'd  aid, 

Seen  eddying  by  the  moonlight  dim, 

While  conscious  passion  plainly  speaks 

Imperfectly  to  sink  and  swim. 

In  downcast  look  and  blusliing  cheeks. 

"What  'vail'd  it,  that  the  fair  domain, 

Whene'er  he  sings,  will  she  glide  nigh, 

Its  battled  mansion,  hill,  and  plain, 

And  all  her  soul  is  in  her  eye ; 

On  which  the  sun  so  brightly  shone, 

Yet  doubts  she  still  to  tender  free 

Envied  so  long,  was  now  Ins  own  ?x 

The  wonted  words  of  courtesy. 

The  lowest  dungeon,  in  that  hour, 

These  are  strong  signs ! — yet  wherefore  sigh, 

Of  Brackenbury's  dismal  tower,2 

And  wipe,  effeminate,  thine  eye  ? 

Had  been  his  choice,  could  such  a  doom 

Thine  shall  she  be,  if  thou  attend 

Have  open'd  Mortham's  bloody  tomb  1 
Forced,  too,  to  turn  unwilling  ear 

The  counsels  of  thy  sire  and  friend. 

To  each  surmise  of  hope  or  fear, 

XXXI. 

Murmur'd  among  the  rustics  round, 

"  Scarce  wert  thou  gone,  when  peep  of  light* 

Who  gather'd  at  the  'larum  sound ; 

Brought  genuine  news  of  Marston's  fight. 

He  dared  not  turn  his  head  away, 

Brave  Cromwell  turnd  the  doubtful  tide, 

E'en  to  look  up  to  heaven  to  pray, 

And  conquest  bless'd  the  rightful  side ; 

Or  call  on  hell,  in  bitter  mood, 

Three  thousand  cavaliers  lie  dead, 

For  one  sharp  death-shot  from  the  wood  1 

Rupert  and  that  bold  Marquis  fled  ; 

Nobles  and  knights,  so  proud  of  late, 

XXIX. 

Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 

At  length,  o'erpast  that  dreadful  space, 

Of  these,  committed  to  my  charge, 

Back  straggling  came  the  scatter'd  chase ; 

Is  Rokeby,  prisoner  at  large ; 

Jaded  and  weary,  horse  and  man, 

Redmond,  Ins  page,  arrived  to  say 

Return' d  the  troopers,  one  by  one. 

He  reaches  Barnard's  towers  to-day. 

Wilfrid,  the  last,  arrived  to  say, 

Right  heavy  shall  his  ransom  be, 

All  trace  was  lost  of  Bertram's  way, 

Unless  that  maid  compound  with  thee  !e 

Though  Redmond  still,  up  Brignal  wood,' 

Go  to  her  now — be  bold  of  cheer, 

The  hopeless  quest  in  vain  pursued. — 

While  her  soul  floats  'twixt  hope  and  fear ; 

0,  fatal  doom  of  human  race ! 

It  is  the  very  change  of  tide, 

What  tyrant  passions  passions  chase  ! 

When  best  the  female  heart  is  tried — 

Remorse  from  Oswald's  brow  is  gone, 

Pride,  prejudice,  and  modesty, 

Avarice  and  pride  resume  their  throne  ;* 

Are  in  the  current  swept  to  sea  ;7 

The  pang  of  instant  terror  by, 

And  the  bold  swain,  who  plies  Ins  oar, 

They  dictate  us  their  slave's  reply : —                s 

May  lightly  row  his  bark  to  shore." 

XXX. 

"  Ay — let  him  range  like  hasty  hound  1 

And  if  the  grim  wolf's  lair  be  found, 

Hokebg. 

Small  is  my  care  how  goes  the  game 

With  Redmond,  or  with  Risingham. — 
Nay,  answer  not,  thou  simple  boy  1 
Thy  fair  Matilda,  all  so  coy 
To  thee,  is  of  another  mood 

CANTO    THIED. 

To  that  bold  youth  of  Erin's  blood. 

I. 

Thy  ditties  will  she  freely  praise, 

The  hunting  tribes  of  air  and  earth 

And  pay  thy  pains  with  courtly  phrase 

Respect  the  brethren  of  their  birth  ;8 

En  a  rough  path  will  oft  command — 

Nature,  who  loves  the  clahn  of  kind, 

Accept  at  least — thy  friendly  hand ; 

Less  cruel  chase  to  each  assign'd. 

His  she  avoids,  or,  urged  and  pray'd, 

The  falcon,  poised  on  soaring  \>  ing, 

i  "  The  contrast  of  the  beautiful  morning,  and  the  prospect 

Now  nurses  more  ambitious  sciiemes." 

ot  the  rich  domain  of  IVortham,  which  Oswald  was  come  to 

6  MS.—"  This  Redmond  brought,  at  peep  of  Hght, 

leize,  with  the  dark  remorse  and  misery  of  his  mind,  is  power- 

The news  of  Marston's  happy  fight." 

fully  represented:    (JVon   domus    et  fundus!"  &c.  &c.) — 

e  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 

Monthly  Review. 

i  MS. — "  In  the  warm  ebb  are  swept  to  sea." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 

lower     j 
s  MS. — "  The  :                ;.  tribes  of  earth  and  air. 

3  "  Though  Redmond  still,  as  unsubdued." 

•  meaner  S                                       ' 

*  The  MS.  adds  :— 

In  the  wild  chase  their  kindred  spare.' 

"  Of  Mortham's  treasure  now  he  dreams 

The  second  couplet  in  erpoiated. 

CANTO  III. 


ROKEBY. 


ZLh 


Watches  the  wild-duck  by  the  spring ; 
The  slow-hound  wakes  the  fox's  lair; 
The  greyhound  presses  on  the  hare ; 
The  eagle  pounces  on  the  lamb ; 
The  wolf  devours  the  fleecy  dam : 
Even  tiger  fell,  and  sullen  bear, 
Their  likeness  and  their  lineage  spare, 
Man,  only,  mars  kind  Nature's  plan, 
And  turns  the  fierce  pursuit  on  rAan ; 
Plying  war's  desultory  trade, 
Incursion,  flight,  and  ambuscade,1 
Since  Nimrod,  Cush's  mighty  son, 
At  first  the  bloody  game  begun. 

II. 

The  Indian,  prowling  for  his  prey, 

Who  hears  the  settlers  track  his  way, 

And  knows  in  distant  forest  far 

Camp  liis  red  brethren  of  the  war  ; 

He,  when  each  double  and  disguise 

To  baffle  the  pursuit  he  tries, 

Low  crouching  now  his  head  to  liide, 

Where  swampy  streams  through  rushes  glide,2 

Now  covering  with  the  wither'd  leaves 

The  foot-prints  that  the  dew  receives  :3 

He,  skill'd  in  every  silvan  guile, 

Knows  not,  nor  tries,  such  various  wile, 

As  Risingham,  when  on  the  wind 

Arose  the  loud  pursuit  behind. 

In  Redesdale  his  youth  had  heard 

Each  art  her  wily  dalesmen  dared, 

When  Rooken-edge,  and  Redswair  high, 

To  bugle  rung  and  blood-hound's  cry,4 

Announcing  Jedwood-axe  and  spear, 

And  Lid'sdale  riders  in  the  rear ; 

And  well  his  venturous  life  had  proved 

The  lessons  that  his  childhood  loved. 

III. 
Oft  had  he  shown,  in  climes  afar, 
Each  attribute  of  roving  war  ; 
The  sharpen'd  ear,  the  piercing  eye, 
The  quick  resolve  in  danger  nigh ; 
The  speed,  that  in  the  flight  or  chase, 
Outstripp'd  the  Charib's  rapid  race  ; 
The  steady  brain,  the  sinewy  limb, 
To  leap,  to  climb,  to  dive,  to  swim ; 
The  iron  frame,  inured  to  bear 
Each  dire  inclemency  of  air. 
Nor  less  confirm'd  to  undergo 
Fatigue's  faint  chill,  and  famine's  throe. 

J  MS. — "Invasion,  flight,  and  ambuscade." 

*  MS. — "  Where  the  slow  waves  through  rushes  glide." 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  Z. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  A.  V 

»  MS. —    Where  traces  in  the  dew  remain." 
1  MS. — "  And  oft  his  soul  within  him  rose, 
Prompting  to  rush  upon  his  foes, 


These  arts  he  proved,  his  life  to  save, 
In  peril  oft  by  land  and  wave, 
On  Arawaca's  desert  shore, 
Or  where  La  Plata's  billows  roar. 
When  oft  the  sons  of  vengeful  Spain 
Track'd  the  marauder's  steps  hi  vain. 
These  arts,  in  Indian  warfare  tried, 
Must  save  him  now  by  Greta's  side. 

IV. 
'Twas  then,  in  hour  of  utmost  need, 
He  proved  his  courage,  art,  and  speed. 
Now  slow  he  stalk'd  with  stealthy  pace, 
Now  started  forth  in  rapid  race, 
Oft  doubling  back  in  mazy  train, 
To  blind  the  trace  the  dews  retain  :5 
Now  clombe  the  rocks  projecting  high, 
To  baffle  the  pursuer's  eye  ; 
Now  sought  the  stream,  whose  brawling  sound 
The  echo  of  his  footsteps  drown' d. 
But  if  the  forest  verge  he  nears, 
There  trample  steeds,  and  glimmer  spears 
If  deeper  down  the  copse  he  drew, 
He  heard  the  rangers'  loud  halloo, 
Beating  each  cover  while  they  came, 
As  if  to  start  the  silvan  game. 
'Twas  then — like  tiger  close  beset8 
At  every  pass  with  toil  and  net, 
'Counter'd,  where'er  he  turns  his  glare, 
By  clashing  arms  and  torches'  flare,, 
Who  meditates,  with  furious  bound, 
To  burst  on  hunter,  horse,  and  hound.-  * 
'Twas  then  that  Bertram's  soul  arose, 
Prompting  to  rush  upon  his  foes : 
But  as  that  croucliing  tiger,  cow'd 
By  brandish'd  steel  and  shouting  crowd, 
Retreats  beneath  the  jungle's  shroud, 
Bertram  suspends  his  purpose  stern, 
And  couches  in  the  brake  and  fern, 
Hiding  his  face,  lest  foemen  spy 
The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye.8 


Then  Bertram  might  the  bearing  trace 
Of  the  bold  youth  who  led  the  chase ; 
Who  paused  to  list  for  every  sound, 
Climb  every  height  to  look  around, 
Then  rushing  on  with  naked  sword, 
Each  dingle's  bosky  depths  explored. 
'Twas  Redmond — by  the  azure  eye ; 
'Twas  Redmond — by  the  locks  that  fly 

And  oft,  like  tiger  toil-beset, 

That  in  each  pass  finds  foe  and  net,"  &o. 
'  In  the  MS.  the  stanza  concludes  thus : 

"  Suspending  yet  his  purpose  stern, 

He  couch'd  him  in  the  brake  and  fern; 

Hiding  his  face,  lest  foemen  spy 

The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  ev«  ' 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  B. 


816                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  hi 

Disorder'd  from  his  glowing  cheek ; 

Thus,  circled  in  his  coil,  the  snake, 

Mien,  face,  and  form,  young  Redmond  speak. 

When  roving  hunters  beat  the  brake, 

A  form  more  active,  light,  and  strong, 

Watches  with  red  and  glistening  eye, 

Ne'er  shot  the  ranks  of  war  along ; 

Prepared,  if  heedless  step  draw  nigh, 

The  modest,  yet  the  manly  mien, 

With  forked  tongue  and  venom'd  fang 

Might  grace  the  court  of  maiden  queen ; 

Instant  to  dart  the  deadly  pang ; 

A  face  more  fair  you  well  might  find,1 

But  if  the  intruders  turn  aside, 

For  Redmond's  knew  the  sun  and  wind, 

Away  lus  coils  unfolded  glide, 

Nor  boasted,  from  their  tinge  when  free, 

And  through  the  deep  savannah  wind, 

The  charm  of  regularity ; 

Some  undisturb'd  retreat  to  find. 

But  every  feature  had  the  power 

To  aid  the  expression  of  the  hour : 

VII. 

Whether  gay  wit,  and  humor  sly, 

But  Bertram,  as  he  backward  drew, 

Danced  laughing  in  his  light-blue  eye  ; 

And  he,ard  the  loud  pursuit  renew, 

Or  bended  brow,  and  glance  of  fire, 

And  Redmond's  hollo  on  the  wind, 

And  kindling  cheek,  spoke  Erin's  ire ; 

Oft  mutter'd  in  his  savage  mind — 

Or  soft  and  sadden'd  glances  show 

"  Redmond  O'Neale  !  were  thou  and  I 

Her  ready  sympathy  with  woe  ; 

Alone  this  day's  event  to  try, 

Or  in  that  wayward  mood  of  mind, 

With  not  a  second  here  to  see, 

When  various  feelings  are  combined, 

But  the  gray  cliff  and  oaken  tree, — 

When  joy  and  sorrow  mingle  near, 

That  voice  of  thine,  that  shouts  so  loud, 

And  hope's  bright  wings  are  check'd  by  fear; 

Should  ne'er  repeat  its  summons  proud  ! 

And  rising  doubts  keep  transport  down, 

No !  nor  e'er  try  its  melting  power 

And  anger  lends  a  short-lived  frown ; 

Again  in  maiden's  summer  bower." 

In  that  strange  mood  which  maids  approve 

Eluded,  now  behind  him  die, 

Even  when  they  dare  not  call  it  love  ; 

Faint  and  more  faint,  each  hostile  cry ; 

With  every  change  Ins  features  play'd, 

He  stands  in  Scargill  wood  alone, 

As  aspens  show  the  light  and  shade.3 

Nor  hears  he  now  a  harsher  tone 

Than  the  hoarse  cushat's  plaintive  cry, 

VI. 

Or  Greta's  sound  that  murmurs  by ; 

Well  Risingham  young  Redmond  knew ; 

And  on  the  dale,  so  lone  and  wild, 

And  much  he  marvell'd  that  the  crew, 

The  summer  sun  in  quiet  smiled. 

Roused  to  revenge  bold  Mortham  dead, 

Were  by  that  Mortham's  foeman  led ; 

VIII. 

For  never  felt  his  soul  the  woe, 

He  listen'd  long  with  anxious  heart, 

That  wails  a  generous  foeman  low, 

Ear  bent  to  hear,  and  foot  to  start,4 

Far  less  that  sense  of  justice  strong, 

And,  while  his  stretch'd  attention  glows, 

That  wreaks  a  generous  foeman's  wrong. 

Refused  lus  weary  frame  repose. 

But  small  his  leisure  now  to  pause ; 

'Twas  silence  all — he  laid  him  down, 

Redmond  is  first,  whate'er  the  cause  :s 

Where  purple  heath  profusely  strown, 

And  twice  that  Redmond  came  so  near 

And  throatwort,  with  its  azure  bell,8 

Where  Bertram  couch'd  like  hunted  deer, 

And  moss  and  thyme  his  cushion  swell. 

The  very  boughs  his  steps  displace 

There,  spent  with  toil,  he  listless  eyed 

Rustled  against  the  ruffian's  face, 

The  course  of  Greta's  playfjil  tide  ; 

Who,  desperate,  twice  prepared  to  start, 

Beneath,  her  banks  now  eddying  dun, 

And  plunge  his  dagger  in  his  heart ! 

Now  brightly  gleaming  to  the  sun, 

But  Redmond  turn'd  a  different  way, 

As,  dancing  over  rock  and  stone, 

And  the  bent  boughs  resumed  their  sway, 

In  yellow  light  her  currents  shone, 

And  Bertram  held  it  wise,  unseen, 

Matching  in  hue  the  favorite  gem 

Deeper  to  plunge  in  coppice  green. 

Of  Albin's  mountain-diadem. 

i  These  six  couplets  were  often  quoted  by  the  late  Lord 

3  MS. — "  The  chase  he  heads,  whate'er  the  cause." 

Kinnedder  as  giving,  in  his  opinion,  an  excellent  portrait  of 

4  MS. "  and  limbs  to  start, 

the  author  himself. — Ed. 

And,  while  his  stretch'd  attention  glows, 

2  In  the  MS.  this  image  comes  after  the  line  "  to  aid  the  ex- 

Scarce felt  his  weary  frame  repose." 

pression  of  the  hour,"  and  the  couplet  stands  : 

s  The  Campanula  Latifolia,  grand  throatwort,  or  Canter 

bury  bells,  grows  in  profusion  npon  the  beautiful  banks  </  the 

*'  And  like  a  flexile  aspen  play'd 

river  Greta,  where  it.  divides  the  manors  of  Brignall  and  3ca* 

Alternately  in  light  and  shade." 

gill,  about  three  miles  above  Greta  Bridge. 

CANTO  III. 


ROKEBY. 


an 


Then,  tired  to  watch  the  current's  play, 

He  turn'd  his  weary  eyes  away, 

To  where  the  bank  opposing  show'd 

Its  huge,  square  cliffs  through  shaggy  wood. 

One,  prominent  above  the  rest, 

Rear'd  to  the  sun  its  pale  gray  breast ; 

Around  its  broken  summit  grew 

The  hazel  rude,  and  sable  yew ; 

A  thousand  varied  lichens  dyed 

Its  waste  and  weather-beaten  side, 

And  round  its  rugged  basis  lay, 

By  time  or  thunder  rent  away, 

Fragments,  that,  from  its  frontlet  torn, 

"Were  mantled  now  by  verdant  thorn. 

Such  was  the  scene's  wild  majesty. 

That  fill'd  stern  Bertram's  gazing  eye.a 

IX. 

In  sullen  mood  he  lay  reclined, 
Revolving,  in  his  stormy  mind, 
The  felon  deed,  the  fruitless  guilt, 
His  patron's  blood  by  treason  spilt ; 
A  crime,  it  seem'd,  so  dire  and  dread, 
That  it  had  power  to  wake  the  dead 
Then,  pondering  on  his  life  betray'd3 
By  Oswald's  art  to  Redmond's  blade, 
In  treacherous  purpose  to  withhold, 
So  seem'd  it,  Mortham's  promised  gold, 
A  deep  and  full  revenge  he  vow'd 
On  Redmond,  forward,  fierce,  and  proud ; 
Revenge  on  Wilfrid — on  his  sire 
Redoubled  vengeance,  swift  and  due  1 — 
If  in  such  mood  (as  legends  say, 
And  well  believed  that  simple  day), 
The  Enemy  of  Man  has  power 
To  profit  by  the  evil  hour, 
Here  stood  a  wretch,  prepared  to  change 
His  soul's  redemption  for  revenge  !4 
But  though  his  vows,  with  such  a  fire 
Of  earnest  and  intense  desire 
For  vengeance  dark  and  fell,  were  made,6 
As  well  might  reach  hell's  lowest  shade. 
No  deeper  clouds  the  grove  embrown'd, 
No  nether  thunders  shook  the  ground ; — 
The  demon  knew  his  vassal's  heart, 
And  spared  temptation's  needless  art.6 


»MS. 


:  show'd, 


With  many  a  rocky  fragment  rude, 
Its  old  gray  cliffs  and  shaggy  wood." 

t  The  MS.  adds  : 

"  Yet  as  he  gazed,  he  fail'd  to  find 
According  image  touch  his  mind." 
s  MS. — "  Then  thought  he  on  his  life  betray'd." 
«  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 
6  MS. — "  For  deep  and  dark  revenge  were  made, 

As  well  might  wake  hell's  lowest  shade." 
•  "  Bertram  is  now  alone :    the    landscape  around  is  truly 
jfrand,  partially  illuminated  by  the  sun  ;  and  we  are  reminded 


X. 

Oft,  mingled  with  the  direful  theme, 

Came  Mortham's  form — Was  it  a  dream  ? 

Or  had  he  seen,  in  vision  true, 

That  very  Mortham  whom  he  slew  i 

Or  had  in  living  flesh  appear'd 

The  only  man  on  eartli  he  fear'd  ? — 

To  try  the  mystic  cause  intent, 

His  eyes,  that  on  the  cliff  were  bent, 

'Counter'd  at  once  a  dazzling  glance, 

Like  sunbeam  flash'd  from  sword  or  lance. 

At  once  he  started  as  for  fight, 

But  not  a  foeman  was  in  sight  ;7 

He  heard  the  cushat's  murmur  hoarse, 

He  heard  the  river's  sounding  course ; 

The  solitary  woodlands  lay, 

As  slumbering  in  the  summer  ray. 

He  gazed,  like  lion  roused,  around, 

Then  sunk  again  upon  the  ground. 

'Twas  but,  he  thought,  some  fitful  beam, 

Glanced  sudden  from  the  sparkling  stream . 

Then  plunged  him  from  his  gloomy  train 

Of  ill-connected  thoughts  again, 

Until  a  voice  behind  him  cried, 

"  Bertram !  well  met  on  Greta  sid<» " 

XL 

Instant  his  sword  was  in  his  hand, 

As  instant  sunk  the  ready  brand  ; 

Yet,  dubious  still,  opposed  he  stood 

To  him  that  issued  from  the  wood; 

"  Guy  Denzil ! — is  it  thou  ?"  he  said ; 

"  Do  we  two  meet  in  Scargill  shade  ! — 

Stand  back  a  space  ! — thy  purpose  show, 

Whether  thou  comest  as  friend  or  foe. 

Report  hath  said,  that  Denzil's  name 

From  Rokeby's  band  was  razed  with  shame ' 

"  A  shame  I  owe  that  hot  O'Neale, 

Who  told  his  knight,  in  peevish  zeal, 

Of  my  marauding  on  the  clowns 

Of  Calverley  and  Bradford  downs.8 

I  reck  not.     In  a  war  to  strive, 

Where,  save  the  leaders,  none  can  thrive, 

Suits  ill  my  mood ;  and  better  game 

Awaits  us  both,  if  thou'rt  the  same 

Unscrupulous,  bold  Risingham,9 


of  the  scene  in  The  Robbers,  in  which  something  of  a  simTn 
contrast  is  exhibited  between  the  beauties  of  external  naUire 
and  the  agitations  of  human  passion.  It  is  in  such  picture! 
that  Mr.  Scott  delights  and  excels."— Monthly  Review.  One 
is  surprised  that  the  reviewer  did  not  quote  Milton  ratlin* 
than  Schiller : 


1  The  fiend 


Saw  undelighted  all  delight." — Ed 

7  MS. — "  Look'd  round — no  foeman  was  in  sight 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  D. 

9  MS. — "  Unscrupulous,  gallant  Risingham.' 


318                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  hi, 

Who  watch'd  with  me  in  midnight  dark, 

XIV. 

To  snatch  a  deer  from  Rokeby-park. 

With  wonder  Bertram  heard  within 

How  think'st  thou  ?" — "  Speak  thy  purpose  out ; 

The  flinty  rock  a  murmur'd  din  ; 

I  love  not  mystery  or  doubt." — 

But  when  Guy  pull'd  the  wilding  spray, 

And  brambles,  from  its  base  away,* 

XII. 

He  saw,  appearing  to  the  air, 

"Then  list. — Not  far  there  lurk  a  crew 

A  little  entrance,  low  and  square, 

Of  trusty  comrades,  standi  and  true, 

Like  opening  cell  of  hermit  lone, 

G  Iean'd  from  both  factions — Roundheads,  freed 

Dark,  winding  through  the  living  stone. 

From  cant  of  sermon  and  of  creed  ; 

Here  enter'd  Denzil,  Bertram  here  ; 

And  Cavaliers,  whose  souls,  like  mine, 

And  loud  and  louder  on  their  ear, 

Spurn  at  the  bonds  of  discipline. 

As  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 

Wiser,  we  judge,  by  dale  and  wold, 

Resounded  shouts  of  boisterous  mirth. 

A  warfare  of  our  own  to  hold, 

Of  old,  the  cavern  strait  and  rude, 

Than  breathe  our  last  on  battle-down, 

In  slaty  rock  the  peasant  hew'd ; 

For  cloak  or  surplice,  mace  or  crown. 

And  Brignall's  woods,  and  Scargill's,  wave 

Our  schemes  are  laid,  our  purpose  set, 

E'en  now,  o'er  many  a  sister  cave,6 

A  chief  and  leader  lack  we  yet. — 

Where,  far  within  the  darksome  rift, 

Thou  art  a  wanderer,  it  is  said ; 

The  wedge  and  lever  ply  their  thrift. 

For  Mortham's  death,  thy  steps  waylaid,1 

But  war  had  silenced  rural  trade, 

Thy  head  at  price — so  say  our  spies, 

And  the  deserted  mine  was  made 

Who  range  the  valley  in  disguise. 

The  banquet-hall  and  fortress  too, 

Join  then  with  us : — though  wild  debate 

Of  Denzil  and  his  desperate  crew. — 

And  wrangling  rend  our  infant  state, 

There  Guilt  his  anxious  revel  kept ; 

Each  to  an  equal  loth  to  bow, 

There,  on  his  sordid  pallet,  slept 

Will  yield  to  chief  renown'd  as  thou." — 

Guilt-born  Excess,  the  goblet  drain'd 

Still  in  his  slumbering  grasp  retain'd ; 

XIIL 

Regret  was  there,  his  eye  still  cast 

■  Even  now,"  thought  Bertram,  passion-stirr'd, 

With  vain  repining  on  the  past ; 

"  I  call'd  on  hell,  and  hell  has  heard  I2 

Among  the  feasters  waited  near 

What  lack  I,  vengeance  to  command, 

Sorrow,  and  unrepentant  Fear, 

But  of  stanch  comrades  such  a  band  ?3 

And  Blasphemy,  to  phrensy  driven, 

This  Denzil,  vow'd  to  every  evil 

With  his  own  crimes  reproaching  heaven ; 

Might  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil. 

Wliile  Bertram  show'd,  amid  the  crew, 

Well,  be  it  so !  each  knave  and  fool 

The  Master-Fiend  that  Milton  drew. 

Shall  serve  as  my  revenge's  tool." — 

Aloud,  "  I  take  thy  proffer,  Guy, 

XV. 

But  tell  me  where  thy  comrades  lie  ?" — 

Hark  !  the  loud  revel  wakes  again, 

"  Not  far  from  hence,"  Guy  Denzil  said ; 

To  greet  the  leader  of  the  train. 

" Descend,  and  cross  the  rivers  bed, 

Behold  the  group  by  the  pale  lamp, 

Where  rises  yonder  cliff  so  gray." — 

That  struggles  with  the  earthy  damp. 

"  Do  thou,"  said  Bertram,  "  lead  the  way." 

By  what  strange  features  Vice  hath  known, 

Then  mutter'd,  "  It  is  best  make  sure; 

To  single  out  and  mark  her  own ! 

Guy  Denzil's  faith  was  never  pure." 

Yet  some  there  are,  whose  brows  retain 

He  follow'd  down  the  steep  descent, 

Less  deeply  stamp'd  her  brand  and  stain. 

Then  through  the  Greta's  streams  they  went ; 

See  yon  pale  stripling  !8  when  a  boy, 

And,  when  they  reach' d  the  farther  shore, 

A  mother's  pride,  a  father's  joy ! 

They  stood  the  lonely  cliff  before. 

Now,  'gainst  the  vault's  rude  walls  reclined, 

i  MS. — "  Thy  head  at  price,  thy  steps  waylaid." 

acters  of  the  drama,  had  not  one  of  its  subordinate  personage! 

* "  I  but  half  wish'd 

been  touched  with  a  force  of  imagination,  which  renders  it 

To  see  the  devil,  and  lie's  here  already." — Otway 

worthy  even  of  prominent  regard  and  attention.     The  poet  has 

»  MS. — "  What  lack  I,  my  revenge  to  quench, 

just  presented  us  with  the  picture  oi  a  gang  of  banditti,  on 

But  such  a  hand  of  comrades  stanch  ?" 

which  he  has  bestowed  some  of  the  most  gloomy  coloring  of 

*  MS. — "  But  when  Guy  Denzil  pull'd  the  spra'y, 

his  powerful  pencil.     In  the  midst  of  this  horrible  group,  is 

And  brambles,  from  its  roots  away, 

distinguished  the  exquisitely  natural  and  interesting  portrait 

Ke  saw,  forth  issuing  to  the  air." 

which  follows : — 

e  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E. 

'  See  yon  pale  stripling  !'  &c." 

•  "  We  should  here  have  concluded  our  remarks  on  the  thai- 

Critical  Review. 

f  ANTO  III. 


ROKEBY. 


319 


An  early  image  fills  his  mind : 

The  cottage,  once  his  sire's,  he  sees, 

Embower' d  upon  the  banks  of  Tees ; 

He  views  sweet  Winston's  woodland  scene, 

And  shares  the  dance  on  Gainford-green. 

A  tear  is  springing — but  the  zest 

Of  some  wild  tale,  or  brutal  jest, 

Hath  to  loud  laughter  stirr'd  the  rest. 

On  him  they  call,  the  aptest  mate 

For  jovial  song  and  merry  feat : 

Fast  flies  his  dream — with  dauntless  air, 

As  one  victorious  o'er  Despair, 

He  bids  the  ruddy  cup  go  round, 

Till  sense  and  sorrow  both  are  drown'd ; 

And  soon,  in  merry  wassail,  he,1 

The  life  of  all  their  revelry, 

Peals  his  loud  song ! — The  muse  has  found 

Her  blossoms  on  the  wildest  ground, 

'Mid  noxious  weeds  at  random  strew'd, 

Themselves  all  profitless  and  rude. — 

With  desperate  merriment  he  sung, 

The  cavern  to  the  chorus  rung : 

Yet  mingled  with  his  reckless  glee 

Remorse's  bitter  agony. 

XVI. 

O,  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there, 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen. 
And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton-hall, 

Beneath  the  turrets  high, 
A.  Maiden  on  the  castle  wall 

Was  singing  merrily, — 

CHORUS. 

"  0,  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there, 

Than  reign  our  English  queen." — 

"  If,  Maiden,  thou  wouldst  wend  with  me, 

To  leave  both  tower  and  town, 
Thou  first  must  guess  what  life  lead  we, 

That  dwell  by  dale  and  down? 

1  MS. — "  And  soon  the  loudest  wassailer  he, 
And  life  of  all  their  revelry." 

»  Scott  revisited  Rokeby  in  1812,  for  the  purpose  of  refresh- 
ing his  memory ;  and  Mr.  Morritt  says, — "  1  had,  of  course, 
had  many  previous  opportunities  of  testing  the  almost  con- 
scientious fidelity  of  his  local  descriptions ;  but  I  could  not 
help  being  singularly  struck  with  the  lights  which  this  visit 
threw  on  that  characteristic  of  his  compositions  The  morn- 
ing after  he  arrived  he  said,  '  You  have  often  given  me  mate- 
rials for  romance — now  I  want  a  good  robber's  cave  and  an  old 
■jhurch  of  the  right  sort.'  We  rode  out,  and  he  found  what  he 
wanted  in»the  ancient  slate  quarries  of  Brignall  and  the  ruined 
Abbey  of  Egliston.  J  observed  him  noting  down  even  the 
aeculiar  little  wild-llowers  and  herbs  that  accidentally  grew 


And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read. 

As  read  full  well  you  may, 
Then   to   the   greenwood   shalt  thou 
speed, 

As  blithe  as  Queen  of  May." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignall  banks  are  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there, 

Than  reign  our  English  queen. 

XVII. 

"  I  read  you,  by  your  bugle-horn, 

And  by  your  palfrey  good, 
I  read  you  for  a  ranger  sworn, 

To  keep  the  king's  greenwood." — 
"  A  Ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn, 

And  'tis  at  peep  of  light ; 
His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  morn 

And  mine  at  dead  of  night." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignall  banks  are  fair, 
-  And  Greta  woods  are  gay ; 
I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  there, 
To  reign  his  Queen  of  May  ! 

"  With  burnish'd  brand  and  musketoon, 

So  gallantly  you  come, 
I  read  you  for  a  bold  Dragoon, 

That  lists  the  tuck  of  drum." — 
"  I  list  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum, 

No  more  the  trumpet  hear ; 
But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  hum, 

My  comrades  take  the  spear. 

CHORUS. 

"  And,  0  !  though  Brignall  banks  be  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  be  gay, 
Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dare, 

Would  reign  my  Queen  of  May  ! 

XVIII. 
"  Maiden !  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

A  nameless  death  I'll  die ; 
The  fiend,  whose  lantern  lights  the  mead,* 

Were  better  mate  than  I ! 


round  and  on  the  side  of  a  bold  crag  near  his  intended  cave  ol 
Guy  Denzil ;  and  could  not  help  saying,  that  as  he  was  not  tc 
be  upon  oath  in  his  work,  daisies,  violets,  and  primroses  would 
be  as  poetical  as  any  of  the  humble  plants  he  was  examining. 
I  laughed,  in  short,  at  his  scrupulousness ,  but  I  understood 
him  when  he  replied,  'that  in  nature  herself  no  two  scenes 
were  exactly  alike,  and  that  whoever  copied  truly  what  was 
before  his  eyes,  would  possess  the  same  variety  in  his  descrip- 
tions, and  exhibit  apparently  an  imagination  as  boundless  a» 
the  range  of  nature  in  the  scenes  he  recorded  ;  whereas — who- 
ever trusted  to  imagination,  would  soon  find  his  own  mind 
circumscribed,  and  contracted  to  a  few  favorite  images  "  — 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iv.  p.  19. 
s  MS.—"  The  goblin-light  on  fen  r   mead." 


320                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  iu 

And  when  I'm  with  my  comrades  met,1 

He  blush'd  to  think,  that  he  should  seem 

Beneath  the  greenwood  bough, 

Assertor  of  an  airy  dream, 

What  once  we  were  we  all  forget, 

And  gave  his  wrath  another  theme. 

Nor  think  Avhat  we  are  now. 

"  Denzil,"  he  says,  "  though  lowly  laid, 

CHORUS. 

Wrong  hot  the  memory  of  the  dead ; 

"  Yet  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

For,  while  he  lived,  at  Mortham's  look 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 

Thy  very  soul,  Guy  Denzil,  shook ! 

And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 

And  when  he  tax'd  thy  breach  of  word 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen." 

To  yon  fair  Rose  of  Allenford, 

I  saw  thee  crouch  like  chasten'd  hound,6 

When  Edmund  ceased  his  simple  song, 

Whose   back   the    huntsman's    lash    hath 

Was  silence  on  the  sullen  throng, 

found. 

Till  waked  some  ruder  mate  their  glee 

Nor  dare  to  call  his  foreign  wealth 

With  note  of  coarser  minstrelsy. 

The  spoil  of  piracy  or  stealth ; 

But,  far  apart,  in  dark  divan, 

He  won  it  bravely  with  his  brand, 

Denzil  and  Bertram  many  a  plan, 

When  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land.9 

Of  import  foul  and  fierce,  design'd, 

Mark,  too — I  brook  no  idle  jeer, 

While  still  on  Bertram's  grasping  mind 

Nor  couple  Bertram's  name  with  fear ; 

The  wealth  of  murder'd  Mortham  hung ; 

Mine  is  but  half  the  demon's  lot, 

Though  half  he  fear'd  his  daring  tongue, 

For  I  believe,  but  tremble  not. — 

When  it  should  give  his  wishes  birth,2 

Enough  of  this. — Say,  why  tins  hoard 

Might  raise  a  spectre  from  the  earth  ! 

Thou  deem'st  at  Rokeby  castle  stored ; 

Or,  think'st  that  Mortham  would  bestow 

XIX. 

His  treasure  with  his  faction's  foe  ?" 

At  length  his  wondrous  tale  he  told : 

When,  scornful,  smiled  his  comrade  bold ", 

XXI. 

For,  train'd  in  license  of  a  court, 

Soon  quench'd  was  Denzil's  ill-timed  mirth  , 

Religion's  self  was  Denzil's  sport ; 

Rather  he  would  have  seen  the  earth 

Then  judge  in  what  contempt  he  held 

Give  to  ten  thousand  spectres  birth, 

The  visionary  tales  of  eld  1 

Than  venture  to  awake  to  flame 

His  awe  for  Bertram  scarce  repress'd 

The  deadly  wrath  of  Risingham. 

The  unbeliever's  sneering  jest. 

Submiss  he  answer'd, — "  Mortham's  mind, 

"  'Twere  hard,"  he  said,  "  for  sage  or  seer,3 

Thou  know'st,  to  joy  was  ill  inclined. 

To  spell  the  subject  of  your  fear ; 

In  youth,  'tis  said,  a  gallant  free, 

Nor  do  I  boast  the  art  renown' d, 

A  lusty  reveller  was  he ; 

Vision  and  omen  to  expound. 

But  since  return'd  from  over  sea," 

Yet,  faith  if  I  must  needs  afford 

A  sullen  and  a  silent  mood 

To  spectre  watching  treasured  hoard, 

Hath  numb'd  the  current  of  his  blood. 

As  bandog  keeps  his  master's  roof, 

Hence  he  refused  each  kindly  call 

Bidding  the  plunierer  stand  aloof, 

To  Rokeby's  hospitable  hall, 

This  doubt  remains — thy  goblin  gaunt 

And  our  stout  knight,  at  dawn  of  morn 

Hath  chosen  ill  his  ghostly  haunt ; 

Who  loved  to  hear  the  bugle-horn, 

For  why  his  guard  on  Mortham  hold, 

Nor  less,  when  eve  his  oaks  embrown'd. 

When  Rokeby  castle  hath  the  gold 

To  see  the  ruddy  cup  b*o  round, 

Thy  patron  won  on  Indian  soil,4 

Took  umbrage  that  a  friend  so  near 

B '  stealth,  by  piracy,  and  spoil  ?" 

Refused  to  share  his  chase  and  cheer ; 

Thus  did  the  kindred  barons  jar, 

XX. 

Ere  they  divided  in  the  war. 

At  this  he  paused — for  angry  shame 

Yet,  trust  me,  friend,  Matilda  fair 

Lower'd  on  the  brow  of  Risingham. 

Of  Mortham's  wealth  is  destined  heir." — 

MS. — "  And  were  I  with  my  true  love  set 

Dark  dreams  and  omens  to  expound. 

Under  the  greenwood  bough, 

Yet,  if  my  faith  I  must  afford,'  "  &c 

What  once  I  was  she  must  forget, 

*  MS. "  hath  his  gold. 

Nor  think  what  I  am  now." 

The  gold  he  won  on  Indian  soil." 

MS. "  give  the  project  birth." 

5  MS. "  like  rated  hound." 

J  MS. — "  '  'Twere  hard,  my  friend,'  he  said,  'to  spell 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  F.                                       . 

The  morning  vision  that  you  tell ; 

7  MS. "  Denzil's  mood  of  mirth  , 

Nor  am  I  seer,  for  art  renown'd, 

He  would  have  rather  seen  the  earth,"  &c. 

canto  in.                                                ROKEBY.                                                          321 

XXIL 

And  give  me,  if  thou  darest,  the  lie  1" 

"  Destined  to  her  1  to  yon  slight  maid ! 

He  paused — then,  calm  and  passion-freed, 

The  prize  my  life  had  welhiigh  paid, 

Bade  Denzil  with  his  tale  proceed. 

When  'gainst  Laroche,  by  Cayo's  wave, 

I  fought  my  patron's  wealth  to  save  ! — 1 

XXIV. 

Denzil,  I  knew  him  long,  yet  ne'er 

"  Bertram,  to  thee  I  need  not  tell, 

Knew  him  that  joyous  cavalier, 

What  thou  hast  cause  to  wot  so  well,8 

Whom  youthful  friends  and  early  fame 

How  Superstition's  nets  were  twined 

Call'd  soul  of  gallantry  and  game. 

Around  the  Lord  of  Mortham's  mind  I6 

A  moody  man,  he  sought  our  crew, 

But  since  he  drove  thee  from  his  tower, 

Desperate  and  dark,  whom  no  one  knew ; 

A  maid  he  found  in  Greta's  bower, 

And  rose,  as  men  with  us  must  rise, 

Whose  speech,  like  David's  harp,  had  sway 

By  scorning  life  and  all  its  ties. 

To  charm  his  evil  fiend  away. 

On  each  adventure  rash  he  roved, 

I  know  not  if  her  features  moved 

As  danger  for  itself  he  loved ; 

Remembrance  of  the  wife  he  loved ; 

On  his  sad  brow  nor  mirth  nor  wine 

But  he  would  gaze  upon  her  eye, 

Could  e'er  one  wrinkled  knot  untwine ; 

Till  his  mood  soften'd  to  a  sigh. 

111  was  the  omen  if  he  smiled, 

He,  whom  no  living  mortal  sought 

For  'twas  in  peril  stern  and  wild ; 

To  question  of  his  secret  thought, 

But  when  he  laugh'd,  each  luckless  mate 

Now  every  thought  and  care  confess'd 

Might  hold  our  fortune  desperate.3 

To  his  fair  niece's  faithful  breast ; 

Foremost  he  fought  in  every  broil, 

Nor  was  there  aught  of  rich  and  rare, 

Then  scornful  turn'd  him  from  the  spoil ; 

In  earth,  in  ocean,  or  in  air, 

Nay,  often  strove  to  bar  the  way 

But  it  must  deck  Matilda's  hair. 

Between  his  comrades  and  their  prey ; 

Her  love  still  bound  him  unto  life  ;7 

Preaching,  even  then,  to  such  as  we, 

But  then  awoke  the  civil  strife, 

Hot  with  our  dear-bought  victory, 

And  menials  bore,  by  his  commands, 

Of  mercy  and  humanity. 

Three  coffers,  with  their  iron  bands, 

From  Mortham's  vault,  at  midnight  deep, 

XXIII. 

To  her  lone  bower  in  Rokeby-Keep, 

*  1  loved  him  well :  his  fearless  part, 

Ponderous  with  gold  and  plate  of  pride,8 

His  gallant  leading,  won  my  heart. 

His  gift,  if  he  in  battle  died." — 

And  after  each  victorious  fight, 

'Twas  I  that  wrangled  for  his  right,' 

XXV. 

Redeem' d  his  portion  of  the  prey 

"  Then  Denzil,  as  I  guess,  lays  train, 

That  greedier  mates  had  torn  away : 

These  iron-banded  chests  to  gain ; 

In  field  and  storm  thrice  saved  his  fife, 

Else,  wherefore  should  he  hover  here,9 

And  once  amid  our  comrades'  strife. — 4 

Where  many  a  peril  waits  him  near, 

Yes,  I  have  loved  thee  !     Well  hath  proved 

For  all  his  feats  of  war  and  peace, 

My  toil,  my  danger,  how  I  loved ! 

For  plunder'd  boors,  and  harts  of  greese  !10 

Yet  will  I  mourn  no  more  thy  fate, 

Since  through  the  hamlets  as  he  fared, 

Ingrate  in  life,  in  death  ingrate. 

What  hearth  has  Guy's  marauding  spared, 

Rise  if  thou  canst  1"  he  look'd  around, 

Or  where  the  chase  that  hath  not  rung" 

And  sternly  stamp'd  upon  the  ground — 

With  Denzil's  bow,  at  midnight  strung?" — 

"  Rise,  with  thy  bearing  proud  and  high, 

"  I  hold  my  wont — my  rangers  go, 

Even  as  this  morn  it  met  mine  eye, 

Even  now,  to  track  a  milk-white  doe.12 

1  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

7  MS.—"  But  it  must  be  Matilda's  share 

a  "  There  was  a  laughing  devil  in  his  sneer, 

This,  too,  still  bound  him  unto  life." 

That  raised  emotions  both  of  rage  and  fear ; 

8  MS. — "  From  a  strong  vault  in  Mortham  tover, 

And  where  his  frown  of  hatred  darkly  fell, 

In  secret  to  Matilda's  bower, 

Hope  withering  fled — and  Mercy  sigh'd  farewell." 

Ponderous  with  ore  and  gems  of  pride." 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  ix.  p.  272. 

9  MS. — "  Then  may  I  guess  thou  hast  some  train, 

»  MS.—"  And  when  j  *he  j  bloody  fight  was  done 

These  iron-banded  chests  to  gain  ; 
Else,  why  should  Denzil  hover  here." 

I  wrangled  for  the  share  he  won." 

io  Deer  in  season. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  G. 

11  MS. "  that  doth  not  know 

*  MS. — "  To  thee,  my  friend,  1  need  not  tell, 

The  midnight  clang  of  Denzil's  bow. 

What  thou  hast  cause  to  know  so  well." 

— I  hold  my  sport,"  &c. 

•  MS — "■  Around  thy  captain's  moody  mind." 

13  See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 

322                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  hi 

By  Rokeby-hall  she  takes  her  lair, 

That  issues  at  a  secret  spot, 

In  Greta  wood  she  harbors  fair, 

By  most  neglected  or  forgot. 

And  when  my  huntsman  marks  her  way, 

Now,  could  a  spial  of  our  train 

"What  think'st  thou,  Bertram,  of  the  prey  ? 

On  fair  pretext  admittance  gain, 

Were  Rokeby's  daughter  in  our  power, 

That  sally-port  might  be  unbarr'd : 

We  rate  her  ransom  at  her  dower." — 

Then,  vain  were  battlement  and  ward  !" — 

XXVI. 

XXVIII. 

■i  Tis  well ! — there's  vengeance  in  the  thought : 

"  Now  speak'st  thou  well : — to  me  the  same. 

Matilda  is  by  Wilfrid  sought ; 

If  force  or  art  shall  urge  the  game  ; 

And  hot-brain'd  Redmond,  too,  'tis  said, 

Indifferent,  if  like  fox  I  wind,4 

Pays  lover's  homage  to  the  maid. 

Or  spring  like  tiger  on  the  hind. — 

Bertram  she  scorn' d — If  met  by  chance, 

But,  hark !  our  merry -men  so  gay 

She  turn'd  from  me  her  shuddering  glance, 

Troll  forth  another  roundelay."5 

Like  a  nice  dame,  that  will  not  brook 

On  what  she  hates  and  loathes  to  look ; 

SoitQ. 

She  told  to  Mortham  she  could  ne'er 

"  A  wean'  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

Behold  me  without  secret  fear, 

A  weary  lot  is  thine ! 

Foreboding  evil : — She  may  rue 

To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid, 

To  find  her  prophecy  fall  true  ! — 

And  press  the  rue  for  wine  ! 

The  war  has  weeded  Rokeby's  train, 

A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien,8 

Few  followers  in  his  halls  remain ; 

A  feather  of  the  blue, 

If  thy  scheme  miss,  then,  brief  and  bold, 

A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln-green, — 

We  are  enow  to  storm  the  hold, 

No  more  of  me  you  knew, 

Bear  off  the  plunder,  and  the  dame, 

My  love  I 

And  leave  the  castle  all  in  flame." — 

No  more  of  me  you  knew. 

XXVII. 

"  This  morn  is  merry  June,  I  trow, 

"  Still  art  thou  Valor's  venturous  son ! 

The  rose  is  budding  fain  ;7 

Yet  ponder  first  the  risk  to  run : 

But  she  shall  bloom  in  winter  show, 

The  menials  of  the  castle,  true, 

Ere  we  two  meet  again." 

And  stubborn  to  their  charge,  though  few ;' 

He  turn'd  his  charger  as  he  spake, 

The  wall  to  scale — the  moat  to  cross — 

Upon  the  river  shore,8 

The  wicket-grate — the  inner  fosse" 

He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake, 

— "  Fool !  if  we  blench  for  toys  like  these, 

Said,  "  Adieu  for  evermore, 

On  what  fair  guerdon  can  we  seize  ?2 

1                                                       My  love  ! 

Our  hardiest  venture,  to  explore 

And  adieu  for  evermore." — 9 

Some  wretched  peasant's  fenceless  door, 

And  the  best  prize  we  bear  away, 

XXIX. 

The  earnings  of  his  sordid  day."  — 

"  What  youth  is  this,  your  band  among, 

"  A  while  thy  hasty  taunt  forbear : 

The  best  for  minstrelsy  and  song  ? 

In  sight  of  road  more  sure  and  fair, 

In  his  wild  notes  seem  aptly  met 

Thou  wouldst  not  choose,  in  blindfold  wrath, 

A  strain  of  pleasure  and  regret." — 

Or  wantonness,  a  desperate  path  ? 

"  Edmond  of  Winston  is  his  name ; 

List,  then  ; — for  vantage  or  assault, 

The  hamlet  sounded  with  the  fame 

From  gilded  vane  to  dungeon-vault, 

Of  early  hopes  his  childhood  gave, — 

Each  pass  of  Rokeby-house  I  know : 

Now  center'd  all  in  Brignall  cave ! 

There  is  one  postern,  dark  and  low, 

I  watch  him  well — lus  wayward  course 

l  MS. — "  The  menials  of  the  castle  few, 

ate  as  a  sudden  interruption  to  Bertram's  conversation,  how- 

But stubborn  to  their  charge,  and  true." 

ever  naturally  it  might  be  introduce:'  among  the  feasters,  who 

a  MS. — "  What  prize  of  vantage  shall  we  seize  V 

were  at  some  distance. 

3  MS. — "  That  issues  level  with  the  moat   ' 

"  Fain,  in  old  English  and  Scotch,  expresses,  I  think,  a  pro 

*  MS.— "  I  care  not  if  a  fox  I  wind." 

pensity  to  give  and  receive  pleasurable  emotions,  a  sort  of  fond 
ness  which  may,  without  harshness,  1  think,  be  app'ied  to  a 

5  MS. "our  merry  men  again 

rose  in  the  act  of  blooming.     You  remember  *  Jockey  fow  and 

Are  frolicking  in  blithesome  strain." 

Jenny  fain.' — W.  S." 

e  MS. — "  A  laughing  eye,  a  dauntless  mien." 

8  MS.— "  Upon  the  \    Greta      Uhore." 

*  MS. — "  To  t.hq  Printer  : — The  abruptness  as  to  the  song  is 

}               I  Scottish    i 

anavoidable.     The  music  of  the  drinking  party  could  only  oper- 

'-  See  ApDendix,  Note  2  I. 

CANTO  IV. 


KOKEBY. 


32a 


Shows  oft  a  tincture  of  remorse. 

Some  early  love-shaft  grazed  his  heart,1 

And  oft  the  scar  will  ache  and  smart. 

Yet  is  he  useful ; — of  the  rest, 

By  fits,  the  darling  and  the  jest, 

His  harp,  his  story,  and  his  lay, 

Oft  aid  the  idle  hours  away  :a 

"When  unemploy'd,  each  fiery  mate 

Is  ripe  for  "mutinous  debate. 

He  tuned  Ms  strings  e'en  now — again 

He  wakes  them,  with  a  blither  strain." 

XXX. 

Sottfl. 

ALLEN-A-DALE. 

A.llen-a-Dale  has  no  fagot  for  burning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  furrow  for  turning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  fleece  for  the  spinning, 
Yet  Allen-a-Dale  has  red  gold  for  the  winning. 
Come,  read  me  my  riddle  !  come,  hearken  my  tale  1 
And  tell  me  the  craft  of  bold  Allen-a-Dale. 

The  Baron  of  Ravensworth3  prances  in  pride, 
And  he  views  his  domains  upon  Arkindale  side. 
The  mere  for  his  net,  and  the  land  for  his  game, 
The  chase  for  the  wild,  and  the  park  for  the  tame ; 
Yet  the  fish  of  the  lake,  and  the  deer  of  the  vale, 
Are  less  free  to  Lord  Dacre  than  Allen-a-dale ! 

Allen-a-Dale  was  ne'er  belted  a  knight,      [bright ; 
Though  his  spur  be  as  sharp,  and  his  blade  be  as 
Allen-a-Dale  is  no  baron  or  lord, 
Yet  twenty  tall  yeomen4  will  draw  at  his  word ; 
And  the  best  of  our  nobles  his  bonnet  will  vail, 
Who  at  Rere-cross8  on  Stanmore  meets  Allen-a- 
Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale  to  his  wooing  is  come ; 

The  mother,  she  ask'd  of  his  household  and  home  : 

"  Though  the  castle  of  Richmond  stand  fair  on  the 

hill, 
My  hall,"  quoth  bold  Allen,  "  shows  gallanter  still ; 
'Tis  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  with  its  crescent  so 

pale,  [Dale. 

And  with  all  its  bright  spangles !"  said  Alleu-a- 

The  father  was  steel,  and  the  mother  was  stone  ; 
They  lifted  the  latch,  and  they  bade  him  be  gone ; 
But  loud,  on  the  morrow,  their  wail  and  their  cry  : 
He  had  laugh'd  on  the  lass  with  his  bonny  black  eye, 


IMS. 


Scathed 
Seared 


his  heart. 


2  MS. — "  Oft  help  the  weary  night  away." 

3  The  ruins  si"  Ravensworth  Castle  stand  in  the  North  Ri- 
ding of  Yorkshire,  about  three  miles  from  the  town  of  Rich- 
mond, and  adjoining  to  the  waste  called  the  Forest  of  Arkin- 
jarth.  It  belonged  originally  to  the  powerful  family  of  Fitz- 
Hugh,  from  whom  it  passed  to  the  Lords  Dacre  of  the  South. 


And  she  fled  to  the  forest  to  hear  a  love-tale, 
And  the  youth  it  was  told  by  was  Allen-a-Dale  I 

XXXI. 

"  Thou  see'st  that,  whether  sad  or  gay, 
Love  mingles  ever  in  his  lay. 
But  when  his  boyish  wayward  fit 
Is  o'er,  he  hath  address  and  wit ; 

0  !  'tis  a  brain  of  fire,  can  ape 
Each  dialect,  each  various  shape." — 

"  Nay,  then,  to  aid  thy  project,  Guy — 
Soft !  who  comes  here  ?" — "  My  trusty  spy. 
Speak,  Hamlin !  hast  thou  lodged  our  deer  ?"-— 
"  I  have — but  two  fair  stags  are  near. 

1  watch'd  her,  as  she  slowly  stray'd 
From  Egliston  up  Thorsgill  glade  ; 
But  Wilfrid  Wycliffe  sought  her  side, 
And  then  young  Redmond,  in  Ms  pride, 
Shot  down  to  meet  them  on  their  way : 
Much,  as  it  seem'd,  was  theirs  to  say : 
There's  time  to  pitch  both  toil  and  net. 
Before  their  path  be  homeward  set." 

A  hurried  and  a  whisper'd  speech 
Did  Bertram's  will  to  Denzil  teach ; 
Who,  turning  to  the  robber  band, 
Bade  four,  the  bravest,  take  the  brand 


Kokebg. 


CANTO    FOURTH. 


I. 

When  Denmark's  raven  soar'd  on  Mgh, 
Triumphant  through  Northumbrian  sky, 
Till,  hovering  near,  her  fatal  croak 
Bade  Reged's  Britons  dread  the  yoke' 
And  the  broad  shadow  of  her  wing 
Blacken'd  each  cataract  and  spring, 
Where  Tees  in  tumult  leaves  Ms  source, 
Thundering  o'er  Caldron  and  High-Force  ;8 
Beneath  the  shade  the  Northmen  came, 
Fix'd  on  each  vale  a  Rumc  name,9 
Rear'd  high  their  altar's  rugged  stone, 
And  gave  their  Gods  the  land  they  woa 
Then,  Balder,  one  bleak  garth  was  thine, 
And  one  sweet  brooklet's  silver  Une, 


*  MS. — "  But  a  score  of  good  fellows,"  &c. 

6  Fee  Appendix,  Note  2  K.  0  Ibid.  Note  2  L. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 

8  The  Tees  rises  about  the  skirts  of  Crossfell,  and  falls  ov» 
the  cataracts  named  in  the  text  before  it  leaves  the  mountain* 
which  divide  the  North  Riding  from  Cumberland.  High-Force 

s  seventy-five  feet  in  height. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 


324                                     SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  r* 

And  "Woden's  Croft  did  title  gain 

Then  gray  Philosophy  stood  nigh, 

From  the  stem  Father  of  the  Slain ; 

Though  bent  by  age,  in  spirit  high : 

But  to  the  Monarch  of  the  Mace, 

There  rose  the  scar-seam'd  veterans  spear, 

That  held  in  fight  the  foremost  place, 

There  Grecian  Beauty  bent  to  hear, 

To  Odin's  son,  and  Sifia's  spouse, 

While  Cliildhood  at  her  foot  was  placed, 

Near  Stratforth  high  they  paid  their  vows, 

Or  clung  delighted  to  her  waist. 

Remernber'd  Thor's  victorious  fame, 

And  gave  the  dell  the  Thunderer's  name. 

IV. 

"  And  rest  we  here,"  Matilda  said, 

IL 

And  sat  her  in  the  varying  shade. 

Yet  Scald  or  Kemper  <*rr  1,  I  ween, 

"  Chance-met,  we  well  may  steal  an  hour, 

Who  gave  that  soft  and  quiet  scene, 

To  friendship  due,  from  fortune's  power. 

"With  all  its  varied  light  and  shade, 

Thou,  Wilfred,  ever  kind,  must  lend 

And  every  little  sunny  glade, 

Thy  counsel  to  thy  sister-friend ; 

And  the  blithe  brook  that  strolls  along 

And,  Redmond,  thou,  at  my  behest, 

Its  pebbled  bed  with  summer  song, 

No  farther  urge  thy  desperate  'quest. 

To  the  grim  God  of  blood  and  scar, 

For  to  my  care  a  charge  is  left, 

The  grisly  King  of  Northern  "War. 

Dangerous  to  one  of  aid  bereft ; 

0,  better  were  its  banks  assign'd 

Wellnigh  an  orphan,  and  alone, 

To  spirits  of  a  gentler  kind ! 

Captive  her  sire,  her  house  o'erthrown." 

For  where  the  tliicket-groups  recede, 

Wilfrid,  with  wonted  kindness  graced, 

And  the  rath  primrose  decks  the  mead,1 

Beside  her  on  the  turf  she  placed ; 

The  velvet  grass  seems  carpet  meet 

Then  paused,  with  downcast  look  and  eye, 

For  the  light  fairies'  lively  feet. 

Nor  bade  young  Redmond  seat  him  nigh. 

Yon  tufted  knoll,  with  daisies  strown, 

Her  conscious  diffidence  he  saw, 

Might  make  proud  Oberon  a  throne, 

Drew  backward,  as  in  modest  awe, 

While  liidden  in  the  thicket  nigh, 

And  sat  a  little  space  removed, 

Puck  should  brood  o'er  his  frolic  sly ; 

Unmark'd  to  gaze  on  her  he  loved. 

And  where  profuse  the  wood-vetch  clings 

Round  ash  and  elm,  in  verdant  rings, 

V. 

Its  pale  and  azure-pencill'd  flower 

Wreathed  in  its  dark-brown  rings,  her  hair 

Should  canopy  Titania's  bower. 

Half  hid  Matilda's  forehead  fair, 

Half  hid  and  half  reveal' d  to  view 

III. 

Her  full  dark  eye  of  hazel  hue. 

Here  rise  no  cliffs  the  vale  to  shade ; 

The  rose,  with  faint  and  feeble  streak, 

But,  skirting  every  sunny  glade, 

So  slightly  tinged  the  maiden's  cheek, 

In  fair  variety  of  green 

That  you  had  said  her  hue  was  pale  ;2 

The  woodland  lends  its  silvan  screen. 

But  if  she  faced  the  summer  gale, 

Hoary,  yet  haughty,  frowns  the  oak, 

Or  spoke,  or  sung,  or  quicker  moved, 

Its  boughs  by  weight  of  ages  broke ; 

Or  heard  the  praise  of  those  she  loved, 

And  towers  erect,  in  sable  spire, 

Or  when  of  interest  was  express'd9 

The  pine-tree  scathed  by  hghtning-fire ; 

Aught  that  waked  feeling  in  her  breast, 

The  drooping  ash  and  birch,  between, 

The  mantling  blood  in  ready  play 

Hang  their  fair  tresses  o'er  the  green, 

Rivall'd  the  blush  of  rising  day. 

And  all  beneath,  at  random  grow 

There  was  a  soft  and  pensive  grace, 

Each  coppice  dwarf  of  varied  show, 

A  cast  of  thought  upon  her  face, 

Or,  round  the  stems  profusely  twined, 

That  suited  well  the  forehead  high, 

Fling  summer  odors  on  the  wind. 

The  eyelash  dark,  and  downcast  eye ; 

Such  varied  group  Urbino's  hand 

The  mild  expression  spoke  a  mind 

Round  Him  of  Tarsus  nobly  plann'd, 

In  duty  firm,  composed,  resign'd ; 

What  time  he  bade  proud  Athens  own 

'Tis  that  which  Roman  art  has  given, 

On  Mars's  Mount  the  God  Unknown ! 

To  mark  their  maiden  Queen  of  Heaven, 

i  MS. — "  The  early  primrose  decks  the  mead, 

Or  longer  spoke,  or  quicker  moved." 

And  the  short  velvet  grass  seems  meet 

s  MS. — "  Or  aught  of  interest  was  express'd 

For  the  light  fairies'  frolic  feet." 

That  waked  a  feeling  in  her  breast, 

«  MS. — "  That  yon  had  said  her  cheek  was  pale  ; 

The  mantling  blood,  \  }ike  mornin?  beftm« 
'  in  ready  play." 

But  if  she  faced  the  morning  gale, 

OANTO  IV. 


ROKEBY. 


325 


In  hours  of  sport,  that  mood  gave  way1 

To  Fancy's  light  and  frolic  play ; 

And  when  the  dance,  or  tale,  or  song, 

In  harmless  mirth  sped  time  along, 

Full  oft  her  doating  sire  would  call 

His  Maud  the  merriest  of  them  alL 

But  days  of  war  and  civil  crime, 

Allow'd  but  ill  such  festal  time, 

And  her  soft  pensiveness  of  brow 

Had  deepen'd  into  sadness  now. 

In  Marston  field  her  father  ta'en, 

Her  friends  dispersed,  brave  Mortham  slain; 

While  every  ill  her  soul  foretold, 

From  Oswald's  thirst  of  power  and  gold, 

And  boding  thoughts  that  she  must  part 

With  a  soft  vision  of  her  heart, — a 

All  lower'd  around  the  lovely  maid, 

To  darken  her  dejection's  shade. 

VI. 
Who  has  not  heard — while  Erin  yet 
Strove  'gainst  the  Saxon's  iron  bit — 
Who  has  not  heard  how  brave  O'Neale 
In  English  blood  imbrued  his  steel,8 
Against  St.  George's  cross  blazed  high 
The  banners  of  his  Tanistry, 
To  fiery  Essex  gave  the  foil, 
And  reign'd  a  prince  on  Ulster's  soil  ? 
But  chief  arose  his  victor  pride, 
When  that  brave  Marshal  fought  and  died,4 
And  Avon-Duff  to  ocean  bore 
His  billows  red  with  Saxon  gore. 
'Twas  first  in  that  disastrous  fight, 
Rokeby  and  Mortham  proved  their  might.8 
There  had  they  fallen  'mongst  the  rest, 
But  pity  touch'd  a  chieftain's  breast ; 
The  Tanist  he  to  great  O'Neale  f 
He  check'd  his  followers'  bloody  zeal, 
To  quarter  took  the  kinsmen  bold, 
And  bore  them  to  his  mountain-hold, 
Gave  them  each  silvan  joy  to  know, 
Slieve-Donard's  cliffs  and  woods  could  show,7 
Shared  with  them  Erin's  festal  cheer, 
Show'd  them  the  chase  of  wolf  and  deer, 
And,  when  a  fitting  time  was  come, 

1  MS. — "  In  fitting  hours  the  mood  gave  way 
To  Fancy's  light  and  frolic  play, 
When  the  blithe  dance,  or  tale,  or  song, 
In  harmless  mirth  sped  time  along, 
When  oft  her  doting  sire  would  call 
His  Maudlin  merriest  of  them  all." 

»  MS. — "  With  a  soft  vision  of  her  heart, 

That  stole  its  seat,  ere  yet  she  knew 
The  guard  to  early  passion  due." 
See  Appendix,  Note  2  O.  4  Ibid.  Note  2  P. 

MS.  -"  And.  by  the  deep  resounding  More, 

The  English  veterans  heap'd  the  shore. 
It  was  in  that,  disastrous  fight 
That  Rokeby  proved  his  youthful    >  mjffnt " 
Rokeby  and  Mortham  proved  their  > 


Safe  and  unransom'd  sent  them  home, 
Loaded  with  many  a  gift,  to  prove 
A  generous  foe's  respect  and  love. 

VII. 
Years  speed  away.     On  Rokeby's  head 
Some  touch  of  early  snow  was  shed ; 
Calm  he  enjoy'd,  by  Greta's  wave, 
The  peace  which  James  the  Peaceful  gave 
While  Mortham,  far  beyond  the  main, 
Waged  his  fierce  wars  on  Indian  Spain. — 
It  chanced  upon  a  wintry  night,8 
That  whiten  d  Stanmore's  stormy  height, 
The  chase  was  o'er,  the  stag  was  kill'd, 
In  Rokeby-hall  the  cups  were  fill'd, 
And  by  the  huge  stone  chimney  sate 
The  Knight  in  hospitable  state. 
Moonless  the  sky,  the  hour  was  late, 
When  a  loud  summons  shook  the  gate, 
And  sore  for  entrance  and  for  aid 
A  voice  of  foreign  accent  pray'd. 
The  porter  answer'd  to  the  call, 
And  instant  rush'd  into  the  hall 
A  Man,  whose  aspect  and  attire" 
Startled  the  circle  by  the  fire. 

VIII. 
His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread10 
Around  his  bare  and  matted  head  ; 
On  leg  and  thigh,  close  stretch'd  and  trim, 
His  vesture  show'd  the  sinewy  limb ; 
In  saffron  dyed,  a  linen  vest 
Was  frequent  folded  round  his  breast ; 
A  mantle  long  and  loose  he  wore, 
Shaggy  with  ice,  and  stain'd  with  gore. 
He  clasp'd  a  burden  to  his  heart, 
And,  resting  on  a  knotted  dart, 
The  snow  from  hair  and  beard  he  shook, 
And  round  him  gazed  with  wilder'd  look. 
Then  up  the  hall,  with  staggering  pace, 
He  hasten'd  by  the  blaze  to  place, 
Half  lifeless  from  the  bitter  air, 
His  load,  a  Boy  of  beauty  rare. 
To  Rokeby,  next,  he  louted  low, 
Then  stood  erect  his  tale  to  show,11 

6  MS.—"  A  kinsman  near  to  great  O'Neale." 
See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q,. 

7  MS. — "  Gave  them  each  varied  joy  to  know, 

The  words  of  Ophalie  could  show." 

8  MS. "  stormy  night, 

When  early  snow  clad  Stanmore's  height.' 

»  MS.—"  And  instant  into  Rokeby-hall 

A  stranger  rush'd,  whose  wild  attin* 
Startled,"  &c. 

io  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R. 

«  MS.—"  Shaggy  with  snow,  and  stain'd  with  gore. 
His  features  as  his  dress  were  w;1d. 
And  in  his  arms  he  bore  a  child 


820                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  iv. 

With  wild  majestic  port  and  tone,1 

The  brand  of  Lenaugh  More  the  Red, 

Like  envoy  of  some  barbarous  throne.2 

That  hung  beside  the  gray  wolf's  head. — 

4  Sir  Richard,  Lord  of  Rokeby,  hear ! 

'Twas  from  his  broken  phrase  descried, 

Turlough  O'Neale  salutes  thee  dear ; 

His  foster-father  was  his  guide,4 

He  graces  thee,  and  to  thy  care 

Who,  in  his  charge,  from  Ulster  bore 

Young  Redmond  gives,  his  grandson  fair. 

Letters  and  gifts  a  goodly  store ; 

He  bids  thee  breed  him  as  thy  son, 

But  ruffians  met  them  in  the  wood, 

For  Turlough's  days  of  joy  are  done; 

Ferraught  in  battle  boldly  stood, 

And  other  lords  have  seized  his  land, 

Till  wounded  and  o'erpower  d  at  length, 

And  faint  and  feeble  is  his  hand ; 

And  stripp'd  of  all,  his  failing  strength 

And  all  the  glory  of  Tyrone 

Just  bore  him  here — and  then  the  child 

Is  like  a  morning  vapor  flown 

Renew'd  again  his  moaning  wild.6 

To  bind  the  duty  on  thy  soul, 

He  bids  thee  think  on  Erin's  bowl  !8 

XL 

If  any  wrong  the  young  O'Neale, 

The  tear  down  childhood's  cheek  that  flows, 

He  bids  thee  think  of  Erin's  steel. 

Is  like  the  dewdrop  on  the  rose  ; 

To  Mortham  first  this  charge  was  due, 

When  next  the  summer  breeze  comes  by, 

But,  in  his  absence,  honors  you. — 

And  waves  the  bush,  the  flower  is  dry. 

Now  is  my  master's  message  by, 

Won  by  their  care,  the  orphan  Child 

And  Ferraught  will  contented  die." 

Soon  on  his  new  protector  smiled, 

With  dimpled  cheek  and  eye  so  fair, 

IX. 

Through  his  thick  curls  of  flaxen  hair, 

His  look  grew  fix'd,  his  cheek  grew  pale. 

But  blithest  laugh'd  that  cheek  and  eye 

He  sunk  when  he  had  told  his  tale ; 

When  Rokeby's  little  Maid  was  nigh ; 

For,  hid  beneath  his  mantle  wide, 

'Twas  his,  with  elder  brother's  pride, 

A  mortal  wound  was  in  his  side. 

Matilda's  tottering  steps  to  guide  ;e 

Vain  was  all  aid — in  terror  wild, 

His  native  lays  in  Irish  tongue, 

And  sorrow,  scream'd  the  orphan  Child. 

To  soothe  her  infant  ear  he  sung, 

Poor  Ferraught  raised  his  wistful  eyes, 

And  primrose  twined  with  daisy  fair, 

And  faintly  strove  to  soothe  his  cries ; 

To  form  a  chaplet  for  her  hair. 

All  reckless  of  his  dying  pain, 

By  lawn,  by  grove,  by  brooklet's  strand, 

He  blest  and  blest  him  o'er  again ! 

The  children  still  were  hand  in  hand, 

And  kiss'd  the  little  hands  outspread, 

And  good  Sir  Richard  smiling  eyed 

And  kiss'd  and  cross'd  the  infant'  head, 

The  early  knot  so  kindly  tied. 

And,  in  his  native  tongue  and  phrase, 

Pray'd  to  each  saint  to  watch  his  days ; 

XII. 

Then  all  his  strength  together  drew, 

But  summer  months  bring  wilding  shoot 

The  charge  to  Rokeby  to  renew. 

From  bud  to  bloom,  from  bloom  to  fruit , 

When  half  was  falter'd  from  his  breast, 

And  years  draw  on  our  human  span, 

And  half  by  dying  signs  express' d, 

From  cliild  to  boy,  from  boy  to  man ; 

"  Bless  the  O'Neale  !"  he  faintly  said, 

And  soon  hi  Rokeby's  woods  is  seen 

And  thus  the  faithful  spirit  fled. 

A  gallant  boy  in  hunter's  green. 

He  loves  to  wake  the  felon  boar, 

X. 

In  his  dark  haunt  on  Greta's  shore, 

'Twas  long  ere  soothing  might  prevail 

And  loves,  against  the  deer  so  dun, 

Upon  the  Child  to  end  the  tale ; 

To  draw  the  shaft,  or  lift  the  gun : 

And  then  he  said,  that  from  his  home 

Yet  more  he  loves,  in  autumn  prime, 

His  grandsire  had  been  forced  to  roam, 

The  hazel's  spreading  boughs  to  climb, 

Which  had  not  been  if  Redmond's  hand 

And  down  its  cluster'd  stores  to  hail, 

Had  but  had  strength  to  draw  the  brand, 

Where  young  Matilda  holds  her  veil. 

With  staggering  and  unequal  pace, 

3  MS. — "  To  bind  the  charge  upon  thy  soul, 

He  hasten'd  by  the  blaze  to  place, 

Remember  Erin's  social  bowl." 

Half  lifeless  from  the  bitter  air, 

His  load,  a  Boy  of  beauty  rare. 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 

To  Rokeby,  then,  with  solemn  air, 

6  Here  follows  in  the  MS.  a  stanza  of  sixteen  lines,  whico 

He  turn'd  his  errand  to  declare." 

the  author  subsequently  dispersed  through    stanzas  xv.  anc 

»  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

xvi.,  post. 

6  MS. — "  Three  years  more  old,  'twas  Redmond's  pride 

See  Appendix,  Note  2  S. 

Matilda's  tottering  steps  to  guide." 

CANTO  IV. 


ROKEBY. 


32? 


And  she,  whose  veil  receives  the  shower,1 

Is  alter'd  too,  and  knows  her  power  ; 

Assumes  a  monitress's  pride, 

Her  Redmond's  dangerous  sports  to  chide ; 

Yet  listens  still  to  hear  him  tell 

How  the  grim  wild-boar2  fought  and  fell, 

How  at  his  fall  the  bugle  rung, 

Till  rock  and  greenwood  answer  flung ; 

Then  blesses  her,  that  man  can  find 

A  pastime  of  such  savage  kind  !3 

XIII. 
But  Redmond  knew  to  weave  his  tale 
So  well  with  praise  of  wood  and  dale, 
And  knew  so  well  each  point  to  trace, 
Gives  living  interest  to  the  chase, 
And  knew  so  well  o'er  all  to  throw 
His  spirit's  wild  romantic  glow, 
That,  while  she  blamed,  and  while  she  fear'd, 
She  loved  each  venturous  tale  she  heard. 
Oft,  too,  when  drifted  snow  and  rain 
To  bower  and  hall  their  steps  restrain, 
Together  they  explored  the  page 
Of  glowing  Jbard  or  gifted  sage  ; 
Oft,  placed  the  evening  fire  beside, 
The  minstrel  art  alternate  tried, 
While  gladsome  harp  and  lively  lay 
Bade  winter-night  flit  fast  away : 
Thus,  from  their  childhood,  blending  still 
Their  sport,  their  study,  and  their  skill, 
An  union  of  the  soul  they  prove, 
But  must  not  think  that  it  was  love. 
But  though  they  dared  not,  envious  Fame 
Soon  dared  to  give  that  union  name  ; 
And  when  so  often,  side  by  side, 
From  year  to  year  the  pair  she  eyed, 
She  sometimes  blamed  the  good  old  Knight, 
As  dull  of  ear  and  dim  of  sight, 
Sometimes  his  purpose  would  declare, 
That  young  O'Neale  should  wed  his  heir. 

XIV. 

The  suit  of  Wilfrid  rent  disguise 
And  bandage  from  the  lovers'  eyes  ;* 
'Twas  plain  that  Oswald,  for  his  son, 
Had  Rokeby's  favor  wellnigh  won. 
Now  must  they  meet  with  change  of  cheer, 
With  mutual  looks  of  shame  and  fear ; 

1  MS. — "  And  she  on  whom  these  treasures  shower." 
»  MS. — "  Grim  sanglier." 

s  MS. — "  Then  bless'd  himself  that  man  can  find 
A  pastime  of  such  cruel  kind." 

•  MS. — "  From  their  hearts  and  eyes." 

•  MS.—'4  And  Redmond,  too,  apart  must  rue, 

The  love  he  never  can  subdue  ; 
Then  came  the  war,  and  Rokeby  said, 
No  rebel's  son  should  wed  his  maid." 

•  Mfl  •  -'  Thought  on  the  \  ^eroef      I  of  his  line, 

(  founders  » 


Now  must  Matilda  stray  apart, 
To  school  her  disobedient  heart ; 
And  Redmond  now  alone  must  rue 
The  love  he  never  can  subdue. 
But  factions  rose,  and  Rokeby  sware,8 
No  rebel's  son  should  wed  his  heir ; 
And  Redmond,  nurtured  while  a  child 
In  many  a  bard's  traditions  wild, 
Now  sought  the  lonely  wood  or  stream, 
To  cherish  there  a  happier  dream, 
Of  maiden  won  by  sword  or  lance, 
As  in  the  regions  of  romance ; 
And  count  the  heroes  of  his  line,6 
Great  Nial  of  the  Pledges  Nine,7 
Shane-Dymas8  wild,  and  Geraldine,9 
And  Connan-more,  who  vow'd  his  race 
For  ever  to  the  fight  and  chase, 
And  cursed  him,  of  his  lineage  born, 
Should  sheathe  the  sword  to  reap  the  corn 
Or  leave  the  mountain  and  the  wold, 
To  shroud  himself  in  castled  hold. 
From  such  examples  hope  he  drew, 
And  brighten'd  as  the  trumpet  blew. 

XV. 

If  brides  were  won  by  heart  and  blade, 
Redmond  had  both  his  cause  to  aid, 
And  all  beside  of  nurture  rare 
That  might  beseem  a  baron's  heir. 
Turlough  O'Neale,  in  Erin's  strife, 
On  Rokeby's  Lord  bestow'd  bis  life, 
And  well  did  Rokeby's  generous  Knight 
Young  Redmond  for  the  deed  requite. 
Nor  was  his  liberal  care  and  cost 
Upon  the  gallant  stripling  lost : 
Seek  the  North-Riding  broad  and  wide, 
Like  Redmond  none  could  steed  bestride  ; 
From  Tyuemouth  search  to  Cumberland, 
Like  Redmond  none  could  wield  a  brand ; 
And  then,  of  humor  kind  and  free, 
And  bearing  him  to  each  degree 
With  frank  and  fearless  courtesy, 
There  never  youth  was  form'd  to  steal 
Upon  the  heart  like  brave  O'Neale. 

XVI. 
Sir  Richard  loved  him  as  his  son ; 
And  when  the  days  of  peace  were  done. 

Great  Nial  of  the  Pledges  Nine, 
Shane-Dymas  wild,  and  Connan-Mar, 
Who  vow'd  his  race  to  wounds  and  war, 
And  cursed  all,  of  his  lineage  born, 
Who  sheathed  the  sword  to  reap  the  corn 
Or  left  the  green-wood  and  the  wold, 
To  shroud  himself  in  house  or  hold." 


7  See  Appendix,  Note  2  TJ. 
o  Ibid.  Note  2  VV . 


s  Ibid.  Note  2  V 


328                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS.                               canto  iv. 

And  to  the  gales  of  war  he  gave 

On  the  dark  visions  of  their  soul, 

The  banner  of  his  sires  to  wave, 

And  bade  their  mournful  musing  fly 

Redmond,  distinguish'd  by  his  care, 

Like  mist  before  the  zephyr's  sigh. 

He  chose  that  honor'd  flag  to  bear,1 

And  named  his  page,  the  next  degree, 

XVIII. 

In  that  old  time,  to  chivalry.2 

"  I  need  not  to  my  friends  recail, 

In  five  pitch'd  fields  he  well  maintain'd 

How  Mortham  shunn'd  my  father's  hall , 

The  honor'd  place  his  worth  obtain'd, 

A  man  of  silence  and  of  woe, 

And  high  was  Redmond's  youthful  name 

Yet  ever  anxious  to  bestow 

Blazed  in  the  roll  of  martial  fame. 

On  my  poor  self  whate'er  could  provo 

Had  fortune  smiled  on  Marston  fight, 

A  kinsman's  confidence  and  love. 

The  eve  had  seen  him  dubb'd  a  knight ; 

My  feeble  aid  could  sometimes  chase 

Twice,  'mid  the  battle's  doubtful  strife, 

The  clouds  of  sorrow  for  a  space  ; 

Of  Rokeby's  Lord  he  saved  the  life, 

But  oftener,  fix'd  beyond  my  power,6 

But  when  he  saw  hire  prisoner  made, 

I  mark'd  his  deep  despondence  lower. 

He  kiss'd  and  then  resign'd  his  blade,3 

One  dismal  cause,  by  all  unguess'd, 

And  yielded  him  an  easy  prey 

His  fearful  confidence  confess'd ; 

To  those  who  led  the  Knight  away ; 

And  twice  it  was  my  hap  to  see 

Resolved  Matilda's  sire  should  prove 

Examples  of  that  agony, 

In  prison,  as  in  fight,  his  love. 

Which  for  a  season  can  o'erstrain 

And  wreck  the  structure  of  the  brain. 

XVII. 

He  had  the  awful  power  to  know 

When  lovers  meet  in  adverse  hour, 

The  approaching  mental  overthrow, 

'Tis  like  a  sun-glimpse  through  a  shower, 

And  while  his  mind  had  courage  yet 

A  watery  ray,  an  instant  seen 

To  struggle  with  the  dreadful  fit, 

The  darkly  closing  clouds  between. 

The  victim  writhed  against  its  throes,6 

As  Redmond  on  the  turf  reclined, 

Like  wretch  beneath  a  murderer's  blows.  ( 

The  past  and  present  fill'd  his  mind  :4 

This  malady,  I  well  could  mark, 

"  It  was  not  thus,"  Affection  said, 

Sprung  from  some  direful  cause  and  dark  * 

"  I  dream'd  of  my  return,  dear  maid ! 

But  still  he  kept  its  source  conceal'd, 

Not  thus,  when  from  thy  trembling  hand, 

Till  arming  for  the  civil  field; 

I  took  the  banner  and  the  brand, 

Then  in  my  charge  he  bade  me  hold 

When  round  me,  as  the  bugles  blew, 

A  treasure  huge  of  gems  and  gold, 

Their  blades  three  hundred  warriors  drew, 

With  this  disjointed  dismal  scroll, 

And,  while  the  standard  I  unroll'd, 

That  tells  the  secret  of  liis  soul, 

Clash'd  their  bright  arms,  with  clamor  bold. 

In  such  wild  words  as  oft  betray 

Where  is  that  banner  now  ? — its  pride 

A  mind  by  anguish  forced  astray." — 

Lies  'whelm'd  in  Ouse's  sullen  tide  ! 

Where  now  those  warriors  ? — in  their  gore, 

XIX. 

They  cumber  Marston's  dismal  moor  1 

mortham's  history. 

And  what  avails  a  useless  brand, 

"  Matilda !  thou  hast  seen  me  start 

Held  by  a  captive's  shackled  hand, 

As  if  a  dagger  thrill'd  my  heart, 

That  only  would  his  fife  retain, 

When  it  has  hap'd  some  casual  phrase 

To  aid  thy  she  to  bear  his  chain  1" 

Waked  memory  of  my  former  days. 

Thus  Redmond  to  himself  apart ; 

Believe,  that  few  can  backward  cast 

Nor  fighter  was  his  rival's  heart ; 

Their  thoughts  with  pleasure  on  the  past 

For  Wilfrid,  while  his  generous  soul 

But  I ! — my  youth  was  rash  and  vain,1 

Disdain'd  to  profit  by  control, 

And  blood  and  rage  my  manhood  stain, 

By  many  a  sign  could  mark  too  plain, 

And  my  gray  hairs  must  now  descend 

Save  with  such  aid,  his  hopes  were  vain. — 

To  my  cold  grave  without  a  friend ! 

But  now  Matilda's  accents  stole 

Even  thou,  Matilda,  wilt  disown 

Appendix,  Note  2  X.                2  Ibid.  Note  2  Y. 

»  MS. — "  But  oftener  'twas  my  hap  to  see 

MS. — "  His  v;#or  saved  old  Rokeby's  life, 

Sucli  storms  of  bitter  agony, 

But  when  he  saw  him  prisoner  made, 

As  for  the  moment  would  o'erstrain 

He  kiss'd  and  then  flung  down  his  blade." 

And  wreck  the  balance  of  the  brain." 

After  this  line  the  MS.  has  : — 

"  His  ruin'd  hupps,  impending  woes — 

6  MS. "  beneath  his  throes." 

TM  in  his  eye  the  tear-drop  rose." 
1 

»  MS. — "  My  youth  was  folly's  reign." 

canto  iv.                                                ROKEBY.                                                      320 

Thy  kinsman,  when  his  guilt  is  known. 

Then  pray'd  it  might  not  chafe  my  mood — 

And  must  I  lift  the  bloody  veil 

*  There  was  a  gallant  in  the  wood  1' 

That  hides  my  dark  and  fatal  tale ! 

We  had  been  shooting  at  the  deer ; 

I  must — I  will — Pale  phantom,  cease  1 

My  cross-bow  (evil  chance !)  was  near : 

Leave  me  one  little  hour  in  peace  1 

That  ready  weapon  of  my  wrath 

Thus  haunted,  think' st  thou  I  have  skill 

I  caught,  and,  hasting  up  the  path,6 

Thine  own  commission  to  fulfil  ? 

In  the  yew  grove  my  wife  I  found : 

Or,  while  thou  point'st  with  gesture  fierce, 

A  stranger's  arms  her  neck  had  bound  1 

Thy  blighted  cheek,  thy  bloody  hearse, 

I  mark'd  his  heart — the  bow  I  drew — 

How  can  I  paint  thee  as  thou  wert, 

I  loosed  the  shaft — 'twas  more  than  true  1 

So  fair  in  face,  so  warm  in  heart  1 

I  found  my  Edith's  dying  charms 

Lock'd  in  her  murder'd  brother's  arms  1 

XX. 

He  came  in  secret  to  inquire 

"  Yes.  she  was  fair ! — Matilda,  thou 

Her  state,  and  reconcile  her  sire.6 

Hast  a  soft  sadness  on  thy  brow ; 

But  hers  was  like  the  sunny  glow, 

XXIL 

That  laughs  on  earth  and  all  below ! 

"  All  fled  my  rage — the  villain  first, 

We  wodded  secret — there  was  need — 

Whose  craft  my  jealousy  had  nursed ; 

Differing  in  country  and  in  creed  ; 

He  sought  in  far  and  foreign  clime 

And,  when  to  Mortham's  tower  she  came, 

To  'scape  the  vengeance  of  his  crime. 

We  mentioned  not  her  race  and  name, 

The  manner  of  the  slaughter  done 

Until  thy  sire,  who  fought  afar,1 

Was  known  to  few,  my  guilt  to  none ; 

Should  turn  him  home  from  foreign  war, 

Some  tale  my  faithful  steward  framed— 

On  whose  kind  influence  we  relied 

I  know  not  what — of  shaft  mis-aim'd ; 

To  soothe  her  father's  ire  and  pride. 

And  even  from  those  the  act  who  knew, 

Few  months  we  lived  retired,  unknown, 

He  hid  the  hand  from  which  it  flew. 

To  all  but  one  dear  friend  alone, 

Untouch'd  by  human  laws  I  stood, 

One  darling  friend — I  spare  his  shame, 

But  God  had  heard  the  cry  of  blood  1 

I  will  not  write  the  villain's  name  1 

There  is  a  blank  upon  my  mind, 

My  trespasses  I  might  forget,2 

A  fearful  vision  ill-defined, 

And  sue  in  vengeance  for  the  debt 

Of  raving  till  my  flesh  was  tom, 

Due  by  a  brother  worm  to  me, 

Of  dungeon-bolts  and  fetters  worn— 

Ungrateful  to  God's  clemency,8 

And  when  I  waked  to  woe  more  mild, 

That  spared  me  penitential  time, 

And  question'd  of  my  infant  child — 

Nor  cut  me  off  amid  my  crime. — 

(Have  I  not  written,  that  she  bare 

A  boy,  like  summer  morning  fair  ?) — 

XXI. 

With  looks  confused  my  menials  tell 

"  A  kindly  smile  to  all  she  lent, 

That  armed  men  in  Mortham  dell 

But  on  her  husband's  friend  'twas  bent 

Beset  the  nurse's  evening  way, 

So  kind,  that  from  its  harmless  glee,4 

And  bore  her,  with  her  charge,  away. 

The  wretch  misconstrued  villany. 

My  faithless  friend,  and  none  but  he, 

Repulsed  in  his  presumptuous  love, 

Could  profit  by  this  villany ; 

A  'vengeful  snare  the  traitor  wove. 

Him  then,  I  sought,  with  purpose  dread 

Alone  we  sat — the  flask  had  flow'd, 

Of  treble  vengeance  on  his  head ! 

My  Wood  with  heat  unwonted  glow'd, 

He  'scaped  me — but  my  bosom's  wound 

When  through  the  alley'd  walk  we  spied 

Some  faint  relief  from  wandering  found ; 

With  hurried  step  my  Edith  glide, 

And  over  distant  land  and  sea 

Cowering  beneath  the  verdant  screen, 

I  bore  my  load  of  misery. 

At  one  unwilling  to  be  seen. 

Words  cannot  paint  the  fiendish  smile, 

XXIIL 

That  curl'd  the  traitor's  cheek  the  while  I 

"  'Twas  then  that  fate  my  footsteps  led 

Fiercely  I  question'd  of  the  cause ; 

Among  a  daring  crew  and  dread,7 

He  made  a  cold  and  artful  pause, 

With  whom  full  oft  my  hated  fife 

i  MS.—"  Until  thy  father,  then  afar." 

The  readiest  weapon  of  my  wrath, 

-»  MS. — "  I,  a  poor  debtor,  should  forget." 

And  hastening  up  the  Greta  path." 

»  MS. — "  Forgetting  God's  own  clemency." 

«  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

*  MS. — "  So  kindly,  that  from  harmless  glee." 

»  MS  — "  'Twas  then  that  fate  my  footsteps  threv 

'MS. — "  I  caught  a  cross-bow  that  wai  near. 
42 

Among  a  wild  and  daring  crew  " 

330                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  iv 

1  ventured  in  such  desperate  strife, 

An  art  that  thou  wilt  gladly  know, 

That  even  my  fierce  associates  saw 

How  thou  mayst  safely  quell  a  foe." 

My  frantic  deeds  with  doubt  and  awe. 

Much  then  I  learn'd,  and  much  can  show, 

XXVI. 

Of  human  guilt  and  human  woe, 

On  hands  and  knees  fierce  Bertram  drew 

Yet  ne'er  have,  in  my  wanderings,  known 

The  spreading  birch  and  hazels  tlirough, 

A  wretch,  whose  sorrows  match'd  my  own ! — 

Till  he  had  Redmond  full  in  view ; 

It  chanced,  that  after  battle  fray, 

The  gun  he  level'd — Mark  like  this 

Upon  the  bloody  field  we  lay ; 

Was  Bertram  never  known  to  miss, 

The  yellow  moon  her  lustre  shed 

When  fair  opposed  to  aim  there  sate 

Upon  the  wounded  and  the  dead, 

An  object  of  liis  mortal  hate. 

While,  sense  hi  toil  and  wassail  drown' d, 

That  day  young  Redmond's  death  had  ^een, 

My  ruffian  comrades  slept  around, 

But  twice  Matilda  came  between 

There  came  a  voice — its  silver  tone 

The  carabine  and  Redmonds  breast, 

Was  soft,  Matilda,  as  thine  own — 

Just  ere  the  spring  his  finger  press'd. 

'  Ah,  wretch !'  it  said, '  what  makest  thou  here, 

A  deadly  oath  the  ruffian  swore, 

While  unavenged  my  bloody  bier, 

But  yet  his  fell  design  forbore : 

Wlule  unprotected  lives  mine  heir, 

"  It  ne'er,"  he  mutter'd,  "  shall  be  said, 

Without  a  father's  name  and  care  ?' 

That  thus  I  scath'd  thee,  haughty  maid  1" 

Then  moved  to  seek  more  open  aim, 

XXIV. 

When  to  his  side  Guy  Denzil  came : 

"  I  heard — obey'd — and  homeward  drew ; 

"  Bertram,  forbear  ! — we  are  undone 

The  fiercest  of  our  desperate  crew 

Forever,  if  thou  fire  the  gun. 

I  brought  at  time  of  need  to  aid 

By  all  the  fiends,  an  armed  force 

My  purposed  vengeance,  long  delay'd. 

Descends  the  dell,  ©f  foot  and  horse ! 

But,  humble  be  my  thanks  to  Heaven, 

We  perish  if  they  hear  a  shot — 

That  better  hopes  and  thoughts  has  given, 

Madman !  we  have  a  safer  plot — 

And  by  our  Lord's  dear  prayer  has  taught 

Nay,  friend,  be  ruled,  and  bear  thee  back ' 

Mercy  by  mercy  must  be  bought ' — 

Behold,  down  yonder  hollow  track, 

Let  me  in  misery  rejoice — 

The  warlike  leader  of  the  band 

I've  seen  Ins  face — I've  heard  his  voice — 

Comes,  with  his  broadsword  in  his  hand." 

I  claim' d  of  him  my  only  child. 

Bertram  look'd  up ;  he  saw,  he  knew 

As  he  disown'd  the  theft,  he  smiled ! 

That  Denzil's  fears  had  counselled  true, 

That  very  calm  and  callous  look, 

Then  cursed  his  fortune  and  withdrew, 

That  fiendish  sneer  his  visage  took, 

Threaded  the  woodlands  undescried, 

As  when  he  said,  in  scornful  mood, 

And  gain'd  the  cave  on  Greta  side. 

•  There  is  a  gallant  hi  the  wood  !' — 

I  did  not  slay  him  as  he  stood — 

XXVII. 

All  pi  aise  be  to  my  Maker  given ! 

They  whom  dark  Bertram,  in  his  wrath, 

Long  suffrance  is  one  path  to  heaven." 

Doom'd  to  captivity  or  death, 

Their  thoughts  to  one  sad  subject  lent, 

XXV. 

Saw  not  nor  heard  the  ambushment. 

Thus  far  the  woful  tale  was  heard, 

Heedless  and  unconcern'd  they  sate, 

When  something  in  the  tliicket  stirr'd. 

Wliile  on  the  very  verge  of  fate ; 

<   Ur  Redmond  sprung ;  the  villain  Guy 

Heedless  and  unconcern'd  remain'd, 

(For  he  it  was  that  lurk'd  so  nigh), 

When  Heaven  the  murderer's  arm  restrain'd 

Drew  back — he  durst  not  cross  Ins  steel 

As  ships  drift  darkling  down  the  tide, 

A  moment's  space  with  brave  O'Neale, 

Nor  see  the  shelves  o'er  which  they  glide. 

For  all  the  treasured  gold  that  rests 

Uninterrupted  thus  they  heard 

In  Mortham's  iron-banded  chests. 

What  Mortham's  closing  tale  declared. 

Redmond  resumed  his  seat ; — he  said, 

He  spoke  of  wealth  as  of  a  load, 

Some  roe  was  rustling  hi  the  shade. 

By  Fortune  on  a  wretch  besiow'd, 

Bertram  laugh'd  grimly  when  he  saw 

In  bitter  mockery  of  hate, 

His  timorous  comrade  backward  draw ; 

His  cureless  woes  to  aggravate  ; 

"  A  trusty  mate  art  thou,  to  fear 

But  yet  he  pray'd  Matilda's  care 

A  single  arm,  and  aid  so  near ! 

Might  save  that  treasure  for  his  heir — 

Yet  have  I  seen  thee  mark  a  deer. 

His  Edith's  son — for  still  he  raved 

Give  rae  thy  carabine — I'll  show 

As  confident  his  fife  was  saved ; 

CANTO  IV. 


ROKEBY. 


331 


In  1'requent  vision,  he  averr'd, 

And  for  such  noble  use  design'd. 

He  saw  his  face,  his  voice  he  heard ; 

"  Was  Barnard  Castle  then  her  choice," 

Then  argued  calm — had  murder  been, 

Wilfrid  inquired  with  hasty  voice, 

The  blood,  the  corpses,  had  been  seen; 

"Since  there  flie  victor's  laws  ordain 

Some  had  pretended,  too,  to  mark 

Her  father  must  a  space  remain  ?" 

On  Windermere  a  stranger  bark, 

A  flutter'd  hope  his  accents  shook, 

"Whose  crew,  with  zealous  care,  yet  mild, 

A  flutter'd  joy  was  in  his  look. 

Guarded  a  female  and  a  child. 

Matilda  hasten'd  to  reply, 

While  these  faint  proofs  he  told  and  press' d, 

*    For  anger  flash'd  in  Redmond's  eye ; — 

Hope  seem'd  to  kindle  in  his  breast ; 

"  Duty,"  she  said,  with  gentle  grace, 

Though  inconsistent,  vague,  and  vain, 

"  Kind  Wilfrid,  has  no  choice  of  place ; 

It  warp'd  his  judgment,  and  his  brain.1 

Else  had  I  for  my  sire  assign'd 

Prison  less  galling  to  his  mind, 

XXVIII. 

Than  that  his  wild-wood  haunts  which  sees 

These  solemn  words  his  story  close : — 

And  hears  the  murmur  of  the  Tees, 

"  Heaven  witness  for  me,  that  I  chose 

Recalling  thus,  with  every  glance, 

My  part  in  this  sad  civil  fight, 

What  captive's  sorrow  can  enhance ; 

Moved  by  no  cause  but  England's  right. 

But  where  those  woes  are  highest,  there 

My  country's  groans  have  bid  me  draw 

Needs  Rokeby  most  his  daughter's  care  " 

My  sword  for  gospel  and  for  law : — 

These  righted,  I  fling  arms  aside, 

XXX. 

And  seek  my  son  through  Europe  wide. 

He  felt  the  kindly  check  she  gave, 

My  wealth,  on  wliich  a  kinsman  nigh 

And  stood  abash' d — then  answer'd  gravo  .- 

Already  casts  a  grasping  eye, 

"  I  sought  thy  purpose,  noble  maid, 

With  thee  may  unsuspected  lie. 

Thy  doubts  to  clear,  thy  schemes  to  aid. 

When  of  my  death  Matilda  hears, 

I  have  beneath  mine  own  command, 

Let  her  retain  her  trust  three  years ; 

So  wills  my  sire,  a  gallant  band, 

If  none,  from  me,  the  treasure  claim, 

And  well  could  send  some  horseman  wight 

Perish'd  is  Mortham's  race  and  name. 

To  bear  the  treasure  forth  by  night, 

Then  let  it  leave  her  generous  hand, 

And  so  bestow  it  as  you  deem 

And  flow  in  bounty  o'er  the  land  ; 

In  these  ill  days  may  safest  seem." — 

Soften  the  wounded  prisoner's  lot, 

"  Thanks,  gentle  Wilfrid,  thanks,"  she  said : 

Rebuild  the  peasant's  ruin'd  cot ; 

"  0,  be  it  not  one  day  delay'd ! 

So  spoils,  acquired  by  fight  afar, 

And,  more,  thy  sister-friend  to  aid, 

Shall  mitigate  domestic  war." 

Be  thou  thyself  content  to  hold, 

In  thine  own  keeping,  Mortham's  gold, 

XXIX. 

Safest  with  thee." — While  thus  she  spoke, 

The  generous  youths,  who  well  had  known 

Arm'd  soldiers  on  their  converse  broke, 

Of  Mortham's  mind  the  powerful  tone, 

The  same  of  whose  approach  afraid, 

To  that  high  mind,  by  sorrow  swerved, 

The  ruffians  left  their  ambuscade. 

Gave  sympathy  his  woes  deserved  ;a 

Their  chief  to  Wilfrid  bended  low, 

But  Wilfrid  chief,  who  saw  reveal'd 

Then  look'd  around  as  for  a  foe.                   [said 

Why  Mortham  wish'd  his  life  conceal'd^' 

"  What  mean'st  thou,  friend,"  young  Wycklififa 

In  secret,  doubtless,  to  pursue 

"  Why  thus  in  arms  beset  the  glade  ?" 

The  schemes  his  wilder'd  fancy  drew. 

"  That  would  I  gladly  learn  from  you ;              , 

Thoughtful  he  heard  Matilda  tell, 

For  up  my  squadron  as  I  drew, 

That  she  would  share  her  father's  cell, 

To  exercise  our  martial  game 

His  partner  of  captivity, 

Upon  the  moor  of  Barninghame,8 

Where'er  his  prison-house  should  be ; 

A  stranger  told  you  were  waylaid, 

Yet  grieved  to  think  that  Rokeby-kall, 

Surrounded,  and  to  death  betray'd. 

Dismantled  and  forsook  by  all, 

He  had  a  leader's  voice,  I  ween, 

Open  to  rapine  and  to  stealth, 

A  falcon  glance,  a  warrior's  mien. 

Had  now  no  safeguard  for  the  wealth 

He  bade  me  bring  you  instant  aid ; 

Tntrusted  by  her  kinsman  kind, 

I  doubted  not,  and  I  obey'd." 

'  MS. — "  Hope,  inconsistent,  vague,  and  vain, 

The  pity  gave  his  woes  deserved." 

Seem'd  on  the  theme  to  warp  his  brain." 

s  MS. — "  In  martial  exercise  to  move 

•  MS.—"  To  that  high  mind  thus  warp'd  and  swerved, 

Upon  the  open  moor  above  " 

332                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  y 

XXXI. 

II. 

Wilfrid  changed  color,  and,  amazed, 

The  eve,  that  slow  on  upland  fades. 

Turn'd  short,  and  on  the  speaker  gazed ; 

Has  darker  closed  on  Rokeby's  glades, 

While  Redmond  every  thicket  round 

Where,  sunk  within  their  banks  profound. 

Track'd  earnest  as  a  questing  hound, 

Her  guardian  streams  to  meeting  wound 

And  Denzil's  carabine  he  found  ; 

The  stately  oaks,  whose  sombre  frown 

Sure  evidence,  by  which  they  knew 

Of  noontide  make  a  twilight  brown, 

The  warning  was  as  kind  as  true.1 

Impervious  now  to  fainter  light, 

Wisest  it  seem'd,  with  cautious  speed 

Of  twilight  make  an  early  night.4 

To  leave  the  dell.     It  was  agreed, 

Hoarse  into  middle  air  arose 

That  Redmond,  with  Matilda  fair, 

The  vespers  of  the  roosting  crows, 

And  fitting  guard,  should  home  repair  ;* 

And  with  congenial  murmurs  seem 

At  nightfall  Wilfrid  should  attend, 

To  wake  the  Genii  of  the  stream ; 

With  a  strong  band,  his  sister-friend, 

For  louder  clamor'd  Greta's  tide, 

To  bear  with  her  from  Rokeby's  bowers 

And  Tees  in  deeper  voice  replied, 

To  Barnard  Castle's  lofty  towers, 

And  fitful  waked  the  evening  wind, 

Secret  and  safe  the  banded  chests, 

Fitful  in  sighs  its  breath  resign'd.6 

In  which  the  wealth  of  Mortham  rests. 

Wilfrid,  whose  fancy-nurtured  soul 

This  hasty  purpose  fix'd,  they  part, 

Felt  in  the  scene  a  soft  control, 

Each  with  a  grieved  and  anxious  heart. 

With  lighter  footstep  press'd  the  ground, 

And  often  paused  to  look  around ; 

And,  though  his  path  was  to  his  love, 

Could  not  but  linger  in  the  grove, 

Hok<% 

To  drink  the  thrilling  interest  dear, 

Of  awful  pleasure  check'd  by  fear. 

Such  inconsistent  moods  have  we, 

CANTO   FIFTH. 

Even  when  our  passions  strike  the  key. 
III. 

I. 

The  sultry  summer  day  is  done, 

Now,  through  the  wood's  dark  mazes  past. 

The  western  hills  have  hid  the  sun, 

The  opening  lawn  he  reach'd  at  last, 

But  mountain  peak  and  village  spire 

Where,  silver'd  by  the  moonlight  ray, 

Retain  reflection  of  his  fire. 

The  ancient  Hall  before  him  lay.8 

Old  Barnard's  towers  are  purple  still, 

Those  martial  terrors  long  were  fled, 

To  those  that  gaze  from  Toller-hill ; 

That  frown'd  of  old  around  its  head : 

Distant  and  high,  the  tower  of  Bowes 

The  battlements,  the  turrets  gray, 

Like  steel  upon  the  anvil  glows ; 

Seem'd  half  abandon'd  to  decay  ;7 

And  Stanm  ore's  ridge,  behind  that  lay, 

On  barbican  and  keep  of  stone 

Rich  with  the  spoils  of  parting  day, 

Stern  Time  the  foeman's  work  had  done. 

In  crimson  and  in  gold  array'd, 

Where  banners  the  invader  braved, 

Streaks  yet  a  while  the  closing  shade, 

The  harebell  now  and  wallflower  waved ; 

Then  slow  resigns  to  darkening  heaven 

In  the,  rude  guard-room,  where  of  yore 

The  tints  which  brighter  hours  had  given, 

Their  weary  hours  the  warders  wore, 

Thus  aged  men,  full  loth  and  slow, 

Now,  while  the  cheerful  fagots  blaze, 

*  The  vanities  of  life  forego, 

On  the  paved  floor  the  spindle  plays  ;8 

And  count  their  youthful  follies  o'er, 

The  flanking  guns  dismounted  he, 

Till  Memory  lends  her  light  no  more.8 

The  moat  is  ruinous  and  dry,9 

l  MS. — "  And  they  the  gun  of  Denzil  find  ; 

<  MS. "  a  darksome  night." 

A  witness  sure  to  every  mind 

6  MS. — "  By  fits  awaked  the  evening  wind 

The  warning  was  as  true  as  kind." 

By  fits  in  sighs  its  breath  resign'd." 

»  MS. "  It  was  agreed, 

That  Redmond,  with  Matilda  fair, 

6  MS. — "  Old  Rokeby's  towers  before  him  lay." 

Should  straight  to  Rokeby-hall  repair, 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 

And,  foes  so  near  them,  known  so  late, 

8  MS. — "  The  weary  night  the  warders  wore, 

A  guard  should  tend  her  to  the  gate." 

Now  by  the  fagot's  gladsome  light 

8  "  The  fifth  canto  opens  with  an  evening-scene,  of  its  ac- 

The maidens  plied  the  spindle's  sleight.  ' 

customed  beauty  when  delineated  by  Mr.  Scott.     The  moun- 

9 MS. — "  The  beams  had  long  forgot  to  bear 

tain  fading  in  the  twilight,   is  nobly  imagined."— Monthly 

The  trembling  drawbridge  into  air; 

Review. 

The  huge  portcullis  gone,"  &c. 

canto  v.                                                ROKEBY.                                                        333 

The  grim  portcullis  gone — and  all 

And  therefore  he  had  left  command 

The  fortress  turn'd  to  peaceful  HalL 

With  those  he  trusted  of  his  band, 

That  they  should  be  at  Rokeby  met, 

IV. 

What  time  the  midnight- watch  was  set 

But  yet  precautions,  lately  ta'en,1 

Now  Redmond  came,  whose  anxious  care 

Show'd  danger's  day  revived  again; 

Till  then  was  busied  to  prepare 

The  court-yard  wall  show'd  marks  of  care, 

All  needful,  meetly  to  arrange 

The  fall'n  defences  to  repair, 

The  mansion  for  its  mournful  change. 

Lending  such  strength  as  might  withstand 

With  Wilfrid's  care  and  kindness  pleased, 

The  insult  of  marauding  band. 

His  cold  unready  hand  he  seized, 

The  beams  once  more  were  taught  to  bear 

And  press'd  it,  till  his  kindly  strain 

The  trembling  drawbridge  into  air, 

The  gentle  youth  return'd  again. 

And  not,  till  question'd  o'er  and  o'er, 

Seem'd  as  between  them  this  was  said, 

For  Wilfrid  oped  the  jealous  door, 

"  A  while  let  jealousy  be  dead ; 

And  when  he  enter'd,  bolt  and  bar 

And  let  our  contest  be,  whose  care 

Resumed  their  place  with  sullen  jar ; 

Shall  best  assist  this  helpless  fair." 

Then,  as  he  cross'd  the  vaulted  porch, 

The  old  gray  porter  raised  his  torch, 

VI. 

And  view'd  him  o'er,  from  foot  to  head, 

There  was  no  speech  the  truce  to  bind, 

Ere  to  the  hall  his  steps  he  led. 

It  was  a  compact  of  the  mind, — 

That  huge  old  hall,  of  knightly  state, 

A  generous  thought,  at  once  impress'd 

Dismantled  seem'd  and  desolate. 

On  either  rival's  generous  breast. 

The  moon  through  transom-shafts  of  stone, 

Matilda  well  the  secret  took, 

Wliich  cross'd  the  latticed  oriels,  shone, 

From  sudden  change  of  mien  and  look ; 

And  by  the  mournful  light  she  gave, 

And — for  not  small  had  been  her  fear 

The  Gothic  vault  seem'd  funeral  cave. 

Of  jealous  ire  and  danger  near — 

Pennon  and  banner  waved  no  more 

Felt,  even  in  her  dejected  state, 

O'er  beams  of  stag  and  tusks  of  boar, 

A  joy  beyond  the  reach  of  fate. 

Nor  glimmering  arms  were  marshall'd  seen, 

They  closed  beside  the  chimney's  blaze, 

To  glance  those  silvan  spoils  between. 

And  talk'd,  and  hoped  for  happier  days, 

Those  arms,  those  ensigns,  borne  away, 

And  lent  their  spirits'  rising  glow 

Accomplish'd  Rokeby's  brave  array, 

A  while  to  gild  impending  woe  ; — 

But  all  were  lost  on  Marston's  day ! 

High  privilege  of  youthful  time, 

Yet  here  and  there  the  moonbeams  fall 

Worth  all  the  pleasures  of  our  prime ! 

Where  armor  yet  adorns  the  wall, 

The  bickering  fagot  sparkled  bright, 

Cumbrous  of  size,  uncouth  to  sight, 

And  gave  the  scene  of  love  to  sight, 

And  useless  in  the  modern  fight ! 

Bade  Wilfrid's  cheek  more  lively  glow, 

Like  veteran  relic  of  the  wars, 

Play'd  on  Matilda's  neck  of  snow, 

Known  only  by  neglected  scars. 

Her  nut-brown  curls  and  forehead  high, 

And  laugh'd  in  Redmond's  azure  eye. 

V. 

Two  lovers  by  the  maiden  sate, 

Matilda  soon  to  greet  him  came, 

Without  a  glance  of  jealous  hate ; 

And  bade  them  light  the  evening  flame ; 

The  maid  her  lovers  sat  between, 

Said,  all  for  parting  wat  prepared, 

With  open  brow  and  equal  mien ; — 

And  tarried  but  for  Wilfrid's  guard. 

It  is  a  sight  but  rarely  spied, 

But  then,  reluctant  to  unfold2 

Thanks  to  man's  wrath  and  woman's  pride 

His  father's  avarice  of  gold, 

He  hinted,  that  lest  jealous  eye 

VII. 

Should  on  their  precious  burden  pry, 

While  thus  in  peaceful  guise  they  sate, 

He  judged  it  best  the  castle  gate 

A  knock  alarm'd  the  outer  gate, 

To  enter  when  the  night  wore  late ; 

And  ere  the  tardy  porter  stirr'd, 

MS. — "  But  yet  precaution  show'd,   and 
fear, 

For  Wilfrid  oped  the  \  studded  I  door, 
(  jealous  ) 

That  dread  of  evil  times  was  here ; 

And,  on  his  entry,  bolt  and  bar 

There  were  late  marks  of  jealous    ) 
For  there  were  recent  marks  of      ) 

Resumed  their  place  with  sullen  jar." 

2  MS. — "  Confused  he  stood,  as  loth  to  say 

The  fall'n  defences  to  repair; 

What  might  his  sire's  base  mood  display 

And  not,  till  question'd  o'er  and  o'er, 

Then  hinted,  lest  some  curious  eye  " 

334                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  v 

The  tinkling  of  a  harp  was  heard. 

IX. 

A  manly  voice  of  mellow  swell, 

Sortfl  resumed. 

Bore  burden  to  the  music  well. 

"  I  have  song  of  war  for  knight, 

Sottfl. 

Lay  of  love  for  lady  bright, 

Fairy  tale  to  lull  the  heir, 

"  Summer  eve  is  gone  and  past, 

Goblin  grim  the  maids  to  scare. 

Summer  dew  is  falling  fast ; 

Dark  the  night,  and  long  till  day, 

1  have  wander'd  all  the  day, 

Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray  1 

Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray ! 

Gentle  hearts,  of  gentle  kin, 

"  Rokeby's  lords  of  martial  fame, 

Take  the  wandering  harper  in !" 

I  can  count  them  name  by  name  ;8 

Legends  of  their  line  there  be, 

But  the  stern  porter  answer  gave, 

Known  to  few,  but  known  to  me ; 

With  "  Get  thee  hence,  thou  strolling  knave ! 

If  you  honor  Rokeby's  kin, 

The  king  wants  soldiers ;  war,  I  trow, 

Take  the  wandering  harper  in ! 

Were  meeter  trade  for  such  as  thou." 

At  this  unkind  reproof,  again 

"  Rokeby's  lords  had  fair  regard 

Answer'd  the  ready  Minstrel's  strain. 

For  the  harp,  and  for  the  bard ; 

Baron's  race  throve  never  well, 

Song  resumcU. 

Where  the  curse  of  minstrel  fell. 

"  Bid  not  me,  in  battle-field, 

If  you  love  that  noble  kin, 

Buckler  lift,  or  broadsword  wield ! 

Take  the  weary  harper  in !" — 

All  my  strength  and  all  my  art 

Is  to  touch  the  gentle  heart,1 

■  Hark  !  Harpool  parleys — there  is  hope," 

With  the  wizard  notes  that  ring 

Said  Redmond,  "  that  the  gate  will  ope." — 

Fom  the  peaceful  minstrel-string." — 

— "  For  all  thy  brag  and  boast,  I  trow, 

Naught  know'st  thou  of  the  Felon  Sow,"4 

The  porter,  all  unmoved,  replied, — 

Quoth  Harpool,  "  nor  how  Greta-side 

"  Depart  in  peace,  with  Heaven  to  guide ; 

She  roam'd,  and  Rokeby  forest  wide ; 

If  longer  by  the  gate  thou  dwell, 

Nor  how  Ralph  Rokeby  gave  the  beast 

Trust  me,  thou  shalt  not  part  so  well." 

To  Richmond's  friars  to  make  a  feast. 

Of  Gilbert  Griffinson  the  tale 

VIII. 

Goes,  and  of  gallant  Peter  Dale, 

With  somewhat  of  appealing  look, 

That  well  could  strike  with  sword  amain, 

The  harper's  part  young  Wilfrid  took: 

And  of  the  valiant  son  of  Spain, 

"  These  notes  so  wild  and  ready  thrill, 

Friar  Middleton,  and  blithe  Sir  Ralph ;    . 

They  show  no  vulgar  minstrel's  skill ; 

There  were  a  jest  to  make  us  laugh  1 

Hard  were  his  task  to  seek  a  home 

If  thou  canst  tell  it,  in  yon  shed 

More  distant,  since  the  night  is  come ; 

Thou'st  won  thy  supper  and  thy  bed." 

And  for  his  faith  I  dare  engage — 

Your  Harpool's  blood  is  sour'd  by  age ; 

X. 

His  gate,  once  readily  display'd, 

Matilda  smiled ;  "  Cold  hope,"  said  she, 

To  greet  the  friend,  the  poor  to  aid, 

"  From  Harpool's  love  of  minstrelsy  I 

Now  even  to  me,  though  known  of  old, 

But,  for  this  harper^may  we  dare, 
Redmond,  to  mend  ms  couch  and  fare  ?" — 

Did  but  reluctantly  unfold." — 

"  0  blame  not,  as  poor  Harpool's  crime, 

"  0,  ask  me  not ! — At  minstrel-string 

An  evil  of  tliis  evil  time. 

My  heart  from  infancy  would  spring  ; 

He  deems  dependent  on  his  care 

Nor  can  I  hear  its  simplest  strain, 

The  safety  of  his  patron's  heir, 

But  it  brings  Erin's  dream  again. 

Nor  judges  meet  to  ope  the  tower 

When  placed  by  Owen  Lysagh's  knee, 

To  guest  unknown  at  parting  hour,8 

(The  Filea  of  O'Neale  was  he,8 

Urging  his  duty  to  excess 

A  blind  and  bearded  man,  whose  eld 

Of  rough  and  stubborn  faithfulness. 

Was  sacred  as  a  prophet's  held,) 

For  this  poor  harper,  I  would  fain 

I've  seen  a  ring  of  rugged  kerne, 

He  may  relax : — Hark  to  his  strain !" — 

With  aspects  shaggy,  wild,  and  stern, 

I  MS. — "  O,  bid  not  me  bear  sword  and  shield, 

2  MS. — "  To  vagrants  at  our  parting  hour." 

Or  struggle  to  the  bloody  field, 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  A. 

Vor  gentler  art  this  hand  was  made." 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B.                6  Ibid.   Note  3  0 

canto  v.                                                   ittKEBY.                                                            335 

Enchanted  by  the  master's  lay, 

But  rather  had  it  been  his  choice 

Linger  around  the  livelong  day, 

To  share  that  melancholy  hour, 

Shift  fro.n  wild  rage  to  wilder  glee, 

Than,  arm'd  with  all  a  chieftain's  power,4 

To  love,  to  grief,  to  ecstasy,1 

In  full  possession  to  enjoy 

And  feel  each  varied  change  of  soul 

Slieve-Donard  wide,  and  Clandeboy. 

Obedient  to  the  bard's  control. — 

Ah,  Clandeboy !  thy  friendly  floor 

XII. 

Slieve-Donard's  oak  shall  light  no  more  ;* 

The  blood  left  Wilfrid's  ashen  cheek ; 

Nor  Owen's  harp,  beside  the  blaze, 

Matilda  sees,  and  hastes  to  speak. — 

Tell  maiden's  love,  or  hero's  praise  ! 

"  Happy  in  friendship's  ready  aid, 

The  mantling  brambles  hide  thy  hearth, 

Let  all  my  murmurs  here  be  staid ! 

Centre  of  hospitable  mirth  ; 

And  Rokeby's  Maiden  will  not  part 

All  undistinguish'd  in  the  glade, 

From  Rokeby's  hall  with  moody  heart. 

My  sires'  glad  home  is  prostrate  laid, 

This  night  at  least,  for  Rokeby's  fame, 

Their  vassals  wander  wide  and  far, 

The  hospitable  hearth  shall  flame, 

Serve  foreign  lords  in  distant  war, 

And,  ere  its  native  heir  retire, 

And  now  the  stranger's  sons  enjoy 

Find  for  the  wanderer  rest  and  fire, 

The  lovely  woods  of  Clandeboy  !" 

While  this  poor  harper,  by  the  blaze,* 

He  spoke,  and  proudly  turn'd  aside, 

Recounts  the  tale  of  other  days. 

The  starting  tear  to  dry  and  hide. 

Bid  Harpool  ope  the  door  with  speed, 

Admit  him,  and  relieve  each  need.— - 

XL 

Meantime,  kind  Wycliffe,  wilt  thou  try 

Matilda's  dark  and  soften'd  eye 

Thy  minstrel  skill  ? — Nay,  no  reply — 6 

Was  glistening  ere  O'Neale's  was  dry. 

And  look  not  sad  ! — I  guess  thy  thought, 

Her  hand  upon  his  arm  she  laid, — 

Thy  verse  with  laurels  would  be  bought ; 

It  is  the  will  of  heaven,"  she  said. 

And  poor  Matilda,  landless  now, 

"  And  think'st  thou,  Redmond,  I  can  part 

Has  not  a  garland  for  thy  brow. 

From  this  loved  home  with  lightsome  heart, 

True,  I  must  leave  sweet  Rokeby's  glades, 

Leaving  to  wild  neglect  whate'er 

Nor  wander  more  in  Greta  shades ; 

Even  from  my  infancy  was  dear  ? 

But  sure,  no  rigid  jailer,  thou 

For  hi  this  calm  domestic  bound 

Wilt  a  short  prison-walk  allow, 

"Were  all  Matilda's  pleasures  found. 

Where  summer  flowers  grow  wild  at  will, 

That  hearth,  my  sire  was  wont  to  grace, 

On  Marwood-chase  and  Toller  Hill  ;7 

Full  soon  may  be  a  stranger's  place ;' 

Then  holly  green  and  lily  gay 

This  hall,  in  which  a  child  I  play'd, 

Shall  twine  in  guerdon  of  thy  lay."8 

Like  thine,  dear  Redmond,  lowly  laid, 

The  mournful  youth,  a  space  aside, 

The  bramble  and  the  thorn  may  braid ; 

To  tune  Matilda's  harp  applied  ; 

Or,  pass'd  for  aye  from  me  and  mine, 

And  then  a  low  sad  descant  rung, 

It  ne'er  may  shelter  Rokeby's  line. 

As  prelude  to  the  lay  he  sung. 

Yet  is  this  consolation  given, 

My  Redmond, — 'tis  the  will  of  heaven." 

XIII. 

Her  word,  her  action,  and  her  phrase, 

£f)e  impress   threat!).9                   , 

Were  kindly  as  in  early  days ; 

0,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 

For  cold  reserve  had  lost  its  power, 

Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree  ! 

In  sorrow's  sympathetic  hour. 

Too  lively  glow  the  lilies  light, 

Young  Redmond  dared  not  trust  his  voice ; 

The  varnish'd  holly's  all  too  bright, 

1  MS. "  to  sympathy."       2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  D. 

9  "  Mr.  Scott  has  imparted  a  delicacy  (we  mean  in  the  co- 

9 MS. — "  That  hearth,  my  father's  honor'd  place, 

loring,  for  the  design  we  cannot  approve),  a  sweetness  and  a 

Full  soon  may  see  a  stranger's  face." 

melancholy  smile  to  this  parting  picture,  that  really  enchant 

*  MS. "  Tanist's  power." 

us.     Poor  Wilfrid  is  sadly  discomfited  by  the  last  instance  of 

6  MS  — "  Find  for  the  needy  room  and  fire, 

encouragement  to  Redmond  ;  and  Matilda  endeavors  to  cheer 

And  this  poor  wanderer,  by  the  blaze." 

him  by  requesting,  in  the  prettiest,  and  yet  in  the  most  touch- 

6 MS. "  what  think'st  thou 

ing  manner,  '  Kind  WyclifTe,'  to  try  his  minstrelsy.     We  will 

Of  yonder  harp  ? — Nay,  clear  thy  brow." 

here  just  ask  Mr.  Scott,  whether  this  would  not  be  actual  in- 

1 Marwood-chase  is  the  old  park  extending  along  the  Dur- 

fernal and  intolerable  torture  to  a  man  who  had   any  sonl  1 

ham  side  of  the  Tees,  attached  to  Barnard  Castle.     Toller  Hill 

Why,  then,  make  his  heroine  even  the  unwilling  cause  of  such 

is  an  eminence  on  the  Yorkshire  side  of  the  river,  commanding 

misery  ?     Matilda  had  talked  of  twining  a  wreath  for  her  poet 

%  superb  view  of  the  ruins. 

of  holly  green  and  lily  gay,  and  he  sings,  broken-hearted,  'The 

*  MS. — "  Where  rose  and  lily  I  will  twine 

Cypress  Wreath.'     We  have,  however,  inserted  this  as  one  oi 

In  guerdon  of  a  song  of  thine." 

the  best  of  Mr.  Scott's  songs. "—Monthly  Review 

336 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V 


The  May-flower  and  the  eglantine 
May  shade  a  brow  less  sad  than  mine ; 
But,  Lady,  weave  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  weave  it  of  the  cypress-tree ! 

Let  dimpled  Mirth  his  temples  twine 
With  tendrils  of  the  laughing  vine ; 
The  manly  oak,  the  pensive  yew, 
To  patriot  and  to  sage  be  due ; 
The  myrtle  bough  bids  lovers  live, 
But  that  Matilda  will  not  give ; 
Then,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

Let  merry  England  proudly  rear 
Her  blended  roses,  bought  so  dear ; 
Let  Albin  bind  her  bonnet  blue 
With  heath  and  harebell  dipp'd  in  dew ; 
On  favor'd  Erin's  crest  be  seen 
The  flower  she  loves  of  emerald  green — 
But,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

Strike  the  wild  harp,  while  maids  prepare 
The  ivy  meet  for  minstrel's  hair ; 
And,  while  his  crown  of  laurel-leaves 
With  bloody  hand  the  victor  weaves, 
Let  the  loud  trump  Ins  triumph  tell ; 
But  when  you  hear  the  passing-bell, 
Then,  Lady,  twine  a  wreath  for  me, 
And  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

Yes  !  twine  for  me  the  cypress  bough ; 
But,  0  Matilda,  twine  not  now  ! 
Stay  till  a  few  brief  months  are  past, 
And  I  have  look'd  and  loved  my  last ! 
When  villagers  my  shroud  bestrew 
With  panzies,  rosemary,  and  rue, — 
Then,  Lady,  weave  a  wreath  for  me, 
And  weave  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

XIV. 

O'Xeale  observed  the  starting  tear, 

And  spoke  with  kind  and  blithesome  cheer — 

"  No,  noble  Wilfrid !  ere  the  day 

When  mourns  the  land  thy  silent  lay, 

Shall  many  a  wreath  be  freely  wove 

By  hand  of  friendship  and  of  love. 

I  would  not  wish  that  rigid  Fate 

Had  doom'd  thee  to  a  captive's  state, 

Whose  hands  are  bound  by  honor's  law, 


» MS, 


I  would  not  wish  thee  ■ 


degree 


So  lost  to  hope  as  falls  to  me  ; 


But 


wert  thou  such, 


in  minstrel  pride, 


if  thou  wert, 
The  land  we'd  traverse  side  by  side, 
On  prancing  steeds,  like  minstrels  old, 


Who  wears  a  sword  he  must  not  draw ; 
But  were  it  so,  in  minstrel  pride 
The  land  together  would  we  ride, 
On  prancing  steeds,  like  harpers  old, 
Bound  for  the  halls  of  barons  bold,1 
Each  lover  of  the  lyre  we'd  seek, 
From  Michael's  Mount  to  Skiddaw's  Peak, 
Survey  wide  Albin's  mountain  strand, 
And  roam  green  Erin's  lovely  land, 
While  thou  the  gentler  souls  should  move, 
With  lay  of  pity  and  of  love, 
And  I,  thy  mate,  in  rougher  strain, 
Would  sing  of  war  and  warriors  slain. 
Old  England's  bards  were  vanquish'd  then, 
And  Scotland's  vaunted  Hawthornden,2 
And,  silenced  on  lernian  shore, 
M'Curtin's  harp  should  charm  no  more !'" 
In  lively  mood  he  spoke,  to  wile 
From  Wilfrid's  woe-worn  cheek  a  smile. 

XV. 

"  But,"  said  Matilda,  "  ere  thy  name, 

Good  Redmond,  gain  its  destined  fame, 

Say,  wilt  thou  kindly  deign  to  call 

Thy  brother-minstrel  to  the  hall  ? 

Bid  all  the  household,  too,  attend, 

Each  in  his  rank  a  humble  friend ; 

I  know  their  faithful  hearts  will  grieve, 

When  their  poor  Mistress  takes  her  leave  ; 

So  let  the  horn  and  beaker  flow 

To  mitigate  their  parting  woe." 

The  harper  came  ; — in  youth's  first  prune 

Himself ;  in  mode  of  olden  time 

His  garb  was  fashion'd,  to  express 

The  ancient  English  minstrel's  dress,4 

A  seemly  gown  of  Kendal  green, 

With  gorget  closed  of  silver  sheen : 

His  harp  in  silken  scarf  was  slung, 

And  by  his  side  an  anlace  hung. 

It  seem'd  some  masquer's  quaint  array, 

For  revel  or  for  holiday. 

XVI. 
He  made  obeisance  with  a  free 
Yet  studied  air  of  courtesy. 
Each  look  and  accent,  framed  to  please, 
Seem'd  to  affect  a  playful  ease  ; 
His  face  was  of  that  doubtful  kind, 
That  wins  the  eye,  but  not  the  mind ; 
Yet  harsh  it  seem'd  to  deem  amiss 
Of  brow  so  young  and  smooth  as  this. 


halls  of  barons  bold. 


Bound  for 
That  sought  the 

2  Drummond  of  Hawthornden  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  repn 
tation  as  a  poet  during  the  Civil  Wars.     He  died  in  1649. 
s  gee  Appendix,  Note  3  E. 
4  Tbid.  Note  3  F. 


I 


J 


canto  v.                                                  ROKEBY.                                                          337 

His  was  the  subtle  look  and  sly, 

What  should  my  soaring  views  make  good  ' 

That,  spying  all,  seems  naught  to  spy ; 

My  Harp  alone  ! 

Round  all  the  group  liis  glances  stole, 

Unmark'd  themselves,  to  mark  the  whole. 

Love  came  with  all  his  frantic  fire, 

Vet  sunk  oeneath  Matilda's  look, 

And  wild  romance  of  vain  desire  :* 

Nor  could  the  eye  of  Redmond  brook.1 

The  baron's  daughter  heard  my  lyre, 

To  the  suspicious,  or  the  old, 

And  praised  the  tone ; — 

Subtle  and  dangerous  and  bold 

What  could  presumptuous  hope  inspire  3 

Haa  seem  a  this  self-invited  guest ; 

My  Harp  alone  ! 

But  young  our  lovers, — and  the  rest, 

Wrapt  in  their  sorrow  and  their  .fear 

At  manhood's  touch  the  bubble  burst,         % 

At  parting  of  their  Mistress  dear, 

And  manhood's  pride  the  vision  curst, 

Tear-blinded  to  the  Castle-halL2 

And  all  that  had  my  folly  nursed 

Came  as  to  bear  her  funeral  pall. 

Love's  sway  to  own ; 
Yet  spared  the  spell  that  lull'd  me  first, 

XVII. 

My  Harp  alone ! 

All  that  expression  base  was  gone, 

When  waked  the  guest  his  minstrel  tore ; 

Woe  came  with  war,  and  want  with  woe ; 

It  fled  at  inspiration's  call. 

And  it  was  mine  to  undergo 

As  erst  the  demon  fled  from  Saul.3 

Each  outrage  of  the  rebel  foe : — * 

More  noble  glance  he  cast  around, 

Can  aught  atone 

More  free-drawn  breath  inspired  the  sound, 

My  fields  laid  waste,  my  cot  laid  low  » 

His  pulse  beat  bolder  and  more  high, 

My  Harp  alone ! 

In  all  the  pride  of  minstrelsy ! 

Alas !  too  soon  that  pride  was  o'er, 

Ambition's  dreams  I've  seen  depart. 

Sunk  with  the  lay  that  bade  it  soar ! 

Have  rued  of  penury  the  smart, 

His  soul  resumed,  with  habit's  chain, 

Have  felt  of  love  the  venom'd  dart, 

Its  vices  wild  and  follies  vain, 

When  hope  was  flown ; 

And  gave  the  talent,  with  him  born, 

Yet  rests  one  solace  to  my  heart,    - 

To  be  a  common  curse  and  scorn. 

My  Harp  alone ! 

Such  was  the  youth  whom  Rokeby's  Maid, 

With  condescending  kindness,  pray'd 

Then  over  mountain,  moor,  and  hill, 

Here  to  renew  the  strains  she  loved, 

My  faithful  Harp,  I'll  bear  thee  still ; 

At  distance  heard  and  well  approved. 

And  when  this  life  of  want  and  ill 
Is  wellnigh  gone, 

XVIII. 

Thy  strings  mine  elegy  shall  thrill, 

S&oitfl. 

My  Harp  alone ! 

THE    HARP. 

XIX. 

1  was  a  wild  and  wayward  boy, 

"  A  pleasing  lay  !"  Matilda  said  ; 

My  clrildhood  scorn'd  each  childish  toy, 

But  Harpool  shook  his  old  gray  head, 

Retired  from  all,  reserved  and  coy, 

And  took  his  baton  and  his  torch, 

To  musing  prone, 

To  seek  his  guard-room  in  the  porch. 

I  woo'd  my  solitary  joy, 

Edmund  observed ;  with  sudden  change, 

My  Harp  alone. 

Among  the  strings  his  fingers  range, 
Until  they  waked  a  bolder  glee 

My  youth,  with  bold  Ambition's  mood, 

Of  military  melody ; 

Despised  the  humble  stream  and  wood, 

Then  paused  amid  the  martial  sound, 

Where  my  poor  father's  cottage  stood, 

And  look'd  with  well-feign'd  fear  around  ; — • 

To  fame  unknown ; — 

"  None  to  this  noble  house  belong," 

'  MS. — "  Nor  could  keen  Redmond's  aspect  brook." 

an  harp,  and  played  with  his  hand  :    So  Saul  was  refreshed 

»  MS.—"  Came  blindfold  to  the  Castle-hall, 

and  was  well,  and  the  evil  spirit  departed  from  him."— 1  Sam 

As  if  to  bear  her  funeral  pall." 

uel,  chap.  xvi.  14,  17,  23. 

»  "But  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  departed  from  Saul,  and  an 

4  MS. — "  Love  came,  with  all  his  ardent  fire, 

ml  spirit  from  the  Lord  troubled  him. 

His  frantic  dream,  his  wild  desire  " 

"  And  Saul  said  unto  his  servants,  Provide  me  now  a  man 

6  MS. — "  And  doom'd  at  once  to  undergo, 

that  can  play  well,  and  bring  him  _o  me.    And  it  came  to  pass, 

Each  varied  outrage  of  the  foe." 

whec  the  evil  spirit  from  God  was  upon  Saul,  that  David  took 
43 

«  MS. — "  And  looking  timidly  around  " 

338 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  V. 


He  said,  "  that  would  a  Minstrel  wrong, 

Whose  fate  has  been,  through  good  and  ill, 

To  love  his  Royal  Master  still ; 

And  with  your  honor'd  leave,  would  fain 

Rejoice  you  with  a  loyal  strain." 

Then,  as  assured  by  sign  and  look, 

The  warlike  tone  again  he  took  ; 

And  Harpool  stopp'd,  and  turn'd  to  hear 

A  ditty  of  the  Cavalier. 

XX. 

Song. 

THE  CAVALIER. 

While  the  dawn  on  the  mountain  was  misty  and  gray 
My  true  love  has  mounted  his  steed  and  away 
Over  hill,  over  valley,  o'er  dale,  and  o'er  down; 
Heaven  shield  the  brave  Gallant  that  fights  for 
the  Crown ! 

He  has  doff' d  the  silk  doublet  the  breast-plate  to 
bear,  [hair, 

He  has  placed  his  steel-cap  o'er  his  long  flowing 

From  his  belt  to  his  stirrup  his  broadsword  hangs 
down, —  [the  Crown  ! 

Heaven  shield  the  brave  Gallant  that  fights  for 

For  the  rights  of  fair  England  that  broadsword  he 

draws, 
Her  King  is  his  leader,  her  Church  is  his  Cause ; 
His  watchword  is  honor,  his  pay  is  renown, — 
God  strike  with  the  Gallant  that  strikes  for  the 

Crown ! 

They  may  boast  of  their  Fairfax,  their  Waller,  and 

aU 
The  roundheaded  rebels  of  Westminster  Hall ; 
But  tell  these  bold  traitors  of  London's   proud 

town,  [Crown  I1 

That  the  spears  of  the  North  have  encircled  the 

There's  Derby  and  Cavendish,  dread  of  their  foes ; 

There's  Erin's  high  Ormond,  and  Scotland's  Mon- 
trose !  [and  Brown, 

Would  you  match  the  base  Skippon,  and  Massey, 

With  the  Barons  of  England,  that  fight  for  the 
Crown  ? 

Now  joy  to  the  crest  of  the  brave  Cavalier ! 

Be  his  banner  unconquer'd,  resistless  his  spear,       , 


IMS. 


of  proud  London  town, 


That  the  North  has  brave  nobles  to  fight  for  the 
Crown." 


«  In  the  MS.  the  last  quatrain  of  this  song  is, 
"  If  they  boast  that  fair  Reading  by  treachery  fell, 
Of  Stratton  and  Lansdoune  the  Cornish  can  tell, 
And  the  North  tell  of  Bramham  and  Adderton  Down, 


Till  in  peace  and  in  triumph  his  toils  he  may  dr*vm* 
In  a  pledge  to  fair  England,  her  Church,  am*  ne 
Crown.3 

XXI. 

"  Alas !"  Matilda  said,  "  that  strain, 
Good  harper,  now  is  heard  in  vain  1 
The  time  has  been,  at  such  a  sound, 
When  Rokeby's  vassals  gather'd  round, 
An  hundred  manly  hearts  would  bound ; 
But  now  the  stirring  verse  we  hear, 
Like  trump  in  dying  soldier's  ear  !a 
Listless  and  sad  the  notes  we  own, 
The  power  to  answer  them  is  flown. 
Yet  not  without  his  meet  applause, 
Be  he  that  sings  the  rightful  cause, 
Even  when  the  crisis  of  its  fate 
To  human  eye  seems  desperate. 
While  Rokeby's  Heir  such  power  retains, 
Let  tins  slight  guerdon  pay  thy  pains : — 
And,  lend  thy  harp  ;  I  fain  would  try, 
If  my  poor  skill  can  aught  supply, 
Ere  yet  I  leave  my  fathers'  hall, 
To  mourn  the  cause  hi  which  we  fall." 

XXII. 

The  harper,  with  a  downcast  look, 
And  trembling  hand,  her  bounty  took. — 
As  yet,  the  conscious  pride  of  art 
Had  steel'd  him  in  his  treacherous  part ; 
A  powerful  spring,  of  force  unguess'd, 
That  hath  each  gentler  mood  suppress'd, 
And  reign'd  in  many  a  human  breast ; 
From  his  that  plans  the  red  campaign, 
To  his  that  wastes  the  woodland  reign. 
The  failing  wing,  the  blood-shot  eye, — 
The  sportsman  marks  with  apathy, 
Each  feeling  of  his  victim's  ill 
Drown' d  in  his  own  successful  skill. 
The  veteran,  too,  who  now  no  more 
Aspires  to  head  the  battle's  roar,6 
Loves  still  the  triumph  of  his  art, 
And  traces  on  the  pencill'd  chart 
Some  stern  invader's  destined  way, 
Through  blood  and  ruin,  to  his  prey ; 
Patriots  to  death,  and  towns  to  flame, 
He  dooms,  to  raise  another's  name, 
And  shares  the  guilt,  though  not  the  fame. 
What  pays  him  for  his  span  of  time 
Spent  in  premeditating  crime  ? 


Where  God  bless  the  brave  gallants  who  fongr" 
for  the  Crown.' 

3  MS. — "  But  now  it  sinks  upon  the  ear, 

Like  dirge  beside  a  hero's  bier." 

4  MS. — "  Marking,  with  sportive  cruelty, 

The  failing  wing,  the  blood-shot  eye." 
6  MS. — "  The  veteran  chief,  whose  broken  age, 
No  more  can  lead  the  battle's  rage." 


canto  v.                                                  iiOKEBY.                                                              338 

"What  against  pity  arms  his  heart  ?— 

Lands  and  honors,  wealth  and  power,8 

I    o  the  conscious  pride  of  art.1 

Well  their  loyalty  repaid. 

Perish  wealth,  and  power,  and  pride ! 

XXIII. 

Mortal  boons  by  mortals  given ; 

But  principles  in  Edmund's  mind 

But  let  Constancy  abide,— - 

Were  baseless,  vague,  and  undefined. 

Constancy's  the  gift  of  Heavea 

His  soul,  like  bark  with  rudder  lost, 

Ou  Passion's  changeful  tide  was  tost ; 

XXV. 

Nor  Vice  nor  Virtue  had  the  power 

Wliile  thus  Matilda's  lay  was  heard, 

Beyond  the  impression  of  the  hour  ; 

A  thousand  thoughts  in  Edmund  stirr'd. 

And,  0  !  when  Passion  rules,  how  rare 

In  peasant  life  he  might  have  known 

The  hours  that  fall  to  Virtue's  share  1 

As  fair  a  face,  as  sweet  a  tone  ; 

Yet  now  she  roused  her — for  the  pride, 

But  village  notes  could  ne'er  supply 

That  lack  of  sterner  guilt  supplied, 

That  rich  and  varied  melody  ; 

Could  scarce  support  him  when  arose 

And  ne'er  in  cottage-maid  was  seen 

The  lay  that  mourn'd  Matilda's  woes. 

The  easy  dignity  of  mien, 

Sonjj. 

Claiming  respect,  yet  waiving  state, 

That  marks  the  daughters  of  the  great. 

THE    FAREWELL. 

Yet  not,  perchance,  had  these  alone 

The  sound  of  Rokeby's  woods  I  hear, 

His  scheme  of  purposed  guilt  o'erthrown  • 

They  mingle  with  the  song : 

But  while  her  energy  of  mind 

Dark  Greta's  voice  is  in  mine  ear, 

Superior  rose  to  griefs  combined, 

I  must  not  hear  them  long. 

Lending  its  kindling  to  her  eye,    • 

From  every  loved  and  native  haunt 

Giving  her  form  new  majesty, — 

The  native  Heir  must  stray, 

To  Edmund's  thought  Matilda  seem'd 

And,  like  a  ghost  whom  sunbeams  daunt, 

The  very  object  he  had  dream'd  ; 

Must  part  before  the  day. 

When,  long  ere  guilt  his  soul  had  known. 

In  Winston  bowers  he  mused  alone, 

Soon  from  the  halls  my  fathers  rear'd, 

Taxing  his  fancy  to  combine 

Their  scutcheons  may  descend, 

The  face,  the  air,  the  voice  divine, 

A  line  so  long  beloved  and  fear'd 

Of  princess  fair,  by  cruel  fate 

May  soon  obscurely  end. 

Reft  of  her  honors,  power,  and  state,4 

No  longer  here  Matilda's  tone 

Till  to  her  rightful  realm  restored 

Shall  bid  those  echoes  swell ; 

By  destined  hero's  conquering  sword. 

Yet  shall  they  hear  her  proudly  own 

The  cause  in  which  we  fell. 

XXVI. 

"  Such  was  my  vision  !"     Edmund  thought ; 

The  lady  paused,  and  then  again 

"  And  have  I,  then,  the  ruin  wrought 

Resumed  the  lay  in  loftier  strain.2 

Of  such  a  maid,  that  fancy  ne'er 

In  fairest  vision  form'd  her  peer  ? 

XXIV. 

Was  it  my  hand  that  could  unclose 

Let  our  halls  and  towers  decay, 

The  postern  to  her  ruthless  foes  ? 

Be  our  name  and  line  forgot, 

Foes,  lost  to  honor,  law,  and  faith, 

Lands  and  manors  pass  away, — 

Their  kindest  mercy  sudden  death ! 

We  but  share  our  Monarch's  lot. 

Have  I  done  this  ?  I !  who  have  swore, 

If  no  more  our  annals  show 

That  if  the  globe  such  angel  bore, 

Battles  won  and  banners  taken, 

I  would  have  traced  its  circle  broad, 

Still  in  death,  defeat,  and  woe, 

To  kiss  the  ground  on  which  she  trode ! — 

Ours  be  loyalty  unshaken  I 

And  now — 0  !  would  that  earth  would  rive, 

And  close  upon  me  while  alive ! — 

Constant  still  in  danger's  hour, 

Is  there  no  hope  ?     Is  all  then  lost  ? — 

Princes  own'd  our  fathers'  aid ; 

Bertram's  already  on  his  post  1 

i  "  Surely,  no  poet  has  ever  paid  a  finer  tribnte  to  the  power 

2  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

of  his  art,  than  in  the  foregoing  description  of  its  effects  on  the 

mind  of  this  unhappy  boy  !  and  none  has  ever  more  justly  ap- 

* MS.—"  Knightly  titles,  wealth  and  power." 

preciated   the   worthle-ssness  of  the  sublimest  genius,    unre- 

Btrained  by  reason,  and   abandoned  by  virtue." — Critical  Ro- 

*  MS. — "  Of  some  fair  princess  of  romance, 

viev 

The  guerdon  of  a  hero's  lance.'' 

340                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  v 

Even  now,  beside  the  Hall's  arch'd  door, 

E'en  now,  in  yonder  shadowy  nook, 

I  saw  his  shadow  cross  the  floor  1 

I  see  it ! — Redmond,  Wilfrid,  look ! — 

He  was  to  wait  my  signal  strain — 

A  human  form  distinct  and  clear — 

A  little  respite  thus  we  gain : 

God,  for  thy  mercy  ! — It  draws  near  1" 

By  what  I  heard  the  menials  say, 

She  saw  too  true.     Stride  after  stride, 

Young  Wycliffe's  troop  are  on  their  way — 

The  centre  of  that  chamber  wide 

Alarm  precipitates  the  crime ! 

Fierce  Bertram  gain'd  ;  then  made  a  stand, 

My  harp  must  wear  away  the  time." — 

And,  proudly  waving  with  his  hand, 

And  then,  in  accents  faint  and  low, 

Thunder'd — "  Be  still,  upon  your  lives ! — 

He  falter'd  forth  a  tale  of  woe.1 

He  bleeds  who  speaks,  he  dies  who  strives 

Behind  their  chief,  the  robber  crew 

XXVIL 

Forth  from  the  darken'd  portal  drew 

38a4U». 

In  silence — save  that  echo  dread 

"  And  whither  would  you  lead  me,  then  f 

Return'd  their  heavy  measured  tread.4 

Quoth  the  Friar  of  orders  gray ; 

The  lamp's  uncertain  lustre  gave 

And  the  Ruffians  twain  replied  again, 

Their  arms  to  gleam,  their  plumes  to  wave 

"  By  a  dying  woman  to  pray." — 

File  after  file  in  order  pass, 

Like  forms  on  Banquo's  mystic  glass. 

" 1  see,"  he  said,  "  a  lovely  sight, 

Then,  halting  at  their  leader's  sign, 

A  sight  bodes  little  harm, 

At  once  they  form'd  and  curved  their  line, 

A  lady  as  a  lily  bright, 

Hemming  within  its  crescent  drear 

With  an  infant  on  her  arm." — 

Their  victims,  like  a  herd  of  deer. 

Another  sign,  and  to  the  aim 

"  Then  do  thine  office,  Friar  gray, 

Leveli'd  at  once  their  muskets  came, 

And  see  thou  shrive  her  free  ?3 

As  waiting  but  their  chieftain's  word, 

Else  shall  the  sprite,  that  parts  to-night, 

To  make  their  fatal  volley  heard. 

Fling  all  its  guilt  on  thee. 

XXIX. 

"  Let  mass  be  said,  and  trentrals  read, 

Back  in  a  heap  the  menials  drew ; 
Yet,  even  in  mortal  terror,  true, 

"When  thou'rt  to  convent  gone, 

And  bid  the  bell  of  St.  Benedict 
Toll  out  its  deepest  tone." 

Their  pale  and  startled  group  oppose 
Between  Matilda  and  the  foes. 

The  shrift  is  done,  the  Friar  is  gone, 
Blindfolded  as  he  came — 

"  0,  haste  thee,  Wilfrid  !"  Redmond  cried  j 

"  Undo  that  wicket  by  thy  side  ! 

Next  morning,  all  in  Littlecot  Hall 

Bear  hence  Matilda8 — gain  the  wood — 

Were  weeping  for  their  dame. 

The  pass  may  be  a  while  made  good — 

Thy  band,  ere  this,  must  sure  be  nigh — 

Wild  Darrell  is  an  altered  man, 

0  speak  not — dally  not — but  fly  !" 

The  village  crones  can  tell ; 

While  yet  the  crowd  their  motions  hide, 

He  looks  pale  as  clay,  and  strives  to  pray, 

Through  the  low  wicket  door  they  glide. 

If  he  hears  the  convent  bell. 

Through  vaulted  passages  they  wind, 

In  Gothic  intricacy  twined ; 

If  prince  or  peer  cross  Darrell's  way, 

Wilfred  half  led,  and  half  he  bore, 

He'll  beard  him  in  his  pride — 

Matilda  to  the  postern-door, 

Tf  he  meet  a  Friar  of  orders  gray, 

And  safe  beneath  the  forest  tree, 

He  droops  and  turns  aside.3 

The  Lady  stands  at  liberty. 

The  moonbeams,  the  fresh  gale's  caress, 

XXVIII. 

Renew'd  suspended  consciousness ; — 

"  Harper !  methinks  thy  magic  lays," 

"  Where's  Redmond  ?"  eagerly  she  cries : 

Matilda  said,  "  can  goblins  raise  ! 

"  Thou  answer'st  not — he  dies  !  he  dies  1 

Wellnigh  my  fancy  can  discern, 

And  thou  hast  left  him,  all  bereft 

Near  the  dark  porch,  a  visage  stern; 

Of  mortal  aid — with  murderers  left ! 

The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

*  MS. — "  Behind  him  came  his  savage  crew 

'  MS.—"  And  see  thy  shrift  be  true, 

File  after  file  in  order  due  ; 

Else  shall  the  soul,  that  parts  to-day, 

Silent  from  that  dark  portal  p^as, 

Fling  all  its  guilt  on  you." 

Like  forms  on  Banquo's  magic  glass." 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G,— (to  which  the  author,  in  his  in- 

terleaved copy,  has  made  considerable  additions. — Ed.) 

6  MS.—"  Conduct  Matilda,"  &c. 

canto  v.                                                ROKEBY.                                                         34 1 

I  know  it  "well — he  would  not  yield 

It  is,  it  is,  the  tramp  of  steeds, 

His  sword  to  man — his  doom  is  seal'd ! 

Matilda  hears  the  sound  :  she  speeds, 

For  my  scorn'd  life,  which  thou  hast  bought 

Seizes  upon  the  leader's  rein — 

At  price  of  his,  I  thank  thee  not." 

"  0,  haste  to  aid,  ere  aid  be  vain ! 

Fly  to  the  postern — gain  the  Hall !" 

XXX. 

From  saddle  spring  the  troopers  all;4 

The  unjust  reproach,  the  angry  look, 

Their  gallant  steeds,  at  liberty, 

The  heart  of  Wilfrid  could  not  brook. 

Run  wild  along  the  moonlight  lea. 

"  Lady,"  he  said,  "  my  band  so  near, 

But,  ere  they  burst  upon  the  scene, 

In  safety  thou  mayst  rest  thee  here. 

Full  stubborn  had  the  conflict  been. 

For  Redmond's  death  thou  shalt  not  mourn, 

When  Bertram  mark'd  Matilda's  flight, 

If  mine  can  buy  his  safe  return." 

It  gave  the  signal  for  the  fight ; 

He  turn'd  away — his  heart  throbb'd  high, 

And  Rokeby's  veterans,  seam'd  with  scars 

The  tear  was  bursting  from  his  eye ; 

Of  Scotland's  and  of  Erin's  wars, 

The  sense  of  her  injustice  press'd 

Their  momentary  panic  o'er, 

Upon  the  Maid's  distracted  breast, — 

Stood  to  the  arms  which  then  they  bore ; 

"  Stay,  Wilfrid,  stay  !  all  aid  is  vain !" 

(For  they  were  weapon'd,  and  prepared6 

He  heard,  but  turn'd  him  not  again ; 

Their  Mistress  on  her  way  to  guard.) 

He  reaches  now  the  postern-door, 

Then  cheer'd  them  to  the  fight  O'Neale, 

Now  enters — and  is  seen  no  more. 

Then  peal'd  the  shot,  and  clash'd  the  steel ; 

The  war-smoke  soon  with  sable  breath 

XXXI. 

Darken'd  the  scene  of  blood  and  death, 

With  all  the  agony  that  e'er 

While  on  the  few  defenders  close 

Was  gender'd  'twixt  suspense  and  fear, 

The  Bandits,  with  redoubled  blows* 

She  watch'd  the  line  of  windows  tall,1 

And,  twice  driven  back,  yet  fierce  and  fell 

Whose  Gothic  lattice  lights  the  Hall, 

Renew  the  charge  with  frantic  yell8 

Distinguish'd  by  the  paly  red 

The  lamps  in  dim  reflection  shed,a 

XXXIII. 

Wliile  all  beside  in  wan  moonlight 

Wilfrid  has  fall'n — but  o'er  him  stood 

Each  grated  casement  glimmer'd  white. 

Young  Redmond,  soil'd  with  smoke  and  bloou, 

No  sight  of  harm,  no  sound  of  ill, 

Cheering  his  mates  with  heart  and  hand 

It  is  a  deep  and  midnight  still. 

Still  to  make  good  their  desperate  stand. 

Who  look'd  upon  the  scene,  had  guess'd 

"  Up,  comrades,  up  !     In  Rokeby  halls 

All  in  the  Castle  were  at  rest : 

Ne'er  be  it  said  our  courage  falls. 

When  sudden  on  the  windows  shone 

What !  faint  ye  for  their  savage  cry, 

A  lightning  flash,  just  seen  and  gone  !8 

Or  do  the  smoke-wreaths  daunt  your  eye  ? 

A  shot  is  heard — Again  the  flame 

These  rafters  have  return'd  a  shout 

Flash'd  thick  and  fast — a  volley  came 

As  loud  at  Rokeby's  wassail  rout, 

Then  echo'd  wildly,  from  within, 

As  thick  a  smoke  these  hearths  have  given 

Of  shout  and  scream  the  mingled  din, 

At  Hallow-tide  or  Christmas-even.7 

And  weapon-clash  and  maddening  cry, 

Stand  to  it  yet !  renew  the  fight, 

Of  those  who  kill,  and  those  who  die  ! — 

For  Rokeby's  and  Matilda's  right ! 

As  fill'd  the  Hall  with  sulphurous  smoke, 

These  slaves  !  they  dare  not,  hand  to  hand, 

More  red,  more  dark,  tne  death-flash  broke  ; 

Bide  buffet  from  a  true  man's  brand." 

And  forms  were  on  the  lattice  cast, 

Impetuous,  active,  fierce,  and  young, 

That  struck,  or  struggled,  as  they  past. 

Upon  the  advancing  foes  he  sprung. 

Woe  to  the  wretch  at  whom  is  bent 

XXXII. 

His  brandish'd  falchion's  sheer  descent ! 

What  sounds  upon  the  midnight  wind 

Backward  they  scatter'd  as  he  came, 

Approach  so  rapidly  beliind  ? 

Like  wolves  before  the  levin  flame,8 

1  MS. — "  Matilda,  shrouded  by  the  trees, 

*  MS. — "  '  Haste  to — postern — gain  the  Hall !' 

The  line  of  lofty  windows  sees." 

Sprung  from  their  steeds  the  troopers  all  ' 

»  MS. — "  The  dying  lamps  reflection  shed, 

6  MS. — "For  as  it  hap'd  they  were  prepared." 

While  all  around  the  moon's  wan  light, 

8  In  place  of  this  couplet  the  MS.  reads, — 

On  tower  and  casement  glimmer'd  white  ; 

"  And  as  the  hall  the  troopers  gain, 

No  sights  hode  harm,  no  sounds  bode  ill, 

Their  aid  had  wellnigh  been  in  vair.' 

It  is  as  calm  as  midnight  still." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  H. 

•  MS.—"  A  brief  short  flash,"  &c. 

8  MS. — "  Like  wolves  at  lightning's  midnight  flame 

— - 

342                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  v 

When,  'mid  their  howling  conclave  driven, 

Startling,  with  closer  cause  of  dread, 

Hath  glanced  the  thunderbolt  of  heavea 

The  females  who  the  :  onflict  fled, 

Bertram  rush'd  on — but  Harpool  clasp'd1 

And  now  rush'd  forth  upon  the  plain, 

His  knees,  although  in  death  he  gasp'd, 

Filling  the  air  with  clamors  vain. 

His  falling  corpse  before  him  flung, 

And  round  the  trammell'd  ruffian  clung. 

XXXV. 

Just  then,  the  soldiers  fill'd  the  dome, 

But  ceased  not  yet,  the  Hall  within, 

And,  shouting,  charged  the  felons  home 

The  shriek,  the  shout,  the  carnage-din, 

So  fiercely,  that,  in  panic  dread, 

Till  bursting  lattices  give  proof 

They  broke,  they  yielded,  fell,  or  fled.3 

The  flames  have  caught  the  rafter'd  roof. 

Bertram's  stern  voice  they  heed  no  more, 

What !  wait  they  till  its  beams  amain 

Though  heard  above  the  battle's  roar ; 

Crash  on  the  slayers  and  the  slain  ? 

While,  trampling  down  the  dying  man, 

The  alarm  is  caught — the  drawbridge  falls, 

He  strove,  with  volley'd  threat  and  ban, 

The  warriors  hurry  from  the  walls, 

In  scorn  of  odds,  in  fate's  despite, 

But,  by  the  conflagration's  light, 

To  rally  up  the  desperate  fight.3 

Upon  the  lawn  renew  the  fight. 

Each  struggling  felon  down  was  hew'd, 

XXXIV. 

Not  one  could  gain  the  sheltering  wood  ; 

Soon  murkier  clouds  the  Hall  enfold 

But  forth  the  affrighted  harper  sprung, 

Than  e'er  from  battle-thunders  roll'd, 

And  to  Matilda's  robe  he  clung. 

So  dense,  the  combatants  scarce  know 

Her  slu-iek,  entreaty,  and  command, 

To  aim  or  to  avoid  the  blow. 

Stopp'd  the  pursuer's  lifted  hand.7 

Smothering  and  blindfold  grows  the  fight — 

Denzil  and  he  alive  were  ta'en ; 

But  soon  shall  dawn  a  dismal  light ! 

The  rest,  save  Bertram,  all  are  slain. 

Mid  cries,  and  clashing  arms,  there  came 

The  hollow  sound  of  rushing  flame ; 

XXXVI. 

New  horrors  on  the  tumult  dire 

And  where  is  Bertram  ? — Soaring  high8 

Arise — the  Castle  is  on  fire  !4 

The  general  flame  ascends  the  sky  ; 

Doubtful,  if  chance  had  cast  the  brand, 

In  gather'd  group  the  soldiers  gaze 

Or  frantic  Bertram's  desperate  hand. 

Upon  the  broad  and  roaring  blaze, 

Matilda  saw — for  frequent  broke 

When,  like  infernal  demon,  sent, 

From  the  dim  casements  gusts  of  smoke. 

Red  from  his  penal  element, 

Yon  tower,  which  late  so  clear  defined 

To  plague  and  to  pollute  the  air, — 

On  the  fair  hemisphere  reclined, 

His  face  all  gore,  on  fire  his  hair, 

That,  pencill'd  on  its  azure  pure, 

Forth  from  the  central  mass  of  smoke 

The  eye  could  count  each  embrazure, 

The  giant  form  of  Bertram  broke  ! 

Now,  swathed  within  the  sweeping  cloud/ 

His  brandish'd  sword  on  high  he  rears, 

Seems  giant-spectre  in  its  shroud ; 

Then  plunged  among  opposing  spears ; 

Till,  from  each  loop-hole  flashing  light, 

Round  his  left  arm  his  mantle  truss' d, 

A  spout  of  fire  shines  ruddy  bright, 

Received  and  foil'd  three  lances'  thrust  ;• 

And,  gathering  to  united  glare, 

Nor  these  his  headlong  course  withstood,19 

Streams  high  into  the  midnight  air ; 

Like  reeds  he  snapp'd  the  tough  ash-wood 

A  dismal  beacon,  far  and  wide 

In  vain  his  foes  around  him  clung ; 

That  waken'd  Greta's  slumbering  side.' 

With  matchless  force  aside  he  flung 

Soon  all  beneath,  through  gallery  long, 

Their  boldest, — as  the  bull,  at  bay, 

And  pendent  arch,  the  fire  flash'd  strong 

Tosses  the  ban-dogs  from  nis  way, 

Snatching  whatever  could  maintain, 

Through  forty  foes  his  path  he  made, 

Raise,  or  extend,  its  furious  reign ; 

And  safely  gain'd  the  forest  glade. 

3  MS. — "  Bertram  had  faced  him  ;  while  he  gasp'd 

5  The  MS.  has,  not  this  couplet. 

In  death,  his  knees  old  Harpool  clasp'd, 

6  MS. — "  The  glowing  lattices  give  pK»of." 

His  dying  corpse  before  him  flung." 

1  MS. — "  Her  shrieks,  entreaties,  and  commands, 

'  *  MS. — "  So  fiercely  charged  them  that  they  bled, 

Avail'd  to  stop  pursuing  brands." 

Disbanded,  yielded,  fell,  or  fled." 

s  MS. — "  Where's  Bertram  now  ?     In  fury  driven 

»  MS.—"  To  rally  them  against  their  fate, 

The  general  flame  ascends  to  heaven ; 

And  fought  himself  as  desperate." 

The  gather'd  groups  of  soldiers  gaze 

MS  — "  Chance-kindled  'mid  the  tumult  dire, 

Upon  the  red  and  roaring  blaze." 

The  western  tower  is  all  on  fire. 

9  The  MS.  wants  this  couplet. 

Matilda  saw,"  &c. 

io  MS. — "  In  vain  the  opposing  spears  withstood." 

oanto  n.                                                ROKEBY.                                                         343 

XXXVII. 

Her  duteous  orisons  to  pay, — 

Scarce  was  this  final  conflict  o'er, 

That  morning  sun  has  three  times  seen 

When  from  the  postern  Redmond  bore 

The  flowers  unfold  on  Rokeby  green, 

Wilfrid,  who,  as  of  life  bereft, 

But  sees  no  more  the  slumbers  fly 

Had  in  the  fatal  Hall  been  left,1 

From  fair  Matilda's  hazel  eye ; 

Deserted  there  by  all  his  train ; 

That  morning  sun  has  three  times  broke 

But  Redmond  saw,  and  turn'd  again. — 

On  Rokeby's  glades  of  elm  and  oak, 

Beneath  an  oak  he  laid  him  down, 

But,  rising  from  their  silvan  screen, 

That  in  the  blaze  gleam'd  ruddy  brown, 

Marks  no  gray  turrets  glance  between. 

And  then  his  mantle's  clasp  undid ; 

A  shapeless  mass  lie  keep  and  tower, 

Matilda  held  his  drooping  head, 

That,  hissing  to  the  morning  shower, 

Till,  given  to  breathe  the  freer  air, 

Can  but  with  smouldering  vapor  pay 

Returning  life  repaid  their  care. 

The  early  smile  of  summer  day. 

He  gazed  on  them  with  heavy  sigh, — 

The  peasant,  to  his  labor  bound, 

"  I  could  have  wish'd  even  thus  to  die  !" 

Pauses  to  view  the  blacken' d  mound, 

No  more  he  said — for  now  with  speed 

Striving,  amid  the  ruin'd  space, 

Each  trooper  had  regain'd  his  steed ; 

Each  well-remember'd  spot  to  trace. 

The  ready  palfreys  stood  array' d, 

That  length  of  frail  and  fire-scorch'd  wall 

For  Redmond  and  for  Rokeby's  Maid ; 

Once  screen'd  the  hospitable  hall ; 

Two  Wilfrid  on  his  horse  sustain, 

When  yonder  broken  arch  was  whole, 

One  leads  his  charger  by  the  rein. 

'Twas  there  was  dealt  the  weekly  dole , 

But  oft  Matilda  look'd  behind, 

And  where  yon  tottering  columns  nod, 

As  up  the  Vale  of  Tees  they  wind, 

The  chapel  sent  the  hymn  to  God. — 

Where  far  the  mansion  of  her  sires 

So  flits  the  world's  uncertain  span  ! 

Beacon'd  the  dale  with  midnight  fires. 

Nor  zeal  for  God,  nor  love  for  man, 

In  gloomy  arch  above  them  spread, 

Gives  mortal  monuments  a  date 

The  clouded  heaven  lower'd  bloody  red ;       * 

Beyond  the  power  of  Time  and  Fate. 

Beneath,  in  sombre  light,  the  flood 

The  towers  must  share  the  builder's  doom  5 

Appear'd  to  roll  in  waves  of  blood. 

Ruin  is  theirs,  and  his  a  tomb  : 

Then,  one  by  one,  was  heard  to  fall 

But  better  boon  benignant  Heaven 

The  tower,  the  donjon-keep,  the  hall. 

To  Faith  and  Charity  has  given, 

Each  rushing  down  with  thunder  sound, 

And  bids  the  Christian  hope  sublime 

A  space  the  conflagration  drown'd ; 

Transcend  the  bounds  of  Fate  and  Time  4 

Till,  gathering  strength,  again  it  rose, 

Announced  its  triumph  in  its  close, 

II. 

Shook  wide  its  light  the  landscape  o'er, 

Now  the  third  night  of  summer  came, 

Then  sunk — and  Rokeby  was  no  more  !a 

Since  that  which  witness'd  Rokeby's  flame. 
On  Brignall  cliffs  and  Scargill  brake 
The  owlet's  homilies  awake, 
The  bittern  scream'd  from  rush  and  flag, 

Eofobg. 

The  raven  slumber'd  on  his  crag, 

Forth  from  his  den  the  otter  drew, — 

Grayling  and  trout  their  tyrant  knew, 

As  between  reed  and  sedge  he  peers, 

CANTO    SIXTH. 

With  fierce  round  snout  and  sharpen'd  ears, 
Or,  prowling  by  the  moonbeam  cool, 

I. 

Watches  the  stream  or  swims  the  pool ; — 

The  summer  sun,  whose  early  power 

Perch'd  on  Ins  wonted  eyrie  high, 

Was  wont  to  gild  Matilda's  bower, 

Sleep  seals  the  tercelet's  wearied  eye, 

And  rouse  her  with  his  matin  ray3 

That  all  the  day  had  watch'd  so  well 

1  MS. — "  Had  in  the  smouldering  hall  heen  left." 

*  MS. — "  And  bids  our  hopes  ascend  sublime 

2  "  The  castle  on  fire  has  an  awful  sublimity,  which  would 

Beyond  the  bounds  of  Fate  and  Time  " 

tnrow  at  a  humble  distance  the  boldest  reaches  of  the  pictorial 

art.     .     .     .     We  refer  our  readers  to  Virgil's  ships,  or  to  his 

"  Faith,  prevailing  o'er  his  sullen  doom, 

Troy  in  flames ;  and  though  the  Virgi'.ian  pictures  be  drawn 

As  bursts  the  morn  on  night's  unfathom'd  gloom 

on  a  very  extensive  canvas,  with  confidence,  we  assert  that  the 

Lured  his  dim  eye  to  deathless  hope  sublime, 

itastle  on  fire  is  much  more  magnificent.     It  is,  in  truth,  incom- 

Beyond  the  realms  of  nature  and  of  time." 

nrably  grand." — British  Critic. 

Campbell 

MS. — "  glancing  ray 

6  The  MS.  has  not  thi?  couplet. 

344                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  vi. 

The  cushat  dart  across  the  dell. 

Upon  the  gloomy  walls  were  hung, 

In  dubious  beam  reflected  shone 

Or  lay  in  nooks  obscurely  flung.2 

That  lofty  cliff  of  pale  gray  stone, 

Still  on  the  sordid  board  appear 

Beside  whose  base  the  secret  cave 

The  relics  of  the  noontide  cheer  : 

To  rapine  late  a  refuge  gave. 

Flagons  and  emptied  flasks  were  there,* 

The  crag's  wild  cre3t  of  copse  and  yew 

And  bench  o'erthrown,  and  shatter'd  chair  • 

On  Greta's  breast  dark  shadows  tlirew ; 

And  all  around  the  semblance  show'd, 

Shadows  that  met  or  shunn'd  the  sight, 

As  when  the  final  revel  glowYl, 

With  every  change  of  fitful  light ; 

When  the  red  sun  was  setting  fast, 

As  hope  and  fear  alternate  chase 

And  parting  pledge  Guy  Denzil  past. 

Our  course  through  life's  uncertain  race. 

"  To  Rokeby  treasure-vaults !"  they  quaff 'd, 

And  shouted  loud  and  wildly  laugh'd, 

III. 

• 

Pour'd  maddening  from  the  rocky  door, 

Gliding  by  crag  and  copsewood  green, 

And  parted — to  return  no  more  ! 

A  solitary  form  was  seen 

They  found  in  Rokeby  vaults  their  doom, — 

To  trace  with  stealthy  pace  the  wold, 

A  bloody  death,  a  burning  tomb ! 

Like  fox  that  seeks  the  midnight  fold, 

And  pauses  oft,  and  cowers  dismay'd, 

V. 

At  every  breath  that  stirs  the  shade. 

There  his  own  peasant  dress  he  spies, 

He  passes  now  the  ivy  bush, — 

Doff'd  to  assume  that  quaint  disguise ; 

The  owl  has  seen  him,  and  is  hush ; 

And,  shuddering,  thought  upon  liis  glee, 

He  passes  now  the  dodder'd  oak, — 

When  prank' d  in  garb  of  minstrelsy. 

.  He  heard  the  startled  raven  croak  ; 

"  0,  be  the  fatal  art  accurst," 

Lower  and  lower  he  descends, 

He  cried,  "  that  moved  my  folly  first ; 

Rustle  the  leaves,  the  brushwood  bends ; 

Till,  bribed  by  bandits'  base  applause, 

The  otter  hears  him  tread  the  shore,              , 

I  burst  through  God's  and  Nature's  laws  1 

And  dives,  and  is  beheld  no  more : 

Three  summer  days  are  scautly  past 

And  by  the  cliff  of  pale  gray  stone 

Since  I  have  trod  this  cavern  last, 

The  midnight  wanderer  stands  alone. 

A  thoughtless  wretch,  and  prompt  to  err — 

Methinks,  that  by  the  moon  we  trace 

But,  0,  as  yet  no  murderer ! 

A  well-remember'd  form  and  face  I 

Even  now  I  list  my  comrades'  cheer, 

That  stripling  shape,  that  cheek  so  pale, 

That  general  laugh  is  in  mine  ear, 

Combine  to  tell  a  rueful  tale, 

Which  raised  my  pulse  and  steel'd  my  heart, 

Of  powers  misused,  of  passion's  force, 

As  I  rehearsed  my  treacherous  part — 

Of  guilt,  of  grief,  and  of  remorse  ! 

And  would  that  all  since  then  could  seem 

'Tis  Edmund's  eye,  at  every  sound 

The  phantom  of  a  fever's  dream  ! 

That  flings  that  guilty  glance  around ; 

But  fatal  Memory  notes  too  well 

'Tis  Edmund's  trembling  haste  divides 

The  horrors  of  the  dying  yell 

The  brushwood  that  the  cavern  hides ; 

From  my  despairing  mates  that  broke, 

And,  when  its  narrow  porch  lies  bare,1 

When  flash' d  the  fire  and  roll'd  the  smoke ; 

'Tis  Edmund's  form  that  enters  there. 

"When  the  avengers  shouting  came, 

And  hemm'd  us  'twixt  the  sword  and  flame . 

IV. 

My  frantic  flight, — the  lifted  brand, — 

His  flint  and  steel  have  sparkled  bright, 

That  angel's  interposing  hand  ! 

A  lamp  hath  lent  the  cavern  light. 

If,  for  my  life  from  slaughter  freed, 

Fearful  and  quick  his  eye  surveys 

I  yet  could  pay  some  grateful  meed  ! 

Each  angle  of  the  gloomy  maze. 

Perchance  this  object  of  my  quest 

Since  last  he  left  that  stern  abode, 

May  aid" — he  turn'd,  nor  spoke  the  rest. 

It  seem'd  as  none  its  floor  had  trode ; 

Untouch'd  appear'd  the  various  spoil, 

VI. 

The  purchase  of  his  comrades'  toil ; 

Due  northward  from  the  rugged  hearth, 

Masks  and  disguises  grim'd  with  mud, 

"With  paces  five  he  metes  the  earth, 

Arms  broken  and  defiled  with  blood, 

Then  toil'd  with  mattock  to  explore 

And  all  the  nameless  tools  that  aid 

The  entrails  of  the  cavern  floor, 

Night-felons  in  their  lawless  trade, 

Nor  paused  till,  deep  beneath  the  ground, 

1  MS. "  sally-port  lies  bare." 

Still  on  the  cavern  floor  remain'd. 

*  MS. — "  Or  on  the  floors  disordcr'd  flung." 

And  all  the  cave  that  semblance  bore, 

1  MS. — "  Seats  overthrown  and  flairons  drain'd, 
1 

It  show'd  when  late  the  revel  wore." 

OA.NTO  VI. 


ROKEBY. 


34a 


EEis  search  a  small  steel  casket  found. 

Just  as  he  stoop'd  to  loose  its  hasp, 

His  shoulder  felt  a  giant  grasp  ; 

He  started,  and  look'd  up  aghast, 

Then  shriek'd  ! — 'Twas  Bertram  held  him  fast. 

"  Fear  not !"  he  said ;  but  who  could  hear 

That  deep  stern  voice,  and  cease  to  fear  ? 

"  Fear  not ! — By  heaven,  he  shakes  as  much 

Aa  partridge  in  the  falcon's  clutch :" — 

He  raised  him,  and  unloosed  his  hold, 

While  from  the  opening  casket  roll'd 

A.  chain  and  reliquaire  of  gold.1 

Bertram  beheld  it  with  surprise, 

Gazed  on  its  fashion  and  device, 

Then,  cheering  Edmund  as  he  could, 

Somewhat  he  smooth'd  his  fugged  mood : 

For  still  the  youth's  half-lifted  eye 

Quiver'd  with  terror's  agony, 

And  sidelong  glanced,  as  to  explore, 

In  meditated  flight,  the  door. 

"  Sit,"  Bertram  said,  "  from  danger  free : 

Thou  canst  not,  and  thou  shalt  not,  flee. 

Chance  brings  me  hither  ;  hill  and  plain 

I've  sought  for  refuge-place  in  vain.a 

And  tell  me  now,  thou  aguish  boy, 

What  makest  thou  here  ?  what  means  this  toy ( 

Denzil  and  thou,  I  mark'd,  were  ta'en ; 

What  lucky  chance  unbound  your  chain  ? 

I'  deem'd,  long  since  on  Baliol's  tower, 

Your  heads  were  war  j'd  with  sun  and  shower.8 

Tell  me  the  whole— -and,  mark !  naught  e'er 

Chafes  me  like  falsehood,  or  like  fear." 

Gathering  his  courage  to  liis  aid, 

But  trembling  still,  the  youth  obey'd. 

VIL 
"  Denzil  and  I  two  nights  pass'd  o'er 
In  fetters  on  the  dungeon  floor. 
A  guest  the  third  sad  morrow  brought ; 
Our  hold  dark  Oswald  Wycliffe  sought,4 
And  eyed  my  comrade  long  askance, 
With  fix'd  and  penetrating  glance. 
'  Guy  Denzil  art  thou  call'd  ?' — •  The  same.' — 
'At  Court  who  served  wild  Buckinghame; 
Thence  banish'd,  won  a  keeper's  place, 
So  Villiers  will'd,  in  Marwood-chase ; 
That  lost — I  need  not  tell  thee  why — 
Thou  mad  est  thy  wit  thy  wants  supply, 
Then  fought  for  Rokeby : — Have  I  guess'd 
My  prisoner  right  ?' — '  At  thy  behest.' — 5 
He  paused  a  while,  and  then  went  on 


MS.- 


-"carcanet  of  gold. 


»  The  MS.  adds:— 


*MS.- 


No  surer  shelter  from  the  foe 
Than  what  this  cavern  can  bestow.' 

— "  perched  in  sun  and  shower." 
44 


With  low  and  confidential  tone  ;— 
Me,  as  I  judge,  not  then  he  saw, 
Close  nestled  in  my  couch  of  straw. — 
'  List  to  me,  Guy.     Thou  know'st  the  great 
Have  frequent  need  of  what  they  hate ; 
Hence,  in  their  favor  oft  we  see 
Unscrupled,  useful  men  like  thee. 
Were  I  disposed  to  bid  thee  live, 
What  pledge  of  faith  hast  thou  to  give  V 

VIII. 

"  The  ready  Fiend,  who  never  yet 

Hath  fail'd  to  sharpen  Denzil's  wit, 

Prompted  his  lie — '  His  only  child 

Should  rest  his  pledge.' — The  Baron  smiled 

And  turn'd  to  me — '  Thou  art  his  son  ?' 

I  bow'd — our  fetters  were  undone, 

And  we  were  led  to  hear  apart 

A  dreadful  lesson  of  his  art. 

Wilfrid,  he  said,  his  heir  and  son, 

Had  fair  Matilda's  favor  won  ; 

And  long  since  had  their  union  been, 

But  for  her  father's  bigot  spleen, 

Whose  brute  and  blindfold  party  rage 

Would,  force  per  force,  her  hand  engage 

To  a  base  kern  of  Irish  earth, 

Unknown  his  lineage  and  his  birth, 

Save  that  a  dying  ruffian  bore 

The  infant  brat  to  Rokeby  door. 

Gentle  restraint,  he  said,  would  lead 

Old  Rokeby  to  enlarge  his  creed  ; 

But  fair  occasion  he  must  find 

For  such  restraint  well-meant  and  kind, 

The  Knight  being  render'd  to  his  charge 

But  as  a  prisoner  at  large. 

IX. 

"  He  school'd  us  m  a  well-forged  tale, 
Of  scheme  the  Castle  walls  to  scale,8 
To  which  was  leagued  each  Cavalier 
That  dwells  upon  the  Tyne  and  Wear ; 
That  Rokeby,  his  parole  forgot, 
Had  dealt  with  us  to  aid  the  plot. 
Such  was  the  charge,  which  Denzil's  £cal 
Of  hate  to  Rokeby  and  O'Neale 
Proffer'd,  as  witness,  to  make  good, 
Even  though  the  forfeit  were  their  blood. 
I  scrupled,  until  o'er  and  o'er 
His  prisoners'  safety  Wycliffe  swore ; 
And  then — alas !  what  needs  there  more  J 
I  knew  I  should  not  live  to  say 

*  MS. — "  With  the  third  morn  that  baron  old, 

Dark  Oswald  WyclifTe,  sought  the  hold." 

»  MS.—"  '  And  last  didst  ride  in  Rokeby's  band. 

Art  thou  the  man  V — '  At  thy  command.'  ** 
MS. — "  He  school'd  us  then  to  tell  a  tale 
Of  plot  the  Castle  walls  to  scale, 
To  which  had  sworn  each  Cavalier  *' 


346                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  w. 

The  proffer  I  refused  that  day ; 

His  hand  like  summer  sapling  shook, 

Ashamed  to  live,  yet  loth  to  die, 

Terror  and  guilt  were  in  his  look. 

I  soil'd  me  with  their  infamy  I" — 

Denzil  he  judged,  in  time  of  need, 

"  Poor  youth,"  said  Bertram,  "  wavering  still,1 

Fit  counsellor  for  evil  deed ; 

Unfit  alike  for  good  or  ill ! 

And  thus  apart  his  counsel  broke, 

But  what  fell  next  V — "  Soon  as  at  large3 

While  with  a  ghastly  smile  he  spoke : — 

Was  scroll'd  and  sign'd  our  fatal  charge, 

There  never  yet,  on  tragic  stage, 

XL 

Was  seen  so  well  a  painted  rage 

" '  As  in  the  pageants  of  the  stage, 

As  O&wald's  show'd  1    With  loud  alarm 

The  dead  awake  in  this  wild  age,4 

He  call'd  his  garrison  to  arm ; 

Mortham — whom  all  men  deem'd  decreed 

From  tower  to  tower,  fom  post  to  post, 

In  his  own  deadly  snare  to  bleed, 

He  hurried  as  if  all  were  lost : 

Slain  by  a  bravo,  whom,  o'er  sea, 

Consign'd  to  dungeon  and  to  chain 

He  train'd  to  aid  in  murdering  me, — 

The  good  old  Knight  and  all  his  train ; 

Mortham  has  'scaped  !    The  coward  shot 

Warn'd  each  suspected  Cavalier, 

The  steed,  but  harm'd  the  rider  not.'  "8 

Within  his  limits,  to  appear 

Here,  with  an  execration  fell, 

To-morrow,  at  the  hour  of  noon, 

Bertram  leap'd  up,  and  paced  the  cell : — 

In  the  high  church  of  Egliston." — 

"  Thine  own  gray  head,  or  bosom  dark," 

He  mutter'd,  "  may  be  surer  mark  !" 

X. 

Then  sat,  and  sign'd  to  Edmund,  pale 

"  Of  Egliston  ! — Even  now  I  pass'd," 

With  terror,  to  resume  his  tale. 

Said  Bertram,  "  as  the  night  closed  fast ; 

"  Wycliffe  went  on : — '  Mark  with  what  flights 

Torches  and  cressets  gleam'd  around, 

Of  wilder'd  reverie  he  writes : — 

I  heard  the  saw  and  hammer  sound, 

And  I  could  mark  they  toil'd  to  raise 

iTlje  2Letter. 

A  scaffold,  hung  with  sable  baize, 

" '  Ruler  of  Mortham's  destiny  ! 

Winch  the  grim  headsman's  scene!  display 'd, 

Hough  dead,  thy  victim  lives  to  thee." 

Block,  axe,  and  sawdust  ready  laid. 

Once  had  he  all  that  binds  to  life, 

Some  evil  deed  will  there  be  done, 

A  lovely  child,  a  lovelier  wife ; 

Unless  Matilda  wed  his  son  ; — 

Wealth,  Ewe,  and  friendship,  were  his  own — 

She  loves  him  not — 'tis  shrewdly  guess'd 

Thou  gavest  the  word,  and  they  are  flown.7 

That  Redmond  rules  the  damsel's  breast. 

Mark  how  he  pays  thee  : — To  thy  hand 

This  is  a  turn  of  Oswald's  skill ; 

He  yields  his  honors  and  his  land,* 

But  I  may  meet,  and  foil  him  still ! 3 

One  boon  premised ; — Restore  his  cliild  I 

How  earnest  thou  to  thy  freedom?" — "There 

And,  from  his  native  land  exiled, 

Lies  mystery  more  dark  and  rare. 

Mortham  no  more  returns  to  claim 

In  midst  of  Wycliffe's  well-feign'd  rage, 

His  lands,  his  honors,  or  his  name ; 

A  scroll  was  offer'd  by  a  page, 

Refuse  him  tins,  and  from  the  slain 

Who  told,  a  muffled  horseman  late 

Thou  shalt  see  Mortham  rise  again.' — 

Had  left  it  at  the  Castle-gate. 

He  broke  the  seal — his  cheek  show'd  change, 

XII. 

Sudden,  portentous,  wild,  and  strange  ; 

"  This  billet  while  the  baron  1  oad, 

The  mimic  passion  of  his  eye 

His  faltering  accents  show'd  his  dread ; 

Was  turn'd  to  actual  agony  \ 

He  press'd  his  forehead  with  his  palm, 

MS. •'  sore  bestad  ! 

5  "  '  Mortham  escaped — the  coward  shot 

Wavering  alike  in  good  and  bad." 

The  horse — but  harm'd  the  rider  not.'' 

'  MS. "  0,  when  at  large 

is  truly  laughable.     How  like  the  denouement  >f  the  Covent 

Was  scroll'd  and  sign'd  out  fatal  charge, 

Garden  Tragedy  !  in  which  the  hero  is  supposed  10  have  been 

You  never  yet,  on  tragic  stage, 

killed,  but  thus  accounts  for  his  escape, 

Beheld  so  well  a  painted  rage." 

'  I  through  the  coat  was,  not  the  body,  runf'  " 

•  After  this  line  the  MS.  reads  : — 

Monthly  Review. 

"  Although  his  soldiers  snatcli'd  away* 

6  MS. — "  Though  dead  to  all,  he  lives  to  thee." 

When  in  my  very  grasp,  my  prey. — 

7  MS. — "  Wealth,  fame,  and  happiness,  his  own — 

Edmund,  how  cam'st  thou  free?" — "  0  there 

Thou  gavest  the  word,  and  all  is  flown." 

Lies  mystery,"  &c. 

8  The  MS.  adds  :— 

*  MS. — "  The  dead  arise  in  this  wild  age, 

"  Nay  more,  ere  one  day's  course  had  run, 

Mortham — whom  righteous  heaven  decreed 

He  rescued  twice  from  death  thy  son. 

Caught  in  his  own  fell  snare  to  bleed." 

Mark  his  demand  : — Restore  his  child  !" 

unto  vi.                                                 KOKEBY.                                                          341 

Then  took  a  scornful  tone  and  calm  ; 

An  interloper's  prying  toil. 

4  Wild  as  the  winds,  as  billows  wild ! 

The  words,  but  not  the  sense,  I  knew, 

What  wot  I  of  his  spouse  or  child  ? 

Till  fortune  gave  the  guiding  clew. 

Hitln  r  he  brought  a  joyous  dame, 

UnkL  jwn  her  lineage  or  her  name  : 

XIV. 

Her,  in  some  frantic  fit  he  slew ; 

"  '  Three  days  since,  was  that  clew  reveal'd, 

The  nuis-3  and  child  in  fear  withdrew. 

In  Thorsgill  as  I  lay  conceal'd,1 

Heaven  be  my  witness !  wist  I  where 

And  heard  at  full  when  Rokeby's  Maid 

To  find  this  youth,  my  kinsman's  heir, — 

Her  uncle's  history  display'd ; 

tJuguerdon'd,  I  would  give  with  joy 

And  now  I  can  interpret  well 

The  father's  arms  to  fold  his  boy, 

Each  syllable  the  tablets  tell. 

And  Mortham's  lands  and  towers  resign 

Mark,  then :  Fair  Edith  was  the  joy 

To  the  just  heirs  of  Mortham's  line.' — 

Of  old  O'Neale  of  Clandeboy ; 

Thou  kuow'st  that  scarcely  e'en  Ids  fear 

But  from  her  sire  and  country  fled, 

Suppresses  Denzil's  cynic  sneei  ; — 

In  secret  Mortham's  Lord  to  wed. 

'  Then  happy  is  thy  vassal's  part,' 

O'Neale,  his  first  resentment  o'er, 

He  said,  '  to  ease  his  patron's  heart ! 

Despatch'd  liis  son  to  Greta's  shore, 

In  tlune  own  jailer's  watchful  care 

Enjoining  he  should  make  him  known 

Lies  Mortham's  just  and  rightful  heir ; 

(Until  his  farther  will  were  shown) 

Thy  generous  wish  is  fully  won, — 

To  Edith,  but  to  her  alone. 

Redmond  O'Neale  is  Mortham's  son.' — 

What  of  their  ill-starr'd  meeting  fell, 

XIII. 

Lord  Wycliffe  knows,  and  none  so  well. 

"  Up  starting  with  a  phrensied  look, 

XV. 

His  clenched  hand  the  Baron  shook : 

"  '  O'Neale  it  was,  who,  in  despair, 

'  Is  Hell  at  work  ?  or  dost  thou  rave, 

Robb'd  Mortham  of  his  infant  heir ; 

Or  darest  thou  palter  with  me,  slave  ! 

He  bred  him  in  their  nurture  wild, 

Perchance  thou  wot'st  not,  Barnard's  towers 

And  eall'd  him  murder'd  Connel's  child. 

Have  racks,  of  strange  and  ghastly  powers.' 

Soon  died  the  nurse ;  the  Clan  believed 

Denzil,  who  well  his  safety  knew, 

What  from  their  Chieftain  they  received. 

Firmly  rejoin' d,  '  I  tell  thee  true. 

His  purpose  was,  that  ne'er  again2 

Thy  racks  could  give  thee  but  to  know 

The  boy  should  cross  the  Irish  main ; 

The  proofs,  which  I,  untortured,  show. — 

But,  like  his  mountain-sires,  enjoy 

It  chanced  upon  a  winter  night, 

The  woods  and  wastes  of  Clandeboy. 

When  early  snow  made  Stanmore  white, 

Then  on  the  land  wild  troubles  came, 

That  very  night,  when  first  of  all 

And  stronger  Chieftains  urged  a  claim, 

Redmond  O'Neale  saw  Rokeby-hall, 

And  wrested  from  the  old  man's  hands 

It  was  my  goodly  lot  to  gain 

His  native  towers,  his  father's  lands. 

A  reliquary  and  a  chain, 

Unable  then,  amid  the  strife, 

Twisted  and  chased  of  massive  gold. 

To  guard  young  Redmond's  rights  or  life, 

— Demand  not  how  the  prize  I  hold ! 

Late  and  reluctant  he  restores 

It  was  not  given,  nor  lent,  nor  sold. — 

The  infant  to  his  native  shores, 

Gilt  tablets  to  the  chain  were  hung, 

With  goodly  gifts  and  letters  stored, 

With  letters  in  the  Irish  tongue. 

With  many  a  deep  conjuring  word, 

I  hid  my  spoil,  for  there  was  need 

To  Mortham  and  to  Rokeby's  Lord. 

That  I  should  leave  the  land  with  speed ; 

Naught  knew  the  clod  of  Irish  earth, 

Nor  then  I  deem'd  it  safe  to  bear 

Who  was  the  guide,  of  Redmond's  birth ; 

On  mine  own  person  gems  so  rare. 

But  deem'd  his  Chief's  commands  were  "laid 

Small  heed  I  of  the  tablets  took, 

On  both,  by  both  to  be  obey'd.3 

But  since  have  spell'd  them  by  the  book, 

How  he  was  wounded  by  the  way, 

When  some  sojourn  in  Erin's  land 

I  need  not,  and  I  list  not  say.' — 

Of  their  wild  speech  had  given  command. 

But  darkling  was  the  sense ;  the  phrase 

XVI. 

And  language  those  of  other  days, 

" '  A  wondrous  tale  !  and,  grant  it  true, 

Involved  of  purpose,  as  to  foil 

What,'  Wycliffe  answer'd,  '•  might  I  do  ? 

a  MS. "  never  more 

MS. — "  It  chanced,  three  days  since,  I  was  laid 

The  boy  should  visit  Albion's  shore  * 

Conceal'd  in  Thorsgill's  bosky  shade." 

3  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

348                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  vi. 

Heaven  knows,  as  willingly  as  now 

His  noble  kinsman's  generous  mind, 

I  raise  the  bonnet  from  my  brow, 

And  train  him  on  from  day  to  day, 

Would  I  my  kinsman's  manors  fair1 

Till  he  can  take  his  life  away. — 

Restore  to  Mortham,  or  his  heir ; 

And  now,  declare  thy  purpose,  y6uth, 

But  Mortham  is  distraught — O'Neale 

Nor  dare  to  answer,  save  the  truth ; 

Has  drawn  for  tyranny  his  steel, 

If  aught  I  mark  of  Denzil's  art, 

Malignant  to  our  rightful  cause, 

I'll  tear  the  secret  from  thy  heart !" — 

And  train'd  in  Rome's  delusive  laws. 

Hark  thee  apart !' — They  whisper'd  long, 

XVIII. 

Till  Denzil's  voice  grew  bold  and  strong : — 

"  It  needs  not.     I  renounce,"  he  said, 

1  My  proofs !  I  never  will,'  he  said, 

"  My  tutor  in  this  deadly  trade. 

'  Show  mortal  man  where  they  are  laid. 

Fix'd  was  my  purpose  to  declare 

Nor  hope  discovery  to  foreclose, 

To  Mortham,  Redmond  is  his  heir ; 

By  giving  me  to  feed  the  crows ; 

To  tell  him  in  what  risk  he  stands, 

For  I  have  mates  at  large,  who  know 

And  yield  these  tokens  to  his  hands. 

Where  I  am  wont  such  toys  to  stow. 

Fix'd  was  my  purpose  to  atone, 

Free  me  from  peril  and  from  band, 

Far  as  I  may,  the  evil  done ; 

These  tablets  are  at  thy  command ; 

And  fix'd  it  rests — if  I  survive 

Nor  were  it  hard  to  form  some  train, 

This  night,  and  leave  this  cave  alive." — 

To  wile  old  Mortham  o'er  the  main. 

"  And  Denzil  ?"— "  Let  them  ply»tlil  rack, 

Then,  lunatic's  nor  papist's  hand 

Even  till  his  joints  and  sinews  crack  ! 

Should  wrest  from  thine  the  goodly  land.' 

If  Oswald  tear  him  limb  from  limb, 

— '  I  like  thy  wit,'  said  Wycliffe,  '  well ; 

What  ruth  can  Denzil  claim  from  him, 

But  here  in  hostage  shalt  thou  dwell. 

Whose  thoughtless  youth  he  led  astray, 

Thy-  son,  unless  my  purpose  err, 

And  damn'd  to  this  unhallow'd  way  ? 

May  prove  the  trustier  messenger. 

He  school'd  me  faith  and  vows  were  vain ; 

A  scroll  to  Mortham  shall  he  bear 

Now  let  my  master  reap  his  gain." — 

From  me,  and  fetch  these  tokens  rare. 

"  True,"  answer'd  Bertram,  "  'tis  his  meed ; 

Gold  shalt  thou  have,  and  that  good  store, 

There's  retribution  in  the  deed. 

And  freedom,  his  commission  o'er ; 

But  thou — thou  art  not  for  our  course, 

But  if  his  faith  should  chance  to  fail, 

Hast  fear,  hast  pity,  hast  remorse : 

The  gibbet  frees  thee  from  the  jail.' — 

And  he,  with  us  the  gale  who  braves, 

Must  heave  such  cargo  to  the  waves, 

XVII. 

Or  lag  with  overloaded  prore, 

"  Mesh'd  in  the  net  himself  had  twined, 

While  barks  unburden'd  reach  the  shore." 

What  subterfuge  could  Denzil  find  ? 

He  told  me,  with  reluctant  sigh, 

XIX. 

That  hidden  here  the  tokens  lie  ;a 

He  paused,  and,  stretching  him  at  lenpth. 

Conjured  my  swift  return  and  aid, 

Seem'd  to  repose  his  bulky  strength. 

By  all  he  scoff 'd  and  disobey'd  ;3 

Communing  with  his  secret  mind, 

And  look'd  as  if  the  noose  were  tied, 

As  half  he  sat,  and  half  reclined, 

And  I  the  priest  who  left  his  side. 

One  ample  hand  his  forehead  press'd, 

This  scroll  for  Mortham  Wycliffe  gave, 

And  one  was  dropp'd  across  his  breast. 

Whom  I  must  seek  by  Greta's  wave ; 

The  shaggy  eyebrows  deeper  came 

Or  in  the  hut  where  chief  he  hides, 

Above  his  eyes  of  swarthy  flame ; 

Where  Thorsgill's  forester  resides. 

His  lip  of  pride  a  while  forbore 

(Then  chanced  it,  wandering  in  the  glade, 

The  haughty  curve  till  then  it  wore  ; 

That  he  descried  our  ambuscade.)                % 

The  unalter'd  fierceness  of  his  look 

I  was  dismiss'd  as  evening  fell, 

A  shade  of  darken'd  sadness  took, — * 

And  reach'd  but  now  this  rocky  cell." — 

For  dark  and  sad  a  presage  press'd 

"  Give  Oswald's  letter." — Bertram  read, 

Resistlessly  on  Bertram's  breast, — 

And  tore  it  fiercely  shred  by  shred : — 

And  when  he  spoke,  his  wonted  tone, 

u  All  lies  and  villany !  to  blind 

So  fierce,  abrupt,  and  brief,  was  gone. 

MS. — "  Would  I  my  kinsman's  lands  resign 

9  MS. — "  In  secret  where  the  tokens  lie." 

To  Mortham's  self  and  Mortham's  line : 

s  MS.— "-By  ties  he  scoff'd,"  &c. 

But  Mortham  raves — and  this  O'Neale 

<  MS. — "  A  darken'd  #ad  expression  took. 

Has  drawn,"  &c. 

The  unalter'd  fierceness  ol  his  look  " 

canto  vi.                                              ROKEBY.                                                         349 

His  voice  was  steady,  low,  and  deep, 

No  twilight  dews  his  wrath  allay  ; 

Like  distant  waves  when  breezes  sleep ; 

With  disk  like  battle-target  red, 

And  sorrow  mix'd  with  Edmund's  fear, 

He  rushes  to  his  burning  bed, 

Its  low  unbroken  depth  to  hears 

Dyes  the  wide  wave  with  bloody  light, 

Then  sink*  at  once — and  all  is  night. — ■ 

XX. 

"  Edmund,  in  thy  sad  tale  I  find 

XXII. 

The  woe  that  warp'd  my  patron's  mind : 

"  Now  to  thy  mission,  Edmund.     Fly, 

'Twould  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye 

Seek  Mortham  out,  and  bid  him  hie 

In  other  men,  but  mine  are  dry. 

To  Richmond,  where  his  troops  are  ialc, 

Mortham  must  never  see  the  fool, 

And  lead  his  force  to  Redmond's  aid. 

That  sold  himself  base  Wycliffe's  tool ; 

Say,  till  he  reaches  Egliston, 

Yet  less  from  thirst  of  sordid  gain, 

A  friend  will  watch  to  guard  his  son.4 

Than  to  avenge  supposed  disdain. 

Now,  fare-thee-well ;  for  night  draws  on, 

Say,  Bertram  rues  his  fault ; — a  word, 

And  I  would  rest  me  here  alone." 

Till  now  from  Bertram  never  heard : 

Despite  his  ill-dissembled  fear, 

Say,  too,  that  Mortham's  Lord  he  prays 

There  swam  in  Edmund's  eye  a  tear  ; 

To  think  but  on  their  former  days ; 

A  tribute  to  the  courage  high, 

On  Quariana's  beach  and  rock, 

Which  stoop'd  not  in  extremity, 

On  Cayo's  bursting  battle  shock, 

But  strove,  irregularly  great, 

On  Darien's  sands  and  deadly  dew, 

To  triumph  o'er  approaching  fate  ! 

And  on  the  dart  Tlatzeca  threw  ; — 

Bertram  beheld  the  dewdrop  start, 

Perchance  my  patron  yet  may  hear 

It  almost  touch'd  his  iron  heart : — 

More  that  may  grace  his  comrade's  bier.1 

"  I  did  not  think  there  lived,"  he  said, 

My  soul  hath  felt  a  secret  weight, 

"  One,  who  would  tear  for  Bertram  shed/ 

A  warning  of  approaching  fate  : 

He  loosen'd  then  his  baldric's  hold, 

A  priest  had  said,  '  Return,  repent !' 

A  buckle  broad  of  massive  gold ; — 

As  wel]  to  bid  that  rock  be  rent. 

"  Of  all  the  spoil  that  paid  his  pains, 

Firm  as  that  flint  I  face  mine  end ; 

But  this  with  Risingham  remains  ; 

My  heart  may  burst,  but  cannot  bend.2 

And  this,  dear  Edmund,  thou  shalt  take, 

And  wear  it  long  for  Bertram's  sake. 

XXI. 

Once  more — to  Mortham  speed  amain; 

"  The  dawning  of  my  youth,  with  awe 

Farewell !  and  turn  thee  not  again." 

And  prophecy,  the  Dalesmen  saw  ; 

For  over  Redesdale  it  came, 

XXIII. 

As  bodeful  as  their  beacon-flame. 

The  night  has  yielded  to  the  morn, 

Edmund,  thy  years  were  scarcely  mine, 

And  far  the  hours  of  prime  are  worn. 

When,  challenging  the  Clans  of  Tyne, 

Oswald,  who,  since  the  dawn  of  day. 

To  bring  their  best  my  brand  to  prove, 

Had  cursed  his  messenger's  delay, 

O'er  Hexham's  altar  hung  my  glove  ;8 

Impatient  question'd  now  his  train, 

But  Tynedale,  nor  in  tower  nor  town, 

"  Was  Denzil's  son  return'd  again  ?" 

Held  champion  meet  to  take  it  down. 

It  chanced  there  answer'd  of  the  crew 

My  noontide,  India  may  declare  ; 

A  menial,  who  young  Edmund  knew : 

Like  her  fierce  sun,  I  fired  the  air ! 

"  No  son  of  Denzil  this," — he  said  ; 

Like  him,  to  wood  and  cave  bade  fly 

"  A  peasant  boy  from  Winston  glade, 

Her  natives,  from  mine  angry  eye. 

For  song  and  minstrelsy  renown'd, 

Panama's  maids  shall  long  look  pale 

And  knavish  pranks,  the  hamlets  round." — 

When  Risingham  inspires  the  tale ; 

"  Not  Denzil's  son  ! — From  Winston  vale  r— 

Chili's  dark  matrons  long  shall  tame 

Then  it  was  false,  that  specious  tale  ; 

The  froward  child  with  Bertram's  name. 

Or,  worse — he  hath  despatched  the  yruth 

And  now,  my  race  of  terror  run, 

To  show  to  Mortham's  Lord  its  truth. 

Mine  be  the  eve  of  tropic  sun ! 

Fool  that  I  was  ! — but  'tis  too  late;— 

No  pale  gradations  quench  his  ray. 

This  is  the  very  turn  of  fate  ! — B 

i  MS. — "  Perchance,  that  Mortham  yet  may  hear 

<  MS.—"  With  him  and  Fairfax  for  his  friend, 

Something  to  grace  his  comrade's  bier." 

No  risk  that  Wycliffe  dares  contend. 

r*  ]WS                     '*  ne'er  shrill  bend  " 

Tell  him  the  while,  at  Egliston 

There  will  be  one  to  guard  his  «on." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  I. 

6  MS.— "  This  is  the  crisis  of  my  fate." 

i50 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI 


The  tale,  or  true  or  false,  relies  | 

On  Denzil's  evidence ! — He  dies  ! — 
Ho !  Provost  Marshal !  instantly- 
Lead  Denzil  to  the  gallows-tree  ! 
Allow  him  not  a  parting  word  ; 
Short  be  the  shrift,  and  sure  the  cord  1 
Then  let  liis  gory  head  appal 
Marauders  from  the  Castle-wall. 
Lead  forth  thy  guard,  that  duty  done, 
With  best  despatch  to  Egliston. — 
— Basil,  tell  Wilfrid  he  must  straight 
Attend  me  at  the  Castle-gate." — 

XXIV. 
"  Alas !"  the  old  domestic  said, 
And  shook  his  venerable  head, 
"  Alas,  my  Lord  !  full  ill  to-day 
May  my  young  master  brook  the  way ! 
The  leech  has  spoke  with  grave  alarm, 
Of  unseen  hurt,  of  secret  harm, 
Of  sorrow  lurking  at  the  heart, 
That  mars  and  lets  his  healing  art." — 
"  Tush,  tell  not  me  ! — Romantic  boys 
Pine  themselves  sick  for  airy  toys. 
I  will  find  cure  for  Wilfrid  soon ; 
Bid  him  for  Egliston  be  boune, 
And  quick  ! — I  hear  the  dull  death-drum 
Tell  Denzil's  hour  of  fate  is  come." 
He  paused  with  scornful  smile,  and  then 
Resumed  his  train  of  thought  agen. 
"  Now  comes  my  fortune's  crisis  near  ! 
Entreaty  boots  not — instant  fear, 
Naught  else,  can  bend  Matilda's  pride, 
Or  win  her  to  be  Wilfrid's  bride. 
But  when  she  sees  the  scaffold  placed, 
With  axe  and  block  and  headsman  graced, 
And  when  she  deems,  that  to  deny 
Dooms  Redmond  and  her  sire  to  die, 
She  must  give  way. — Then,  were  the  line 
Of  Rokeby  once  combined  with  mine, 
I  gain  the  weather-gage  of  fate  ! 
If  Mortham  come,  he  comes  too  late, 
While  I,  allied  thus  and  prepared, 
Bid  him  defiance  to  his  beard. — 
— If  she  prove  stubborn,  shall  I  dare 
To  drop  the  axe  ? — Soft  1  pause  we  there. 
'    Mortham  still  lives — yon  youth  may  tell 
His  tale — and  Fairfax  loves  liim  well ; — 

1  MS. — "  Marks  the  dark  cloud  sweep  down  the  Tees." 

2  "  This  subordinate  villain  thus  meets  the  reward  which  he 
jeserves.  He  is  altogether  one  of  the  minor  sketches  of  the 
poem,  but  still  adds  a  variety  and  a  life  to  the  group.  He  is 
besides  absolutely  necessary  for  the  development  of  the  plot ; 
ind  indeed  a  peculiar  propriety  in  this  respect  is  observable 
throughout  the  story.  No  character,  and,  comparatively  speak- 
ing, but  little  description,  is  introduced  that  is  unessential  to 
ihe  narrative  ;  it  proceeds  clearly,  if  not  rapidly,  throughout ; 
and  although  the  plot  becomes  additionally  involved  to  appear- 
ance as  ;t  advances,  all  is  satisfactorily  explained  at  the  last,  or 


Else,  wherefore  should  I  now  delay 

To  sweep  this  Redmond  from  my  way  ? — 

But  she  to  piety  perforce 

Must  yield.— Without  there  !  Sound  to  horse." 

XXV. 
'Twas  bustle  in  the  court  below, — 
"  Mount,  and  march  forward  !" — Forth  they  go 
Steeds  neigh  and  trample  all  around," 
Steel  rings,  spears  glimmer,  trumpets  sound. — 
Just  then  was  sung  his  parting  hymn  ; 
And  Denzil  turn'd  his  eyeballs  dim, 
And,  scarcely  conscious  what  he  sees, 
Follows  the  horsemen  down  the  Tees  ;x 
And,  scarcely  conscious  what  he  hears, 
The  trumpets  tingle  in  his  ears. 
O'er  the  long  bridge  they're  sweeping  now, 
The  van  is  hid  by  greenwood  bough  ; 
But  ere  the  rearward  had  pass'd  o'er, 
Guy  Denzil  heard  and  saw  no  more  !a 
One  stroke,  upon  the  Castle  bell, 
To  Oswald  rung  his  dying^knell. 

XXVI. 

0,  for  that  pencil,  erst  profuse 

Of  chivalry's  emblazon'd  hues, 

That  traced  of  old,  in  Woodstock  bower, 

The  pageant  of  the  Leaf  and  Flower, 

And  bodied  forth  the  tourney  high, 

Held  for  the  hand  of  Emily  ! 

Then  might  I  paint  the  tumult  broad, 

That  to  the  crowded  abbey  flow'd, 

And  pour'd,  as  with  an  ocean's  sound, 

Into  the  church's  ample  bound ! 

Then  might  I  show  each  varying  mien, 

Exulting,  woeful,  or  serene ; 

Indifference,  with  his  idiot  stare, 

And  Sympathy,  with  anxious  air, 

Paint  the  dejected  Cavalier, 

Doubtful,  disarm'd,  and  sad  of  cheer ; 

And  his  proud  foe,  whose  formal  eye 

Claim'd  conquest  now  and  mastery ; 

And  the  brute  crowd,  whose  envious  zeal 

Huzzas  each  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel, 

And  loudest  shouts  when  lowest  he 

Exalted  worth  and  station  high. 

Yet  what  may  such  a  wish  avail  ? 

'Tis  mine  to  tell  an  onward  tale,3 

rather  explains  itself  by  gradual  unravelment." — Monthly  R* 
view. 

3  The  Quarterly  Reviewer,  after  quoting  from 


to 


'Tis  mine  to  tell  an  onward  tale," 
Or  snatch  a  blossom  from  the  bough, 


adds,  "  Assuredly,  if  such  lines  as  these  had  occurred  more 
frequently  in  Rokeby,  it  would  have  extorted  our  unqualified 
admiration  :  and  although  we  lament  that  numerous  little 
blemishes,  which  might  easily  be  removed,  have  been  suffered 


HANTO  \l. 


ROKEB\ . 


35J 


Hurrying,  as  best  I  can,  along, 
The  hearers  and  the  hasty  song ; — 
Like  traveller  when  approaching  home, 
Who  sees  the  shades  of  evening  come, 
And  must  not  now  his  course  delay, 
Or  choose  the  fair,  but  winding  way ; 
Nay,  scarcely  may  his  pace  suspend, 
Where  o'er  his  head  the  wildings  bend, 
To  bless  the  breeze  that  cools  his  brow, 
Or  snatch  a  blossom  from  the  bough. 

XXVII. 
The  reverend  pile  lay  wild  and  waste, 
Profaned,  dishonor'd,  and  defaced. 
Through  storied  lattices  no  more 
In  soften'd  light  the  sunbeams  pour, 
Gilding  the  Gothic  sculpture  rich 
Of  shrine,  and  monument,  and  niche. 
The  Civil  fury  of  the  time 
Made  sport  of  sacrilegious  crime  -,1 
For  dark  Fanaticism  rent 
Altar,  and  screen,  and  ornament, 
And  peasant  hands  the  tombs  overthrew 
Of  Bowes,  of  Rokeby,  and  Fitz-Hugh.2 
And  now  was  seen,  unwonted  sight, 
In  holy  walls  a  scaffold  dight ! 
Where  once  the  priest,  of  grace  divine 
Dealt  to  his  flock  the  mystic  sign ; 
There  stood  the  block  display'd,  and  there 
The  headsman  grim  his  hatchet  bare ; 
And  for  the  word  of  Hope  and  Faith, 
Resounded  loud  a  doom  of  death. 
Thrice  the    fierce    trumpet's    breath   was 

heard, 
A.nd  echo'd  thrice  the  herald's  word, 
Dooming,  for  breach  of  martial  laws, 
And  treason  to  the  Commons'  cause, 
The  Knight  of  Rokeby  and  O'Xeale 
To  stoop  their  heads  to  block  and  steel. 
The  trumpets  flourish'd  high  and  shrill, 
Then  was  a  silence  dead  and  still ; 
And  silent  prayers  to  heaven  were  cast, 
And  stifled  sobs  were  bursting  fast, 
Till  from  the  crowd  began  to  rise 
Murmurs  of  sorrow  or  surprise, 
And  from  the  distant  aisles  there  came 
Deep-mutter'd    threats,   with    Wycliffe'a 


10  remain  ;  that  many  of  the  poetical  ornaments,  though  just- 
ly conceived,  are  faintly  and  indistinctly  drawn  ;  and  that  those 
inishing  touches,  which  Mr.  Scott  has  the  talent  of  placing 
w.th  peculiar  taste  and  propriety,  are  too  sparingly  scattered  ; 
we  readily  admit  that  he  has  told  his  '  onward  tale'  with  great 
vigor  and  animation  ;  and  that  he  has  generally  redeemed  his 
faults  by  the  richness  and  variety  of  his  fancy,  or  by  the  inter- 
est of  his  narrative." 

1  The  MS.  has  not  this  nor  the  preceding  couplet. 

*  MS. — "  And  peasants'  base-born  hands  o'erthrew 
The  tombs  of  Lacy  and  Fitz-Hugh." 


XXVIII. 
But  Oswald,  guarded  by  his  band, 
Powerful  in  evil,  waved  his  hand, 
And  bade  Sedition's  voice  be  dead, 
On  peril  of  the  murmurer's  head. 
Then  first  Ins  glance  sought  Rokeby's  Knight 
Who  gazed  on  the  tremendous  sight, 
As  calm  as  if  he  came  a  guest 
To  kindred  Baron's  feudal  feast,5 
As  calm  as  if  that  trumpet-oall 
Were  summons  to  the  banner'd  hall ; 
Firm  in  Ins  loyalty  he  stood, 
And  prompt  to  seal  it  with  his  blood. 
With  downcast  look  drew  Oswald  nigh, — 
He  durst  not  cope  with  Rokeby's  eye  ! — 6 
And  said,  with  low  and  faltering  breath, 
"Thou  know'st  the  terms  of  life  and  death." 
The  Knight  then  turn'd,  and  sternly  smiled; 
"  The  maiden  is  mine  only  child, 
Yet  shall  my  blessing  leave  her  head, 
If  with  a  traitor's  son  she  wed." 
Then  Redmond  spoke :  "  The  life  of  one 
Might  thy  malignity  atone,7 
On  me  be  flung  a  double  guilt ! 
Spare  Rokeby's  blood,  let  mine  be  spilt !" 
Wycliffe  had  listen' d  to  his  suit, 
But  dread  prevail'd,  and  he  was  mute. 

XXIX 

And  now  he  pours  his  choice  of  fear 

In  secret  on  Matilda's  ear  ; 

"  An  union  form'd  with  me  and  mine, 

Ensures  the  faith  of  Rokeby's  line. 

Consent,  and  all  tin's  dread  array, 

Like  morning  dream  shall  pass  away  ; 

Refuse,  and,  by  my  duty  press' d, 

I  give  the  word — thou  know'st  the  rest. " 

Matilda,  still  and  motionless, 

With  terror  heard  the  dread  address, 

Pale  as  the  sheeted  maid  who  dies 

To  hopeless  love  a  sacrifice  ; 

Then  wrung  her  hands  in  agony, 

And  round  her  cast  bewilder'd  eye. 

Now  on  the  scaffold  glanced,  and  now 

On  Wycliffe's  unrelenting  brow. 

She  veil'd  her  face,  and,  with  a  voice 

Scarce  audible, — "  I  make  my  choice  ! 

Spare  but  their  lives !— for  aught  beside, 

9  MS.— "Muttering  of  threats,  and  WyclifFe's  name. 
*  MS. — "  Then  from  his  victim  sought  to  know 

The  working  of  his  tragic  show, 

And  first  his  glance,"  &o. 
6  MS.—"  To  some  high  Baron's  feudal  feast, 

And  that  loud  pealing  trumpet-call 

Was  summons,"  &c. 

6  MS.—"  He  durst  not  meet  his  scornful  eye." 

7  MS. "  the  blood  of  one 

Might  this  malignant  plot  atone.' 


352 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO   «1 


Let  "Wilfrid's  doom  my  fate  decide. 
He  once  was  generous  !" — As  she  spoke, 
Dark  Wycliffe's  joy  in  triumph  broke  : — 
"  Wilfrid,  where  loiter'd  ye  so  late  ? 
Why  upon  Basil  rest  thy  weight  ? 
Art  spell-bound  by  enchanter's  wand  ? — 
Kneel,  kneel,  and  take  her  yielded  hand  ;* 
Thank  her  with  raptures,  simple  boy  1 
Should    tears    and   trembling   speak    thy 

j°y  *"—  # . 

"  O  hush,  my  sire  !     To  prayer  and  tear 
Of  mine  thou  hast  refused  thine  ear ; 
But  now  the  awful  hour  draws  on, 
When  truth  must  speak  in  loftier  tone." 

XXX. 

He  took  Matilda's  hand  :2 — "  Dear  maid, 

Couldst  thou  so  injure  me,"  he  said, 

"  Of  thy  poor  friend  so  basely  deem, 

As  blend  with  him  this  barbarous  scheme  ? 

Alas  !  my  efforts  made  in  vain, 

Might  well  have  saved  this  added  pain.8 

But  now,  bear  witness  earth  and  heaven, 

That  ne'er  was  hope  to  mortal  given, 

So  twisted4  with  the  strings  of  life, 

As  this — to  call  Matilda  wife  ! 

I  bid  it  now  for  ever  part, 

And  with  the  effort  bursts  my  heart !" 

His  feeble  frame  was  worn  so  low, 

With  wounds,  with  watclung,  and  with  woe, 

That  nature  could  no  more  sustain 

The  agony  of  mental  pain. 

He  kneel'd — his  Up  her  hand  had  press' d, — 6 

Just  then  he  felt  the  stern  arrest. 

Lower  and  lower  sunk  his  head, — 

They  raised  him, — but  the  life  was  fled  ! 

Then,  first  alarm'd,  his  sire  and  train 

Tried  every  aid,  but  tried  in  vain. 

The  soul,  too  soft  its  ills  to  bear, 

Had  left  our  mortal  hemisphere, 

i  In  place  of  this  and  preceding  couplet,  the  MS.  has, 
"  Successful  was  the  scheme  he  plann'd  : 
Kneel,  Wilfrid  !  take  her  yielded  hand  !" 
a  MS. — "  He  kneel'd,  and  took  her  hand." 
8  MS. — "  To  save  the  complicated  pain." 

*  MS.—"  Blended.:'' 

6  MS. — "  His  lips  upon  her  hands  were  press'd, — 
Just  as  he  felt  the  stern  arrest." 

*  "  The  character  of  Wilfrid  is  as  extensively  drawn,  and 
Bven  more  so,  perhaps,  than  that  of  Bertram.  And  amidst 
the  fine  and  beautiful  moral  reflections  accompanying  it,  a 
Jeep  insight  into  the  human  heart  is  discernible: — we  had 
almost  said  an  intuition  more  penetrating  than  even  his,  to 
whom  were  given  these  '  golden  keys'  that  '  unlock  the  gates 
of  joy.' 

'  Of  horror  that  and  thrilling  fears, 
Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  tears.'  " 

British  Critic. 

"  In  delineating  the  actors  of  this  dramatic  tale,  we  have 
little  hesitation  in  saying,  that  Mr  Scott  has  been  more  suc- 


And  sought  in  better  world  the  meed. 
To  blameless  life  by  Heaven  decreed." 

XXXI. 

The  wretched  sire  beheld,  aghast, 

With  Wilfrid  all  his  projects  past, 

All  turn'd  and  centred  on  his  son, 

On  Wilfrid  all — and  he  was  gone. 

"  And  I  am  childless  now,"  he  said ; 

"  Childless  through  that  relentless  maid ! 

A  lifetime's  arts  in  vain  essay'd, 

Are  bursting  on  their  artist's  head ! — 

Here  lies  my  Wilfrid  dead — and  there  , 

Comes  hated  Mortham  for  his  heirs 

Eager  to  knit  in  happy  band 

With  Rokeby's  heiress  Redmond's  hand. 

And  shall  their  triumph  soar  o'er  all 

The  schemes  deep-laid  to  work  their  fall  ? 

No ! — deeds  which  prudence  might  not  dare, 

Appal  not  vengeance  and  despair. 

The  murd'ress  weeps  upon  his  bier — 

I'll  change  to  real  that  feigned  tear ! 

They  all  shall  share  destruction's  shock ; — 

Ho !  lead  the  captives  to  the  block  !" 

But  ill  his  Provost  could  divine 

His  feelings,  and  forebore  the  sign. 

"  Slave  !  to  the  block ! — or  I,  or  they, 

Shall  face  the  judgment-seat  this  day !" 

XXXII. 

The  outmost  crowd  have  heard  a  sound, 
Like  korse's  hoof  on  harden'd  ground ; 
Nearer  it  came,  and  yet  more  near, 
The  very  death' s-men  paused  to  hear. 
*Tis  in  the  churchyard  now — the  tread 
Hath  waked  the  dwelling  of  the  dead  ! 
Fresh  sod,  and  old  sepulchral  stone, 
Return  the  tramp  in  varied  tone. 
All  eyes  upon  the  gateway  hung, 
When  through  the  Gothic  arch  there  sprung 

cessful  than  on  any  former  occasion.  Wilfrid,  a  person  of  the 
first  importance  in  the  whole  management  of  the  plot,  exhibits 
an  assemblage  of  qualities  not  nnfrequently  combined  in  real 
life,  but,  so  far  as  we  can  recollect,  never  before  represented  in 
poetry.  It  is,  indeed,  a  charactei  which  required  to  be  touched 
with  great  art  and  delicacy.  The  reader  generally  expects  to 
find  beauty  of  form,  strength,  grace,  and  agility,  united  with 
powerful  passions,  in  the  prominent  figures  of  romance ;  be- 
cause these  visible  qualities  are  the  most  frequent  themes  of 
panegyric,  and  usually  the  best  passports  to  admiration.  The 
absence  of  them  is  supposed  to  throw  an  air  of  ridicule  on  the 
pretensions  of  a  candidate  for  love  or  glory.  An  ordinary 
poet,  therefore,  would  have  despaired  of  awakening  our  sym- 
pathy in  favor  of  that  lofty  and  generous  spirit,  and  keen  sen- 
sibility, which  at  once  animate  and  consume  the  frail  and 
sickly  frame  of  Wilfrid  ;  yet  Wilfrid  is,  in  fact,  extremely  in- 
teresting; and  his  death,  though  obviously  necessary  to  the 
condign  punishment  of  Oswald,  to  the  future  repose  of  Matil- 
da, and  consequently  to  the  consummation  of  the  poem,  leaves 
strong  emotions  of  pity  and  regret  in  the  mind  of  the  reader  " 
—  Quarterly  Review. 


CAJSJTO  VI. 


ROKEBY. 


358 


A  horseman  arm'd,  at  headlong  speed — 
Sable  his  cloak,  his  plume,  his  steed.1 
Fire  from  the  flinty  floor  was  spurn' d, 
The  vaults  unwonted  clang  return'd ! — 
One  instant's  glance  around  he  threw, 
From  saddlebow  his  pistol  drew. 
Grimly  determined  was  his  look  ! 
His  charger  witl   lie  spurs  he  strook — 
All  scatter'd  backward  as  he  came, 
For  all  knew  Bertram  Risingham ! 
Three  bounds  that  noble  courser  gave  ;a 
The  first  has  reach'd  the  central  nave, 
The  second  clear  d  the  chancel  wide, 
The  third  he  was  at  Wycliffe's  side. 
Full  levell'd  at  the  Baron's  head, 
Rung  the  report — the  bullet  sped — 
And  to  his  long  account,  and  last, 
"Without  a  groan,  dark  Oswald  past 
All  was  so  quick,  that  it  might  seem 
A  flash  of  lightning,  or  a  dream. 

XXXIII. 

While  yet  the  smoke  the  deed  conceals, 
Bertram  his  ready  charger  wheels ; 
But  flounder'd  on  the  pavement-floor 
The  steed,  and  down  the  rider  bore, 
And,  bursting  in  the  headlong  sway, 
The  faithless  saddle-girths  gave  way. 
'Twas  while  he  toil'd  him  to  be  freed, 
And  with  the  rein  to  raise  the  steed, 
That  from  amazement's  iron  trance 
All  Wycliffe's  soldiers  waked  at  once. 
Sword,  halberd,  musket-but,  their  blows 
Hail'd  upon  Bertram  as  he  rose ; 
A  score  of  pikes,  with  each  a  wound, 
Bore  down  and  pinn'd  him  to  the  ground  ;3 
But  still  his  struggling  force  he  rears, 
'Gainst  hacking  brands  and  stabbing  spears ; 
Thrice  from  assailants  shook  him  free, 
Once  gain'd  his  feet,  and  twice  his  knee. 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  K. 

9  MS. — "  Three  bounds  he  made,  that  noble  steed  ; 

The  first  the  \  Lacies'  tomb        J  haa  freed  „ 
(  chancels  bound  ) 
8  MS. — "  Oppress'd  and  pinn'd  him  to  the  ground." 

*  MS. — "  And  when,  by  odds  borne  down  at  length." 
6  MS.—"  He  bore." 

6  MS. — "  Had  more  of  laugh  in  it  than  moan." 

*  MS. — "  But  held  their  weapons  ready  set, 

Lest  the  grim  king  should  rouse  him  yet." 
'  MS. — "  But  Basil  check'd  them  with  disdain, 
And  flung  a  mantle  o'er  the  slain." 

*  "  Whether  we  see  him  scaling  the  cliffs  in  desperate  course, 
and  scaring  the  hawks  and  the  ravens  from  their  nests  ;  or, 
while  the  Castle  is  on  fire,  breaking  from  the  central  mass  of 
tjmoke ;  or,  amidst  the  terrific  circumstances  of  his  death,  when 
.is 

1  parting  groan 
Had  more  of  laughter  than  of  moan,' 
45 


By  tenfold  odds  oppress'd  at  length,4 
Despite  his  struggles  and  his  strength, 
He  took6  a  hundred  mortal  wounds, 
As  mute  as  fox  'mongst  mangling  hounds ; 
And  when  he  died,  his  parting  groan 
Had  more  of  laughter  than  of  moan  !6 
— They  gazed,  as  when  a  lion  dies, 
And  hunters  scarcely  trust  their  eyes, 
But  bend  their  weapons  on  the  slain, 
Lest  the  grim  king  should  rouse  again  1T 
Then  blow  and  insult  some  renew'd, 
And  from  the  trunk,  the  head  had  hew'd, 
But  Basil's  voice  the  deed  forbade  ;8 
A  mantle  o'er  the  corse  he  laid : — 
"  Fell  as  he  was  in  act  and  mind, 
He  left  no  bolder  heart  behind : 
Then  give  him,  for  a  soldier  meet, 
A  soldier's  cloak  for  winding-sheet."9 

XXXIV. 
No  more  of  death  and  dying  pang, 
No  more  of  trump  and  bugle  clang, 
Though  through  the  sounding  woods  there  com« 
Banner  and  bugle,  trump  and  drum. 
Arm'd  with  such  powers  as  well  had  freed 
Young  Redmond  at  his  utmost  need, 
And  back'd  with  such  a  band  of  horse, 
As  might  less  ample  powers  enforce ; 
Possess'd  of  every  proof  and  sign 
That  gave  an  heir  to  Mortham's  line, 
And  yielded  to  a  father's  arms 
An  image  of  his  Edith's  charms, — 
Mortham  is  come,  to  hear  and  see 
Of  this  strange  morn  the  history. 
What  saw  he  ? — not  the  church's  floor, 
Cumber'd  with  dead  and  stain'd  with  gore ; 
What  heard  he  ? — not  the  clamorous  crowd, 
That  shout  their  gratulations  loud : 
Redmond  he  saw  and  heard  alone, 
Clasp'd  him,  and  sobb'd,  "  My  son !  my  son !" — " 


we  mark  his  race  of  terror,  with  the  poet,  like  the  '  eve  of 
tropic  sun  !' 

'  No  pale  gradations  quench  his  ray, 
No  twilight  dews  his  wrath  allay  ; 
With  disk  like  battle-target  red, 
He  rushes  to  his  burning  bed  ; 
Dyes  the  wide  wave  with  bloody  light, 
Then  sinks  at  once — and  all  is  night.'  " 

British  Critic. 
"  I  hope  you  will  like  Bertram  to  the  end  ;  he  is  a  Caravaggio 
sketch,  which,  I  may  acknowledge  to  you — but  tell  it  not  in 
Gath — I  rather  pique  myself  upon  ;  and  he  is  within  the  keep- 
ing of  Nature,  though  critics  will  say  to  the  contrary.  It  may 
be  difficult  to  fancy  that  any  one  should  take  a  sort  of  pleasure 
in  bringing  out  such  a  character,  but  I  suppose  it  is  partly 
owing  to  bad  reading,  and  ill-directed  reading,  when  I  was 
young."— Scott  to  Miss  Baillie. — Life,  vol.  iv.  p.  49. 
io  MS.— Here  the  author  of  Rokeby  wrote, 

"End  of  Canto  VI." 
Stanza  xxxv.,  added  at  the  request  of  the  printer  and  anothei 


354 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Ot»r>  *£.. 


XXXV. 

This  chanced  upon  a  summer  morn, 

When  yellow  waved  the  heavy  corn : 

But  when  brown  August  o'er  the  land 

Call'd  forth  the  reaper's  busy  band, 

A  gladsome  sight  the  silvan  road 

From  Egliston  to  Mortham  show'd. 

A  while  the  hardy  rustic  leaves 

The  task  to  bind  and  pile  the  sheaves, 

And  maids  their  sickles  fling  aside, 

To  gaze  on  bridegroom  and  on  bride, 

And  childhood's  wondering  group  draws  near, 

And  from  the  gleaner's  hands  the  ear 

Drops,  while  she  folds  them  for  a  prayer 


friend,  was  accompanied  by  the  following  note  to  Mr.  Ballan- 
tyne : — 

"Dear  James, 

"  I  send  you  this,  out  of  deference  to  opinions  so  strongly 
expressed  ;  hut  still  retaining  my  own,  that  it  spoils  one  effect 
without  producing  another.  W.  S. " 

»  "  Mr.  Scott  has  now  confined  himself  within  much  narrow- 
er limits,  and,  by  descending  to  the  sober  annals  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  has  renounced  nearly  all  those  ornaments  of 
Gothic  pageantry,  which,  in  consequence  of  the  taste  with 
which  he  displayed  them,  had  been  tolerated,  and  even  ad- 
mired, by  modern  readers.  He  has  subjected  his  style  to  a 
severer  code  of  criticism.  The  language  of  the  poet  is  often 
unconsciously  referred  to  the  date  of  the  incidents  which  he  re- 
lates ;  so  that  what  is  careless  or  idiomatic  escapes  censure,  as 
a  supposed  anomaly  of  antique  diction:  and  it  is,  perhaps, 
partly  owing  to  this  impression,  that  the  phraseology  of  '  Mar- 
mion,'  and  of  the  4  Lady  of  the  Lake,'  lias  appeared  to  us  to 
be  no  less  faulty  than  that  of  the  present  poem. 

"  But,  be  this  as  it  may.  we  confidently  persist  in  thinking, 
that  in  this  last  experiment,  Mr.  Scott's  popularity  will  be  "till 
farther  confirmed  ;  because  we  have  found  by  experience, 
that,  although  during  the  first  hasty  inspection  of  the  poem, 
undertaken  for  the  gratification  of  our  curiosity,  some  blemish- 
es intruded  themselves  upon  our  notice,  the  merits  of  the  story, 
and  the  minute  shades  of  character  displayed  in  the  conduct  of 
it,  have  been  sufficient,  during  many  succeeding  perusals,  to 
awaken  our  feelings,  and  to  reanimate  and  sustain  our  attention. 

"The  original  fiction  from  which  the  poem  is  derived,  ap- 
pears to  us  to  be  constructed  with  considerable  ability  ;  but  it 
is  on  the  felicity  with  which  the  poet  has  expan  led  and  dram- 
atized it  ;  on  the  diversity  of  the  characters  ;  on  the  skill  with 
which  they  are  unfolded,  and  on  the  ingenuity  with  which 
every  incident  is  rendered  subservient  to  his  final  purpose,  that 
we  chiefly  found  our  preference  of  this  over  his  former  produc- 
tions. From  the  first  canto  to  the  last,  nothing  is  superfluous. 
The  arrival  of  a  nocturnal  visitor  at  Barnard  Castle  is  announ- 
ced with  such  solemnity,  the  previous  terrors  of  Oswald,  the 
arrogance  and  ferocity  of  Bertram,  his  abruptness  and  discour- 
tesy of  demeanor,  are  so  eminently  delineated,  that  the  picture 
seems  as  if  it  had  been  introduced  for  the  sole  purpose  of  dis- 
playing the  author's  powers  of  description  !  yet  it  is  from  this 
visit  that  all  the  subsequent  incidents  naturally,  and  almost 
necessarily  flow.  Our  curiosity  is,  at  the  very  commencement 
of  the  poem,  most  powerfully  excited  ;  the  principal  actors  in 
the  scene  exhibit  themselves  distinctly  to  our  view,  the  devel- 
opment of  the  plot  is  perfectly  continuous,  and  our  attention 
is  never  interrupted,   or  suffered  to  relax." — Quarterly  Re- 


"  This  production  of  Mr.  Scott  altogether  abounds  in  imagery 
vid  description  less  than  either  of  its  precursors,  in  pretty 


And  blessing  on  the  lovely  p?:r. 
'Twas  then  the  Maid  of  Rokeby  e;ave 
Her  plighted  troth  to  Redmond  biave  ; 
And  Teesdale  can  remembei  yet 
How  Fate  to  Virtue  paid  hei  debC, 
And,  for  their  troubles,  bade  their  pvcv* 
A  lengthen'd  life  of  peace  and  love. 


Time  and  Tide  had  thus  their  sway, 
Yielding,  like  an  April  day, 
Smiling  noon  for  sullen  morrow, 
Years  of  joy  for  hours  of  sorrow.1 


nearly  the  same  proportion  as  it  contains  mors  './"  J  amatic  in 
cident  and  character.  Yet  some  of  the  pictu  ee  which  it  pre- 
sents are  highly  wrought  and  vividly  colored  ;  for  example, 
the  terribly  animated  narrative,  in  the  £fth  canto,  of  the  battle 
within  the  hall,  and  the  conflagration  ol  f'.ie  mansion  of  Rokeby. 

"  Several  defects,  of  more  or  less  importance,  we  noticed,  or 
imagined  that  we  noticed,  as  we  read.  It  appears  like  pre- 
sumption to  accuse  Mr.  Scott  of  any  failure  in  respect  to  cos- 
tume—of the  manners  and  character  of  the  times  which  he 
deaoribea — yet  the  impression  produced  on  our  minds  by  the 
perusal,  has  certainly  been,  that  we  are  thrown  back  in  imag- 
ination to  a  period  considerably  antecedent  to  that  which  he 
intends  to  celebrate.  The  other  faults,  we  remarked,  consist 
principally  in  the  too  frequent  recurrence  of  those  which  we 
have  so  often  noticed  on  former  occasions,  and  which  are  so 
incorporated  with  the  poet's  style,  that  it  is  now  become  as 
useless  as  it  is  painful,  to  repeat  the  censures  which  they  have 
occasioned. 

"  We  have  been  informed  that  '  Rokeby'  has  hitherto  circu- 
lated less  rapidly  than  has  usually  been  the  case  with  Mr. 
Scott's  works.  If  the  fact  be  so,  we  are  inclined  to  attribute 
it  solely  to  accidental  circumstances  ;  being  persuaded  that  the 
defects  of  the  poem  are  only  common  to  it  with  all  the  produc- 
tions of  its  author;  that  they  are  even  less  numerous  than  in 
most ;  and  that  its  beauties,  though  of  a  different  stamp,  we 
more  profusely  scattered,  and,  upon  the  whole,  of  a  higher  or 
der." — Critical  Review. 


"  Such  is  Rokeby  ;  and  our  readers  must  confess  that  it  is  a 
very  interesting  tale.  Alone,  it  would  stamp  the  author  one 
of  the  most  picturesque  of  English  poets.  Of  the  story,  we 
need  hardly  say  any  thing  farther.  It  is  complicated  without 
being  confused,  and  so  artfully  suspended  in  its  unravelment, 
as  to  produce  a  constantly  increasing  sensation  of  curiosity. 
Parts,  indeed,  of  the  catastrophe  may  at  intervals  be  foreseen, 
but  they  are  like  the  partial  glimpses  that  we  catch  of  a  noble 
and  well-shaded  building,  which  does  not  break  on  us  in  all  its 
proportion  and  in  all  its  beauty,  until  we  suddenly  arrive  in 
front.  Of  the  characters,  we  have  something  to  observe,  in 
addition  to  our  private  remarks.  Our  readers  may  perhaps 
have  seen  that  we  have  frequently  applied  the  term  sketch,  to 
the  several  personages  of  the  drama.  Now,  although  this  poem 
possesses  more  variety  of  well-sustained  character  than  any 
other  of  Mr.  Scott's  performances — although  Wilfrid  will  be  a 
favorite  with  every  lover  of  the  soft,  the  gentle,  and  the  oa- 
thetic,  while  Edmund  offers  a  fearful  warning  to  misused  aoil- 
ities — and  although  Redmond  is  indeed  a  man,  compared  to  the 
Cranstoun  of  The  Lay,  to  the  Wilton  of  Marmion,  or  to  the 
Malcolm  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake;  yet  is  Redmond  himseh 
but  a  sketch  compared  to  Bertram.  Here  is  Mr.  Scott's  true 
and  favorite  hero.  He  has  no  '  sneaking  kindness'  for  these 
barbarians ; — he  boldly  adopts  and  patronizes  them.     Deloraina 


6'ANIO  VI. 


iiOKEBY. 


(it  has  humorously  been  observed)  would  have%een  exactly 
what.  Marmion  was,  could  lie  have  read  and  written  ;  Bertram 
is  a  happy  mixture  of  both  ; — as  great  a  villain,  if  possible,  as 
Marmion  ;  and,  if  possible,  as  great  a  scamp  as  De'.oraine. 
His  character  is  completed  by  a  dash  of  the  fierceness  of  Rod- 
erick Dhu.  We  do  not  here  enter  into  the  question  as  to  the 
good  taste  of  an  author  who  employs  his  utmost  strength  of 
description  on  a  compound  of  bad  qualities  ;  but.  we  must  ob- 
serve, in  the  way  of  protest  for  the  present,  that  something 
must  be  wrong  where  poetical  effect  and  moral  approbation  are 
so  much  at  variance.  We  leave  untouched  the  general  argu- 
ment, whether  it  makes  any  difference  for  poetical  purposes, 
that  a  hero's  vices  or  his  virtues  should  preponderate.  Power- 
ful indeed  must  be  the  genius  of  the  poet  who,  out  of  such 
materials  as  those  above  mentioned,  can  form  an  interest- 
ing whole.  This,  however,  is  the  fact ;  and  Bertram  at  times 
so  overcomes  hatred  with  admiration,  that  he  (or  rather  his 
painter)  is  almost  pardonable  for  his  energy  alone.  There  is  a 
ebarm  about  this  spring  of  mind  which  bears  down  all  opposi- 
tion, '  and  throws  a  brilliant  veil  of  light  over  the  most  hideous 
deformity.'  This  is  the  fascination — this  is  the  variety  and 
vigor  by  which  Mr.  Scott  recommends  barharous  heroes,  un- 
dignified occurrences,  and,  occasionally,  the  most  incorrect  lan- 
guage, and  the  most  imperfect  versification — 

"  Catch  but  his  fire — '  And  you  forgive  him  all.'  " 

Monthly  Review. 

That  Rokeby,  as  a  whole,  is  equally  interesting  with  Mr. 
Scott's  former  works,  we  are  by  no  means  prepared  to  assert. 
But  if  there  be,  comparatively,  a  diminution  of  interest,  it  is 
evidently  owing  to  no  other  cause  than  the  time  or  place  of  its 
action — the  sobriety  of  the  period,  and  the  abated  wildness  of 
the  scenery.  With  us,  the  wonder  is,  that  a  period  so  late  as 
that  of  Charles  the  First,  could  have  been  managed  so  dex- 
terously, ami  have  been  made  so  happily  subservient  to  poetic 
invention. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  we  have  no  hesitation  in  declaring  our 
opinion,  that  the  tale  of  Rokeby  is  much  better  told  than  those 
of  '  The  Lay,'  or  of  '  Marmion.'  Its  characters  are  introduced 
with  more  ease  ;  its  incidents  are  more  natural ;  one  event  is 
more  necessarily  generated  by  another  ;  the  reader's  mind  is 
kept  more  in  suspense  with  respect  to  the  termination  of  the 
story  ;  and  the  moral  reflections  interspersed  are  of  a  deeper 
cast.  Of  the  versification,  also,  we  can  justly  pronounce,  that 
it  is  more  polished  than  in  'Marmion,'  or  '  The  Lay;'  and 
though  we  have  marked  some  careless  lines,  yet  even  in  the 
instance  of  '  bold  disorder,'  Rokeby  can  furnish  little  room  for 
animadversion.  In  fine,  if  we  must  compare  him  with  him- 
self, we  judge  Mr.  Scott  has  given  us  a  poem  in  Rokehy,  su- 
perior to  '  Marmion,'  or  '  The  Lay,'  but  not  equal,  perhaps,  to 
'  The  Lady  of  the  Lake.'  " — British  Critic. 


"It  will  surprise  no  one  to  hear  that  Mr.  Morritt  assured 
his  friend  he  considered  Rokeby  as  the  best  of  all  his  poems. 
The  admirable,  perhaps  the  unique  fidelity  of  the  local  de- 
scriptions, might  alone  have  swayed,  for  I  will  not  say  it  per- 
verted the  judgment  of  the  lord  of  that  beautiful  and  thence- 
forth classical  domain  ;  and,  indeed,  I  must  admit  that  I  never 
understood  or  appreciated  half  the  charm  of  this  poem  until  I 
had  become  familiar  with  its  scenery.  But  Scott  himself  had 
not  designed  to  rest  his  strength  on  these  descriptions.  He  said 
to  James  Ballantyne,  while  the  work  was  in  progress  (Sep- 
tember 2),  •  I  hope  the  thing  will  do,  chiefly  because  the  world 
will  not  expect  from  me  a  poem  of  which  the  interest  turns 
upon  character  ;'  and  in  another  letter  (October  28,  1812),  'I 
think  you  will  see  the  same  sort  of  difference  taken  in  all  my 
ormer  poems,  of  which  I  would  say,  if  it  is  fair  for  me  to  say 
any  thing,  that  the  force  in  the  Lay  is  thrown  on  style — in 
Marmion  on  description,  and  in  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  on  in- 
tident.'     I  suspect  some  of  these  distinctions  may  have  been 


matters  of  after-thought ;  but  as  to  Rokeby  there  can  be  nc 
mistake.  His  own  original  conceptions  of  some  of  its  princi- 
pal characters  have  been  explained  in  letters  already  cited  ; 
and  I  believe  no  one  who  compares  the  poem  with  his  novels 
will  doubt  that,  had  he  undertaken  their  portraiture  in  prose, 
they  would  have  come  forth  with  effect  hardly  inferior  to  any 
of  all  the  groups  he  ever  created.  As  it  is,  I  question  wheth- 
er, even  in  his  prose,  there  is  any  thing  more  exquisitely  wrought 
out  as  well  as  fancied,  than  the  whole  contrast  of  the  two  ri- 
vals for  the  love  of  the  heroine  in  Rokeby  ;  and  that  heroine 
herself,  too,  has  a  very  particular  interest  attached  to  her. 
Writing  to  Miss  Edgeworth  five  years  after  this  time  (10th 
March,  1818),  he  says,  '  I  have  not  read  one  of  my  poems  since 
they  were  printed,  excepting  last  year  the  Lady  of  the  Lake, 
which  I  liked  better  than  I  expected,  but  not  well  enough  to 
induce  me  to  go  through  the  rest ;  so  I  may  truly  say  with 
Macbeth — 

'  I  am  afraid  to  think  of  what  I've  done — 
Look  on't  again  I  dare  not.' 

"  '  This  much  of  Mntihla  I  recollect  (for  that  is  not  so  easily 
forgotten),  that  Rhe  was  attempted  for  the  existing  person  of  a 
lady  who  is  now  no  more,  so  that  I  am  particularly  flattered 
with  your  distinguishing  it  from  the  others,  which  are  in  gen- 
eral mere  shadows.'  I  can  have  no  doubt  that  the  lady  he 
here  alludes  to  was  the  object  of  his  own  unfortunate  first 
love  ;  and  as  little,  that  in  the  romantic  generosity  both  of  the 
youthful  poet  who  fails  to  win  her  higher  favor,  and  of  his 
chivalrous  competitor,  we  have  before  us  something  more  than 
a  mere  shadow. 

"  In  spite  of  these  graceful  characters,  the  inimitable  scenery 
on  which  they  are  presented,  and  the  splendid  vivacity  and 
thrilling  interest  of  several. chapters  in  the  story — such  as  the 
opening  interview  of  Bertram  and  Wycliffe — the  flight  up  the 
cliff  on  the  Greta — the  first  entrance  of  the  cave  at  Brignall- 
the  firing  of  Rokeby  Castle — and  the  catastrophe  in  Egliston 
Abbey  ;  in  spite  certainly  of  exquisitely  happy  lines  profusely 
scattered  throughout  the  whole  composition,  and  of  some  de- 
tached images — that,  of  the  setting  of  the  tropical  sun,  for  ex- 
ample— which  were  never  surpassed  by  any  poet ;  in  spite  of 
all  these  merits,  the  immediate  success  of  Rokeby  was  greatly 
inferior  to  that,  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  ;  nor  has  it  ever  since 
been  so  much  a  favorite  with  the  public  at  large  as  any  other 
of  his  poetical  romances.  He  ascribes  this  failure,  in  his  in- 
troduction of  1830,  partly  to  the  radically  unpoetical  character 
of  the  Roundheads  ;  but  surely  their  character  has  its  poetical 
side  also,  had  his  prejudices  allowed  him  to  enter  upon  its  study 
with  impartial  sympathy  ;  and  I  doubt  not  Mr.  Morritt  suggest- 
ed the  difficulty  on  this  score,  when  the  outline  of  the  story  was 
as  yet  undetermined,  from  the  consideration  rather  of  the  po- 
et's peculiar  feelings,  and  powers  as  hitherto  exhibited,  than 
of  the  subject  absolutely.  Partly  he  blames  the  satiety  of  the 
public  ear,  which  had  had  so  much  of  his  rhythm,  not  only 
from  himself,  but  from  dozens  of  mocking  birds,  male  and  fe- 
male, all  more  or  less  applauded  in  their  day,  and  now  all 
equally  forgotten.  This  circumstance,  too,  had  probably  r.o 
slender  effect  ;  the  more  that,  in  defiance  of  all  the  hints  of  his 
friends,  he  now,  in  his  narrative,  repeated  (with  more  negli- 
gence) the  uniform  octo-svilabic  couplets  of  the  Lady  of  the 
Lake,  instead  of  recurring  to  the  more  varied  cadence  of  the 
Lay  or  Marmion.  It  is  fair  to  add  that,  among  the  London 
circles  at  least,  some  sarcastic  flings  in  Mr.  Moore's  '  Twopenny 
Post  Bag'  must  have  had  an  unfavorable  influence  on  this  oc- 
casion. But  the  cause  of  failure  which  the  poet  himself  places 
last,  was  unquestionably  the  main  one.  The  deeper  and  dark- 
er passior.  of  Childe  Harold,  the  audacity  of  its  morbid  volup 
tuousness,  and  the  melancholy  majesty  of  the  numbers  in  which 
it  defied  the  world,  had  taken  the  general  imagination  by  storm 
and  Rokeby,  with  many  beauties,  and  some  sublimities,  was 
pitched,  as  a  whole,  on  a  key  which  seemed  tame  in  the  com 
parison." — Lockhart,  Life  -/  Scott,  vol.  iv.  pp.  53  53. 


356 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

On  Barnard's  towers,  and  Tees' 's  stream,  Src. — P.  296. 

"  Barnard  Castle,"  saith  old  Leland,  "  standeth  stately 
upon  Tees."  It  is  founded  upon  a  very  high  bank,  and  its 
ruins  impend  over  the  river,  including  within  the  area  a  cir- 
cuit of  six  acres  and  upwards.  This  once  magnificent  fortress 
derives  its  name  from  its  founder,  Barnard  Baliol,  the  ancestor 
of  the  short  and  unfortunate  dynasty  of  that  name,  which  suc- 
ceeded to  the  Scottish  throne  under  the  patronage  of  Edward  I. 
and  Edward  III.  BalioPs  Tower,  afterwards  mentioned  in 
the  poem,  is  a  round  tower  of  great  size,  situated  at  the  west- 
ern extremity  of  the  building.  It  bears  marks  of  great  anti- 
quity, and  was  remarkable  for  the  curious  construction  of  its 
vaulted  roof,  which  has  been  lately  greatly  injured  by  the 
operations  of  some  persons,  to  whom  the  tower  has  been  leased 
for  the  purpose  of  making  patent  shot !  The  prosj>ect  from 
the  top  of  Baliol's  Tower  commands  a  rich  and  magnificent 
view  of  the  wooded  valley  of  the  Tees. 

Barnard  Castle  often  changed  masters  during  the  middle 
ages.  Upon  the  forfeiture  of  the  unfortunate  John  Baliol,  the 
first  king  of  Scotland  of  that  family,  Edward  I.  seized  this 
fortress  among  the  other  English  estates  of  his  refractory  vas- 
sal. It  was  afterwards  vested  in  the  Beauchamps  of  War- 
wick, and  in  the  Staffords  of  Buckingham,  and  was  also 
sometimes  in  the  possession  of  the  Bishops  of  Durham,  and 
sometimes  in  that  of  the  crown.  Richard  III.  is  said  to  have 
enlarged  and  strengthened  its  fortifications,  and  to  have  made 
it  for  some  time  his  principal  residence,  for  the  purpose  of 
bridling  and  suppressing  the  Lancastrian  faction  in  the  north- 
ern counties.  From  the  Staffords,  Barnard  Castle  passed, 
probably  by  marriage,  into  the  possession  of  the  powerful 
Nevilles,  Earls  of  Westmoreland,  and  belonged  to  the  last 
representative  of  that  family,  when  he  engaged  with  the  Earl 
of  Northumberland  in  the  ill-concerted  insurrection  of  the 
twelfth  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Upon  this  occasion,  however, 
Sir  George  Bowes  of  Sheatlam,  who  held  great  possessions  in 
the  neighborhood,  anticipated  the  two  insurgent  earls,  by 
seizing  upon  and  garrisoning  Barnard  Castle,  which  he  held 
out  for  ten  days  against  all  their  forces,  and  then  surrendered 
it  upon  honorable  terms.  See  Sadler's  State  Papers,  vol.  ii. 
p.  330.  In  a  ballad,  contained  in  Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient 
Poetry,  vol.  i.,  the  siege  is  thus  commemorated  : — 

M  Then  Sir  George  Bowes  he  straight  way  rose 

After  them  some  spoyle  to  make  ; 
These  noble  erles  turned  back  againe, 

And  aye  they  vowed  that  knight  to  take. 

"  That  baron  he  to  his  castle  fled  ; 

To  Barnard  Castle  then  fled  he  ; 
The  uttermost  walles  were  eathe  to  won, 

The  erles  have  won  them  presentlie. 

"The  uttermost  walles  were  lime  and  brick  ; 

But  though  they  won  them  soon  anone, 
Long  ere  they  wan  the  innermost  wales, 

For  they  were  cut  in  rock  and  stone." 

By  the  suppression  of  this  rebellion,  and  the  consequent  for- 
feiture of  the  Earl  of  Westmoreland   Barnard  Castle  reverted 


to  the  crown,  and  was  sold  or  leased  out  to  Car,  Earl  of  Somer* 
set,  the  guilty  and  unhappy  favorite  of  James  I.  It  was 
afterwards  granted  to  Sir  Henry  Vane  the  elder,  and  was  there- 
fore, in  all  probability,  occupied  for  the  Parliament,  whose 
interest  during  the  Civil  War  was  so  keenly  espoused  by  the 
Vanes.  It  is  now,  with  the  other  estates  of  that  family,  the 
property  ef  the  Right  Honorable  Earl  of  Darlington. 


Note  B. 


no  human  ear, 


Vnskarpen'd  by  revenge  and  fear, 
Could  e'er  distinguish  horse's  clank. 


-P.  297. 


I  have  had  occasion  to  remark,  in  real  life,  the  effect  of 
keen  and  fervent  anxiety  in  giving  acuteness  to  the  organs  of 
sense.  My  gifted  friend,  Miss  Joanna  Baillie,  whose  drama- 
tic works  display  such  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  opera- 
tions of  human  passion,  has  not  omitted  this  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance :— 


De  Montfort.  (Off  his  guard.)    'Tis  Rezen^lt :  I  heard 

his  well-known  foot, 
From  the  first  staircase  mounting  step  by  step. 

Freb.  How  quick  an  ear  thou  hast  for  distant  sound  ! 
I  heard  him  not. 

(De  Montford  looks  embarrassed,  and  is  silent.") 


Note  C. 

The  morion's  plumes  his  visage  hide, 

Jind  the  buff-coat,  in  ample  fold, 

Mantles  his  form's  gigantic  mould. — P.  298. 

The  use  of  complete  suits  of  armor  was  fallen  into  disuse 
during  the  Civil  War,  though  they  were  still  worn  by  leaders 
of  rank  and  importance.  "  In  the  reign  of  King  James  I.," 
says  our  military  antiquary,  "no  great  alterations  were  made 
in  the  article  of  defensive  armor,  except  that  the  buff-coat, 
or  jerkin,  which  was  originally  worn  under  the  cuirass,  now 
became  frequently  a  substitute  for  it,  it  having  been  found 
that  a  good  buff  leather  would  of  itself  resist  the  stroke  of  a 
sword  ;  this,  however,  only  occasionally  took  place  among  the 
light-armed  cavalry  and  infantry,  complete  suits  of  armor 
being  still  used  among  the  heavy  horse.  Buff-coats  continued 
to  be  worn  by  the  city  trained-bands  till  within  the  memory 
of  persons  now  living,  so  that  defensive  armor  may,  in  some 
measure,  be  said  to  have  terminated  in  the  same  materials 
with  which  it  began,  that  is,  the  skins  of  animals,  or  lea- 
ther."— Grose's  Military  Antiquities.  Lond.  1801,  4to. 
vol.  ii.  p.  323. 

Of  the  buff-coats,  which  were  worn  over  the  corslets,  seve- 
ral are  yet  preserved  ;  and  Captain  Grose  has  given  an  engra- 
ving of  one  which  was  used  in  the  time  of  Charles  I.  by  Sir 
Francis  Rhodes,  Bart,  of  Balbrough-Hall,  Derbyshire.  They 
were  usually  lined  with  silk  or  linen,  secured  before  by  but- 
j  tons,  or  by  a  lace,  and  often  richly  decorated  with  gold  oi 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


35? 


si'ver  embroidery.  From  the  following  curious  account  of  a 
dispute  respecting  a  buff-coat  between  an  old  roundhead  cap- 
tain and  a  justice  of  the  peace,  by  whom  his  arms  were  seized 
after  the  Restoration,  we  learn,  that  the  value  and  importance 
of  this  defensive  garment  were  considerable  : — "  A  party  of 
norse  came  to  my  house,  commanded  by  Mr.  Peebles ;  and  he 
to'd  me  he  was  come  for  my  arms,  and  that  I  must  deliver 
them.  I  asked  him  for  his  order.  He  told  ine  he  had  a  tatter 
order  than  Oliver  used  to  give ;  and,  clapping  his  hand  upon 
nis  sword-hilt,  he  said,  that  was  his  order.  I  told  him,  if  he 
hud  none  but  that,  it  was  not  sufficient  to  take  my  arms ; 
and  then  he  pulled  out  his  warrant,  and  I  read  it.  It  was 
signed  by  Wentworth  Armitage,  a  general  warrant  to  search 
all  persons  they  suspected,  and  so  left  the  power  to  the  soldiers 
at  their  pleasure.  They  came  to  us  at  Coalley-Hall,  about 
sunsetting  ;  and  I  caused  a  candle  to  be  lighted,  and  conveyed 
Peebles  into  the  room  where  my  arms  were.  My  arms  were 
near  the  kitchen  fire  ;  and  there  they  took  away  fowling- 
pieces,  pistols,  muskets,  carbines,  and  such  like,  better  than 
£20.  Then  Mr.  Peebles  asked  me  for  my  buff-coat ;  and  I 
told  him  they  had  no  order  to  take  away  my  apparel.  He 
told  me  I  was  not  to  dispute  their  orders  ;  but  if  1  would  not 
deliver  it,  he  would  carry  me  away  prisoner,  and  had  me  out 
of  doors.  Yet  he  let  me  alone  unto  the  next  morning,  that  I 
must  wait  upon  Sir  John,  at  Halifax  ;  and,  coming  before 
him,  he  threatened  me,  and  said,  if  I  did  not  send  the  coat, 
for  it  was  too  good  for  me  to  keep.  I  told  lTnn  it  was  not  in 
his  power  to  demand  my  apparel ;  and  he,  growing  into  a  fit, 
called  aie  rebel  and  traitor,  and  said,  if  I  did  not  send  the  coat 
with  all  speed,  he  would  send  me  where  I  did  not  like  well. 
I  told  him  I  was  no  rebel,  and  he  did  not  well  to  call  me  so 
before  these  soldiers  and  gentlemen,  to  make  me  the  mark 
for  every  one  to  shoot  at.  I  departed  the  room  ;  yet,  notwith- 
standing all  the  threatenings,  did  not  send  the  coat.  But  the 
next  day  he  sent  John  Lyster,  the  son  of  Mr.  Thomas  Lyster, 
of  Shipden  Hall,  for  this  coat,  with  a  letter,  verbatim  thus  : — 
1  Mr.  Hodson,  I  admire  you  will  play  the  child  so  with  me  as 
fou  have  done*  in  writing  such  an  inconsiderate  letter.  Let 
me  have  the  buff-coat  sent  forthwith,  otherwise  you  shall  so 
hear  from  me  as  will  not  very  well  please  you.'  1  was  not  at 
home  when  this  messenger  came  ;  but  I  had  ordered  my  wife 
not  to  deliver  it,  but,  if  they  would  take  it,  let  them  look  to 
it:  and  he  took  it  away  ;  and  one  of  Sir  John's  brethren  wore 
it  many  years  after.  They  sent  Captain  Butt  to  compound 
with  my  wife  about  it ;  but  I  sent  word  I  would  have  my  own 
again  -.  but  he  advised  me  to  take  a  price  for  it,  and  make  no 
more  ado.  I  said  it  was  hard  to  take  my  arms  and  apparel 
too  ;  I  had  laid  out  a  great  deal  of  money  for  them  ;  I  hoped 
they  did  not  mean  to  destroy  me,  by  taking  my  goods  illegally 
from  me.  He  said  he  would  make  up  the  matter,  if  I  pleased, 
betwixt  us;  and,  it  seems,  had  brought  Sir  John  to  a  price 
for  my  coat.  I  would  not  have  taken  jCIO  for  it ;  he  would 
have  given  abou'  £4  ;  but,  wanting  my  receipt  for  the  money, 
he  kept  both  sides,  and  I  had  never  satisfaction." — Memoirs 
of  Captain  Hodgson.     Edin.  1806,  p.  178. 


Note  D. 


On  his  dark  face  a  scorching  clime, 

And  toil,  had  done  the  work  of  lime. 

•  *  *  *  • 

Death  had  he  seen  by  sudden  blow, 

By  wasting  plague,  by  tortures  slow. — P.  298. 

In  this  character,  I  have  attempted  to  sketch  one  of  those 
v"est  Indian  adventurers,  who,  during  the  course  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  were  popularly  known  by  the  name  of  Buca- 
niers.     The  successes  of  the  English  in  the  predatory  incur- 
sions upon  Spanish  America,  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth, 


had  never  been  forgotten ;  and,  from  that  period  downward, 
the  exploits  of  Drake  and  Raleigh  were  imitated,  upon  a 
smaller  scale  indeed,  but  with  equally  desperate  valor,  by 
small  bauds  of  pirates,  gathered  from  all  nations,  but  chiefly 
French  and  English.  The  engrossing  policy  of  the  Spaniards 
tended  greatly  to  increase  the  number  of  these  freebooters, 
from  whom  their  commerce  and  colonies  suffered,  in  the  issue, 
dreadful  calamity.  The  Windward  Islands,  which  the  Span- 
iards did  not  deem  worthy  their  own  occupation,  had  been 
gradually  settled  by  adventurers  of  the  French  and  English 
nations.  But  Frederic  of  Toledo,  who  was  despatched  in 
1030,  with  a  powerful  fleet,  against  the  Dutch,  had  orders  from 
the  Court  of  Madrid  to  destroy  these  colonies,  whose  vicinity 
at  once  offended  the  pride  and  excited  the  jealous  suspicions 
of  their  Spanish  neighbors.  This  order  the  Spanish  Admiral 
executed  with  sufficient  rigor ;  but  the  only  consequence 
was,  that  the  planters,  being  rendered  desperate  by  persecu- 
tion, began,  under  the  well-known  name  of  Bucaniers,  to  com- 
mence a  retaliation  so  horridly  savage,  that  the  perusal  makes 
the  reader  shudder.  When  they  carried  on  their  depredations 
at  sea,  they  boarded,  without  respect  to  disparity  of  number, 
every  Spanish  vessel  that  came  in  their  way  ;  and,  demeaning 
themselves,  both  in  the  battle  and  after  the  conquest,  more 
like  demons  than  human  beings,  they  succeeded  in  impress- 
ing their  enemies  with  a  sort  of  superstitious  terror,  which 
rendered  them  incapable  of  offering  effectual  resistance.  From 
piracy  at  sea,  they  advanced  to  making  predatory  descents 
on  the  Spanish  territories  ;  in  which  they  displayed  the  same 
furious  and  irresistible  valor,  the  same  thirst  of  spoil,  at 
the  same  brutal  inhumanity  to  their  captives.  The  large 
treasures  which  they  acquired  in  their  adventures,  they  dissi- 
pated by  the  most  unbounded  licentiousness  in  gaming,  wo- 
men, wine,  and  debauchery  of  every  species.  When  thei« 
spoils  were  thus  wasted,  they  entered  into  some  new  associa- 
tion, and  undertook  new  adventures.  For  farther  particulars 
concerning  these  extraordinary  banditti,  the  reader  may  consult 
Raynal,  or  the  common  and  popular  book  called  the  History 
of  the  Bucaniers. 


Note  E. 


On  Marston  heath 


Met,  front  to  front,  the  ranks  of  death. — P.  299. 

The  well-known  and  desperate  battle  of  Long-Marstor.  Moor, 
which  terminated  so  unfortunately  for  the  cause  of  Charles, 
commenced  under  very  different  auspices.  Prince  Rupert 
had  marched  with  an  army  of  20,000  men  for  the  relief  of 
York,  then  besieged  by  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  at  the  head  of 
the  Parliamentary  army,  and  the  Earl  of  Leven,  with  the 
Scottish  auxiliary  forces.  In  this  he  so  completely  succeeded, 
that  he  compelled  the  besiegers  to  retreat  to  Marston  Moor, 
a  large  open  plain,  about  eight  miles  distant  from  the  city. 
Thither  they  were  followed  by  the  Prince,  who  had  no~w 
united  to  his  army  the  garrison  of  York,  probably  not  less  than 
ten  thousand  men  strong,  under  the  gallant  Marquis  (thea 
Earl)  of  Newcastle.  Whitelocke  has  recorded,  with  much 
impartiality,  the  following  particulars  of  this  eventful  day  :— 
"  The  right  wing  of  the  Parliament  was  commanded  by  Sir 
Thomas  Fairfax,  and  consisted  of  all  his  horse,  and  three 
regiments  of  the  Scots  horse  ;  the  left  wing  was  commanded 
by  the  Earl  of  Manchester  and  Colonel  Cromwell.  One  body 
of  their  foot  was  commanded  by  Lord  Fairfax,  and  consisted 
of  his  foot,  and  two  brigades  of  the  Pcots  foot  for  reserve  ;  anc 
the  main  body  of  the  rest  of  the  foot  was  commanded  bj 
General  Leven. 

"  The  right  wing  of  the  Prince's  army  was  commanded  bj 
the  Earl  of  Newcastle:  the  left  wing  by  the  Prince  himself  I 
and  the  main  body  by  General  Goring,  Sir  Charles  Lucas,  ant 


358 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Major-General  Porter.     Thus  were  both  sides  drawn  up  into 
battalia. 

*'  July  3d,  1644.  In  this  posture  both  armies  faced  each 
other,  and  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  fight  began 
between  them.  The  Prince,  with  his  left  wing,  fell  on  the  Par- 
liament's right  wing,  routed  them,  and  pursued  them  a  great 
way  !  the  like  did  General  Goring,  Lucas,  and  Porter,  upon 
Uie  F.irliament's  main  body.  The  three  generals,  giving  all  for 
lost,  hasted  out  of  the  field,  and  many  of  their  soldiers  fled,  and 
threw  down  their  arms  ;  the  King's  forces  too  eagerly  follow- 
ing them,  the  victory,  now  almost  achieved  by  them,  was  again 
matched  out  of  their  hands.  For  Colonel  Cromwell,  with  the 
brave  regiment  of  his  countrymen,  and  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax, 
having  rallied  some  of  his  horse,  fell  upon  the  Prince's  right 
wing,  where  the  Earl  of  Newcastle  was,  and  routed  them  ; 
and  the  rest  of  their  companions  rallying,  they  fell  altogether 
upon  the  divided  bodies  of  Rupert  and  Goring,  and  totally  dis- 
persed them,  and  obtained  a  complete  victory,  after  three  hours' 

fight. 

"  From  this  battle  and  the  pursuit,  some  reckon  were  buried 
7000  Englishmen  ;  all  agree  that  above  3000  of  the  Prince's 
men  were  slain  in  the  battle,  besides  those  in  the  chase,  and 
3000  prisoners  taken,  many  of  their  chief  officers,  twenty-five 
pieces  of  ordnance,  forty-seven  colors,  10,000  arms,  two  wag- 
ons of  carabins  and  pistols,  130  barrels  of  powder,  and  all  their 
bag  and  baggage." — Wiiitelocke's  Memoirs,  fol.  p.  89. 
Lond.  1682. 

Lord  Clarendon  informs  us,  that  the  King,  previous  to  re- 
ceiving the  true  account  of  the  battle,  had  been  informed,  by 
an  express  from  Oxford,  "  that  Prince  Rupert  had  not  only  re- 
lieved York,  but  totally  defeated  the  Scots,  with  many  partic- 
ulars to  confirm  it,  all  which  was  so  much  believed  there,  that 
they  made  public  fires  of  joy  for  the  victory." 


Note  F. 


Monckton  and  Mitton  told  the  news, 

How  troops  of  Roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 

And  many  a  bonny  Scot,  aghast, 

Spurring-  his  palfrey  northward,  past, 

Cursing  the  day  when  zeal  or  meed 

First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Tweed. — P.  302. 

Monckton  and  Mitton  are  villages  near  the  river  Ouse,  and 
not  very  distant  from  the  field  of  battle.  The  particulars  of 
the  action  were  violently  disputed  at  the  time  ;  but  the  follow- 
ing extract,  from  the  Manuscript  History  of  the  Baronial  House 
of  Somerville,  is  decisive  as  to  the  flight  of  the  Scottish  gen- 
eral, the  Earl  of  Leven.  The  particulars  are  given  by  the  au- 
thor of  the  history  on  the  authority  of  his  father,  then  the  rep- 
resentative of  the  family.  This  curious  manuscript,  has  been 
published  by  consent  of  my  noble  friend,  the  present  Lord  Som- 
erville. 

"  The  order  of  this  great  battell,  wherin  both  armies  was 
neer  oi'ane  equall  number,  consisting,  to  the  best  calculation, 
neer  to  three  score  thousand  men  upon  both  sydes,  I  shall  not 
take  upon  me  to  discry  ve  ;  albeit,  from  the  draughts  then  taken 
upon  the  place,  and  information  I  receaved  from  this  gentle- 
man, who  being  then  a  volunteer,  as  having  no  command,  had 
opportunitie  and  libertie  to  ryde  from  the  one  wing  of  the  armie 
to  the  other,  to  view  all  ther  several  squadrons  of  horse  and 
battalhons  cf  foot,  how  formed,  and  in  what  manner  drawn 
up,  with  every  other  circumstance  relating  to  the  fight,  and 
that  both  as  to  the  King's  armies  and  that  of  the  Parliament's, 
amongst  whom,  untill  the  engadgment,  he  went  from  statione 
to  statirne  to  observe  ther  order  and  forme  ;  but  that  the  de- 
Bcriptione  of  this  battell,  with  the  various  success  on  both  sides 
at  the  beginning,  with  the  loss  of  the  royal  armie,  and  the  sad 
effects  that  followed  that  misfortune  as  to  his  Majestie's  inter- 
est, he?  been  so  often  done  already  by  English  authors,  little  to 


our  commendatione,  how  justly  I  shall  not  dispute,  seing  the 
truth  is,  as  our  principall  generall  fled  that  night  neer  fourti* 
mylles  from  the  place  of  the  fight,  that  part  of  the  armie  where 
he  commanded  being  totallie  routed  ;  but  it  is  as  true,  that  much 
of  the  victorie  is  attributed  to  the  good  conduct  of  David  Les- 
selie,  lievetennent-generall  of  our  horse.  Cromwell  himself, 
that  minione  of  fortune,  but  the  rod  of  God's  wrath,  to  punish 
eftirward  three  rebellious  nations,  disdained  not  to  take  orders 
from  him,  albeit  then  in  the  same  qualitie  of  command  for  the 
Parliament,  as  being  lievetennent-general  to  the  Earl  of  Man- 
chester's horse,  whom,  with  the  assistance  of  the  Scots  horse, 
haveing  routed  the  Prince's  right  wing,  as  he  had  done  that  of 
the  Parliament's.  These  two  commanders  of  the  horse  upon 
that  wing  wisely  restrained  the  great  bodies  of  their  horse  from 
persuing  these  brocken  troups,  but,  wheelling  to  the  left-hand, 
falls  in  upon  the  naked  flanks  of  the  Prince's  main  battallion  of 
foot,  carying  them  doune  with  great  violence  ;  nether  mett 
they  with  any  great  resistance  untill  they  came  to  the  Marques 
of  Newcastle  his  battallione  of  White  Coats,  who,  first  pepper- 
ing them  soundly  with  ther  shott,  when  they  came  to  charge, 
stoutly  bore  them  up  with  their  picks  that  they  could  not  enter 
to  break  them.  Here  the  Parliament's  horse  of  that  wing  re- 
ceaved ther  greatest  losse,  and  a  stop  for  sometyme  putt  to  ther 
hoped-for  victorie  ;  and  that  only  by  the  stout  resistance  of  this 
gallant  battallione,  which  consisted  neer  of  four  thousand  foot, 
until  at  length  a  Scots  regiment  of  dragouns,  commanded  by 
Collonell  Frizeall,  with  other  two,  was  brought  to  open  them 
upon  some  hand,  which  at  length  they  did,  when  all  the  am- 
munitione  was  spent.  Having  refused  quarters,  every  man  fell 
in  the  same  order  and  ranke  wherein  he  had  foughten. 

"  Be  this  execution  was  done,  the  Prince  returned  from  the 
persuite  of  the  right  wing  of  the  Parliament's  horse,  which  he 
had  beatten  and  followed  too  farre,  to  the  losse  of  the  battell, 
which  certanely,  in  all  men's  opinions,  he  might  have  caryed 
if  he  had  not  been  too  violent  upon  the  pursuite  ;  which  gave 
his  enemies  upon  the  left-hand  opportunitie  to  disperse  and  cut 
doune  his  infantrie,  who,  haveing  cleared  the  field  of  all  the 
standing  bodies  of  foot,  wer  now,  with  many  » 
of  their  oune,  standing  ready  to  receave  the  charge  of  his  all- 
most  spent  horses,  if  he  should  attempt  it ;  which  the  Prince 
observeing,  and  seeing  all  lost,  he  retreated  to  Yorke  with  two 
thousand  horse.  Notwithstanding  of  this,  ther  was  that  night 
such  a  consternatione  in  the  Parliament  armies,  that  it's  be- 
lieved by  most  of  those  that  wer  there  present,  that  if  the  Prince, 
haveing  so  great  a  body  of  horse  inteire,  had  made  ane  onfall 
that  night,  or  the  ensueing  morning  be-tyme,  he  had  carryed 
the  victorie  out  of  ther  hands  ;  for  it's  certane,  by  the  morn- 
ing's light,  he  had  rallyed  a  body  often  thousand  men,  wherof 
ther  was  neer  three  thousand  gallant  horse.  These,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  toune  and  garrisoune  of  Yorke,  might  have 
done  much  to  have  recovered  the  victory,  for  the  loss  of  this 
battell  in  effect  lost  the  King  and  his  interest  in  the  three  king- 
domes  ;  his  Majestie  never  being  able  eftir  this  to  make  head 
in  the  north,  but  lost  his  garrisons  every  day. 

"  As  for  Generall  Lesselie,  in  the  beginning  of  this  flight 
haveing  that  part  of  the  army  quite  brocken,  whare  he  had 
placed  himself,  by  the  valour  of  the  Prince,  he  imagined,  and 
was  confermed  by  the  opinione  of  others  then  upon  the  place 
with  him,  that  the  battell  was  irrecoverably  lost,  seeing  they 
wer  fleeing  upon  all  hands  ;  theirfore  they  humblie  intreated 
his  excellence  to  reteir  and  wait  his  better  fortune,  which, 
without  farder  advyseing,  he  did  ;  and  never  drew  bridle  untill 
he  came  the  lenth  of  Leads,  having  ridden  all  that  night  with 
a  cloak  of  drap  de  berrie  about  him,  belonging  to  this  gentle- 
man of  whom  I  write,  then  in  his  retinue,  with  many  other 
officers  of  good  qualitie.  It  was  neer  twelve  the  next  day  be- 
for  they  had  the  certanety  who  was  master  of  the  field,  when 
at  length  ther  arryves  ane  expresse,  sent  by  David  Lesselie,  to 
acquaint  the  General  they  had  obtained  a  most  glorious  vie- 
tory,  and  that  the  Prince,  with  his  brocken  troupes,  was  fled 
from  Yorke.  This  intelligence  was  somewhat  amazeing  ta 
these  gentlemen  that  had  been  eye-witnesses  to  the  disorder  o< 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


350 


the  armie  before  ther  retearing,  and  had  then  accompanyed 
the  General  in  his  flight ;  who,  be.n;,  mich  weuryed  that  eve- 
ning of  the  batteil  with  ordering  of  h.'s  t rnie,  and  now  quite 
eper.t  with  his  long  journey  in  the  night,  had  casten  himselfe 
doune  upon  a  bed  to  rest,  when  this  gentleman  comeing  quy- 
etly  into  hit  chamber,  he  awoke,  and  hastily  cryes  out,  "  Lieve- 
tennent-co'lone.'l,  what  news?' — 'All  is  safe,  may  it  please 
your  E-xsellanoe  :  the  Parliament's  armie  lies  obtained  a  great 
v "'ctc;i7  ;'  and  lhen  delyvers  the  letter.  The  Generall,  upon 
fhe  hearing  of  this,  knocked  upon  his  breast,  and  sayes,  '  I 
would  to  God  I  had  died  upon  the  place  !'  and  then  opens  the 
letter,  which,  in  a  few  lines,  gave  ane  account  of  the  victory, 
and  in  the  c.  ,>se  pressed  his  speedy  returne  to  the  armie,  which 
he  did  the  next  day,  being  accompanyed  some  mylles  back  by 
this  gentleman,  who  then  takes  his  leave  of  him,  and  receaved 
at  parting  many  expressions  of  kyndenesse,  with  promises  that 
he  would  never  be  unmyndful  of  his  care  and  respect  towards 
him  ;  and  in  the  end  he  intreats  him  to  present  his  service  to 
all  his  friends  and  acquaintances  in  Scotland.  Thereftir  the 
Generall  sets  forward  in  his  journey  for  the  armie,  as  this  gen- 
tleman did  for  ,  in  order  to  his 
transportatione  for  Scotland,  where  he  arryved  sex  dayes  eftir 
the  fight  of  Mestoune  Muir,  and  gave  the  first  true  account  and 
descriptione  of  that  great  batteil,  wherein  the  Covenanters  then 
gloryed  soe  much,  that  they  impiously  boasted  the  Lord  had 
now  signally  appeared  for  his  cause  and  people ;  it  being  ordi- 
nary for  them,  dureing  the  whole  time  of  this  warre,  to  attrib- 
ute the  greatness  of  their  success  to  the  goodnes  and  justice 
of  ther  cause,  untill  Divine  Justice  trysted  them  with  some 
crosse  dispensatione,  and  then  you  might  have  heard  this  lan- 
guage from  them,  '  That  it  pleases  the  Lord  to  give  his  oune 
the  heavyest  end  of  the  tree  to  bear,  that  the  saints  and  the 
people  of  God  must  still  be  sufferers  while  they  are  here  away, 
that  the  malignant  party  was  God's  rod  to  punish  them  for 
ther  unthankfulnesse,  which  in  the  end  he  will  cast  into  the 
fire ;'  with  a  thousand  other  expressions  and  scripture  cita- 
tions, prophanely  and  blasphemously  uttered  by  them,  to  palli- 
ate ther  villainie  and  rebellion." — Memoires  of  the  Somer- 
villes.     Edin.  *L815. 


Note  Or. 


With  his  barb'd  horse,  fresh  tidings  say, 
Stout  Cromwell  has  redeemed  the  day. — P.  302. 

Cromwell,  with  his  regiment  of  cuirassiers,  had  a  principal 
share  in  turning  the  fate  of  the  day  at  Marston  Moor;  which 
was  equally  matter  of  triumph  to  the  Independents,  and  of 
grief  and  heart-burning  to  the  Presbyterians  and  to  the  Scot- 
tish. Principal  Baillie  expresses  his  dissatisfaction  as  fol- 
lows : — 

1  The  Independents  sent  up  one  quickly  to  assure  that  all 
the  gWy  of  that  nighf  was  theirs  ;  and  they  and  their  Major- 
General  Cromwell  had  done  it  all  there  alone  ;  but  Captain 
Stuart  afterward  showed  the  vanity  and  falsehood  of  their 
disgraceful  relation.  God  gave  us  that  victory  wonderfully. 
There  were  three  generals  on  each  side,  Lesley,  Fairfax,  and 
Manchester  ;  Rupert,  Newcastle,  and  King.  Within  half  an 
hour  and  less,  all  six  took  them  to  their  heels  ; — this  to  you 
alone.  The  disadvantage  of  the  ground,  and  violence  of  the 
flower  of  Prince  Rupert's  horse,  carried  all  our  right  wing 
down  ;  only  Eglinton  kept  ground,  to  his  great  loss  ;  his  lieu- 
tenant-crowner,  i  brave  man,  I  fear  shall  die,  and  his  son  Rob-' 
ert  be  mutilated  of  an  arm.  Lindsay  had  the  greatest  hazard 
of  any  ;  but  the  beginning  of  the  victory  was  from  David  Les- 
ly,  who  before  was  much  suspected  of  evil  designs ;  he,  with 
the  Scots  and  Cromwell's  horse,  having  the  advantage  of  the 
ground,  did  dissipate  all  before  them." — Baillie's  Letters 
"nd  Journals.     Edin.  1785,  8vo.  ii.  36. 


Note  H. 

Do  not  my  native  dales  prolong 

Of  Percy  Rede  the  tragic  song, 

Train1  d  forward  to  his  bloody  fill, 

By  Oirsonfield,  that  treacherous  Hall  ? — P.  302. 

In  a  poem,  entitled  "  The  Lay  of  the  Reedwater  Minstrel,' 
Newcastle,  1809,  this  tale,  with  many  others  peculiar  to  th« 
valley  of  the  Reed,  is  commemorated  : — "The  particulars  of 
the  traditional  story  of  Farcy  Reed  of  '^rougher-id  and  ti» 
Halls  of  Girsonfield,  the  author  had  from  ^  -es  ijndant  of  tfc* 
family  of  Reed.  From  his  account,  it  appears  that  Percival 
Reed,  Esquire,  a  keeper  of  Reedsdale,  was  betrayed  by  the 
Halls  (hence  denominated  the  false-hearted  Ha's)  to  a  band  of 
moss-troopers  of  the  name  of  Crosier,  who  slew  him  at  Bating- 
hope,  near  the  source  of  the  Reed. 

"  The  Halls  were,  after  the  murder  of  Parcy  Reed,  held  in 
such  universal  abhorrence  and  contempt  by  the  inhabitants  of 
Reedsdale,  for  their  cowardly  and  treacherous  behavior,  that 
they  were  obliged  to  leave  the  country."  In  another  passage, 
we  are  informed  that  the  ghost  of  the  injured  Borderer  is 
supposed  to  haunt  the  banks  of  a  brook  called  the  Pringle. 
These  Redes  of  Troughend  were  a  very  ancient  family,  as  may 
be  conjectured  from  their  deriving  their  surname  from  the 
river  on  which  they  had  their  mansion.  An  epitaph  on  one 
of  their  tombs  affirms,  that  the  family  held  their  lauds  of 
Troughend,  which  are  situated  on  the  Reed,  nearly  opposite  to 
Otterburn,  for  the  incredible  space  of  nine  hundred  Years. 


Note  I. 

And  near  the  spot  that  gave  me  name. 
The  moated  mound  of  Risingham, 
Where  Reed  upon  her  margin  sees 
Sweet  Woodburne1  s  cottages  and  trees, 
Some  ancient  sculptor's  art  has  shown 
An  outlaw's  image  on  the  stone. — P.  302. 

Risingham,  upon  the  river  Reed,  near  the  beautiful  hamlet 
of  Woodburn,  is  an  ancient  Roman  station,  formerly  called 
Habitancum.  Camden  says,  that  in  his  time  the  popular  ac- 
count bore,  that  it  had  been  the  abode  of  a  deity,  or  giant, 
called  Magon ;  and  appeals,  in  support  of  this  tradition,  as 
well  as  to  the  etymology  of  Risingham,  or  Reiseiiham,  which 
signifies,  in  German,  the  habitation  of  the  giants,  to  two  Ro- 
man altars  taken  out  of  the  river,  inscribed,  Deo  Mogonti 
Cadenorum.  About  half  a  mile  distant  from  Risingham, 
upon  an  eminence  covered  with  scattered  birch-trees  and  frag- 
ments of  rock,  there  is  cut  upon  a  large  rock,  in  alto  relievo, 
a  remarkable  figure,  called  Robin  of  Risingham,  or  Robin  of 
Reedsdale.  It  presents  a  hunter,  with  his  bow  raised  in  oikj 
hand,  and  in  the  other  what  seems  to  be  a  hare.  There  is  a 
quiver  at  the  back  of  the  figure,  and  he  is  dressed  in  a  long 
coat,  or  kirtle,  coming  down  to  the  knees,  and  meeting  close, 
with  a  girdle  bound  round  him.  Dr.  Horseley,  who  saw  a)\ 
monuments  of  antiquity  with  Roman  eyes,  inclines  to  think 
this  figure  a  Roman  archer :  and  certainly  (he  bow  is  ratr-ei 
of  the  ancient  size  than  of  that  which  was  so  formidable  in 
the  hands  of  the  English  archers  of  the  middle  ages.  But  the 
rudeness  of  the  whole  figure  prevents  our  founding  strongly 
upon  mere  inaccuracy  of  proportion.  The  popular  tradition 
is,  that  it  represents  a  giant,  whose  brother  resided  at  Wood- 
burn,  and  he  himself  at  Risingham.  It  adds,  that  they  sub- 
sisted by  hunting,  and  that  one  of  them,  finding  the  game  be- 
come too  scarce  to  support,  them,  poisoned  his  companion,  in 
whose  memory  the  monument  was  engraved.  What  strange 
and  tragic  circumstance  may  be  concealed  under  this  legend, 
or  whether  it  is  utterly  apocryphal,  it  is  now  impossible  to 
discover. 

The  name  of  Robin  of  Redesdale  was  given  to  one  of  th« 
Umfravilles,  Lords  of  Prudhoe   and  afterwards  to  one  Hilliard 


300 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


a  friend  and  follower  of  the  king-making  Earl  of  Warwick. 
This  person  commanded  an  army  of  Northamptonshire  and 
northern  men,  who  seized  on  and  beheaded  the  Earl  Rivers, 
father  to  Edward  the  Fourth's  queen,  and  his  son,  Sir  John 
Woodville. — See  Holinshed,  ad  annum,  1469. 


Note  K. 


Do  thou  revere 


The  statutes  of  the  Bucanier. — P.  302. 

The  "  statutes  of  the  Bucaniers"  were,  in  reality,  more  equi- 
table than  could  have  been  expected  from  the  state  of  society 
under  which  they  had  been  formed.  They  chiefly  related,  as 
may  readily  be  conjectured,  to  the  distribution  and  the  inherit- 
ance of  their  plunder. 

When  the  expedition  was  completed,  the  fund  of  prize-mon- 
ey acquired  was  thrown  together,  each  party  taking  his  oath 
that  lie  had  retained  or  concealed  no  part  of  the  common  stock. 
If  any  one  transgressed  in  this  important  particular,  the  pun- 
ishment was,  his  being  set  ashore  on  some  desert  key  or  island, 
to  shift  for  himself  as  he  could.  The  owners  of  the  vessel  had 
then  their  share  assigned  for  the  expenses  of  the  outfit.  These 
were  generally  old  pirates,  settled  at  Tobago,  Jamaica,  St.  Do- 
mingo, or  some  other  French  or  English  settlement.  The  sur- 
geon's and  carpenter's  salaries,  with  the  price  of  provisions 
and  ammunition,  were  also  defrayed.  Then  followed  the 
compensation  due  to  the  maimed  and  wounded,  rate?!  accord- 
ing to  the  damage  they  had  sustained  ;  as  six  hundred  pieces 
of  eight,  or  six  slaves,  for  the  loss  of  an  arm  or  leg,  and  so  in 
proportion. 

"  After  this  act  of  justice  and  humanity,  the  remainder  of 
the  booty  was  divided  into  as  many  shares  as  there  were  Buca- 
niers. The  commander  could  only  lay  claim  to  a*  single  share, 
as  the  rest ;  Jjut  they  complimented  him  with  two  or  three,  in 
proportion  as  he  had  acquitted  himself  to  their  satisfaction. 
When  the  vessel  was  not  the  property  of  the  whole  company, 
the  person  who  had  fitted  it  out,  and  furnished  it  with  necessary 
arms  and  ammunition,  was  entitled  to  a  third  of  all  the  prizes. 
Favor  had  never  any  influence  in  the  division  of  the  booty,  for 
every  share  was  determined  by  lot.  Instances  of  such  rigid 
justice  as  this  are  not  easily  met  with,  and  they  extended  even 
to  the  dead.  Their  share  was  given  to  the  man  who  was 
known  to  be  their  companion  when  alive,  and  therefore  their 
heir.  If  the  person  who  had  been  killed  had  no  intimate,  his 
part  was  sent  to  his  relations,  when  they  were  known.  If  there 
were  no  friends  nor  relations,  it  was  distributed  in  charity  to 
the  poor  and  to  churches,  which  were  to  pray  for  the  person  in 
whose  name  these  benefactions  were  given,  the  fruits  of  inhu- 
man, but  necessary  piratical  plunders." — Raynal's  History 
of  European  Settlements  in  the  East  and  West  Indies,  by 
Justamond.     Lond.  1776,  8vo.  iii.  p.  41. 


Note  L.     . 
The  course  of  Tees.—?.  306. 

The  view  from  Barnard  Castle  commands  the  rich  and  mag- 
nificent valley  of  Tees.  Immediately  adjacent  to  the  river, 
the  banks  are  very  thickly  wooded  ;  at  a  little  distance  they 
are  more  open  and  cultivated  ;  but,  being  interspersed  with 
hedge-rows,  and  with  isolated  trees  of  great  size  and  age,  they 
«rtill  retain  the  richness  of  woodland  scenery.  The  river  itself 
flows  in  a  deep  trench  of  solid  rock,  chiefly  limestone  and 
marble.  The  finest  view  of  its  romantic  course  is  from  a 
handsome  modern-built  bridge  over  the  Tees,  by  the  late  Mr. 
Morritt  of  Rokeby.  In  Leland's  time,  the  marble  quarries 
aeem  to  have  been  of  some  value.  "  Hard  under  the  cliff" by 
EgHston,  is  fonnd  on  eche  side  of  Tese  very  fair  marble,  wont 
Jo  be  taken  up  booth  by  marbelers  of  Barnardes  Castelle  and 


of  Egliston,  and  partly  to  have  been  wrought  by  them,  ar.d 
partly  sold  onwrought  to  others." — Itinerary.  Oxford,  1768 
8vo,  o.  88 


Note  M. 
Egliston'' s  gray  ruins. — P.  307. 

The  ruins  of  this  abbey,  or  priory  (for  Tanner  calls  it  the 
former,  and  Leland  the  latter),  are  beautifully  situated  upon 
the  angle,  formed  by  a  little  dell  called  Thorsgill,  at  its  junc- 
tion with  the  Tees.  A  good  part  of  the  religious  house  is  still 
in  some  degree  habitable,  but  the  church  is  in  ruins.  Egliston 
was  dedicated  to  St.  Mary  and  St.  John  the  Baptist,  and  is 
supposed  to  have  been  founded  by  Ralph  de  Multon  about  the 
end  of  Henry  the  Second's  reign.  There  were  formerly  the 
tombs  of  the  families  of  Rokeby,  Bowes,  and  Filz-Hugh. 


Note  N. 


the  mound, 


Raised  by  that  Legion  long  renowned, 

WJiosc  votive  shrine  asserts  their  claim, 

Of  pious,  faithful,  conquering  fame. — P.  307. 

Close  behind  the  George  Inn  at  Greta  Bridge,  there  is  a  well* 
preserved  Roman  encampment,  surrounded  with  a  triple  ditch, 
lying  between  the  river  Greta  and  a  brook  called  the  Tutta. 
The  four  entrances  are  easily  to  be  discerned.  Very  many  Ro- 
man altars  and  monuments  have  been  found  in  the  vicinity, 
most  of  which  are  preserved  at  Rokeby  by  my  friend  Mr.  Mor- 
ritt. Among  others  is  a  small  votive  altar,  with  the  inscrip- 
tion, leg.  vi.  vie.  p.  f.  f.,  which  has  been  rendered,  Legio. 
Sexta.  Victrix.  Pia.  Fortis.  Fidelis. 


Note  0. 


Rokebifs  turrets  high. — P.  307. 

Tins  ancient  manor  long  gave  name  to  a  family  by  whom  It 
is  said  to  have  been  possessed  from  the  Conquest  downward, 
and  who  are  at  different  times  distinguished  in  history.  It  was 
the  Baron  of  Rokeby  who  finally  defeated  the  insurrection  of 
the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  tempore  Hen.  IV.,  of  which 
Holinshed  gives  the  following  account : — "  The  King,  adver- 
tised hereof,  caused  a  great  armie  to  be  assembled,  and  came 
forward  with  the  same  towards  his  enemies  ;  but  yer  the  King 
came  to  Nottingham,  Sir  Thomas,  or  (as  other  copies  haue) 
Sir  Rafe  Rokesbie,  ShirirTe  of  Yorkeshire,  assembled  the  forces 
of  the  countrie  to  resist  the  Earle  and  his  power  ;  coming  to 
Grimbautbrigs,  beside  Knaresborough,  there  to  stop  them  the 
passage  ;  but  they  returning  aside,  got  to  Weatherbie,  and  so 
to  Tadcaster,  and  finally  came  forward  unto  Bramham-moor, 
near  to  Haizlewood,  where  they  chose  their  ground  meet  to 
fight  upon.  The  Shirirte  was  as  readie  to  giue  battel]  as.  the 
Erie  to  receiue  it  ;  and  so  with  a  standard  of  S.  George  spread, 
set  fiercelie  vpon  the  Earle,  who,  vnder  a  standard  of  his  owne 
armes,  encountered  his  aduersaries  with  great  manhood.  There 
was  a  sore  incounter  and  cruell  conflict  betwixt  the  parties,  but 
in  the  end  the  victorie  fell  to  th«  ShirifFe.  The  Lord  Bardolfe 
was  taken,  but  sore  wounded,  so  that  he  shortlie  after  died  of 
the  hurts.  As  for  the  Earle  of  Northumberland,  he  was  slain 
outright;  so  that  now  the  prophecy  was  fulfilled,  which  gaue 
an  inkling  of  this  his  heauy  hap  long  before,  namelie, 

'  Stirps  Persitina  periet  confusa  ruina.' 

For  this  Earle  was  the  stocke  and  maine  roote  of  all  that  were 
left  aliue,  called  by  the  name  of  Persie  ;  and  of  manie  more  by 
diuers  slaughters  dispatched.     For  whose  misfortune  the  peo 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


361 


pie  were  not  a  little  sorrie,  making  report  of  the  gentleman's 
valiantnesse,  renowne,  and  honour,  and  applieing  vnto  him 
'•erteine  lamentable  verses  out  of  Lucaine,  saieng, 

1  Sed  nos  nee  sanguis,  nee  tantum  vulnera  nostri 
Affecere  senis  :  quantum  gestata  per  urbem 
Ora  ducis,  quae  transfixo  deformia  pilo 
/idimus.' 

For  his  head,  full  of  siluer  horie  haires,  being  put  upon  a  stake, 
was  openlie  carried  through  London,  and  set  vpon  the  bridge 
of  the  same  eitie  :  in  like  manner  was  the  Lord  Bardolfes." — 
Holinshkd's  Chronicles.  Lond.  1808,  4to,  iii.  45.  The 
Rokeby,  or  Rokesby  family,  continued  to  be  distinguished  un- 
til the  great  Civil  War,  when,  having  embraced  the  cause  of 
Charles  I.,  they  suffered  severely  by  fines  and  confiscations. 
The  estate  then  passed  from  its  ancient  possessors  to  the  family 
of  the  Robinsons,  from  whom  it  was  purchased  by  the  father 
of  my  valued  friend,  the  present  proprietor. 


Note  P. 


A  stern  and  lone,  yet  lovely  road, 

As  e'er  the  foot  of  Minstrel  trade.—?.  308. 

What  follows  is  an  attempt  to  describe  the  romantic  glen,  or 
rather  ravine,  through  which  the  Greta  finds  a  passage  between 
Rokeby  and  Mortham  ;  the  former  situated  upon  the  left  bank 
c  f  Greta,  the  latter  on  the  right  bank,  about  half  a  mile  nearer 
to  its  junction  with  the  Tees.  The  river  runs  with  very  great 
lapidity  over  a  bed  of  solid  rock,  broken  by  many  shelving  de- 
scents, down  which  the  stream  dashes  with  great  noise  and 
impetuosity,  vindicating  its  etymology,  which  has  been  derived 
from  the  Gothic,  Oridan,  to  clamor.  The  banks  partake  of 
the  same  wild  and  romantic  character,  being  chiefly  lofty  cliffs 
of  limestone  rock,  whose  gray  color  contrasts  admirably  with 
the  various  trees  and  shrubs  which  find  root  among  their  crev- 
ices, as  well  as  with  the  hue  of  the  ivy,  which  clings  around 
them  in  profusion,  and  hangs  down  from  their  projections  in 
long  sweeping  tendrils.  At  other  points  the  rocks  give  place  to 
precipitous  banks  of  earth,  bearing  large  trees  intermixed  with 
copsewood.  In  one  spot  the  dell,  which  is  elsewhere  very 
narrow,  widens  for  a  space  to  leave  room  for  a  dark  grove  of 
yew-trees,  intermixed  here  and  there  with  aged  pines  of  un- 
common size.  Directly  opposite  to  this  sombre  thicket,  the 
cliffs  on  the  other  side  of  the  Greta  are  tall,  white,  and  fringed 
with  all  kinds  of  deciduous  shrubs.  The  whole  scenery  of  this 
spot  is  so  much  adapted  to  the  ideas  of  superstition,  that  it  has 
acquired  the  name  of  Blockula,  from  the  place  where  the 
Swedish  witches  were  supposed  to  hold  their  Sabbath.  The 
dell,  however,  has  superstitions  of  its  own  growth,  for  it  is 
supposed  to  be  haunted  by  a  female  spectre,  called  the  Dobie 
of  Mortham.  The  cause  assigned  for  her  appearance  is  a  la- 
dy's having  been  whilom  murdered  in  the  wood,  in  evidence 
of  v*  nich,  her  blood  is  shown  upon  the  stairs  of  the  old  tower 
at  Mortham.  But  whether  she  was  slain  by  a  jealous  husband, 
or  by  savage  banditti,  or  by  an  uncle  who  coveted  her  estate, 
or  by  a  rejected  lover,  are  points  upon  which  the  traditions  of 
Rokeby  do  not  enable  us  to  decide. 


Note  Q. 

How  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar. — P.  309. 

That  this  is  a  general  superstition,  is  well  known  to  all  who 
have  been  on  ship-board,  or  who  have  conversed  with  sea- 
men. The  most  formidable  whistler  that  I  remember  to  have 
met  with  was  the  apparition  of  a  certain  Mrs.  Leakey,  who, 
■bout  1636,  resided,  we  are  told,  at  Mynehead,  in  Somerset, 
where  her  only  son  drove  a  considerable  trade  between  that 
46 


port  and  JJTaterford,  and  was  owner  of  several  vessels.  The 
old  gentlewoman  was  of  a  social  disposition,  and  so  acceptable 
to  her  friends,  that  they  used  to  say  to  her  and  to  each  other, 
it  were  pity  such  an  excellent  good-natured  old  lady  should 
die  ;  to  which  she  was  wont  to  reply,  that  whatever  p.easure 
they  might  find  in  her  company  just  now,  they  would  not 
greatly  like  to  see  or  converse  with  her  after  death,  which  nev- 
ertheless she  was  apt  to  think  might  happen.  Accordingly, 
after  her  death  and  funeral,  she  began  to  appear  to  various 
persons  by  night  and  by  noonday,  in  her  own  house,  in  the 
town  and  fields,  at  sea  and  upon  shore.  So  far  had  she  de- 
parted from  her  former  urbanity,  that  she  is  recorded  to  have 
kicked  a  doctor  of  medicine  for  his  impolite  negligence  in 
omitting  to  hand  her  over  a  stile.  It  was  also  her  humor  to 
appear  upon  the  quay,  and  call  for  a  boat.  But  especially  so 
soon  as  any  of  her  son's  ships  approached  the  harbor,  "  this 
ghost  would  appear  in  the  same  garb  and  likeness  as  when  she 
was  alive,  and,  standing  at  the  mainmast,  would  blow  with  a 
whistle,  and  though  it  were  never  so  great  a  calm,  yet  immediate- 
ly there  would  arise  a  most  dreadful  storm,  that  would  break, 
wreck,  and  drown  ship  and  goods."  When  she  had  thus  pro- 
ceeded until  her  son  had  neither  credit  to  freight  a  vessel,  nor 
could  have  procured  men  to  sail  in  it,  she  began  to  attack  the 
persons  of  his  family,  and  actually  strangled  their  only  child  in 
the  cradle.  The  rest  of  her  story,  shov  ing  how  the  spectre 
looked  over  the  shoulder  of  her  daughter-in-law  while  dressing 
her  hair  at  a  looking-glass,  and  how  Mrs.  Leakey  the  younger 
took  courage  to  address  her,  and  how  the  beldam  dispatched 
her  to  an  Irish  prelate,  famous  for  his  crimes  and  misfortunes, 
to  exhort  him  to  repentance,  and  to  apprize  him  that  otherwise 
he  would  be  hanged,  and  how  the  bishop  was  satisfied  with 
replying,  that  if  he  was  born  to  be  hanged,  he  should  not  b6 
drowned ; — all  these,  with  many  more  particulars,  may  be 
found  at  the  end  of  one  of  John  Dunton's  publications,  called 
Athenianism,  London,  1710,  where  the  tale  is  engrossed  undei 
the  title  of  The  Apparition  Evidence. 


Note  R. 


Of  Erich's  cap  and  Elmo's  light.—?.  309. 

11  This  Ericus,  King  of  Sweden,  in  his  time  was  held  secotM 
to  none  in  the  magical  art ;  and  he  was  so  familiar  with  the 
evil  spirits,  which  he  exceedingly  adored,  that  which  way 
soever  he  turned  his  cap,  the  wind  would  presently  blow  that 
way.  From  this  occasion  he  was  called  Windy  Cap  ;  and 
many  men  believed  that  Regnerus,  King  of  Denmark,  by  the 
conduct  of  this  Ericus,  who  was  his  nephew,  did  happily 
extend  his  piracy  into  the  most  remote  parts  of  the  earth,  and 
conquered  many  countries  and  fenced  cities  by  his  cunning, 
and  at  last  was  his  coadjutor ;  that  by  the  consent  of  the 
nobles,  he  should  be  chosen  King  of  Sweden,  which  continue'' 
a  long  time  with  him  very  happily,  until  he  died  of  old  age 
— Olaus,  ut  supra,  p.  45. 


Note  S. 


The  Demon  Frigate.— P.  309. 

This  is  an  allusion  to  a  well-known  nautical  superstition 
concerning  a  fantastic  vessel,  called  by  sailors  the  Flying 
Dutchman,  and  supposed  to  be  seen  about  the  latitude  of  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope.  She  is  distinguished  from  earthly  vesseLi 
by  bearing  a  press  of  sail  when  all  others  are  unable,  from 
stress  of  weather,  to  show  an  inch  of  canvas.  The  cause  of 
her  wandering  is  not  altogether  certain ;  but  the  general  ac- 
count is,  that  she  was  originally  a  vessel  loaded  with  great 
wealth,  on  board  of  which  some  horrid  act  of  murder  and 
piracy  had  been  committed  ;  that  the  plague  broke  out  among 
he  wicked  crew  who  had  perpetrated  the  crime,  and  that  they 


362 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS, 


Bailed  ir.  vain  from  port  to  port,  offering,  as  the  price  of  shelter, 
the  whole  of  their  ill-gotten  wealth  ;  that  they  wefe  excluded 
from  every  harbor,  for  fear  of  the  contagion  which  was  devour- 
ing them  ;  and  that,  as  a  punishment  of  their  crimes,  the  appa- 
rition of  the  ship  still  continues  to  haunt  those  seas  in  which 
the  catastrophe  took  place,  and  is  considered  by  the  mariners 
as  the  worst  of  all  possible  omens. 

My  late  lamented  friend,  Dr.  John  Leyden,  has  introduced 
this  phenomenon  into  his  Scenes  of  Infancy,  imputing,  with 
poetical  ingenuity,   the  dreadful  judgment  to  the  first   ship 
which  commenced  the  slave  trade  : — 
• 

"  Stout  was  the  ship,  from  Benin's  palmy  shore 
That  first  the  weight  of  barter'd  captives  bore  ; 
Bedinim'd  with  blood,  the  sun  with  shrinking  beams 
Beheld  her  bounding  o'er  the  ocean  streams  ; 
But,  ere  the  moon  her  silver  horns  had  rear'd, 
Amid  the  crew  the  speckled  plague  appear'd. 
Faint  and  despairing,  on  their  watery  bier, 
To  every  friendly  shore  the  sailors  steer  ; 
Repell'd  from  port  to  port,  they  sue  in  vain, 
And  track  with  slow,  unsteady  sail  the  main. 
Where  ne'er  the  bright  and  buoyant  wave  is  seen 
To  streak  with  wandering  foam  the  sea-weeds  green, 
Towers  the  tall  mast,  a  lone  and  leafless  tree, 
Till  self-impel  I'd  amid  the  waveless  sea  ■ 
Where  summer  breezes  ne'er  were  nearO.  to  sing, 
Nor  hovering  snow-birds  spread  the  downy  wing, 
Fix'd  as  a  rock  amid  the  boundless  plain, 
The  yellow  stream  pollutes  the  stagnant  main, 
Till  far  through  night  the  funeral  flames  aspire, 
As  the  red  lightning  smites  the  ghastly  pyre. 

"  Still  doom'd  by  fate  on  weltering  billows  roll'd, 
Along  the  deep  their  restless  course  to  hold, 
Scenting  the  storm,  the  shadowy  sailors  guide 
The  prow  with  sails  opposed  to  wind  and  tide ; 
The  Spectre  Ship,  in  livid  glimpsing  light, 
Glares  baleful  on  the  shuddering  watch  at  night, 
Unblest  of  God  and  man  ! — Till  time  shall  end, 
Its  view  strange  horror  to  the  storm  shall  lend." 


Note  T. 


By  some  desert  isle  or  key. — P.  309. 

What  contributed  much  to  the  security  of  the  Bucaniers 
about  the  Windward  Islands,  was  the  great  number  of  little 
islets,  called  in  that  country  keys.  These  are  small  sandy 
patches,  appearing  just  above  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  covered 
only  with  a  few  bushes  and  weeds,  but  sometimes  affording 
springs  of  water,  and,  in  general,  much  frequented  by  turtle. 
Such  little  uninhabited  spots  afforded  the  pirates  good  harbors, 
either  for  refitting  or  for  the  purpose  of  ambush  ;  they  were 
occasionally  the  hiding-place  of  their  treasure,  and  often  af- 
forded a  shelter  to  themselves.  As  many  of  the  atrocities 
which  they  practised  on  their  prisoners  were  committed  in 
such  spots,  there  are  some  of  these  keys  which  even  now  have 
an  indifferent  reputation  among  seamen,  and  where  they  are 
with  difficulty  prevailed  on  to  remain  ashore  at  night,  on  ac- 
count of  the  visionary  terrors  incident  to  places  which  have 
been  thus  contaminated. 


Note  U. 

Before  the  gate  of  Mortham  stood.— -P.  310. 

The  castle  of  Mortham,  which  Leland  terms  "Mr.  Rokes- 

by's  Place,  in  ripu  ciler,  scant  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Greta 

Bridge,  and  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beneath  into  Tees,"  is  a 

picturesque  tower,  surrounded  by  buildings  of  different  ages, 


now  converted  into  a  farm-house  and  offices.  The  battlement* 
of  the  tower  itself  are  singularly  elegant,  the  architect  having 
broken  them  at  regular  intervals  into  different  heights  ;  while 
those  at  the  corners  of  the  tower  project  into  octangular  tur- 
rets. They  are  also  from  space  to  space  covered  with  stones 
laid  across  them,  as  in  modern  embrasures,  the  whole  forming 
an  uncommon  and  beautiful  effect.  The  surrounding  build- 
ings are  of  a  less  happy  form,  being  pointed  into  high  and  steep 
roofs.  A  wall,  with  embrasures,  encloses  the  southern  front, 
where  a  low  portal  arch  affords  an  entry  to  what  was  the  cas- 
tle-court. At  some  distance  is  most  happily  placed,  between 
the  stems  of  two  magnificent  elms,  the  monument  alluded  to 
in  the  text.  It  is  said  to  have  been  brought  from  the  ruins  of 
Egliston  Priory,  and,  from  the  armory  with  which  it  is  richly 
carved,  appears  to  have  been  a  tomb  of  the  Fitz-Hughs. 

The  situation  of  Mortham  is  eminently  beautiful,  occupying 
a  high  bank,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  Greta  winds  out  of 
the  dark,  narrow,  and  romantic  dell,  which  the  text  has  at- 
tempted to  describe,  and  flows  onward  through  a  more  open 
valley  to  meet  the  Tees  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
castle.  Mortham  is  surrounded  by  old  trees,  happily  and 
widely  grouped  with  Mr.  Morritt's  new  plantations. 


Note  V. 


There  dig;  and  tomb  your  precious  heap, 
And  bid  the  dead  your  treasure  keep. — P.  311. 

If  time  did  not  permit  the  Bucaniers  to  lavish  away  their 
plunder  in  their  usual  debaucheries,  they  were  wont  to  hide 
it,  with  many  superstitious  solemnities,  in  the  desert  islands 
and  keys  which  they  frequented,  and  where  much  treasure, 
whose  lawless  owners  perished  without  reclaiming  it,  is  still 
•nppOwd  to  be  concealed.  The  most  cruel  of  mankind  are 
often  the  most  superstitious ;  and  these  pirates  are  said  to 
have  had  recourse  to  a  horrid  ritual,  in  order  to  secure  an 
unearthly  guardian  to  their  treasures.  They  killed  a  negro 
or  Spaniard,  and  buried  him  with  the  treasure,  believing  that 
his  spirit  would  haunt  the  spot,  and  terrify  away  all  intruders. 
I  cannot  produce  any  other  authority  on  which  this  custom  is 
ascribed  to  them  than  that  of  maritime,  tradition,  which  is, 
however,  amply  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of  poetry. 


Note  W. 


The  power 


That  unsubdued  and  lurking  lies 
To  take  the  felon  by  surprise, 
And  force  him,  as  by  magic  spell, 
In  his  despite  his  guilt  to  tell. — P.  311. 

All  who  are  conversant  with  the  administration  of  criminal 
'justice,  must  remember  many  occasions  in  which  malefactors 
appear  to  have  conducted  themselves  with  a  species  of  in- 
fatuation, either  by  making  unnecessary  confidences  respecting 
their  guilt,  or  by  sudden  and  involuntary  allusions  to  circum- 
stances by  which  it  could  not  fail  to  be  exposed.  A  remarka- 
ble instance  occurred  in  the  celebrated  case  of  Eugene  Aram 
A  skeleton  being  found  near  Knares borough,  was  supposed 
by  the  persons  who  gathered  around  the  spot,  to  be  the  re 
mains  of  one  Clarke,  who  had  disappeared  some  years  before, 
under  circumstances  leading  to  a  suspicion  of  his  having  beer 
murdered.  One  Houseman,  who  had  mingled  in  the  crowd, 
suddenly  said,  while  looking  at  the  skeleton,  and  hearing  the 
opinion  which  was  buzzed  around,  "  That  is  no  more  Dan 
Clarke's  bone  than  it  is  mine  !" — a  sentiment  expressed  so 
positively,  and  with  such  peculiarity  of  manner,  as  to  lead  all 
who  heard  him  to  infer  that  he  must  necessarily  know  where 
the  real  body  had  been  interred.     Accordingly,  being  appro 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


Job 


hended,  he  confessed  having  assisted  Eugene  Aram  to  murder 
Clarke,  and  to  hide  his  body  in  Saint  Robert's  Cave.  It  hap- 
pened to  the  autJ  or  himself,  while  conversing  with  a  person 
accused  of  an  atrocious  crime,  for  the  purpose  of  rendering 
him  professional  assistance  upon  his  trial,  to  hear  the  prisoner, 
after  the  most  solemn  and  reiterated  protestations  that  he  was 
gaiit  ass,  suddenly,  and,  as  it  were,  involuntarily,  in  the  course 
•  f  »  i  communications,  make  such  an  admission  as  was  alto- 
gethei  incompatible  with  innocence. 


Note  X. 


Brackenbury' s  dismal  tower. — P.  314. 

This  tower  has  been  already  mentioned.  It  is  situated  near 
the  northeastern  extremity  of  the  wall  which  encloses  Bar- 
nard Castle,  and  is  traditionally  said  to  have  been  the  prison. 
By  an  odd  coincidence,  it  bears  a  name  which  we  naturally 
connect  with  imprisonment,  from  its  being  that  of  Sir  Robert 
Brackenbury,  lieutenant  of  the  Tower  of  London  under  Ed- 
ward IV.  and  Richard  III.  There  is,  indeed,  some  reason  to 
conclude,  that,  the  tower  may  actually  have  derived  the  name 
from  that  family,  for  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury  himself  possessed 
considerable  property  not  far  from  Barnard  Castle. 


Note  Y. 


Nobles  and  knights,  so  proud  of  late, 
Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 

Right  heavy  shall  his  ransom  be, 

Unless  that  maid  compound  with  thee ! — P.  314. 

After  the  battle  of  Marston  Moor,  the  Earl  of  Newcastle 
retired  beyond  sea  in  disgust,  and  many  of  his  followers  laid 
down  their  arms,  and  made  the  best  composition  they  could 
with  the  Committees  of  Parliament.  Fines  were  imposed 
upon  them  in  proportion  to  their  estates  and  degrees  of  delin- 
quency, and  these  fines  were  often  bestowed  upon  such  per- 
sons as  had  deserved  well  of  the  Commons.  In  some  circum- 
stances it  happened,  that  the  oppressed  cavaliers  were  fain  to 
form  family  alliances  with  some  powerful  person  among  the 
triumphant  party.  The  whole  of  Sir  Robert  Howard's  excel- 
lent comedy  of  The  Committee  turns  upon  the  plot  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Day  to  enrich  their  family,  by  compelling  Arabella, 
whose  estate  was  under  sequestration,  to  marry  their  son 
Abel,  as  the  rir'ce  by  which  she  was  to  compound  with  Par- 
liament for  delinquency  ;  that  is,  for  attachment  to  the  royal 


Note  Z. 


The  Indian,  prowling  for  his  prey, 

Who  hears  the  settlers  track  his  way. — P.  315. 

The  patience,  abstinence,  and  ingenuity,  exerted  by  the 
North  American  Indians,  when  in  pursuit  of  plunder  or  ven- 
geance, is  the  most  distinguished  feature  in  their  character ; 
and  the  activity  and  address  which  they  display  in  their  re- 
treat is  equally  surprising.  Adair,  whose  absurd  hypothesis 
and  turgid  style  do  not  affect  the  general  authenticity  of  his 
anecdotes,  has  recorded  an  instance  which  seems  incredible. 

"  When  the  Chickasah  nation  was  engaged  in  a  former  war 
with  the  Vuskohge,  one  of  their  young  warriors  set  off  against 

them  to  revenge  the  blood  of  a  near  relation He 

went  through  the  most  unfrequented  and  thick  parts  of  the 
woods,  as  such  a  dangerous  enterprise  required,  till  he  arrived 
opposite  to  the  great  and  old  beloved  town  of  refuge,  Koo- 
lah,  v  inch  stands  high  on  the  eastern  side  of  a  bold  river,  about 


250  yards  broad,  that  runs  by  the  late  dangerous  Albehama- 
Fort,  down  to  the  black  poisoning  Mobile,  and  so  into  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico.  There  he  concealed  himself  urnler  ewer  of 
the  top  of  a  fallen  pine-tree,  in  view  of  the  ford  of  the  old 
trading-path,  where  the  enemy  now  and  then  pass  the  river  in 
their  light  poplar  canoes.  All  his  war-store  of  provisions  con- 
sisted of  three  stands  of  barbicued  venison,  till  he  had  an  op- 
portunity to  revenge  blood,  and  return  home.  He  waited  with 
watchfulness  and  patience  almost  three  days,  when  a  young 
man,  a  woman,  and  a  girl,  passed  a  little  wide  of  him  an  hour 
before  sunset.  The  former  he  shot  down,  tomahawked  the 
other  two,  and  scalped  each  of  them  in  a  trice,  in  full  view  oi 
the  town.  By  way  of  bravado,  he  shaked  the  scalps  before 
them,  sounding  the  awful  death-whoop,  and  set  off  along  the 
trading-path,  trusting  to  his  heels,  while  a  great  many  of  the 
enemy  ran  to  their  arms  and  gave  chase.  Seven  miles  from 
thence  he  entered  the  great  blue  ridge  of  the  Apalache  Moun- 
tains. About  an  hour  before  day  he  had  run  over  seventy 
miles  of  that  mountainous  tract  ;  then,  after  sleeping  two 
hours  in  a  sitting  posture,  leaning  his  back  against  a  tree,  he 
set  off  again  with  fresh  speed.  As  he  threw  away  the  venison 
when  he  found  himself  pursued  by  the  enemy,  he  was  obliged 
to  support  nature  with  such  herbs,  roots,  and  nuts,  as  his  sharp 
eyes,  with  a  running  glance,  directed  him  to  snatch  up  in  his 
course.  Though  I  often  have  rode  that  war-path  alone,  when 
delay  might  have  proved  dangerous,  and  with  as  fine  and 
strong  horses  as  any  in  America,  it  took  me  five  days  to  ride 
from  the  aforesaid  Koosah  to  this  sprightly  warrior's  place  in 
the  Chickasah  country,  the  distance  of  300  computed  miles : 
yet  he  ran  it,  and  got  home  safe  and  well  at  about  eleven 
o'clock  of  the  third  day,  which  was  only  one  day  and  a  half 
and  two  nights." — Adair's  History  of  the  American  In- 
dians.   Lond.  1775,  4to.  p.  395. 


Note  2  A. 


In  Redesdale  his  youth  had  heard 

Each  art  her  wily  dalesmen  dared, 

When  Rooken-edge,  and  Redswair  high, 

To  bugle  rang  and  blood-hound1  s  cry. — P.  315. 

"  What  manner  of  cattle-stealers  they  are  that  inhabit  these 
valleys  in  the  marches  of  both  kingdoms,  John  Lesley,  a  Scotche 
man  himself,  and  Bishop  of  Ross,  will  inform  you.  They 
sally  out  of  their  own  borders  in  the  night,  in  troops,  through 
unfrequented  by-ways  and  many  intricate  windings.  All  the 
day-time  they  refresh  themselves  and  their  horses  in  lurking 
holes  they  had  pitched  upon  before,  till  they  arrive  in  the  dark 
in  thefce  places  they  have  a  design  upon.  As  soon  as  they 
have  seized  upon  the  booty,  they,  in  like  manner,  return  home 
in  the  night,  through  blind  ways,  and  fetching  many  a  com- 
pass. The  more  skilful  any  captain  is  to  pass  through  those 
wild  deserts,  crooked  turnings,  and  deep  precipices,  in  the 
thickest  mists,  his  reputation  is  the  greater,  and  he  is  looked 
upon  as  a  man  of  an  excellent  head.  And  they  are  so  very 
cunning,  that  they  seldom  have  their  booty  taken  from  them, 
unless  sometimes  when,  by  the  help  of  bloodhounds  following 
them  exactly  upon  the  tract,  they  may  chance  to  fall  into  uie 
hands  of  their  adversaries.  When  being  taken,  they  have  sc 
much  persuasive  eloquence,  and  so  many  smooth  insinuating 
words  at  command,  that  if  they  do  not  move  their  judges,  nay, 
and  even  their  adversaries  (notwithstanding  the  severity  of  their 
natures)  to  have  mercy,  yet  they  incite  them  to  admiration 
and  compassion." — Camden's  Britannia. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  valleys  of  Tyne  and  Reed  were,  in 
ancient  times,  so  inordinately  addicted  to  these  depredations, 
that  in  15G4,  the  Incorporated  Merchant-adventurers  of  New 
castle  made  a  law  that  none  born  in  these  districts  should  be 
admitted  apprentice.  The  inhabitants  are  stated  to  be  sc 
generally  addicted  to  rapine,  that  no  faith  should  be  reposed 
in  those  proceeding  from  "such  lewde  and  wicked  progem 


3G4 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


tors."  This  regulation  continued  to  stand  unrepealed  until 
1771.  A  beggar,  in  an  old  play,  describes  himself  as  "  born 
in  Redesdale,  in  Northumberland,  and  come  of  a  wight-riding 
surname,  called  the  Robsons,  good  honest  men  and  true, 
saving  a  little  shifting  for  their  living,  God  help  them!" — 
a  description  which  would  have  applied  to  most  Borderers  on 
both  sides. 

Reidswair,  famed  for  a  skirmish  to  which  it  gives  name  [see 
Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  15],  is  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
Carter-fell,  which  divides  England  from  Scotland.  The  Roo- 
*en  is  a  place  upon  Reedvvater.  Bertram,  being  described  as 
a  native  of  these  dales,  where  the  habits  of  hostile  depreda- 
tion long  survived  the  union  of  the  crowns,  may  have  been, 
in  some  degree,  prepared  by  education  "for  the  exercise  of  a 
similar  trade  in  the  wars  of  the  Bucaniers. 


Note  2  B. 


Hiding  his  face,  lest  foemen  spy 

The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye. — P.  315. 

After  one  of  the  recent  battles,  in  which  the  Irish  rebels 
were  defeated,  one  of  their  most,  active  leaders  was  found  in  a 
bog,  in  which  he  was  immersed  up  to  the  shoulders,  while  his 
head  was  concealed  by  an  impending  ledge  of  turf.  Being  de- 
tected and  seized,  notwithstanding  his  precaution,  he  became 
solicitous  to  know  how  his  retreat  had  been  discovered.  "  I 
caught,"  answered  the  Sutherland  Highlander,  by  whom  he 
was  taken,  "  the  sparkle  of  your  eye."  Those  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  mark  hares  upon  their  form,  usually  discover  them  by 
the  same  circumstance.1 


Note  2  C. 

Here  stood  a  wretch,  prepared  to  change 
His  soul's  redemption  for  revenge! — P.  317. 

It  is  agreed  by  all  the  writers  upon  magic  and  witchcraft, 
that  revenge  was  the  most  common  motive  for  the  pretended 
compact  between  Satan  and  his  vassals.  The  ingenuity  of 
Reginald  Scot  has  very  happily  stated  how  such  an  opinion 
came  to  root  itself,  not  only  in  the  minds  of  the  public  and  of 
the  judges,  but  even  in  that  of  the  poor  wretches  themselves 
who  were  accused  of  sorcery,  and  were  often  firm  believers  in 
their  own  power  and  their  own  guilt. 

"  One  sort  of  such  as  are  said  to  be  witches,  are  women 
which  be  commonly  old,  lame,  blear-eyed,  pale,  foul,  and  full 
of  wrinkles ;  poor,  sullen,  superstitious,  or  papists,  or  such  as 
know  no  religion  ;  in  whose  drowsie  minds  the  devil  hath  got- 
ten a  fine  seat  ;  so  as  what  mischief,  mischance,  calamity,  or 
slaughter  is  brought  to  pass,  they  are  easily  perswaded  the 
same  is  done  by  themselves,  imprinting  in  their  minds  an  ear- 
nest and  constant  imagination  thereof These  go  from 

house  to  house,  and  from  door  to  door,  for  a  pot  of  milk,  yest, 
drink,  pottage,  or  some  such  relief,  without  the  which  they 
could  hardly  live  ;  neither  obtaining  for  their  service  or  pains, 
nor  yet  by  their  art,  nor  yet  at  the  devil's  hands  (with  whom 
they  are  said  to  make  a  perfect  and  visible  bargain),  either 
beauty,  money,  promotion,  wealth,  pleasure,  honour,  knowl- 
edge, learning,  or  any  other  benefit  whatsoever. 

"  It  falleth  out  many  a  time,  that  neither  their  necessities 
nor  their  expectation  is  answered  or  served  in  those  places 
where  they  beg  or  borrow,  but  rather  their  lewdness  is  by  their 
neighbours  reproved.  And  farther,  in  tract  of  time  the  witch 
waxeth  odious  and  tedious  to  her  neighbours,  and  they  again 
are  despised  and  despited  of  her ;  so  as  sometimes  she  curseth 
one,  and  sometimes  another,  and  that  from  the  master  of  the 
house,  his  wife,  children,  cattle,  &c,  to  the  little  pig  that  lieth 

1  Sh  Walter  Scott  continued  to  be  fond  of  Mooring  hares  Upg  after  he 
Bad  laid  aside  all  other  field-sports,  and  he  used  to  say  jocularly,  that  he 


in  the  stie.  Thus,  in  process  of  time,  they  have  all  uispleased 
her,  and  she  hath  wished  evil  luck  unto  them  all  ;  perhaps 
with  curses  and  imprecations  made  in  form.  Doubtless  (at 
length)  some  of  her  neighbours  die  or  fall  sick,  or  some  of  their 
children  are  visited  with  diseases  that  vex  them  strangely,  as 
apoplexies,  epilepsies,  convulsions,  hot  fevers,  worms,  &c, 
which,  by  ignorant  parents,  are  supposed  to  be  the  vengeance 

of  witches 

"  The  witch,  otv-the  other  side,  expecting  her  neighbours' 
mischances,  and  seeing  things  sometimes  come  to  pass  accord- 
ing to  her  wishes,  curses,  and  incantations  (for  Bodin  himself 
confesses,  that  not  above  two  in  a  hundred  of  their  witchingg 
or  wishing!  take  effect),  being  called  before  a  justice,  by  due 
examination  of  the  circumstances,  is  driven  to  see  her  impre- 
cations and  desires,  and  her  neighbours'  harms  and  losses,  to 
concur,  and,  as  it  were,  to  take  effect;  and  so  confesseth  that 
she  (as  a  goddess)  hath  brought  such  things  to  pass.  Where- 
in not  only  she,  but  the  accuser,  and  also  the  justice,  are  foully 
deceived  and  abused,  as  being,  through  her  confession,  and 
other  circumstances,  perswaded  (to  the  injury  of  God's  glory) 
that  she  hath  done,  or  can  do,  that  which  is  proper  only  tc 
God  himself." — Scot's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft.  Loud. 
1655,  fol.  p.  4,  5. 


Note  2  D. 
Of  my  marauding  on  the  clowns 
Of  Calvcrley  and  Bradford  downs. — P.  317. 

The  troops  of  the  King,  when  they  first  took  the  field,  were 
as  well  disciplined  as  could  be  expected  from  circumstances. 
But  as  the  circumstances  of  Charles  became  less  favorable, 
and  his  funds  for  regularly  paying  his  forces  decreased,  habits 
of  military  license  prevailed  among  them  in  greater  excess. 
Lacy,  the  player,  who  served  his  master  during  the  Civil  War, 
brought  out,  after  the  Restoration,  a  piece  called  The  Old 
Troop,  in  which  he  seems  to  have  commemorated  some  real 
incidents  which  occurred  in  his  military  career.  The  names 
of  the  officers  of  the  Troop  sufficiently  express  their  habits. 
We  have  Flea-flint  Plunder-Master-General,  Captain  Ferret- 
farm,  and  Quarter-Master  Burn-drop.  The  officers  of  the 
Troop  are  in  league  with  these  worthies,  and  connive  at  their 
plundering  the  country  for  a  suitable  share  in  the  booty.  All 
this  was  undoubtedly  drawn  from  the  life,  which  Lacy  had  an 
opportunity  to  study.  The  moral  of  the  whole  is  compre- 
hended in  a  rebuke  given  to  the  lieutenant,  whose  disorders  in 
the  country  are  said  to  prejudice  the  King's  cause  more  than 
his  courage  in  the  field  could  recompense.  The  piece  is  by  no 
means  void  of  farcical  humor. 


Note  2  E. 


BrignalV s  woods,  and  Scargtu     wave, 

E'en  now,  o'er  many  a  sister  cave. — P.  318. 

The  banks  of  the  Greta,  below  Rutherford  Bridge,  abound 
in  seams  of  grayish  slate,  which  are  wrought  in  some  places  to 
a  very  great  depth  under  ground,  thus  forming  artificial  cav- 
erns, which,  when  the  seam  has  been  exhausted,  are  gradually 
hidden  by  the  underwood  which  grows  in  profusion  upon  trie 
romantic  tanks  of  the  river.  In  times  of  public  confusion, 
they  might  be  well  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  banditti. 


Note  2  F. 
When  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land. — P.  320 
There  was  a  short  war  with  Spain  in  1625-6,  which  will  L«« 
found  to  agree  pretty  well  with  the  chronology  of  the  poem. 

had  more  pleasure  in  being-  considered  an  excellent  finder,  than  is  all  hit 
reputation  as  a  trouveur.— Ed. 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


36a 


B'lt  probably  Bertram  held  an  opinion  very  common  among 
rlo  maritime  heroes  of  the  age,  that  "  there  was  no  peace  be- 
yond the  Line."  The  Spanish guarda-costas  were  constantly 
employed  in  aggressions  upon  the  trade  and  settlements  of  the 
English  and  French  ;  and,  by  their  own  severities,  gave  room 
for  the  system  of  bucaniering,  at  first  adopted  in  self-defence 
and  retaliation,  and  afterwards  persevered  in  from  habit  and 
thirst  of  plunder. 


Note  2  Q. 


Our  comrade's  strife. — P.  321. 

The  laws  of  the  Bucaniers,  and  their  successors  the  Pirates, 
however  severe  and  equitable,  were,  like  other  laws,  often  set 
aside  by  the  stronger  party.  Their  quarrels  about  the  division 
of  the  spoil  fill  their  history,  and  they  as  frequently  arose  out 
of  mere  frolic,  or  the  tyrannical  humor  of  their  chiefs.  An 
anecdote  of  Teach  (called  Blackbeard)  shows  that  their  ha- 
bitual indifference  for  human  life  extended  to  their  compan- 
ions, as  well  as  their  enemies  and  captives. 

"One  night,  drinking  in  his  cabin  with  Hands,  the  pilot, 
and  another  man,  Blackbeard,  without  any  provocation,  pri- 
vately draws  out  a  small  pair  of  pistols,  and  cocks  them  under 
the  table,  which,  being  perceived  by  the  man,  he  withdrew 
upon  deck,  leaving  Hands,  the  pilot,  and  the  captain  together. 
When  the  pistols  were  ready,  he  blew  out  the  candles,  and, 
crossing  his  hands,  discharged  them  at  his  company.  Hands, 
the  master,  was  shot  through  the  knee,  and  lamed  for  life  ;  the 
jther  pistol  did  no  execution." — Johnson's  History  of  Pi- 
rates.    Lond.  1724,  8vo.  vol.  i.  p.  38. 

Another  anecdote  of  this  worthy  may  be  also  mentioned. 
"  The  hero  of  whom  we  are  writing  was  thoroughly  accom- 
plished this  way,  and  some  of  his  frolics  of  wickedness  were 
so  extravagant,  as  if  he  aimed  at  making  his  men  believe  he 
was  a  devil  incarnate  ;  for,  being  one  day  at  sea,  and  a  little 
flushed  with  drink,  '  Come,'  says  he,  '  let  us  make  a  hell  of 
our  own,  and  try  how  long  we  can  bear  it.'  Accordingly,  he, 
with  tsvo  or  three  others,  went  down  into  the  hold,  and,  clo- 
sing up  all  the  hatches,  filled  several  pots  full  of  brimstone  and 
Other  combustible  matter,  and  set  it  on  fire,  and  so  continued 
till  they  were  almost  suffocated,  when  some  of  the  men  cried 
out  foT  air.  At  length  he  opened  the  hatches,  not  a  little 
pleased  that  he  held  out  the  longest." — Ibid.  p.  90. 


Note  2  H. 


my  rangers  go 

Even  now  to  track  a  milk-white  doe. — P.  321. 

"  Immediately  after  supper,  the  huntsman  should  go  to  his 
master's  chamber,  and  if  he  serve  a  king,  then  let  him  go  to 
the  master  of  the  game's  chamber,  to  know  in  what  quarter 
he  determineth  to  hunt  the  day  following,  that  he  may  know 
his  own  quarter ;  that  done,  he  may  go  to  bed,  to  the  end  that 
he  may  rise  the  earlier  in  the  morning,  according  to  the  time  and 
season,  and  according  to  the  place  where  he  must  hunt :  then 
when  he  is  up  and  ready,  let  him  drinke  a  good  draught,  and 
fetch  his  hound,  to  make  him  breake  his  fast  a  little  :  and  let 
him  not  forget  to  fill  his  bottel  with  good  wine  :  that  done,  let 
him  take  a  little  vinegar  into  the  palme  of  his  hand,  and  pat 
it  in  the  nostrils  of  his  hound,  for  to  make  him  snuffe,  to  the 
end  his  scent  may  be  the  perfecter,  then  let  him  go  to  the 

wood When  the  huntsman  perceiveth  that  it  is 

time  to  begin  to  beat,  let  him  put  his  hound  before  him,  and 
beat  the  outsides  of  springs  or  thickets  ;  and  if  he  find  an  hart 
»r  deer  that  likes  him,  let  him  mark  well  whether  it  be  fresh 
or  not,  which  he  may  know  as  well  by  the  maner  of  his  hounds 

drawing,  as  also  by  the  eye When  he  hath  well 

considered  what  maner  of  hart  it  may  be,  and  hath  marked 


every  thing  to  judge  by,  then  let  him  draw  till  he  come  to  the 
couert  where  he  is  gone  to  ;  and  let  him  harbour  him  if  ha 
can,  still  marking  all  his  tokens,  as  well  by  the  slot  as  by  the 
entries,  foyles,  or  such-like.  That  done,  let  him  plash  or  bruse 
down  small  twigges,  some  aloft  and  some  below,  as  the  art 
requireth,  and  therewithall,  whilest  his  hound  is  bote,  let  him 
beat  the  outsides,  and  make  his  ring-walkes,  twice  or  thrice 
about  the  wood." — The  JVoWc  Art  of  Venerie,  or  Hunting. 
Lond.  1611,  4to.  p.  76,  77. 


Song- 


NoTE  2  I. 
Adieu  for  evermore. — P.  322. 


The  last  verse  of  this  song  is  taken  from  the  fragment  of  an 
jld  Scottish  ballad,  of  which  I  only  recollected  two  verses 
when  the  first  edition  of  Rokeby  was  published.  Mr.  Thomas 
Sheridan  kindly  pointed  out  to  me  an  entire  copy  of  this  beau- 
tiful song,  which  seems  to  express  the  fortunes  of  some  fol- 
lower of  the  Stuart  family : — 

"  It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 
That  we  left  fair  Scotland's  strand, 
It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 
That  we  e'er  saw  Irish  land, 
My  dear, 
That  we  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 

"  Now  all  is  done  that  man  can  do, 
And  all  is  done  in  vain  ! 
My  love  !  my  native  land,  adieu  ! 
For  I  must  cross  the  main, 

My  dear, 
For  I  must  cross  the  main. 

"  He  turn'd  him  round  and  right  abacs 
All  on  the  Irish  shore, 
He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake 
With,  Adieu  for  evermore, 

My  dear ! 
Adieu  for  evermore ! 

*'  The  soldier  frae  the  war  returns. 
And  the  merchant  frae  the  main; 
But  I  hae  parted  wi'  my  love, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again, 

My  dear, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again. 

u  When  day  is  gone  and  night  is  come 
And  a'  are  boun'  to  sleep, 
I  think  on  them  that's  far  awa 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep, 
My  dear, 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep," 


• 


Note  2  K. 


Rere-cross  on  Stanmore. — P.  323. 

This  is  a  fragment  of  an  old  cross,  with  its  pediment,  sur- 
rounded by  an  intrenchment,  upon  the  very  ?ummit  of  the 
waste  ridge  of  Stanmore,  near  a  small  house  of  entertainment 
called  the  Spittal  It  is  called  Rere-cross,  or  Ree-cross,  of 
which  Holinshed  gives  us  the  following  explanation  : — 

"  At  length  a  peace  was  concluded  betwixt  the  two  king* 
vnder  these  conditions,  that  Malcolme  should  enjoy  that  part 
of  Northumberland  which  lieth  betwixt  Tweed,  Cumberland, 
and  Stainmore,  and  doo  homage  to  the  Kinge  of  England  for 
the  same.     In  the  midst  of  Stainmore  there  shall  be  a  cross* 


366 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


set  up,  with  the  Kinge  of  England's  image  on  the  one  side,  and 
the  Kinge  of  Scotland's  on  the  other,  to  signifie  that  one  is 
maT'h  to  England,  and  the  other  to  Scotland.  This  crosse  was 
called  the  Roi-crosse,  that  is,  the  crosse  of  the  King." — Holin- 
siiEi).     Load.  1808,  4to.  v.  280. 

Uoiiiishcd's  sole  authority  seems  to  have  been  Boethius. 
But  it  is  not  improbable  that  his  acconnt  may  be  the  true  one, 
although  the  circumstance  does  not  occur  in  Wintoun's  Chro- 
nicle. The  situation  of  the  cross,  and  the  pains  taken  to  defend 
it,  seem  to  indicate  that  it  was  intended  for  a  land-mark  of 
m  porta  nee. 


Note  2  L. 

Hast  thou  lodged  our  deer  ?— P.  323. 

The  duty  of  the  ranger,  or  pricker,  was  first  to  lodge  or  har- 
l  or  the  deer :  i.  e.  to  discover  his  retreat,  as  described  at 
ength  in  note,  2  H,  and  then  to  make  his  report  to  his  prince, 
or  niastei : — 

•   Before  the  King  I  come  report  to  make, 
Then  huslu  and  peace  for  noble  Tristrame's  sake  .  .  . 
My  liege,  I  went  this  morning  on  my  quest, 
My  hound  did  stick,  and  seem'd  to  vent  some  beast. 
I  held  him  short,  and  drawing  after  him, 
I  might  behold  the  hart  was  feeding  trym  ; 
His  head  was  high,  and  large  in  each  degree, 
Well  paulmed  eke,  and  seem'd  full  sound  to  be. 
Of  colour  browne,  he  beareth  eight  and  tenne, 
Of  stately  height,  and  long  he  seemed  then. 
His  beam  seem'd  great,  in  good  proportion  led, 
Well  barred  and  round,  well  pearled  neare  his  head. 
He  seemed  fayre  tweene  blacke  and  berrie  brounde 
He  seemes  well  fed  by  all  the  signes  I  found. 
For  when  I  had  well  marked  him  with  eye, 
I  stept  aside,  to  watch  where  he  would  lye. 
And  when  I  had  so  wayted  full  an  houre, 
That  he  might  be  at  layre  and  in  his  boure, 
I  caijt  about  to  harbour  him  full  sure  ; 
My  hound  by  sent  did  me  thereof  assure  .  .  . 
"  Then  if  he  ask  what  slot  or  view  I  found, 
I  say  the  slot  or  view  was  long  on  ground  ; 
The  toes  were  great,  the  joynt  bones  round  and  short, 
The  shinne  bones  large,  the  dew-claws  close  in  port : 
Short  ioynted  was  he,  hollow-footed  eke, 
An  hart  to  hunt  as  any  man  can  seeke." 

The  Art  of  Venerie,  ut  supra,  p.  97. 


Note  2  M. 


When  Denmark's  raven  soared  on  high, 
Triumphant  through  Northumbrian  sky, 
Till,  hoiicrivg  near,  her  fatal  croak 
Bade  Reged's  Britons  dread  the  yoke. — P.  323. 

About  the  year  of  God  8G6,  the  Danes,  under  their  cele- 
jrated  leaders  lngnar  (more  properly  Agnar)  and  Hubba,  sons, 
t  is  said,  of  the  still  more  celebrated  Regnar  Lodbrog,  invaded 
Northumberland,  bringing  with  them  the  magical  standard,  so 
»ften  mentioned  in  poetry,  called  Reafen,  or  Rumfan,  from 
its  bearing  the  figure  of  a  raven  : — 

Wrought  by  the  sisters  of  the  Danish  king, 

Of  furious  Ivar  in  a  midnight  hour  : 

While  the  sick  moon,  at  their  enchanted  song 

Wiapt  in  pale  cempest,  labor'd  through  the  clouds, 

The  demons  of  iestruction  then,  they  say, 

Wore  all  abroat.,  and  mixing  with  the  woof 


Their  baleful  power :  The  sisters  ever  sung, 

'  Shake,  standard,  shake  this  ruin  on  our  foes.'  " 

Thomson  and  Mallet's  Alfred. 

The  Danes  renewed  and  extended  their  incursions,  and  began 
to  colonize,  establishing  a  kind  of  capital  at  York,  from  which 
they  spread  their  conquests  and  incursions  in  every  direction. 
Stanmore,  which  divides  the  mountains  of  Westmoreland  and 
Cumberland,  was  probably  the  boundary  of  the  Danish  king- 
dom in  that  direction.  The  district  to  the  west,  known  in  an- 
cient British  history  by  the  name  of  Reged,  had  never  been 
conquered  by  the  Saxons,  and  continued  to  maintain  a  preca- 
rious independence  until  it  was  ceded  to  Malcolm,  King  of 
Scots,  by  William  the  Conqueror,  probably  on  account  of  its 
similarity  in  language  and  manners  to  the  neighboring  British 
kingdom  of  Strath-Clyde. 

Upon  the  extent  and  duration  of  the  Danish  sovereignty  in 
Northumberland,  the  curious  may  consult  the  various  authori- 
ties quoted  in  the  Ocsta  et  Vestigia  Danorum  extra  Daniam 
torn.  ii.  p.  40.  The  most  powerful  of  their  Northumbrian 
leaders  seems  to  have  been  Ivar,  called,  from  the  extent  of  his 
conquests,  Widfam,  that  is,  The  Strider. 


Note  2  N. 


Beneath  the  shade  the  Northmen  came, 
Fiz'd  on  each  vale  a  Runic  name. — P.  323. 

The  heathen  Danes  have  left  several  traces  of  their  religion 
in  the  upper  part  of  Teesdale.  Balder-garth,  which  derives  its 
name  from  the  unfortunate  son  of  Odin,  is  a  tract  of  waste 
land  on  the  very  ridge  of  Stanmore  ;  and  a  brook,  which  falls 
into  the  Tees  near  Barnard  Castle,  is  named  after  the  same 
deity.  A  field  upon  the  banks  of  the  Tees  is  also  termed 
Woden-Croft,  from  the  supreme  deity  of  the  Edda.  Thor.-gill, 
of  which  a  description  is  attempted  in  stanza  ii.,  is  a  beautiful 
little  brook  and  dell,  running  up  behind  the  ruins  of  Egliston 
Abbey.  Thor  was  the  Hercules  of  the  Scandinavian  mytho- 
logy, a  dreadful  giant-queller,  and  in  that  capacity  the  eham 
pion  of  the  gods,  and  the  defender  of  Asgard,  the  northern 
Olympus,  against  the  frequent  attacks  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Jotunhem.  There  is  an  old  poem  in  the  Edda  of  Sa-mund, 
called  the  Song  of  Thryni,  which  turns  upon  the  loss  and  re- 
covery of  the  Mace,  or  Hammer,  which  was  Thor's  principal 
weapon,  and  on  which  much  of  his  power  seems  to  have  de- 
pended. It  may  be  read  to  great  advantage  in  a  version 
equally  spirited  and  literal,  among  the  Miscellaneous  Transla- 
tions and  Poems  of  the  Honorable  William  Herbert. 


Note  2  O. 


Who  has  nor  ,.eard  how  brave  O'Neale 

In  English  blood  imbrued  his  steel  ? — P.  325. 

The  O'Neale  here  meant,  for  more  than  one  succeeded  ts 
the  chieftainship  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  was  Hugh,  the 
grandson  of  Con  O'Neale,  called  Con  Bacco,  or  the  Lame. 
His  father,  Matthew  O'Kelly,  was  illegitimate,  and,  being  the 
son  of  a  blacksmith's  wife,  was  usually  called  Matthew  the 
Blacksmith.  His  father,  nevertheless,  destined  his  succes- 
sion to  him  ;  and  he  was  created,  by  Elizabeth,  Baron  of 
Dungannon.  Upon  the  death  of  Con  Bacco,  this  Matthew 
was  slain  by  his  brother.  Hugh  narrowly  escaped  the  same 
fate,  and  was  protected  by  the  English.  Shane  O'Neale,  his 
uncle,  called  Shane  Dymas,  was  succeeded  by  Turlough 
Lynogh  O'Neale  ;  after  whose  death,  Hugh,  having  assume/ 
the  chieftainship,  became  nearly  as  formidable  to  the  English 
as  any  by  whom  it  had  been  possessed.  He  rebelled  repeat- 
edly, and  as  often  made  submissions,  of  which  it  was  usually 
a  condition  that  he  should  not  any  longer  assume  the  title  of 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


367 


O'Neale  ;  in  lieu  of  which  he  was  created  Earl  of  Tyrone. 
But  this  condition  he  never  observed  longer  than  until  the 
pressure  of  superior  force  was  withdrawn.  His  baffling  the 
gallant  Earl  of  E.<sex  in  the  field,  and  overreaching  him  in  a 
treaty,  was  the  induction  to  that  nobleman's  tragedy.  Lord 
Mountjoy  succeeded  in  finally  subjugating  O'Neale  ;  but  it  was 
not  till  the  succession  of  James,  to  whom  he  made  personal 
submission,  and  was  received  with  civility  at  court.  Yet,  ac- 
cording to  Morrison,  "  no  respect  to  him  could  containe  many 
weomen  in  those  parts,  who  had  lost  husbands  and  children  in 
the  Irish  warres,  from  flinging  durt  and  stones  at  the  earle  as 
he  passed,  and  from  reuiling  him  with  bitter  words  ;  yea,  when 
the  earle  had  been  at  court,  and  there  obtaining  his  majestie's 
direction  for  his  pfirdott  and  performance  of  all  conditions  pro- 
mised him  by  the  Lord  Mountjoy,  was  about  September  to  re- 
turne,  he  durst  not  pass  by  those  parts  without  direction  to  the 
shirifFes,  to  convey  him  with  troops  of  horse  from  place  to 
place,  till  he  was  safely  imbarked  and  put  to  sea  for  Ireland." 
■Itinerary,  p.  296. 


Note  2  P. 

But  chief  arose  his  victor  pride, 

When  that  brave  Marshal  fought  and  died. — P.  325. 

The  chief  victory  which  Tyrone  obtained  over  the  English 
was  in  a  battle  fought  near  Blackwater,  while  he  besieged  a 
fort  garrisoned  by  the  English,  which  commanded  the  passes 
into  his  country. 

"  This  captain  and  his  few  warders  did  with  no  less  courage 
suffer  hunger,  and,  having  eaten  the  few  horses  they  had,  lived 
vpon  hearbes  growing  in  the  ditches  and  wals,  suffering  all  ex- 
tremities, till  the  lord-lieutenant,  in  the  month  of  August,  sent 
Sir  Henry  Bagnal,  marshall  of  Ireland,  with  the  most  choice 
companies  of  foot  and  horse-troopes  of  the  English  army  to 
victual  this  fort,  and  to  raise  the  rebels  siege.  When  the  Eng- 
lish entered  the  place  and  thicke  woods  beyond  Armagh,  on 
the  east  side,  Tyrone  (with  all  the  rebels  assembled  to  him) 
pricked  forward  with  rage,  enuy,  and  settled  rancour  against 
the  marshall,  assayled  the  English,  and  turning  his  full  force 
against  the  marshall's  person,  had  the  successe  to  kill  him, 
valiantly  fighting  among  the  thickest  of  the  rebels.  Where- 
upon the  English  being  dismayed  with  his  death,  the  rebels 
obtained  a  great  victory  against  them.  I  terme  it  great,  since 
the  English,  from  their  first  arriual  in  that  kingdome,  neuer  had 
received  so  great  an  ouerthrow  as  this,  commonly  called  the 
Defeat  of  Blackewater ;  thirteene  valiant  captaines  and  1500 
common  souldiers  (whereof  many  were  of  the  old  companies 
which  had  serued  in  Brittany  vnder  General  Norreys)  were 
slain  in  the  field.  The  yielding  of  the  fort  of  Blackewater 
followed  this  disaster,  when  the  assaulted  guard  saw  no  hope 
of  relief;  but  especially  vpon  messages  sent  to  Captain  Wil- 
liams from  our  broken  forces,  retired  to  Armagh,  professing 
that  all  their  safety  depended  vpon  his  yielding  the  fort  into 
»e  hands  of  Tyrone,  without  which  danger  Captaine  Williams 
professed  that  no  want  or  miserie  should  have  induced  him 
thereunto." — Fynes  Moryson's  Itinerary.  London,  1617, 
fol.  part  ii.  p.  24. 

Tyrone  is  said  to  have  entertained  a  personal  animosity 
against  the  knight-marshal,  Sir  Henry  Bagnal,  whom  he  ac- 
cused of  detaining  the  letters  which  he  sent  to  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, ex  jlanatory  of  his  conduct,  and  offering  terms  of  sub- 
mission. The  river,  called  by  the  English,  Blackwater,  is 
termed  in  Irish,  Avon-DufT,  which  has  the  same  signification. 
Both  names  are  mentioned  by  Spenser  in  his  "  Marriage  of  the 
Thames  and  the  Medway."  But  I  understand  that  his  verses 
telate  not  to  the  Blackwater  of  Ulster,  but  to  a  river  of  the 
Hme  name  in  the  south  of  Ireland  : — 

"  Swift  Avon-DufF,  which  of  the  Englishmen 
Is  cabled  Blackwater" 


Note  2  Q. 

The  Tanist  he  to  gnat.  O'jYeile.—F.  325. 

"  Eudox.  What  is  that  which  you  call  Tanist  and  Tanistry  I 
These  be  names  and  terms  never  heard  of  nor  known  to  us. 

"  Iren.  It  is  a  custom  amongst  all  the  Irish,  that  presently 
after  the  death  of  one  of  their  chiefe  lords  or  captaines,  they 
doe  presently  assemble  themselves  to  a  place  generally  appoint- 
ed and  knowne  unto  them,  to  choose  another  in  his  stead, 
where  they  do  nominate  and  elect,  for  the  most  part  not  tie 
eldest  sonne,  nor  any  of  the  children  of  the  lord  deceased,  but 
the  next  to  him  in  blood,  that  is,  the  eldest  and  worthiest,  as 
commonly  the  next  brother  unto  him,  if  he  have  any,  or  the 
next  cousin,  or  so  forth,  as  any  is  elder  in  that  kindred  or  sept ; 
and  then  next  to  them  doe  they  choose  the  next  of  the  blood 
to  be  Tanist,  who  shall  next  succeed  him  in  the  said  captainry, 
if  he  live  thereunto. 

"  Eudox.  Do  they  not  use  try  ceremony  in  this  election, 
for  all  barbarous  nations  are  commonly  great  observers  of  cere- 
monies and  superstitious  rites  ? 

"  Iren.  They  used  to  place  him  tnat  shall  be  their  captaine 
upon  a  stone,  always  reserved  to  that  purpose,  and  placed 
commonly  upon  a  hill.  In  some  of  Which  I  have  seen  formed 
and  engraven  a  foot,  which  they  say  was  the  measure  of  theii 
first  captaine's  foot ;  whereon  hee  standing,  receives  an  oath 
to  preserve  all  the  ancient  former  customes  of  the  countrey 
inviolable,  and  to  deliver  up  the  succession  peaceably  to  his 
Tanist,  and  then  hath  a  wand  delivered  unto  him  by  some 
whose  proper  office  that  is  ;  after  which,  descending  from  the 
stone,  he  turneth  himself  round,  thrice  forwards  and  thrice 
backward?. 

"  Eudox.     But  how  is  the  Tanist  chosen  1 

"  Iren.  They  say  he  setteth  but  one  foot  upon  the  stone, 
and  receiveth  the  like  oath  that  the  captaine  did." — Spen- 
ser's View  of  the  State  of  Ireland,  apud  Works,  London, 
1805,  8vo.  vol.  viii.  p.  306. 

The  Tanist,  therefore,  of  O'Neale,  was  the  heir-apparent  of 
his  power.  This  kind  of  succession  appears  also  to  have  regu- 
lated, in  very  remote  times,  the  succession  to  the  crown  of 
Scotland.  It  would  have  been  imprudent,  if  not  impossible, 
to  have  asserted  a  minor's  right  of  succession  in  those  stormy 
days,  when  the  principles  of  policy  were  summed  up  in  mv 
friend  Mr.  Wordsworth's  lines  : — 

"  the  good  old  rule 

Sufficeth  them  ;  the  simple  plan, 
That  they  should  take  who  have  the  power, 

And  they  should  keep  who  can." 


Note  3  R. 

His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread,  Src, — P.  325. 

There  is  here  an  attempt  fo  describe  the  ancient  Irish  dress, 

of  which  a  poet  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  day  has  given  us  th« 

following  particulars : — 

"  I  marvailde  in  my  mynde, 

and  thereupon  did  muse, 
To  see  a  bride  of  heavenlie  hewe 

an  ouglie  fere  to  chuse. 
This  bride  it  is  the  soile, 

the  bridegroome  is  the  karne. 
With  writhed  glibbes,  like  wicked  sprits, 

with  visage  rough  and  stearne  ; 
With  sculles  upon  their  poalles, 

instead  of  civill  cappes  ; 
With  speares  in  hand,  and  swordes  beeydea 

to  beare  oft'  after  clappes  ; 
With  jackettes  long  and  large, 

whicli  shroud  simolicitie. 


368 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Though  spitfull  darts  which  they  do  beare 

importe  iniquitie. 
Their  shirtes  be  very  strange, 

not  reaching  past  the  tliie  ; 
With  pleates  on  pleates  thei  pleated  are 

as  thick  as  pleates  may  lye. 
Whose  sleaves  hang  trailing  doune 

almost  unto  the  shoe  ; 
And  with  a  mantell  commonlie 

the  Irish  karne  do  goe. 
Now  some  amongst  the  reste 

doe  use  another  weede  ; 
A  coate  I  meane,  of  strange  devise  I 

which  fancy  first  did  breade. 
His  skirts  be  very  shorte, 

with  pleates  set  thick  about, 
And  Irish  trouzes  moe  to  put 

their  strange  protactours  out.' 
Derrick's  Image  of  Ireland,  apud  Somkrs'  Tracts, 

Edin.  180°-  4to.  vol.  i.  p.  585. 

Some  curious  wooden  engravings  accompany  this  poem,  from 
*hiclt  it  would  seem  that  the  ancient  Irish  dress  was  (the  bon- 
net excepted)  very  similar  to  that  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders. 
The  want  of  a  covering  on  the  head  v/as  supplied  by  the  mode 
of  plaiting  and  arranging  the  hair,  which  was  called  the  giibbe. 
These  glibbes,  according  to  Spenser,  were  fit  marks  for  a  thief, 
since,  when  lie  wished  to  disguise  himself,  he  could  either  cut 
it  oft*  entirely,  or  so  pull  it  over  his  eyes  as  to  render  it  very 
hard  to  recognize  him.  This,  however,  is  nothing  to  the  re])- 
robation  with  which  the  same  poet  regards  that  favorite  part 
of  the  Irish  dress,  the  mantle. 

"  It  is  a  fit  house  for  an  outlaw,  a  meet  bed  for  a  rebel,  and 
an  apt  cloke  for  a  thief.  First,  the  outlaw  being  for  his  many 
crimes  and  villanyes  banished  from  the  townes  and  houses  of 
honest  men,  and  wandrinjr  in  waste  places  far  from  danger  of 
law,  maketh  his  mantle  his  house,  and  under  it  covereth  him- 
self from  the  wrath  of  heaven,  from  the  offence  of  the  earth, 
and  from  the  sight  of  men.  When  it  raineth,  it  is  his  pent- 
house ;  when  it  bloweth,  it  is  his  tent ;  when  it  freezeth,  it  is 
his  tabernacle.  In  summer  he  can  wear  it  loose,  in  winter  he 
can  wrap  it  close  ;  at  all  times  he  can  use  it ;  never  heavy, 
never  cumbersome.  Likewise  for  a  rebel  it  is  as  serviceable  ; 
for  in  his  warre  that  he  maketh  (if  at  least  it  deserve  the  name 
of  warre),  when  he  still  flyeth  from  his  foe,  and  lurketh  in  the 
thicke  woods  and  straite  passages,  waiting  for  advantages,  it 
is  his  bed,  yea,  and  almost  his  household  stuff.  For  the  wood 
is  his  house  against  all  weathers,  and  his  mantle  is  his  couch 
to  sleep  in.  Therein  he  wrappeth  himself  round,  and  couch- 
eth  himself  strongly  against,  the  gnats,  which  in  that  country 
doe  more  annoy  the  naked  rebels  while  they  keeip  the  woods, 
and  doe  more  sharply  wound  them,  than  all  their  enemies 
swords  or  speares,  which  can  seldom  come  nigh  them  :  yea, 
and  oftentimes  their  mantle  serveth  them  when  they  are  neere 
driven,  being  wrapped  about  their  left  arme,  instead  of  a  tar- 
get, for  it  is  hard  to  cut  thorough  with  a  sword  ;  besides,  it  is 
light  to  beare,  light  to  throw  away,  and  being  (as  they  com- 
monly are)  naked,  it  is  to  them  all  in  all.  Lastly,  for  a  thiefe 
it  is  so  handsome  as  it  may  seem  it  was  first  invented  for  him  ; 
for  under  it  he  may  cleanly  convey  any  fit  pillage  that  cometh 
handsomely  in  his  way,  and  when  he  goeth  abroad  in  the 
night  in  freebooting,  it  is  his  best  and  surest  friend  ;  for,  lying, 
as  they  often  do,  two  or  three  nights  together  abroad  to  watch 
for  their  booty,  with  that  they  can  prettily  shroud  themselves 
under  a  bush  or  bankside  till  they  may  conveniently  do  their 
errand  ;  and  when  all  is  over,  he  can  in  his  mantle  passe 
;hrough  any  town  or  company,  being  close  hooded  over  his 
head,  as  he  useth,  from  knowledge  of  any  to  whom  he  is  in- 
dangered.  Besides  this,  he  or  any  man  els  that  is  disposed  to 
mischief  or  villany,  may,  under  his  mantle,  goe  privily  armed 
without  suspicion  of  any,  carry  his  head-piece,  his  skean,  or 
nistol,  il  he  please,  to  be  always  in  readiness." — Spenser's 


View  of  the  State  of  Ireland,  apud   Works,  ut  supra,  vih 
367. 

The  javelins,  or  darts,  of  the  Irish,  which  they  threw  wit* 
great  dexterity,  appear,  from  one  of  the  prints  already  men 
tioned,  to  have  been  about  four  feet  long,  with  a  strong  ste«9 
head  and  thick  knotted  shaft. 


Note  2  S. 


With  wild  majestic  port  and  tone, 

Like  envoy  of  some  barbarous  throne. — P.  326. 

The  Irish  chiefs,  in  their  intercourse  with  the  English,  and 
with  each  other,  were  wont  to  assume  the  language  and  style 
of  independent  royalty.  Morrison  has  preserved  a  summons 
from  Tyrone  to  a  neighboring  chieftain,  which  runs  in  the  fol- 
lowing terms  : — 

"  O'Nealecommendeth  him  unto  you,  Morish  Fitz-Thomas  ; 
O'Neale  requesteth  you,  in  God's  name,  to  take  part  with  him, 
and  fight  for  your  conscience  and  right  ;  and  in  so  doiofr, 
O'Neale  will  spend  to  see  you  righted  in  all  your  affaires,  and 
will  help  you.  And  if  you  come  not  at  O'Neale  betwixt  this 
and  to-morrow  at  twelve  of  the  clocke,  and  take  his  part, 
O'Neale  is  not  beholding  to  you,  and  will  doe  to  the  uttermost 
of  his  power  to  overthrow  you,  if  you  come  not  to  him  at  fur* 
thest  by  Satturday  at  noone.  From  Knocke  Dumayne  ia 
Calrie,  the  fourth  of  February,  1599. 

"  O'Neale  requesteth  you  to  come  speake  with  him,  and 
doth  giue  you  his  word  that  you  shall  receive  no  harme  neither 
in  comming  nor  going  from  him,  whether  you  be  friend  or  no?, 
and  bring  with  you  to  O'Neale  Gerat  Fitzgerald. 

(Subscribed)  "  O'Neale." 

Nor  did  the  royalty  of  O'Neale  consist  in  words  alone.  Sit 
John  Harrington  paid  him  a  visit  at  the  time  of  his  truce  with 
Essex,  and,  after  mentioning  his  "  fern  table,  and  fern  forms, 
spread  under  the  stately  canopy  of  heaven,"  he  notices  what 
constitutes  the  real  power  of  every  monarch,  the  love,  namely, 
and  allegiance  of  his  subjects.  "  His  guards,  for  the  most 
part,  were  beardless  boys  without  shirts  ;  who  in  the  frost 
wade  as  familiarly  through  rivers  as  water-spaniels.  With 
what  charm  such  a  master  makes  them  love  him,  I  know 
not ;  but  if  he  bid  come,  they  come  ;  if  go,  they  do  go  ;  if  he 
say  do  this,  they  do  it." — Nugce  Antique.  Lond.  1784,  8vo. 
vol.  i.  p.  251. 


Note  2  T. 

His  foster-father  was  his  guide. — P.  326 

There  was  no  tie  more  sacred  among  the  Irish  than  trat 
which  connected  the  foster-father,  as  well  as  the  nurse  herself 
with  the  child  they  brought  up. 

"Foster-fathers  spend  much  more  time,  money,  and  affec- 
tion on  their  foster-children  than  their  own  ;  and  in  return  take 
from  them  clothes,  money  for  their  several  professions,  and 
arms,  and,  even  for  any  vicious  purposes,  fortunes  and  cattle, 
not  so  much  by  a  claim  of  right  as  by  extortion  ;  and  they  will 
even  carry  those  things  off  as  plunder.  All  who  have  been 
nursed  by  the  same  person  preserve  a  greater  mutual  affection 
and  confidence  in  each  other  than  if  they  were  natural  broth- 
ers, whom  they  will  even  hate  for  the  sake  of  these.  When 
chid  by  their  parents,  they  fly  to  their  foster-fathers,  wno  fre- 
quently encourage  them  to  make  open  war  on  their  parents, 
train  them  up  to  every  excess  of  wickedness,  and  make  them 
most  abandoned  miscreants  ;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  the  nurses 
make  the  young  women,  whom  they  bring  up  for  every  ex 
cess.  If  a  foster-child  is  sick,  it  is  incredible  how  soon  the 
nurses  hear  of  it,  however  distant,  and  with  what  solicitude 
they  attend  it  by  day  and  night." — Oiraldus  Cambrensis 
quoted  by  Camden,  iv.  368. 

This  custom,  like  many  other  Irish  usages,  prevailed  till  of 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


369 


late  in  the  Scottish  Highlands,  and  was  cherished  by  the  chiefs 
as  an  easy  mode  of  extending  their  influence  and  connection  ; 
and  even  in  the  Lowlands,  during  the  last  century,  the  con- 
nection between  the  nurse  and  foster-child  was  seldom  dis- 
solved but  by  the  death  of  one  party. 


Note  2  U. 


Great  JYial  of  the  Pledges  JVme.— P.  327. 

Neal  Naighvallach,  or  Of  the  Nine  Hostages,  is  said  to  have 
been  Monarch  of  all  Ireland,  during  the  end  of  the  fourth  or 
beginning  of  the  fifth  century.  He  exercised  a  predatory  war- 
fare on  the  coast  of  England  and  of  Bretagne,  or  Armorica ; 
and  from  the  latter  country  brought  off  the  celebrated  Saint 
Patrick,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  among  other  captives,  whom  he 
transported  to  Ireland.  Neal  derived  his  epithet  from  nine 
nations,  or  tribes,  whom  he  held  under  his  subjection,  and 
from  whom  he  took  hostages.  From  one  of  Neal's  sons  were 
derived  the  Kinel-eoguin,  or  Race  of  Tyrone,  which  afforded 
monarchs  both  to  Ireland  and  to  Ulster.  Neal  (according  to 
O'Flaherty's  Ogygia)  was  killed  by  a  poisoned  arrow,  in  one 
<"  his  descents  on  the  coast  of  Bretagne. 


Note  2  V. 


Shane-Dymas  wild. — 327. 

This  Shane-Dymas,  or  John  the  Wanton,  held  the  title  and 
power  of  O'Neale  in  the  earlier  part  of  Elizabeth's  reign, 
against  whom  he  rebelled  repeatedly. 

"  This  chieftain  is  handed  down  to  us  as  the  most  proud 
and  profligate  man  on  earth.  He  was  immoderately  addicted 
to  women  and  wine.  He  is  said  to  have  had  200  tuns  of  wine 
at  once  in  his  cellar  at  Dandram,  but  usquebaugh  was  his 
favorite  liquor.  He  spared  neither  age  nor  condition  of  the 
fair  sex.  Altho'  so  illiterate  that  he  could  not  write,  he  was 
riot  destitute  of  address  ;  his  understanding  was  strong,  and 
his  courage  daring.  He  had  600  men  for  his  guard  ;  4000  foot, 
1000  horse  for  the  field.  He  claimed  superiority  over  all  the 
lords  of  Ulster,  and  called  himself  king  thereof.  When  com- 
missioners were  sent  to  treat  with  him,  he  said,  •  That,  tho' 
the  Oueen  were  his  sovereign  lady,  he  never  made  peace  with 
her  but  at  her  lodging ;  that  she  had  made  a  wise  Earl  of 
Macartymore,  but  that  he  kept  as  good  a  man  as  he  ;  that 
he  cared  not  for  so  mean  a  title  as  Earl ;  that  his  blood  and 
power  were  better  than  the  best ;  that  his  ancestors  were  Kings 
of  Ulster;  and  that  he  would  give  place  to  none.'  His  kins- 
man, the  Earl  of  Kildare,  having  persuaded  him  of  the  folly 
of  contending  with  the  crown  of  England,  he  resolved  to  at- 
tend the  Oueen,  but  in  a  style  suited  to  his  princely  dignity. 
He  appeared  in  London  with  a  magnificent  train  of  Irish  Gal- 
ioglasses,  arrayed  in  the  richest  habiliments  of  their  country, 
their  heads  bare,  their  hair  flowing  on  their  shoulders,  with 
their  long  and  open  sleeves  dyed  with  saffron.  Thus  dressed, 
and  surcharged  with  military  harness,  and  armed  with  battle- 
axes,  they  afforded  an  astonishing  spectacle  to  the  citizens,  who 
regarded  them  as  the  intruders  of  some  very  distant  part  of 
the  globe.  But  at  Court  his  versatility  now  prevailed  ;  his 
title  to  the  sovereignty  of  Tyrone  was  pleaded  from  English 
laws  and  Irish  institutions,  and  his  allegations  were  so' specious, 
that  the  Oueen  dismissed  him  with  presents  and  assurances  of 
favor.  In  England  this  transaction  was  looked  on  as  the  hu- 
miliation o<  a  repenting  rebel ;  in  Tyrone  it  was  considered  as  a 
treaty  of  peace  between  two  potentates." — Camden's  Bri- 
tannia, by  Gough.     Lond.  1806,  fol.  vol.  iv.  p.  442. 

When  reduced  to  extremity  by  the  English,  and  forsaken 
by  his  allies,  this  Shane-Dymas  fleo  to  Clandeboy,  then  occu- 
pied by  a  colony  of  Scottish  Highlanders  of  the  family  of  Mac- 
Donell.     He   was  at  first  courteously  received  ;    but    by  de- 


grees they  began  to  quarrel  about  the  slaughter  of  some  of 
their  friends  whom  Shane-Dymas  had  put  to  death,  and  ad- 
vancing from  words  to  deeds,  fell  upon  him  with  theit  broad- 
swords, and  cut  him  to  pieces.  After  his  death  a  law  was 
made  that  none  should  presume  to  take  the  name  and  title  of 
O'Neale. 


Note  2  W. 


Qeraldine.—?.  327. 


The  O'Neales  were  closely  allied  with  this  powerful  and 
warlike  family  ;  for  Henry  Owen  O'Neale  married  the  daugh- 
ter of  Thomas  Earl  of  Kildare,  and  their  son  Con-More  mar 
ried  his  cousin-german,  a  daughter  of  Gerald  Earl  ofKidare 
This  Con-More  cursed  any  of  his  posterity  who  should  learn 
the  English  language,  sow  corn,  or  build  houses,  so  as  to  in 
vite  the  English  to  settle  in  their  country.  Others  ascribe  thi? 
anathema  to  his  son  Con-Bacco.  Fearflatha  O'Gnive,  bard 
to  the  O'Neales  of  Clannaboy,  complains  in  the  same  spirit 
of  the  towers  and  ramparts  with  which  the  strangers  had  dig 
figured  the  fair  sporting  fields  of  Erin. — See  Walker's  Irist 
Bards,  p.  140. 


Note  2  X. 


He  chose  that  honored  flag  to  bear. — P.  328. 

Lacy  informs  us,  in  the  old  play  already  quoted,  how  the 
cavalry  raised  by  the  country  gentlemen  for  Charles's  service 
were  usually  officered.  "  You,  cornet,  have  a  name  that's 
proper  for  all  cornets  to  be  called  by,  for  they  are  all  beardless 
boys  in  our  army.  The  most  part  of  our  horse  were  raised 
thus : — The  honest  country  gentleman  raises  the  troop  at  hi 
own  charge  ;  then  he  gets  a  Low-country  lieutenant  to  fight 
his  troop  safely  ;  then  he  sends  for  his  son  from  school  to  be  his 
cornet :  and  then  he  puts  off  his  child's  coat  to  put  on  a  buff- 
coat  :  and  this  is  the  constitution  of  our  army.' 


Note  2  Y. 


his  page,  the  next  degree 

In  that  old  time  to  chivalry. — P.  328. 
Originally,  the  order  of  chivalry  embraced  three  ranks  :— 
1.  The  Page;  2.  The  Squire;  3.  The  Knight ;— a  gradation 
which  seems  to  have  been  imitated  in  the  mystery  of  free- 
masonry. But,  before  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  the  custom  of 
serving  as  a  squire  had  fallen  into  disuse,  though  the  order  of 
the  page  was  still,  to  a  certain  degree,  in  observanoe.  Thk 
state  of  servitude  was  so  far  from  inferring  any  thing  degrad- 
ing, that  it  was  considered  as  the  regular  school  for  acquiring 
every  quality  necessary  for  future  distinction.  The  proper  na- 
ture, and  the  decay  of  the  institution,  are  pointed  out  by  old 
Ben  Jonson,  with  his  own  forcible  moral  coloring.  The  lia 
logue  occurs  between  Lovell,  "  a  compleat  gentleman,  a  sol- 
dier, and  a  scholar,  known  to  have  been  page  to  the  old  Lord 
Beaufort,  and  so  to  have  followed  him  in  the  French  ware 
after  companion  of  his  studies,  and  left  guardian  to  his  son,'' 
and  the  facetious  Goodstock,  host  of  the  Light  Heart.  Lovell 
had  offered  to  take  Goodstock's  son  for  his  page,  which  tho 
latter,  in  reference  to  the  recent  abuse  of  the  establishment 
declares  as  "  a  desperate  course  of  life  :" — 

"  Lovell.  Call  you  that  desperate,  which  by  a  line 
Of  institution,  from  our  ancestors 
Hath  been  derived  down  to  us,  and  received 
In  a  succession,  for  the  noblest  way 
Of  breeding  up  our  youth,  in  letters,  arms, 


370 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Fair  roier,,  discourses,  civil  exercise, 
Anu  all  the  blazon  of  a  gentleman  ? 
Where  can  he  learn  to  vault,  to  ride,  to  fence, 
To  move  his  body  gracefully  ;  to  speak 
Uis  language  purer  ;  or  to  tune  his  mind, 
Or  manners,  more  to  the  harmony  of  nature, 
Than  in  the  nurseries  of  nobility  ? 

"  Host.  Ay,  that  was  when  the  nursery's  self  was  noble, 
And  only  virtue  made  it,  not  the  market, 
That  titles  were  not  vented  at  the  drum, 
Or  common  outcry.     Goodness  gave  the  greatness, 
And  greatness  worship  :  every  house  became 
An  academy  of  honor  ;  and  those  parts 
We  see  departed,  in  the  practice,  now, 
Quite  from  the  institution. 

"  Lovell.  Why  do  you  say  so  ? 
Or  think  so  enviously  ?    Do  they  not  still 
Learn  there  the  Centaur's  skill,  the  art  of  Thrace 
To  ride  ?  or,  Pollux'  mystery,  to  fence  ? 
The  Pyrrhic  gestures,  both  to  dance  and  spring 
In  armor,  to  be  active  in  the  wars  ? 
To  study  figures,  numbers,  and  proportions, 
May  yield  them  great  in  counsels,  and  the  arts 
Grave  Nestor  and  the  wise  Ulysses  practised  1 
To  make  their  English  sweet  upon  their  tongue, 
As  reverend  Chaucer  says  ? 

"  Host.  Sir,  you  mistake  ; 
To  play  Sir  Pandarus,  my  copy  hath  it, 
And  carry  messages  to  Madame  Cressida  ; 
Instead  of  backing  the  brave  steeds  o'  mornings, 
To  court  the  chambermaid  ;  and  for  a  leap 
O'  the  vaulting  horse,  to  ply  the  vaulting  house : 
For  exercise  of  arms,  a  bale  of  dice, 
Or  two  or  three  packs  of  cards  to  show  the  cheat, 
And  nimbleness  of  hand  ;  mistake  a  cloak 
Upon  my  lord's  back,  and  pawn  it ;  ease  his  pocket 
Of  a  suparfluous  watch  ;  or  geld  a  jewel 
Of  an  odd  stone  or  so  ;  twinge  two  or  three  buttons 
From  off  my  lady's  gown  :  These  are  the  arts 
Or  seven  liberal  deadly  sciences 
Of  pagery,  or  rather  paganism, 
As  the  tides  run  ;  to  which  if  he  apply  him, 
He  may  perhaps  take  a  degree  at  Tyburn 
A  year  the  earlier  ;  come  to  take  a  lecture 
Upon  Aquinas  at  St.  Thomas  a  Watering's, 
And  so  go  forth  a  laureat  in  hemp  circle  !" 

Ben  Jonson's  New  Inn,  Act  I.  Scene  III. 


Note  2  Z. 


Seem'd  half  abandon' d  to  decay. — P.  332. 

The  ancient  castle  of  Rokeby  stood  exactly  upon  the  site  of 
the  present  mansion,  by  which  a  part  of  its  walls  is  enclosed. 
It  is  surrounded  by  a' profusion  of  fine  wood,  and  the  park  in 
which  it  stands  is  adorned  by  the  junction  of  the  Greta  and  of 
the  Tees.  The  title  of  Baron  Rokeby  of  Armagh  was,  in  1777, 
conferred  on  the  Right  Reverend  Richard  Robinson,  Primate 
of  Ireland,  descended  of  the  Robinsons,  formerly  of  Rokeby, 
in  Yorkshire 


Note  3  A. 


Rokeby1 8  lords  of  martial  fame, 

I  can  count  them  name  by  name. — P.  334 

The  following  brief  pedigree  of  this  very  ancient  and  once 

Lisle.  2  Temp.  Edw.  2di.  ?,  Temp.  Edw.  Stii. 

4  Temp.  Henr   "mi,  and  from  Mm  is  the  house  of  Skyers,  of  a  fourth 


powerful  family,  was  kindly  supplied  to  the  author  by  Mi. 
Rokeby  of  Northamptonshire,  descended  of  the  ancient  Barwn 
of  Rokeby : — 

"  Pedigree  of  the  House  of  Rokeby. 

1.  Sir  Alex.  Rokeby,  Knt.  married  to  Sir  Hump.  Liftle's1 

daughter. 

2.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Tho.  Lumley's  daughter. 

3.  Sir  Tho.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Tho.  Hubborn's  daughter. 

4.  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Biggot's  daugh- 

ter. 

5.  Sir  Thos.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  John  de  Melsass'  daugh- 

ter of  Bennet-hall,  in  Holderness. 

6.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Sir  Brian  Stapleton's  daughtei 

ofWeighill. 

7.  Sir  Thos.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Ury's  daughter.* 

8.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  daughter  of  Mansfield,  heir  of 

Morton.3 

9.  Sir  Tho.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Stroode's  daughter  and  heir. 

10.  Sir  Ralph   Rokeby,  Knt.  to   Sir  James  Strangwayes 

daughter. 

11.  Sir  Thos.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  John  Hotham's  daughter. 

12.  Ralph   Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Danby  of  Yafforth's  daughter 

and  heir.4 

13.  Tho.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Rob.  Constable's  daughter  of 

Cliff,  serjt.  at  law. 

14.  Christopher  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Lasscells  of  Brackenburgh's 

daughter.8 

15.  Thos.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  the  daughter  of  Thweng. 

16.  Sir  Thomas  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Lawson's  daugh- 

ter of  Brough. 

17.  Frans.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Faucett's  daughter,  citizen  of 

London. 

18.  Thos.   Rokeby,  Esq.  to  the  daughter  of  Wickliffe  of 

Gales. 

High  Sheriffs  of  Yorkshire. 
1337.  11  Edw.  3.  Ralph  Hastings  and  Thos.  de  Rokeby. 
1343.  17  Edw.  3.  Thos.  de  Rokeby,  pro  sept,  annis. 
1358.  25  Edw.  3.  Sir   Thomas  Rokeby,  Justiciary  of  Ire- 
land for  six  years  ;  died  at  the  castle  of 
Kilka. 
1407.    8  Hen.  4.  Thos.  Rokeby  Miles,  defeated   and  slew 
the  Duke  of  Northumberland   at  the 
battle  of  Bramham  Moor. 
1411.  12  Hen.  4.  Thos.  Rokeby  Miles. 

I486 Thomas  Rokeby,  Esq. 

1539 Robert  Holgate,  Bish.  of  Landaff,  after- 
wards P.  of  York,  Ld.  President  of  the 
Council  for  the  Preservation  of  Peace 
in  the  North. 
1564.     6  Eliz.      Thomas  Younge,   Archbishop  of  Yorke, 
Ld.  President. 
30  Hen.  8.  Tho.  Rokeby,  LL.D.  one  of  the  Council. 
Jn.  Rokeby,  LL.D.  one  of  the  Council. 
1572.  15  Eliz.        Henry  Hastings,  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  Ld. 
President. 
Jo.  Rokeby,  Esq.  one  of  the  Council. 
Jo.  Rokeby,  LL.D.  ditto. 
Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  one  of  the  Secreta- 
ries. 
1574.  17  Eliz.        Jo.  Rokeby,  1  ifesentor  of  York. 

7  Will.  3.  Sir  J.  Rokeby,  Knt.  one  of  the  Justices  of 
the  King's  Bench. 
The  family  of  De  Rokeby  came  over  with  the  Conqueror. 
The  old  motto  belonging  to  the  family  is  In  Bivio  Deztra 
The  arms,    argent,    chevron    sable,   between  three    rooka 
proper. 

6  From  Mm  is  the  house  of  Hotham,  and  of  the  second  brother  that  had 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


37 


There  is  somewhat  more  to  be  found  in  01  family  in  the 
Scottish  history  about  the  affairs  of  Dun-Bretton  town,  but 
what  it  is,  and  in  what  time,  I  know  not,  nor  can  have  con- 
venient leisure  to  search.  But  Parson  Blackwood,  the  Scot- 
tish chaplain  to  the  Lord  of  Shrewsbury,  recited  to  me  once  a 
piece  of  a  Scottish  song,  wherein  was  mentioned,  that  Wil- 
liam Wallis,  the  great  deliverer  of  the  Scots  from  the  English 
bondage,  should,  at  Dun-Bretton,  have  been  brought  up  under 
a  Rokeby,  captain  then  of  the  place  ;  and  as  he  walked  on  a 
cliff",  should  thrust  him  on  a  sudden  into  the  sea,  and  tnereby 
have  gotten  that  hold,  which,  I  think,  was  about  the  33d  of 
Edw.  I.  or  before  Thus,  leaving  our  ancestors  of  record,  we 
must  also  with  them  leave  the  Chronicle  of  Malmesbury  Ab- 
bey, called  Eulogium  Hisitoriarum,  out  of  which  Mr.  Leland 
reporteth  this  history,  and  coppy  down  unwritten  story,  the 
which  have  yet  the  testimony  of  later  times,  and  the  fresh 
memory  of  men  yet  alive,  for  their  warrant  and  creditt,  of 
whom  I  have  learned  it,  that  in  K.  Henry  the  7th's  reign,  one 
Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.,  was  owner  of  Morton,  and  I  guess  that 
this  was  he  that  deceived  the  fry  are  of  Richmond  with  his 
felon  swine,  on  which  a  jargon  was  made." 

The  above  is  a  quotation  from  a  manuscript  written  by  Ralph 
Rokeby ;  when  he  lived  is  uncertain. 

To  what  metrical  Scottish  tradition  Parson  Blackwood  al- 
luded, it  would  be  now  in  vain  to  inquire.  But  in  Blind  Har- 
ry's History  of  Sir  William  Wallace,  we  find  a  legend  of  one 
Rukbie,  whom  he  makes  keeper  of  Stirling  Castle  under  the 
English  usurpation,  and  whom  Wallace  slays  with  his  own 
hand : — 

"  In  the  great  press  Wallace  and  Rukbie  met, 
With  his  good  sword  a  stroke  upon  him  set ; 
Derfly  to  death  the  old  Rukbie  he  drave, 
But  his  two  sons  escaped  among  the  lave." 

These  sons,  according  to  the  romantic  Minstrel,  surrendered 
the  castle  on  conditions,  and  went  back  to  England,  but  re- 
turned to  Scotland  in  the  days  of  Bruce,  when  one  of  them 
became  again  keeper  of  Stirling  Castle.  Immediately  after 
this  achievement  follows  another  engagement,  between  Wal- 
lace and  those  Western  Highlanders  who  embraced  the  English 
interest,  at  a  pass  in  Glendonchart,  where  many  were  precipi- 
tated into  the  lake  over  a  precipice.  These  circumstances  may 
have  been  confused  in  the  narrative  of  Parson  Blackwood,  or 
in  the  recollection  of  Mr.  Rokeby. 

In  the  old  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase,  there  is  mentioned,  among 
the  English  warriors,  "  Sir  Raff  the  ryche  Rugbe,"  which  may 
apply  to  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  the  tenth  baron  in  the  pedigree. 
The  more  modern  copy  of  the  ballad  runs  thus  : 

"  Good  Sir  Ralph  Raby  ther  was  slain, 
Whose  prowess  did  surmount." 

This  would  rather  seem  to  relate  to  one  of  the  Nevilles  of 
Raby.  But,  as  the  whole  ballad  is  romantic,  accuracy  is  not 
to  be  looked  for. 


Note  3  B. 

The  Felon  Sow— P.  334. 


The  ancient  minstrels  had  a  comic  as  well  as  a  serious  strain 
of  romance  ;  and  although  the  examples  of  the  latter  are  by 
far  the  most  numerous,  they  are,  perhaps,  the  less  valuable. 
The  comic  romance  was  a  sort  of  parody  upon  the  usual  sub- 
jects of  minstrel  poetry.  If  ths  latter  described  deeds  of  he- 
roic achievement,  and  the  events  of  the  battle,  the  tourney, 

i  Both  the  AlS.  and  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy  read  ancestors,  evidently  a 
•onr.ptioD  i(  "unUrs,  *dv«ntures,  as  corrected  by  Mr.  Evans. — 2  Sow, 
Mrording  to  provincial  pionunciation. — 8  So :  Yorkshire  dialect. — *  Fele, 


and  the  chase,  the  former,  as  in  the  Tournament  of  Totten 
ham,  introduced  a  set  of  clowns  debating  in  the  field,  with  all 
the  assumed  circumstances  of  chivalry  ;  or,  as  in  the  Hunting 
of  the  Hare  (see  Weber's  Metrical  Romances,  vol.  iii.), 
persons  of  the  same  description  following  the  chase,  with  all 
the  grievous  mistakes  and  blunders  incident  to  such  unprac- 
tised sportsmen.  The  idea,  therefore,  of  Don  Quixote's 
phrensy,  although  inimitably  embodied  and  brought  out,  was 
not,  perhaps,  in  the  abstract,  altogether  original.  One  of  the 
very  best  of  these  mock  romances,  and  which  has  no  small 
portion  of  comic  humor,  is  the  Hunting  of  the  Felon  Sow  of 
Rokeby  by  the  Friars  of  Richmond.  Ralph  Rokeby,  who 
(for  the  jest's  sake  apparently)  bestowed  this  intractable  ani- 
mal on  the  convent  of  Richmond,  seems  to  have  flourished 
in  the  time  of  Henry  VII.,  which,  since  we  know  not  the 
date  of  Friar  Theobald's  wardenship,  to  which  the  poem  re- 
fers us,  may  indicate  that  of  the  composition  itself.  Morton, 
the  Mortham  of  the  text,  is  mentioned  as  being  this  facetious 
baron's  place  of  residence  ;  accordingly,  Leland  notices,  that 
"  Mr.  Rokeby  hath  a  place  called  Mortham,  a  little  beneath 
Grentey-bridge,  almost  on  the  mouth  of  Grentey."  That  no 
information  may  be  lacking  which  is  in  my  power  to  supply,  I 
have  to  notice,  that  the  Mistress  Rokeby  of  the  romance,  who 
so  charitably  refreshed  the  sow  after  she  had  discomfited 
Friar  Middleton  and  his  auxiliaries,  was,  as  appears  from  the 
pedigree  of  the  Rokeby  family,  daughter  and  heir  of  Danby 
of  Yaffbrth. 

This  curious  poem  was  first  published  in  Mr.  Whitaker's 
History  of  Craven,  but,  from  an  inaccurate  manuscript,  not 
corrected  very  happily.  It  was  transferred  by  Mr.  Evans  to 
the  new  edition  of  his  Ballads,  with  some  well-judged  conjec- 
tural improvements.  I  have  been  induced  to  give  a  more  au- 
thentic and  full,  though  still  an  imperfect,  edition  of  this 
humorsome  composition,  from  being  furnished  with  a  copj 
from  a  manuscript  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Rokeby,  to  whom 
I  have  acknowledged  my  obligations  in  the  last  Note.  It  has 
three  or  four  stanzas  more  than  that  of  Mr.  Whitaker,  and  the 
language  seems,  where  they  differ,  to  have  the  more  ancient 
and  genuine  readings. 

The  Felon  Sow  of  Rokeby  and  the  Friars  of  Richmond. 

Ye  men  that  will  of  aunters1  winne, 
That  late  within  this  land  hath  beene, 

Of  one  I  will  you  tell ; 
And  of  a  sew2  that  was  sea3  Strang, 
Alas  !  that  ever  she  lived  sae  lang, 

For  (e\\i  folk  did  she  whell.s 

She  was  mare«  than  other  three, 
The  grisliest  beast  that  ere  might  oe, 

Her  head  was  great  and  gray  : 
She  was  bred  in  Rokeby  wood, 
There  were  few  that  thither  goed,7 

That  came  on  live8  away. 

Her  walk  was  endlong9  Greta  side ; 
There  was  no  bren10  that  durst  her  bide, 

That  was  froe'1  heaven  to  hell ; 
Nor  never  man  that  had  that  might, 
That  ever  durst  come  in  her  sight, 

Her  force  it  was  so  fell. 

Ralph  of  Rokeby,  with  good  will, 
The  Fryers  of  Richmond  gave  her  till,1' 

Full  well  to  garre'3  them  fare 
Fryar  Middleton  by  his  name, 
He  was  sent  to  fetch  her  hame, 

That  rude  him  sine1*  full  sare. 


many    Sax. 


A  corruption  of  quell,  to  kill.— fl  More,  greater.— T  Went 
ig  the  side  of  Greta. — 10  Bam,  child,  man  in  general.— 


— d  Alive. — 9  Along  uie  siue  oi  **reia 
11  From.— 12  To.— 13  Make.— 14  Since 


872 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


With  him  tooke  he  wicht  mun  two, 

She  gaped  soe  wide  and  cried  soe  hee, 

Peter  Dale  was  one  of  thoe, 

The  Fryar  seid,  "  I  conjure  thee," 

That  ever  was  brim  as  beare  ;* 

Thou  art  a  feind  of  hell. 

And  well  durst  strike  with  sword  and  knife, 

And  fight  full  manly  for  his  life, 

"  Thou  art  come  hither  for  some  trained8 

What  time  as  mister  ware.2 

I  conjure  thee  to  go  againe 

Where  thou  wast  wont  to  dwell." 

These  three  men  went  at  God's  will, 

He  sayned19  him  with  crosse  and  creede, 

This  wicked  sew  while  they  came  till, 

Took  forth  a  book,  began  to  reade 

Liggan3  under  a  tree ; 

In  St.  John  his  gospell. 

Rugg  and  rusty  was  her  haire  ; 

She  raise  up  with  a  felon  fare,* 

The  sew  she  would  not  Latin  heare, 

To  fight  against  the  three. 

But  rudely  rushed  at  the  Frear, 
That  blinked  all  his  blee  ;» 

She  was  so  grisely  for  to  meete, 

And  when  she  would  have  taken  her  hold 

She  rave  the  earth  up  with  her  feete, 

The  Fryar  leaped  as  Jesus  wold, 

And  bark  came  fro  the  tree  ; 

And  bealed  him21  with  a  tree. 

When  Fryar  Middleton  her  saugh,5 

Weet  ye  well  he  might  not  laugh, 

She  was  as  brim22  as  any  beare, 

Full  earnestly  look't  hee. 

For  all  their  meete  to  labour  there,33 
To  them  it  was  no  boote  : 

These  men  of  aunters  that  was  so  wight,* 

Upon  trees  and  bushes  that  by  her  stood, 

They  bound  them  bauldly?  for  to  fight, 

She  ranged  as  she  was  wood,21 

And  strike  at  her  full  sare  : 

And  rave  them  up  by  roote. 

Until  a  kiln  they  garred  her  flee, 

Wold  God  send  them  the  victory, 

He  sayd,  "  Alas,  that  I  was  Frear ! 

The  wold  ask  him  noa  mare. 

And  I  shall  be  rugged^"  in  sunder  here, 
Hard  is  my  destinie ! 

The  sew  was  in  the  kiln  hole  down, 

Wist26  my  brethren  in  this  houre, 

As  they  were  on  the  balke  aboon,8 

That  I  was  sett  in  such  a  stoure,21 

For9  hurting  of  their  feet ; 

They  would  pray  for  me." 

They  were  so  sanlted'o  with  this  sew, 

That  among  them  was  a  stalworth  stew, 

This  wicked  beast  that  wrought  this  woe, 

The  kiln  began  to  reeke. 

Tooke  that  rape  from  the  other  two, 
And  then  they  fledd  all  three  ; 

Durst  noe  man  neigh  her  with  his  hand, 

They  fledd  away  by  Watling-street, 

But  put  a  rape11  down  with  his  wand, 

They  had  no  succour  but  their  feet, 

And  haltered  her  full  meete  ; 

It  was  the  more  pity. 

They  hurled  her  forth  against  her  will, 

Whiles  they  came  into  a  hill 

The  feild  it  was  both  lost  and  wonne  J28 

A  little  fro  the  street.12 

The  sew  went  hame,  and  that  full  soone, 
To  Morton  on  the  Greene  ; 

And  there  she  made  them  such  a'  fray, 

When  Ralph  of  Rokeby  saw  the  rape,29 

If  they  should  live  to  Doomes-day, 

He  wist30  that  there  had  been  debate, 

They  tharrow13  it  ne'er  forgett ; 

Whereat  the  sew  had  beene. 

She  braded14  upon  every  side, 
And  ran  on  them  gaping  full  wide, 
For  nothing  would  she  lett.15 

She  gave  such  brades18  at  the  band 
That  Peter  Dale  had  in  his  hand, 

He  might  not  hold  his  feet. 
She  chafed  them  to  and  fro, 
The  wight  men  was  never  soe  woe, 

Their  measure  was  not  so  meete. 

She  bonnd  her  boldly  to  abide ; 

To  Peter  Dale  she  came  aside, 

With  many  a  hideous  yell ; 


1  Fierce  as  a  bear.  Mr.  Whitaker'a  copy  reads,  perhaps  in  conse- 
quence of  mistaking  the  MS.,  "  T'other  was  Bryan  of  Bear."— 9  Need 
were.  Mr.  Whitaker  reads  musters. — 3  Lying. — 1  A  fierce  counte- 
nance or  manner.— 5  Saw.— 6  Wight,  brave.  The  Rokeby  MS.  reads 
incountert,  and  Mr.  Whitaker,  aunceators.—l  Boldly.—8  On  the  beam 
above.— 9  To  prevent.— 10  Assaulted.— 11  Rope.— 12  Watling  Street.  See 
the  sequel.— 13  Dare.— 14  Rushed.— 15  Leave  it.— 16  Pulls.— 17  This  line 
is  wanting  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy,  whence  it  has  been  conjectured  that 
something  is  wanting  after  this  stanza,  which  now  there  is  no  occasion  to 
suppose.— IS  Evil  device.— 19  Blessed.  Fr.— 20  Lost  his  color.— 51  Sheltered 
himself.— 93  Fierce.— 93  The  MS.  reads,  to  labour  weere.  The  text 
MM  to  mean,  that  all  their  labor  to  obtain  their  intended  meat  was 
m  use  to  them.    Mr.  Whitaker  reads. 


He  bade  them  stand  out  of  her  way, 
For  she  had  had  a  sudden  fray, — 

"  I  saw  never  so  keene  ; 
Some  new  things  shall  we  heare 
Of  her  and  Middleton  the  Freai, 

Some  battell  hath  there  beene." 

But  all  that  served  him  for  nought, 
Had  they  not  better  succour  sought, 

They  were  served  therefore  loe. 
Then  Mistress  Rokeby  came  anon, 
And  for  her  brought  shee  meate  full  soone 

The  sew  came  her  unto. 


"  She  was  brim  as  any  boar, 
And  gave  a  grisly  hideous  roar, 
To  them  it  was  no  boot." 

Besides  the  want  of  connection  between  the  last  line  and  the  two  former 
the  second  has  a  very  modern  sound,  and  the  reading  of  the  Rokeby  MS. 
with  the  slight  alteration  in  the  text,  is  much  better. 

34  Mad.— 35  Torn,  pulled.— 26  Knew.— 27  Combat,  perilous  fight.— 
38  This  stanza,  with  the  two  following,  and  the  fragment  of  a  fourth,  art 
not  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  edition.— 39  The  rope  about  the  sow's  neck.— 
80  Knew. 


APPENDIX  TO  KOKKBY. 


3ft, 


She  gave  her  meate  upon  the  flower, 

Bands  bound  with  seales  brade,1* 

•            •            •            •            *    i 

As  deedes  of  armes  should  be. 

[Hiatus  valde  dejlendus.] 

These  men  of  armes  that  weere  so  wight, 

When  Fryar  Middleton  came  home, 

With  armour  and  with  brandes  bright, 

His  brethren  was  full  fain  ilkone,2 

They  went  this  sew  to  see  ; 

And  thanked  God  of  his  life ; 

She  made  on  them  slike  a  rerd,is 

He  told  them  all  unto  the  end, 

That  for  her  they  were  sare  afer'd, 

How  he  had  foughten  with  a  fiend, 

And  almost  bound  to  flee. 

And  lived  through  mickle  strife. 

She  came  roveing  them  againe  ; 

"  We  gave  her  battell  half  a  day, 

That  saw  the  bastard  son  of  Spaine, 

And  sithinS  was  fain  to  fly  away, 

He  braded1^  out  his  brand  ; 

For  saving  of  our  life  ;* 

Full  spiteously  at  her  he  strake, 

And  Pater  Dale  would  never  blinn,5 

For  all  the  fence  that  he  could  make, 

But  as  fast  as  he  could  ryn,« 

She  gat  sword  out  of  hand  ; 

Till  he  came  to  his  wife." 

And  rave  in  sunder  half  his  shielde, 

And  bare  him  backward  in  the  feilde, 

The  warden  said,  "lam  full  of  woe, 

He  might  not  her  gainstand. 

That  ever  ye  should  be  torment  so, 

But  wee  with  you  had  beene  ! 

She  would  have  riven  his  privich  geare 

Had  wee  been  there  your  brethren  all, 

But  Gilbert  with  his  sword  of  werre, 

Wee  should  have  garred  the  warle7    fall, 

He  strake  at  her  full  strong, 

That  wrought  you  all  this  teyne."8 

-.On  her  shoulder  till  she  held  the  swerd : 
^Then  was  good  Gilbert  sore  afer'd, 

Fryar  Middleton  said  soon,  "  Nay, 

When  the  blade  brake  in  throng." 

In  faith  you  would  have  fled  away, 

When  most  mister3   had  beene ; 

Since  in  his  hands  he  hath  her  tane, 

You  will  all  speake  words  at  hame, 

She  tooke  him  by  the  shoulder  bane,M 

A  man  would  ding1"  you  every  ilk  ane, 

And  held  her  hold  full  fast ; 

And  if  it  be  as  I  weine." 

She  strave  so  stiffly  in  that  stower,19 

That  through  all  his  rich  armour 

He  look't  so  griesly  all  that  night, 

The  blood  came  at  the  last. 

The  warden  said,  "  Yon  man  will  fight 

If  you  say  ought  but  good  ; 

Then  Gilbert  grieved  was  sae  sare, 

Yon  guest11  hath  grieved  him  so  sare, 

That  he  rave  off  both  hide  and  haire, 

Hold  your  tongues  and  speake  noe  mare 

The  flesh  came  fro  the  bone  ; 

He  looks  as  he  were  woode." 

And  with  all  force  he  felled  her  there, 

And  wann  her  worthily  in  werre, 

The  warden  waged  n  on  the  morne, 

And  band  her  him  alone. 

Two  boldest  men  that  ever  were  borne, 

I  weine,  or  ever  shall  be  ; 

And  lift  her  on  a  horse  sae  hee, 

The  one  was  Gibbert  Griffin's  son, 

Into  two  paniers  well-made  of  a  tre, 

Full  mickle  worship  has  he  wonne, 

And  to  Richmond  they  did  hay  :*> 

Both  by  land  and  sea. 

When  they  saw  her  come, 

They  sang  merrily  Te  Deum, 

The  other  was  a  bastard  son  of  Spain, 

The  Fryers  on  that  day.21 

Many  a  Sarazin  hath  he  slain, 

His  dint13  hath  gart  them  die. 

They  thanked  God  and  St.  Francis, 

These  two  men  the  battle  undertooke, 

As  they  had  won  the  best  of  pris,2* 

Against  the  sew,  as  says  the  booke, 

And  never  a  man  was  slaine  : 

And  sealed  security. 

There  did  never  a  man  more  manly, 

Knight  Marcus,  nor  yett  Sir  Gui, 

That  they  should  boldly  bide  and  fight, 

Nor  Loth  of  Louthyane.23 

And  skomfit  her  in  maine  and  might, 

Or  therefore  should  they  die. 

If  ye  will  any  more  of  this, 

The  warden  sealed  to  them  againe, 

In  the  Fryers  of  Richmond  'tis 

And  said,  "  In  feild  if  ye  be  slain, 

In  parchment  good  and  fine  ; 

This  condition  make  I : 

And  how  Fryar  Middleton  that  was  so  kend,** 

At  Greta  Bridge  conjured  a  feind 

**  We  shall  for  you  pray,  sing,  and  read 

In  likeness  of  a  swine.  ( 

Till  doomesday  with  hearty  speede 

With  all  our  progeny." 

It  is  well  known  to  many  a  man, 

Then  the  letters  well  was  made,          ' 

That  Fryar  Theobald  was  warden  U.an, 

1  This  line  is  almost  illegible.— 2  Each  one.— 3  Since  then,  after  that. 

Ac— 15  Hired,  a  Yorkshire  phrase.— 13  Blow.— 14  Broad,  large.— 15  Sum 

—4  The  above  lines  are  wanting  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy. — 5  Cease,  stop. 

like  a  roar.— 16  Drew  out.— 17  In  the  combat.— 18  Bone.— 19  Meeting,  bat- 

—6 Run.— 7  Warlock,  or  wizard.— 8  Harm.— 9  Need.— 10  Beat.    The  copy 

tle.— 20  Hie,  hasten.— 21  The  MS.  reads,  mistakenly,  every  day.-  22  Price. 

fc)  Mr.  Whitaker's  History  of  Craven  reads,  perhaps  better, — 

—23  The  father  of  Sir  Gawain,  in  the  romance  of  Arthur  and  Merlin 

"  The  fiend  would  ding  you  down  ilk  one." 

The  MS.  is  thus  corrupted— 

tl  "  Yon  guest,"  may  be  yon  ffesl,  i.  e.,  that  adventure  ;  or  it  may  mean 

More  loth  of  Louth  Ryme. 

yon  g>\ai»t,  or  apparition,  which  in  old  poems  is  applied  si  metimes  to  what 

m  supematurally  hideous.    The  printed  copy  reads, — "  The  beast  hath," 

84  Well  known,  or  perhaps  kind,  well  disposed. 

374 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  this  fell  in  his  time  ; 
And  Christ  them  bless  both  farre  and  neare, 
All  that  for  solace  list  this  to  heare, 

And  him  that  made  the  rhime. 

Ralph  Rokeby  with  full  good  will, 
The  Fryers  of  Richmond  he  gave  her  till, 

This  sew  to  mend  their  fare  ; 
Fryar  Middleton  by  his  name, 
Would  needs  bring  the  fat  sew  hame, 

That  rued  him  since  full  sare. 


Note  3  C. 


The  Filea  of  O'JVeale  was  he.— P.  334. 

The  Filea,  or  Ollamh  Re  Dan,  was  the  proper  bard,  or,  as 
the  name  literally  implies,  poet.  Each  chieftain  of  distinction 
had  one  or  more  in  his  service,  whose  office  was  usually  hered- 
itary. The  late  ingenious  Mr.  Cooper  Walker  lias  assembled 
a  curious  collection  of  particulars  concerning  this  order  of  men, 
in  his  Historical  Memoirs  of  the  Irish  Bards.  There  were  itin- 
erant bards  of  less  elevated  rank,  but  all  were  held  in  UM^iiigli- 
est  veneration.  The  English,  who  considered  them  TOT  chief 
rupporters  of  the  spirit  of  national  independence,  were  much 
disposed  to  proscribe  this  race  of  poets,  as  Edward  I.  is  said  to 
aave  done  in  Wales.  Spenser,  while  he  admits  the  merit  of 
their  wild  poetry,  as  "  savoring  of  sweet  wit  and  good  inven- 
tion, and  sprinkled  with  some  pretty  flowers  of  their  natural 
device,"  yet  rigorously  condemns  the  whole  application  of  their 
poetry,  as  abased  to  "the  gracing  of  wickedness  and  vice." 
The  household  minstrel  was  admitted  even  to  the  feast  of  the 
prince  whom  he  served,  and  sat  at  the  same  table.  It  was 
one  of  the  customs  of  which  Sir  Richard  Sewry,  to  whose 
charge  Richard  II.  committed  the  instruction  of  four  Irish 
monarchs  in  the  civilization  of  the  period,  found  it  most  diffi- 
cult to  break  his  royal  disciples,  though  he  had  also  much  ado 
to  subject  them  to  other  English  rules,  and  particularly  to  rec- 
oncile them  to  wear  breeches.  "  The  kyng,  my  souerevigne 
lord's  entent  was,  that  in  niauer,  countenaunce,  and  apparel  of 
clothyng,  they  sholde  use  according  to  the  maner  of  Englande, 
for  the  kynge  thought  to  make  them  all  four  knyghtes  :  they 
had  a  fayre  house  to  lodge  in,  in  Duvelyn,  and  I  was  charged 
to  abyde  styll  with  them,  and  not  to  departe ;  and  so  two  or 
three  dayes  I  suffered  them  to  do  as  they  list,  and  sayde  noth- 
yng  to  them,  but  folowed  their  owne  appetytes:  they  wolde 
sitte  at  the  table,  and  make  countenances  nother  good  nor 
fayre.  Than  I  thought  I  shulde  cause  them  to  chaunge  that 
maner;  they  wolde  cause  their  mynstrells,  their seruantes,  and 
varlettes,  to  sytte  with  them,  and  to  eate  in  their  owne  dyssche, 
and  to  drinke  of  their  cuppes  ;  and  they  shewed  me  that  the 
usage  of  their  cuntre  was  good,  for  they  sayd  in  all  thyngs 
(except  their  beddes)  they  were  and  lyved  as  comen.  So  the 
fourthe  day  I  ordayned  other  tables  to  be  couered  in  the  hall, 
after  the  usage  of  Englande,  and  I  made  these  four  knyghtes 
to  sytte  at  the  hyghe  table,  and  there  mynstrels  at  another  borde, 
and  their  seruauntes  and  varlettes  at  another  byneth  them, 
wherof  by  semynge  they  were  displeased,  and  beheld  each 
other,  and  wolde  not  eate,  and  sayde,  how  I  wolde  take  fro 
them  their  good  usage,  wherein  they  had  been  norished.  Then 
I  answered  them,  smylyng,  to  apeace  them,  that  it  was  not 
honourable  for  their  estates  to  do  as  they  dyde  before,  and  that 
they  must  leave  it,  and  use  the  custom  of  Englande,  and  that 
it  was  the  kynge's  pleasure  they  shulde  so  do,  and  how  he  was 
charged  so  to  order  them.  When  they  harde  that,  they  suffer- 
ed it,  bycause  they  had  putte  themselfe  under  the  obesyance 
of  the  Kynge  of  England,  and  parceuered  in  the  same  as  long 
as  I  was  with  them  ;  yet  they  had  one  use  which  I  knew  was 
well  used  in  their  cuntre,  and  that  was,  they  dyde  were  no 
twreches  ;  I  caused  breches  of  lynen  clothe  to  be  made  for  them. 
Whyle  I  was  with  them  I  oaused  them  to  leaue  many  rude 


thynges,  as  well  in  clothyng  as  in  other  causes.  Moche  ado  I 
had  at  the  fyrst  to  cause  them  to  weare  gownes  of  sylke,  fur- 
red with  myneuere  and  gray  ;  for  before  these  kynges  thought 
themselfe  well  apparelled  whan  they  had  on  a  mantell.  They 
rode  alwayes  without  saddles  and  styropes,  and  with  great 
payne  I  made  them  to  ride  afterour  usage." — Lord  Berners' 
Froissart.    Lond.  1812,  4to.  vol.  ii.  p.  621. 

The  influence  of  these  bards  upon  their  patrons,  and  theii 
admitted  title  to  interfere  in  matters  of  the  weightiest  concern, 
may  be  also  proved  from  the  behavior  of  one  of  them  at  an  in- 
terview between  Thomas  Fitzgerald,  son  of  the  Earl  of  Kil- 
dare,  then  about  to  renounce  the  English  allegiance,  and  thi 
Lord  Chancellor  Cromer,  who  made  a  long  and  goodly  oration 
to  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose.  The  young  lord  had  come 
to  the  council  "  armed  and  weaponed,"  and  attended  by  seven 
score  horsemen  in  their  shirts  of  mail ;  and  we  are  assured  that 
the  chancellor,  having  set  forth  his  oration  "  with  such  a  la- 
mentable action  as  his  cheekes  were  all  beblubbered  with  teares, 
the  horsemen,  namelie,  such  as  understood  not  English,  began 
to  diuine  what  the  lord-chancellor  meant  with  all  this  long  cir- 
cumstance ;  some  of  them  reporting  that  he  was  preaching  a 
sermon,  others  said  that  he  stood  making  of  some  heroicall 
poetry  in  the  praise  of  the  Lord  Thomas.  And  thus  as  every 
idiot  shot  his  foolish  bolt  at  the  wise  chancellor  his  discourse, 
who  in  effect  had  nought  else  but  drop  pretious  stones  before 
hogs,  one  Bard  de  Nelan,  an  Irish  rithmour,  and  a  rotten  sheepe 
to  infect  a  whole  flocke,  was  chatting  of  Irish  verses,  as  though 
his  toong  had  run  on  pattens,  in  commendation  of  the  Lord 
Thomas,  investing  him  with  the  title  of  i?ilken  Thomas,  bicaus 
his  horsemens  jacks  were  gorgeously  imbroidered  with  silke : 
and  in  the  end  he  told  him  that  he  lingered  there  ouer  long , 
whereat  the  Lord  Thomas  being  quickened,"1  as  Holinshed 
expresses  it,  bid  defiance  to  the  chancellor,  threw  down  con 
temptuously  the  sword  of  office,  which,  in  his  father's  absence 
he  held  as  deputy,  and  rushed  forth  to  engage  in  open  insur 
rection. 


Note  3  D. 

Ah,  Clandeboy!  thy  friendly  floor 
Slieve-Donard' s  oak  shall  light  no  more. — P.  335. 

Clandeboy  is  a  district  of  Ulster,  formerly  possessed  by  the 
sept  of  the  O'Neales,  and  Slieve-Donard,  a  romantic  mountain 
in  the  same  province.  The  clan  was  ruined  after  Tyrone's 
great  rebellion,  and  their  places  of  abode  laid  desolate.  The 
ancient  Irish,  wild  and  uncultivated  in  other  respects,  did  not 
yield  even  to  their  descendants  in  practising  the  most  free  and 
extended  hospitality  ;  and  doubtless  the  bards  mourned  the 
decay  of  the  mansion  of  their  chiefs  in  strains  similar  to  the 
verses  of  the  British  Llywarch  Hen  on  a  similar  occasion, 
which  are  affecting,  even  through  the  discouraging  medium  o 
a  literal  translation — 

"  Silent-breathing  gale,  long  wilt  thou  be  heard  1 
There  is  scarcely  another  deserving  praise 
Since  Urien  is  no  more. 

Many  a  dog  that  scented  well  the  prey,  and  aerial  hawk, 
Have  been  train'd  on  this  floor 
Before  Erlleon  became  polluted  .  .  . 

This  hearth,  ah,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  nettles  I 

Whilst  its  defender  lived, 

More  congenial  to  it  was  the  foot  of  the  needy  petitioner 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  green  sod  ! 

In  the  lifetime  of  Owain  and  Elphin, 

Its  ample  caldron  boiled  the  prey  taken  from  the  foe. 

1  Hollinslied.    Lond.  1S08, 4to.  vol.  vi.  p.  291 . 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


378 


This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  toad-stools! 
Around  the  viand  it  prepared,  more  cheering  was 
The  clattering  sword  of  the  fierce  dauntless  warrior. 

This  Learth,  will  it  not  be  overgrown  with  spreading 

brambles ! 
Till  now,  logs  of  burning  wood  lay  on  it, 
Accustom 'd  to  prepare  the  gifts  of  Reged  ! 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  thorns  ! 

More  congenial  on  it  would  have  been  the  mixed  group 

Of  Owain's  social  friends  united  in  harmony. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  ants ! 

More  adapted  to  it  would  have  been  the  bright  torches 

And  harmless  festivities  ! 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  dock-leaves  1 

More  congenial  on  its  floor  would  have  been 

The  mead,  and  the  talking  of  wine-cheer'd  warriors. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  turned  up  by  the  swine  ! 
More  congenial  to  it  would  have  been  the  clamor  of  men, 
And  the  circling  horns  of  the  banquet." 

Heroic  Elegies  of  Llywarc  Hen,  by  Owen. 
Lond.  1792,  8vo.  p.  41. 

"  The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 

Without  fire,  without  bed — 

I  must  weep  a  while,  and  then  be  silent ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 

Without  fire,  without  candle — 

Except  God  doth,  who  will  endue  me  with  patience  ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  being  lighted — 
Be  thou  encircled  with  spreading  silence  ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan,  gloomy  seems  its  roof 
Since  the  sweet  smile  of  humanity  is  no  more- 
Woe  to  him  that  saw  it,  if  he  neglects  to  do  good  ! 


The  haTl  of  Cynddylan,  art  thou  not  bereft  of  thy 

ance? 
Thy  shield  is  in  the  grave  ; 
Whilst  he  lived  there  was  no  broken  roof ! 


The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  without  love  this  night, 

Since  he  that  own'd  it  is  no  more — 

Ah,  death  :  it  will  be  but  a  short  time  he  will  leave  me ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  not  easy  this  night, 
On  the  top  of  the  rock  of  Hydwyth, 

Without  its  lord,  without  company,  without  the  circling 
feasts ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  songs; — 
Tears  afflict  the  cheeks  1 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  family — 
My  overflowing  tears  gush  out ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  pierces  me  to  see  it, 
Without  a  covering,  without  fire — 
My  general  dead,  and  I  alive  myself! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  the  seat  of  chill  grief  this  night, 

After  the  respect  I  experienced  ; 

*Vithout  thi  men,  without  the  women,  who  reside  there  ! 


The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  silent  this  night, 

After  losing  its  master — 

The  great  merciful  God,  what  shall  I  do  !" 


Ibia.  p.  77. 


Note  3  E. 

M'Curtin's  harp.— P.  336. 

"MacCurtin,  hereditary  Ollamh  of  North  Munster,  ar& 
Filea  to  Donough,  Earl  of  Thomond,  and  President  of  Mun- 
ster. This  nobleman  was  amongst  those  who  were  prevailed 
upon  to  join  Elizabeth's  forces.  Soon  as  it  was  known  that 
he  had  basely  abandoned  the  interests  of  his  country,  Mac- 
Curtin presented  an  adulatory  poem  to  MacCarthy,  chief  of 
South  Munster,  and  of  the  Eugenian  line,  who,  with  O'Neil, 
O'Donnel,  Lacy,  and  others,  were  deeply  engaged  in  protect 
ing  their  violated  country.  In  this  poem  he  dwelt  with  rap- 
ture on  the  courage  and  patriotism  of  MacCarthy  ;  but  the 
verse  that  should  (according  to  an  established  law  of  the  order 
of  the  bards)  be  introduced  in  the  praise  of  O'Brien,  he  turns 
into  severe  satire : — '  How  am  I  afflicted  (says  he)  that  the 
descendant  of  the  great  Brion  Boiromh  cannot  furnish  me 
with  a  theme  worthy  the  honor  and  glory  of  his  exalted  race  !' 
Lord  Thomond,  hearing  this,  vowed  vengeance  on  the  spirited 
bard,  who  fled  for  refuge  to  the  county  of  Cork.  One  day, 
observing  the  exasperated  nobleman  and  his  equipage  at  a  small 
distance,  he  thought  it  was  in  vain  to  fly,  and  pretended  to  be 
suddenly  seized  with,  the  pangs  of  death  ;  directing  his  wife  to 
lament  over  him,  and  tell  his  lordship,  that  the  sight  of  him, 
by  awakening  the  sense  of  his  ingratitude,  had  so  much  affected 
him  that  he  could  not  support  it ;  and  desired  her  at  the  same 
time  to  tell  his  lordship,  that  he  entreated,  as  a  dying  request, 
his  forgiveness.  Soon  as  Lord  Thomond  arrived,  the  feigned 
tale  was  related  to  him.  That  nobleman  was  moved  to  com- 
passion, and  not  only  declared  that  he  most  heartily  forgave 
him,  but,  opening  his  purse,  presented  the  fair  mourner  with 
some  pieces  to  inter  him.  This  instance  of  his  lordship's  pity 
and  generosity  gave  courage  to  the  trembling  bard  ;  who,  sud- 
denly springing  up,  recited  an  extemporaneous  ode  in  praise  of 
Donough,  and,  re-entering  into  his  service,  became  once  more 
his  favorite." — Walker's  Memoirs  of  the  Irish  Bards. 
Lond.  1786,  4to.  p.  141. 


Note  3  F. 


The  ancient  English  minstreVs  dress. — P.  336. 

Among  the  entertainments  presented  to  Elizabeth  at  Kenil- 
worth  Castle,  was  the  introduction  of  a  person  designed  to 
represent  a  travelling  minstrel,  who  entertained  her  with  a 
solemn  story  out  of  the  Acts  of  King  Arthur.  Of  this  person'? 
dress  and  appearance  Mr.  Laneham  has  given  us  a  very  accu- 
rate account,  transferred  by  Bishop  Percy  to  the  preliminary 
Dissertation  on  Minstrels,  prefixed  to  his  Reliques  of  Ancient 
Poetry,  vol.  i. 


Note  3  G-. 


Littlecote  Hall.—?.  340. 

The  tradition  from  which  the  ballad  is  founded  was  supplied 
by  a  friend  (the  late  Lord  Webb  Seymour),  whose  account  I 
will  not  do  the  injustice  to  abridge,  as  it  contains  an  admirable 
picture  of  an  old  English  hall : — 

"  Littlecote  House  stands  in  a  low  and  lonely  situation. 
On  three  sides  it  is  surrounded  by  a  park  that  spreads  ovel 
the  adjoining  hill ;  on  the  fourth,  by  meadows  which  are  wa- 
tered by  the  river  Bonnet.     Close  on  one  side  of  the  house  is  a 


37G 


iSCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


thick  grove  of  lofty  trees,  along  the  verge  of  which  runs  one 
of  the  principal  avenues  to  it  through  the  park.  It  is  an 
irregular  building  of  great  antiquity,  and  was  probably  erected 
about  the  time  of  the  termination  of  feudal  warfare,  when 
defenct  came  no  longer  to  be  an  object  in  a  country  mansion. 
Many  circumstances,  however,  in  the  interior  of  the  house, 
term  appropriate  to  feudal  times.  The  hall  is  very  spacious, 
ioored  with  stones,  and  lighted  by  large  transom  windows, 
.hat  are  clothed  with  casements.  Its  walls  are  hung  with  old 
military  accoutrements,  that  have  long  been  left  a  prey  to  rust. 
V.  one  end  of  the  hall  is  a  range  of  coats  of  mail  and  helmets, 
'mo  *here  is  on  every  side  abundance  of  old-fashioned  pistols 
and  guns,  many  of  them  with  match-locks.  Immediately  be- 
low the  cornice  hangs  a  row  of  leathern  jerkins,  made  in  the 
form  of  a  shirt,  supposed  to  have  been  worn  as  armor  by  the 
vassals.  A  large  oak  table,  reaching  nearly  from  one  end  of 
the  room  to  the  other,  might  have  feasted  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood, and  an  appendage  to  one  end  of  it  made  it  answer  at 
other  times  for  the  old  game  of  shulHeboard.  The  rest  of  the 
furniture  is  in  a  suitable  style,  particularly  an  arm-chair  of 
cumbrous  workmanship,  constructed  of  wood,  curiously  turned, 
with  a  high  back  and  triangular  seat,  said  to  have  been  used 
by  Judge  Popham  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  The  entrance 
into  the  hall  is  at  one  end,  by  a  low  door,  communicating  with 
a  passage  that  leads  from  the  outer  door  in  the  front  of  the 
house  to  a  quadrangle1  within  ;  at  the  other,  it  opens  upon  a 
gloomy  staircase,  by  which  you  ascend  to  the  first  floor,  and, 
passing  the  doors  of  some  bedchambers,  enter  a  narrow  gallery, 
which  extends  along  the  back  front  of  the  house  from  one  end 
to  the  other  of  it,  and  looks  upon  an  old  garden.  This  gallery 
is  hung  with  portraits,  chiefly  in  the  Spanish  dresses  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  In  one  of  the  bedchambers,  which  you 
pass  in  going  towards  the  gallery,  is  a  bedstead  with  blue  fur- 
niture, which  time  has  now  made  dingy  and  threadbare,  and 
in  the  bottom  of  one  of  the  bed-curtains  you  are  shown  a  place 
where  a  small  piece  has  been  cut  out  and  sewn  in  again, — a 
circumstance  which  serves  to  identify  the  scene  of  the  follow- 
ing story  : — 

"  It  was  on  a  dark  rainy  night  in  the  month  of  November, 
that  an  old  midwife  sat  musing  by  her  cottage  fire-sicre,  when 
on  a  sudden  she  was  startled  by  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door. 
On  opening  it  she  found  a  horseman,  who  told  her  that  her 
assistance  was  required  immediately  by  a  person  of  rank,  and 
that  she  should  be  handsomely  rewarded  ;  but  that  there  were 
reasons  for  keeping  the  affair  a  strict  secret,  and,  therefore,  she 
must  submit  to  be  blindfolded,  and  to  be  conducted  in  that 
condition  to  the  bedchamber  of  the  lady.  With  some  hesita- 
tion the  midwife  consented  ;  the  horseman  bound  her  eyes, 
and  placed  her  on  a  pillion  behind  him.  After  proceeding  in 
silence  for  many  miles  through  rough  and  dirty  lanes,  they 
stopped,  and  the  midwife  was  led  into  a  house,  which,  from 
the  length  of  her  walk  through  the  apartments,  as  well  as  the 
sounds  about  her,  she  discovered  to  be  the  seat  of  wealth  and 
power.  When  the  bandage  was  removed  from  her  eyes,  she 
found  herself  in  a  bedchamber,  in  which  were  the  lady  on 
whose  account  she  had  been  sent  for,  and  a  man  of  a  haughty 
and  ferocious  aspect.  The  lady  was  delivered  of  a  fine  boy. 
Immediately  the  man  commanded  the  midwife  to  give  him  the 
child,  and,  catching  it  from  her,  he  hurried  across  the  room, 
and  threw  it  on  the  back  of  the  fire,  that  was  blazing  in  the 
chimney.  The  child,  however,  was  strong,  and,  by  its  strug- 
gles, rolled  itself  upon  the  hearth,  when  the  ruffian  again  seized 
it  with  fury,  and,  in  spite  of  the  intercession  of  the  midwife, 
and  the  more  piteous  entreaties  of  the  mother,  thrust  it  under 
the  grate,  and,  raking  the  live  coals  upon  it,  soon  put  an  end 
to  its  life.  The  midwife,  after  spending  some  time  in  affording 
all  the  relief  in  her  power  to  the  wretched  mother,  was  told 
that  she  must  be  gone.  Her  former  conductor  appeared,  who 
again  bound  her  eyes,  and  conveyed  her  behind  him  to  her 
own  home  :  he  then  paid  her  handsomely,  and  departed.    The 

1  I  think  there  is  a  chapel  on  one  side  of  it,  but  am  not  quite  sure. 


midwife  was  strongly  agitated  by  the  horrors  of  the  preceding 
night ;  and  she  immediately  made  a  deposition  of  the  facta 
before  a  magistrate.  Two  circumstances  afforded  hopes  of 
detecting  the  house  in  which  the  crime  had  been  committed  ; 
one  was,  that  the  midwife,  as  she  sat  by  the  bedside,  had,  with 
a  view  to  discover  the  place,  cut  out  a  piece  of  the  bed-curtain, 
and  sewn  it  in  again  ;  the  other  was,  that  as  she  had  descended 
the  staircase  she  had  counted  the  steps.  Some  suspicions  fell 
upon  one  Darrell,  at  that  time  the  proprietor  of  Litt'eeote 
House,  and  the  domain  around  it.  The  house  was  exan  ined, 
and  identified  by  the  midwife,  and  Darrell  was  tried  at  Salis- 
bury for  the  murder.  By  corrupting  his  judge,  he  escaped  the 
sentence  of  the  law  ;  but  broke  his  neck  by  a  fall  from  his 
horse  in  hunting,  in  a  few  months  after.  The  place  where  this 
happened  is  still  known  by  the  name  of  Darrell's  irtyle,—  a 
spot  to  be  dreaded  by  the  peasant  whom  the  shades  of  evening 
have  overtaken  on  his  way. 

"  Littlecote  House  is  two  miles  from  Hungerford,  in  Berk- 
shire, through  which  the  Bath  road  passes.  The  fact  occurred 
in.  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  All  the  important  circumstances  I 
have  given  exactly  as  they  are  told  in  the  country  ;  some  trifles 
only  are  added,  either  to  render  the  whole  connected,  or  to 
increase  the  impression." 

To  Lord  Webb's  edition  of  this  singular  story,  the  author 
can  now  add  the  following  account,  extracted  from  Aubrey's 
Correspondence.  It  occurs  among  other  particulars  respecting 
Sir  John  Popham  : — 

<i  <;jr  #  *  *  D^yrell,  of  Littlecote,  in  Com.  Wilts,  hav- 
ing gott  his  lady's  waiting-woman  with  child,  when  her  travell 
came,  sent  a  servant  with  a  horse  for  a  midwife,  whom  he 
was  to  bring  hood-winked.  She  was  brought,  and  layd  the 
woman,  but  as  soon  as  the  child  was  born,  she  sawe  the  knight 
take  the  child  and  murther  it,  and  burn  it  in  the  fire  in  the 
chamber.  She  having  done  her  businesse,  was  extraordinarily 
rewarded  for  her  paines,  and  sent  blindfolded  away.  This 
horrid  action  did  much  run  in  her  mind,  and  she  had  a  desire 
to  discover  it,  but  knew  not  where  'twas.  She  considered 
with  herself  the  time  that  she  was  riding,  and  how  many  miles 
she  might  have  rode  at  that  rate  in  (hat  time,  and  that  it 
must  be  some  great  person's  house,  for  the  roome  was  12  foot 
high  ;  and  she  should  know  the  chamber  if  she  sawe  it.  She 
went  to  a  Justice  of  Peace,  and  search  was  made.  The  very 
chamber  found.  The  Knight  was  brought  to  his  tryall ;  and, 
to  be  short,  this  judge  had  this  noble  house,  parke  and  manner, 
and  (I  thinke)  more,  for  a  bribe  to  save  his  life. 

"  Sir  John  Popham  gave  sentence  according  to  lawe,  but 
being  a  great  person  and  a  favourite,  he  procured  a  noli 
prosequi.'1 

With  this  tale  of  terror  the  author  has  combined  some  cir- 
cumstances of  a  similar  legend,  which  was  current  at  Edin- 
burgh during  his  childhood. 

About  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  wnea  the 
large  castles  of  the  Scottish  nobles,  and  even  the  secluded 
hotels,  like  those  of  the  French  noblesse,  which  they  possessed 
in  Edinburgh,  were  sometimes  the  scenes  of  strange  and  mys- 
terious transactions,  a  divine  of  singular  sanctity  was  called  up 
at  midnight  to  pray  with  a  person  at  the  point  of  death.  Thi» 
was  no  unusual  summons  ;  but  what  followed  was  alarniirg. 
He  was  put.  into  a  sedan-chair,  and  after  he  had  been  trans- 
ported to  a  remote  part  of  the  town,  the  bearers  insisted  upon 
his  being  blindfolded.  The  request  was  enforced  by  a  cocked 
pistol,  and  submitted  to ;  but  in  the  course  of  the  discussion, 
he  conjectured,  from  the  phrases  employed  by  the  chairmen, 
and  from  some  part  of  their  dress,  not  completely  concealed  bf 
their  cloaks,  that  they  were  greatly  above  the  menial  station 
they  had  assumed.  After  many  turns  and  windings,  the  chair 
was  carried  up  stairs  into  a  lodging,  where  his  eyes  were  un- 
covered, and  he  was  introduced  into  a  bedroom,  where  he 
found  a  lady,  newly  delivered  of  an  infant.  He  was  com- 
manded by  his  attendants  to  say  such  prayers  by  her  bedside 
as  were  fitting  for  a  person  not  expected  to  survive  a  monal 
disorder.     He  ventured  to  remonstrate,  and  observe  tf-t  hei 


APPENDIX  TO  ROKEBY. 


311 


safe  delivery  warranted  better  hopes.  But  he  was  sternly 
commanded  to  obey  the  orders  first  given,  and  with  difficulty 
recollected  himself  sufficiently  to  acquit  himself  of  the  task 
imposed  on  him.  He  was  then  again  hurried  into  the  chair ; 
but  as  they  conducted  him  down  stairs,  he  heard  the  report  of 
a  pistol.  He  was  safely  conducted  home  ;  a  purse  of  gold  was 
forced  upon  him  ;  but  he  was  warned,  at  the  same  time,  that 
the  least  allusion  to  this  dark  transaction  would  cost  him  his 
life.  He  betook  himself  to  rest,  and,  after  long  and  broken 
musing,  fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  From  this  he  was  awakened 
Dy  his  servant,  with  the  dismal  news  that  a  fire  of  uncommon 
fury  had  broke.i  out  in  the  house  of  *  *  *  *,  near  the  head 
of  the  Canongate,  and  that  it  was  totally  consumed  ;  with  the 
shocking  addition,  that  the  daughter  of  the  proprietor,  a  young 
lady  eminent  for  beauty  and  accomplishments,  had  perished  in 
the  flames.  The  clergyman  had  his  suspicions,  but  to  have 
made  them  public  would  have  availed  nothing.  He  was  timid  ; 
the  family  was  of  the  first  distinction  ;  above  all,  the  deed  was 
done,  and  could  not  be  amended.  Time  wore  away,  however, 
and  with  it  his  terrors.  He  became  unhappy  at  being  the  soli- 
tary depositary  of  this  fearful  mystery,  and  mentioned  it  to 
some  of  his  brethren,  through  whom  the  anecdote  acquired  a 
jort  of  publicity.  The  divine,  however,  had  been  long  dead, 
and  the  story  in  some  degree  forgotten,  when  a  fire  broke  out 
again  on  the  very  same  spot  where  the  house  of  *  *  *  *  had 
formerly  stood,  and  which  was  now  occupied  by  buildings  of 
an  inferior  description.  When  the  flames  were  at  their  height, 
the  tumult,  which  usually  attends  such  a  scene,  was  suddenly 
suspended  by  an  unexpected  apparition.  A  beautiful  female, 
In  a  night-dress,  extremely  rich,  but  at  least  half  a  century  old, 
appeared  in  the  very  midst  of  the  fire,  and  uttered  these  tre- 
mendous words  in  her  vernacular  idiom  :  "  Anes  burned,  twice 
burned  ;  the  third  time  I'll  scare  you  all !"  The  belief  in  this 
Btory  was  formerly  so  strong,  that  on  a  fire  breaking  out,  and 
seeming  to  approach  the  fatal  spot,  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
anxiety  testified,  lest  the  apparition  should  make  good  her  de- 
nunciation. 


Note  3  H. 

As  thick  a  smoke  these  hearths  have  given 
At  Hallow-tide  or  Christmas-even. — P.  341. 

Such  an  exhortation  was,  in  similar  circumstances,  actually 
given  to  his  followers  by  a  Welsh  chieftain  : — 

"  Enmity  did  continue  betweene  Howell  ap  Rys  ap  Howell 
Vaughan  and  the  sonnes  of  John  ap  Meredith.  After  the 
death  of  Evan  ap  Rebert,  Griffith  ap  Gronw  (cosen-german  to 
John  ap  Meredith's  sonnes  of  Gwynfryn,  who  had  long  served 
in  France,  and  had  charge  there)  comeing  home  to  live  in  the 
countrey,  it  happened  that  a  servant  of  his,  comeing  to  fish  in 
Stymllyn,  his  fish  was  taken  away,  and  the  fellow  beaten  by 
Howell  ap  Rys  and  his  servants,  and  by  his  commandment. 
Griffith  ap  John  ap  Gronw  took  the  matter  in  such  dudgeon 
that  he  challenged  Howell  ap  Rys  to  the  field,  which  he  re- 
fusing, assembling  his  cosins  John  ap  Meredith's  sonnes  and 
his  friends  together,  assaulted  Howell  in  his  own  house,  after 
the  maner  he  had  seene  in  the  French  warres,  and  consumed 
with  fire  his  barnes  and  his  out-houses.  Whilst  he  was  thus 
assaulting  the  hall,  which  Howell  ap  Rys  and  many  other 
people  kept,  being  a  very  strong  house,  he  was  shot,  out  of  a 
crevice  of  the  house,  through  the  sight  of  his  beaver  into  the 
nead,  arl  slayne  outright,  being  otherwise  armed  at  all  points. 
N.  twithstanding  his  death,  the  assault  of  the  house  was  con- 
tii.^itl  with  great  vehemence,  the  doores  fired  with  great  bur- 
then! cf  straw  ;  besides  this,  the  smoake  of  the  out-houses  and 
barnes  not  farre  distant  annoyed  greatly  the  defendants,  for  that 
most  of  them  lay  under  boordes  and  benches  upon  the  floore,  in 
the  hall,  the  better  to  avoyd  the  smoake.  During  this  scene 
of  confusion  onely  the  old  man,  Howell  ap  Rys,  never  stooped, 
*mt  stood  valiantly  in  the  midst  of  the  floore,  armed  with  a 
48 


gleve  in  his  hand,  and  called  unto  them,  and  bid  '  them  arise 
like  men,  for  shame,  for  he  had  knowne  there  as  great  a  smoake 
in  that  hall  upon  Christmas-even.'  In  the  end,  seeing  the  house 
could  noe  longer  defend  them,  being  overlayed  with  a  multi- 
tude, upon  parley  betweene  them,  Howell  ap  Rys  was  con- 
tent to  yeald  himself  prisoner  to  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith, 
John  ap  Meredith's  eldest  sonne,  soe  as  he  would  swear  unto 
him  to  bring  him  safe  to  Carnarvon  Castle,  to  abide  the  trial, 
of  the  law  for  the  death  of  Graff'  ap  John  ap  Gronw,  who 
was  cosen-german  removed  to  the  said  Howell  ap  Rys,  and  of 
the  very  same  house  he  was  of.  Which  Moms  ap  John  af 
Meredith  undertaking,  did  put  a  guard  about  the  said  Howell 
of  his  trustiest  friends  and  servants,  who  kept  and  defended 
him  from  the  rage  of  his  kindred,  and  especially  of  Owen  ap 
John  ap  Meredith,  his  brother,  who  was  very  eager  against 
him.  They  passed  by  leisure  thence  like  a  campe  to  Carnar 
von:  the  whole  countrie  being  assembled,  Howell  his  friends 
posted  a  horseback  from  one  place  or  other  by  the  way,  who 
brought  word  that  he  was  come  thither  safe,  for  they  were  in 
great  fear  lest  he  should  be  murthered,  and  that  Morris  ap  John 
ap  Meredith  could  not  be  able  to  defend  him,  neither  durst 
any  of  Howell's  friends  be  there,  for  fear  of  the  kindred.  li- 
the end,  being  delivered  by  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  to  the 
Constable  of  Carnarvon  Castle,  and  there  kept  safely  in  ward 
untill  the  assises,  it  fell  out  by  law,  that  the  burning  of  How 
ell's  houses,  and  assaulting  him  in  his  owne  house,  was  a  more 
haynous  offence  in  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  and  the  rest, 
than  the  death  of  Graff'  ap  John  ap  Gronw  in  Howell,  who 
did  it  in  his  own  defence  ;  whereupon  Morris  ap  John  ap  Mere- 
dith, with  thirty-five  more,  were  indicted  of  felony,  as  appear- 
eth  by  the  copie  of  the  indictment,  which  I  had  from  the  rec- 
ords."— Sir  John  Wynne's  History  of  the  Qwydir  Family 
Lond.  1770,  8vo.  p.  116. 


Note  3  I. 


O'er  Hexham's  altar  hung  my  glove. — P.  349. 

This  custom  among  the  Redesdale  and  Tynedale  Borderers  is 
mentioned  in  the  interesting  Life  of  Barnard  Gilpin,  where 
some  account  is  given  of  these  wild  districts,  which  it  wa?  the 
custom  of  that  excellent  man  regularly  to  visit. 

"  This  custom  (of  duels)  still  prevailed  on  the  Borders, 
where  Saxon  barbarism  held  its  latest  possession.  These  wild 
Northumbrians,  indeed,  went  beyond  the  ferocity  of  their  an* 
cestors.  They  were  not  content  with  a  duel :  each  contending 
party  used  to  muster  what  adherents  he  could,  and  commence 
a  kind  of  petty  war.  So  that  a  private  grudge  would  often 
occasion  much  bloodshed. 

"  It  happened  that  a  quarrel  of  this  kind  was  on  foot  when 
Mr.  Gilpin  was  at  Rothbury,  in  those  parts.  During  the  two 
or  three  first  days  of  his  preaching,  the  contending  parties  ob- 
served some  decorum,  and  never  appeared  at  church  together. 
At  length,  however,  they  met.  One  party  had  been  early  at 
church,  and  just  as  Mr.  Gilpin  began  his  sermon,  the  othei 
entered.  They  stood  not  long  silent.  Inflamed  at  the  sight  ol 
each  other,  they  began  to  clash  their  weapons,  for  they  were 
all  armed  with  javelins  and  swords,  and  mutually  approached. 
Awed,  however,  by  the  sacredness  of  the  place,  the  tumult  in 
some  degree  ceased.  Mr.  Gilpin  proceeded  :  when  again  the 
combatants  began  to  brandish  their  weapons  and  draw  to- 
wards each  other.  As  a  fray  seemed  near,  Mr.  Gilpin  stepped 
from  the  pulpit,  went  between  them,  and  addressed  the  leaders 
put  an  end  to  the  quarrel  for  the  present,  but  could  not  effect 
an  entire  reconciliation.  They  promised  him,  however,  that 
till  the  sermon  was  over  they  would  make  no  more  disturbance. 
He  then  went  again  into  the  pulpit,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the 
time  in  endeavoring  to  make  them  ashamed  of  what  they  had 
done.  His  behavior  and  discourse  affected  them  so  much, 
that,  at  his  farther  entreaty,  they  promised  to  forbear  all  acts 
of  hostility  while  he  continued  in  the  countr.v      And  so  muc-» 


378 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


respected  was  he  among  them,  that  whoever  was  in  fear  of  his 
enemy  used  to  resort  where  Mr.  Gilpin  was,  esteeming  his  pres 
enee  the  best,  protection. 

"  One  Sunday  morning,  coming  to  a  church  in  those  parts, 
before  the  people  were  assembled,  he  observed  a  glove  hang- 
ing up,  and  was  informed  by  the  sexton,  that  it  was  meant  as 
a  challenge  to  any  one  who  should  take  it  down.  Mr.  Gilpin 
ordered  the  sexton  to  reach  it  to  him  ;  but  upon  his  utterly 
refusing  to  touch  it,  lie  took  it  down  himself,  and  put  it  into 
his  breast.  When  the  people  were  assembled,  he  went  into 
the  pulpit,  and,  before  he  concluded  his  sermon,  took  occasion 
to  rebuke  them  severely  for  these  i\iuman  challenges.  '  I 
hear,'  ssith  he,  '  that  one  among  you  hath  hanged  up  a  glove, 
even  in  this  sacred  place,  threatening  to  fight  any  one  who 
taketh  it  down  :  see,  I  have  taken  it  down  ;'  and,  pulling  out 
the  glove,  he  held  it  up  to  the  congregation,  and  then  showed 
them  how  unsuitable  such  savage  practices  were  to  the  pro- 
fession of  Christianity,  using  such  persuasives  to  mutual  love 
as  he  thought  would  most  affect  them." — Life  of  Barnard 
Gilpin.    Lond.  1753,  8vo.  p.  177. 


Note  3  K. 


A  Horseman  arm'd,  at  headlong  speed. — P.  353. 

This,  and  what  follows,  is  taken  from  a  real  achievement  of 
Major  Robert  Philipson,  called,  from  his  desperate  and  adven- 
turous courage,  Robin  the  Devil  ;  which,  as  being  very  inac- 
curately noticed  in  this  note  upon  the  first  edition,  shall  be 
now  given  in  a  more  authentic  form.  The  chief  place  of  his 
retreat  was  not  Lord's  Island,  in  Derwent water,  but  Curwen's 
Island,  in  the  Lake  of  Windermere  : — 

"  This  island  formerly  belonged  to  the  Philipsons,  a  family 
of  note  in  Westmoreland.  During  the  Civil  Wars,  two  of  them, 
an  elder  and  a  younger  brother,  served  the  King.  The  former, 
who  was  the  proprietor  of  it,  commanded  a  regiment ;  the  lat- 
ter was  a  major. 

"  The  major,  whose  name  was  Robert,  was  a  man  of  great 
spirit  and  enterprise ;  and  for  his  many  feats  of  personal  bra- 
very had  obtained,  among  the  Oliverians  of  those  parts,  the 
appellation  of  Robin  the  Devil. 

"  After  the  war  had  subsided,  and  the  direful  effects  of  pub- 
lic opposition  had  ceased,  revenge  and  malice  long  kept  alive 


the  animosity  of  individuals.  Colonel  Briggs,  a  stea  Jy  fnetd 
to  usurpation,  resided  at  this  time  at  Kendal,  and,  under  the 
double  character  of  a  leading  magistrate  (for  he  was  a  Justiee- 
of-l'eace)  and  an  active  commander,  held  the  country  in  awe. 
This  person  having  heard  that  Major  Philipson  was  at  hi« 
brother's  house  on  the  island  in  Windermere,  resolved,  if  por- 
sible,  to  seize  and  punish  a  man  who  had  made  himself  so 
particularly  obnoxious.  How  it  was  conducted,  my  author- 
ity1 does  not  inform  us — whether  he  got  together  the  naviga- 
tion of  the  lake,  and  blockaded  the  place  by  sea,  or  whether 
he  landed  and  carried  on  his  approaches  in  form.  Neither  do 
we  learn  the  strength  of  the  garrison  within,  nor  of  the  works 
without.  All  we  learn  is,  that  Major  Philipson  endured  a 
siege  of  eight  months  with  great  gallantry,  till  his  brother,  tha 
Colonel,  raised  a  party  and  relieved  him. 

"  It  was  now  the  Major's  turn  to  make  reprisals.  He  put 
himself,  therefore,  at  the  head  of  a  little  troop  of  horse,  and 
rode  to  Kendal.  Here,  being  informed  that  Colonel  Briggi 
was  at  prayers  (for  it  was  on  a  Sunday  morning),  he  sta 
tioned  his  men  properly  in  the  avenues,  and  himself  armed, 
rode  directly  into  the  church.  It  probably  was  not  a  regular 
church,  but  some  large  place  of  meeting.  It  is  said  he  in- 
tended to  seize  the  Colonel  and  carry  him  off';  but  as  this 
seems  to  have  been  totally  impracticable,  it  is  rather  probable 
that  his  intention  was  to  kill  him  on  the  spot,  and  in  the  midsl 
of  the  confusion  to  escape.  Whatever  his  intention  was,  il 
was  frustrated,  for  Briggs  happened  to  be  elsewhere. 

"The  congregation,  as  might  be  expected,  was  thrown  into 
great  confusion  on  seeing  an  armed  man  on  horseback  make 
his  appearance  among  them  ;  and  the  Major,  taking  advantage 
of  their  astonishment,  turned  his  horse  round,  and  rode  quietly 
out.  But  having  given  an  alarm,  he  was  presently  assaulted 
as  he  left  the  assembly,  and  being  seized,  his  girths  were  cut, 
and  he  was  unhorsed. 

"  At  this  instant  his  party  made  a  furious  attack  on  the  as- 
sailants, and  the  Major  killed  with  his  own  hand  the  man  who 
had  seized  him,  clapped  the  saddle,  ungirthed  as  it  was,  upon 
his  horse,  and,  vaulting  into  it,  rode  lull  speed  through  the 
streets  of  Kendal,  calling  his  men  to  follow  him  ;  and,  with 
his  whole  party,  made  a  safe  retreat  to  his  asylum  in  the  lake. 
The  action  marked  the  man.  Many  knew  him  :  and  they  who 
did  not,  knew  as  well  from  the  exploit  that  it  could  be  nobodj 
but  Robin  the  Devil. ' ' 

1  Dr.  Burn's  History  of  Westmorland. 


©1)£  Sribal  of  Srurmatn; 

OR, 

SUje   l)aU    of   0t.   Soijn. 


A   LOVER'S   TALE 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION.1 

I;  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  the  year 
1809,  Three  Fragments  were  inserted,  written  in 
imitation  of  Living  Poets.  It  must  have  been  ap- 
parent, that,  by  these  prolusions,  nothing  burlesque, 
or  disrespectful  to  the  authors  was  intended,  but 
that  they  were  offered  to  the  public  as  serious, 
though  certainly  very  imperfect,  imitations  of  that 
style  of  composition,  by  which  each  of  the  writers 
is  supposed  to  be  distinguished.  As  these  exer- 
cises attracted  a  greater  degree  of  attention  than 
the  author  anticipated,  he  has  been  induced  to 
complete  one  of  them,  and  present  it  as  a  separate 
publication.2 

It  is  not  in  this  place  that  an  examination  of  the 
works  of  the  master  whom  he  has  here  adopted  as 
his  model,  can,  with  propriety,  be  introduced ;  since 
his  general  acquiescence  in  the  favorable  suffrage 
of  the  public  must  necessarily  be  inferred  from  the 
attempt  he  has  now  made.  He  is  induced,  by  the 
nature  of  his  subject,  to  offer  a  few  remarks  on 
what  has  been  called  romantic  poetry  ; — the  pop- 
ularity of  which  has  been  revived  in  the  present 
day,  under  the  auspices,  and  by  the  unparalleled 
success,  of  one  individual. 

The  original  purpose  of  poetry  is  either  religious 
or  historical,  or,  as  must  frequently  happen,  a  mix- 
ture of  both.  To  modern  readers,  the  poems  of 
Homer  have  many  of  the  features  of  pure  romance  ; 
but  in  the  estimation  of  his  contemporaries,  they 
probably  derived  their  chief  value  from  their  sup- 
posed historical  authenticity.  The  same  may  be 
generally  said  of  the  poetry  of  all  early  ages.  The 
marvels  and  miracles  which  the  poet  blends  with 
his  song,  do  not  exceed  in  number  or  extravagance 
the  figments  of  the  historians  of  the  same  period 

i  Published  in  March,  1813,  by  John  Ballantyne  and  Co. 
12mo.  7s.  0i. 

a  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  his  Introduction  to  the  Lord  of  the 
Isles,  says, — "  Being  much  urged  by  my  intimate  friend,  now 
unhappily  no  more,  William  Erskine,  I  agreed  to  write  the 
little  romantic  tale  called  the  'Bridal  of  Triermain  ;'  but  it 
was  on  the  condition,  that  he  should  make  no  serious  effort  to 
disown  the  compo'dtior   if  report  s1  lould  lay  it  at  His  door. 


of  society;  and,  indeed,  the  difference  betwixt 
poetry  and  prose,  as  the  vehicles  of  liistorical  truth, 
is  always  of  late  introduction.  Poets,  under  vari- 
ous denominations  of  Bards,  Scalds,  Chroniclers, 
and  so  forth,  are  the  first  historians  of  all  nations. 
Their  intention  is  to  relate  the  events  they  have 
witnessed,  or  the  traditions  that  have  reached 
them;  and  they  clothe  the  relation  in  rhyme, 
merely  as  the  means  of  rendering  it  more  solemn 
in  the  narrative,  or  more  easily  committed  to  mem- 
ory. But  as  the  poetical  historian  improves  in  the 
art  of  conveying  information,  the  authenticity  of 
his  narrative  unavoidably  declines.  He  is  tempted 
to  dilate  and  dwell  upon  the  events  that  are  in- 
teresting to  his  imagination,  and,  conscious  how  in- 
different his  audience  is  to  the  naked  truth  of  his 
poem,  his  history  gradually  becomes  a  romance. 

It  is  in  this  situation  that  those  epics  are  found, 
which  have  been  generally  regarded  the  standards 
of  poetry ;  and  it  has  happened  somewhat  strange- 
ly, that  the  moderns  have  pointed  out  as  the  char- 
acteristics and  peculiar  excellencies  of  narrative 
poetry,  the  very  circumstances  which  the  authors 
themselves  adopted,  only  because  their  art  involved 
the  duties  of  the  historian  as  well  as  the  poet.  It 
cannot  be  believed,  for  example,  that  Homer  se- 
lected the  siege  of  Troy  as  the  most  appropriate 
subject  for  poetry ;  his  purpose  was  to  write  the 
early  history  of  his  country ;  the  event  he  has 
chosen,  though  not  very  fruitful  in  varied  incident, 
nor  perfectly  well  adapted  for  poetry,  was  nevei« 
theless  combined  with  traditionary  and  genealo- 
gical anecdotes  extremely  interesting  to  those  whc 
were  to  listen  to  him ;  and  this  he  has  adorned  by 
the  exertions  of  a  genius,  which,  if  it  has  been 
equalled,  has  certainly  been  never  surpassed.  It 
was  not  till  comparatively  a  late  period  that  the 

As  he  was  more  than  suspected  of  a  taste  for  poetry,  and  as  I 
took  care,  in  several  places,  to  mix  something  which  might  re- 
semble (as  far  as  was  in  my  power)  my  friend's  feeling  and 
manner,  the  train  easily  caught,  and  two  large  editions  were 
sold.  A  third  being  called  for,  Lord  Kinedder  became  unwill- 
ing to  aid  any  longer  a  deception  which  was  going  further 
than  be  expected  or  defred,  and  the  real  author's  name  wai 
given." 


380 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


general  accuracy  of  his  narrative,  or  his  purpose  in 
composing  it.  was  brought  into  question.     AokeI 

itputroi  [6  A.val-ay6pas\  (icaOd  (pnai  <t>a6op7vog  iv  iravroSairrj 
'JffTopiu)  rf]v  'Ofir,py  iroinaiv  arrocp^atrOai  tlvai  rrepl  aperrji 

Kal  StKaioavvris.1  But  whatever  theories  might  be 
framed  by  speculative  men,  his  work  was  of  an 
historical,  not  of  an  allegorical  nature.    EvclvtIWsto 

fiSTa  tj  MivTtu),  Kal  otth  IkAototi  aipiKoiTO,  ndvra  ra  tin- 
X '.opia  icepwraro.  Kal  icrropfwv  cirvvddvero'  eUdg  Si  piv  fjv  Kal 

livi^cwa  wdvrav  YpdipeaQai."1  Instead  of  recommend- 
ing the  choice  of  a  subject  similar  to  that  of  Ho- 
mer, it  was  to  be  expected  that  critics  should  have 
exhorted  the  poets  of  these  latter  days  to  adopt 
or  invent  a  narrative  in  itself  more  susceptible  of 
poetical  ornament,  and  to  avail  themselves  of  that 
advantage  in  order  to  compensate,  in  some  degree, 

1  Diogenes  Laertius,  lib.  ii.  Anaxag.  Segm.  11. 

2  Homeri  Vita,  in  Herod.  Henr.  Steph.  1570,  p.  356. 

3  A  RECEIPT  TO  MAKE  AN  EPIC  POEM. 
FOR  THE  FABLE. 

"  Take  out  of  any  old  poem,  history  book,  romance,  or  le- 
gend (for  instance,  Geoffry  of  Monmouth,  or  Don  Belianis  of 
Greece),  those  parts  of  story  which  afford  most  scope  for  long 
descriptions.  Put  these  pieces  together,  and  throw  all  the  ad- 
ventures you  fancy  into  one  tale.  Then  take  a  hero  whom 
you  may  choose  for  the  sound  of  his  name,  and  put  him  into 
the  midst  of  these  adventures.  There  let  him  work  for  twelve 
books  ;  at  the  end  of  which  you  may  take  him  out  ready  pre- 
pared to  conquer  or  marry,  it  being  necessary  that  the  conclu- 
sion of  an  epic  poem  be  fortunate." 

To  make  an  Episode. — "  Take  any  remaining  adventure  of 
your  former  collection,  in  which  you  could  no  way  involve 
your  hero,  or  any  unfortunate  accident  that  was  too  good  to  be 
thrown  away,  and  it  will  be  of  use,  applied  to  any  other  per- 
son, who  may  be  lost  and  evaporate  in  the  course  of  the  work, 
without  the  least  damage  to  the  composition." 

For  the  Moral  and  Allegory.—"  These  you  may  extract 
out  of  the  fable  afterwards  at  your  leisure.  Be  sure  you  strain 
them  sufficiently." 

FOR  THE  MANNERS. 

"  For  those  of  the  hero,  take  all  the  best  qualities  you  can 
find  in  all  the  celebrated  heroes  of  antiquity  ;  if  they  will  not 
be  reduced  to  a  consistency,  lay  them  all  on  a  heap  upon  him. 
Be  sure  they  are  qualities  which  your  patron  would  be  thought 
to  have ;  and,  to  prevent  any  mistake  which  the  world  may 
be  subject  to,  select  from  the  alphabet  those  capital  letters  that 
compose  his  name,  and  set  them  at  the  head  of  a  dedication 
before  your  poem.  However,  do  not  absolutely  observe  the 
exact  quantity  of  these  virtues,  it  not  being  determined  whether 
or  no  it  be  necessary  for  the  hero  of  a  poem  to  be  an  honest 
man.  For  the  under  characters,  gather  them  from  Homer  and 
Virgil,  and  cnange  the  names  as  occasion  serves." 

FOR  THE  MACHINES. 

u  Take  of  deities,  male  and  female,  as  many  as  you  can  use. 
Separate  them  into  equal  parts,  and  keep  Jupiter  in  the  middle. 
Let  Juno  put  him  in  a  ferment,  and  Venus  mollify  him.  Re- 
member on  all  occasions  to  make  use  of  volatile  Mercury.  If 
yon  have  need  of  devils,  draw  them  out  of  Milton's  Paradise, 
and  extract  your  spirits  from  Tasso.  The  use  of  these  ma- 
chines is  evident,  for,  since  no  epic  poem  can  possibly  subsist 
without  them,  the  wisest  way  is  to  reserve  them  for  your  great- 
est necessities.  When  you  cannot  extricate  your  hero  by  any 
human  means,  or  yourself  by  your  own  wits,  seek  relief  from 
Heaven,  and  the  gods  will  do  your  business  very  readily.    This 


the  inferiority  of  genius.  The  contrary  course  has 
been  inculcated  by  almost  all  the  writers  upon  the 
Epopceia  ;  with  what  success,  the  fate  of  Homer's 
numerous  imitators  may  best  show.  The  ultimum 
supplicium  of  criticism  was  inflicted  on  the  author 
if  he  did  not  choose  a  subject  which  at  once  de- 
prived him  of  all  claim  to  originality,  and  placed 
him,  if  not  in  actual  contest,  at  least  in  fatal  com- 
parison, with  those  giants  in  the  land,  whom  it  was 
most  his  interest  to  avoid.  The  celebrated  receipt 
for  writing  an  epic  poem,  which  appeared  in  The 
Guardian,8  was  the  first  instance  in  which  common 
sense  was  applied  to  this  department  of  poetry ; 
and,  indeed,  if  the  question  be  considered  on  its 
own  merits,  we  must  be  satisfied  that  narrative 
poetry,  if  strictly  confined  to  the  great  occurrence* 

is  according  to  the  direct  prescription  of  Horace  in  his  Art  of 
Poetry : 

'  Nee  Deus  intersit,  nisi  dignus  vindice  nodus 
Incident. ' — Verse  191. 

'  Never  presume  to  make  a  god  appear 
But  for  a  business  worthy  of  a  god.' — Roscommon. 

That  is  to  say,  a  poet  should  never  call  upon  the  gods  for  their 
assistance,  but  when  he  is  in  great  perplexity." 

FOR  THE  DESCRIPTIONS. 

For  a  Tempest. — "  Take  Eurus,  Zephyr,  Auster,  and  Bore- 
as, and  cast  them  together  into  one  verse.  Add  to  these,  of 
rain,  lightning,  and  of  thunder  (the  loudest  you  can),  quantum 
sitjheit.  Mix  your  clouds  and  billows  well  together  until  they 
foam,  and  thicken  your  description  here  and  there  with  a 
quicksand.  Brew  your  tempest  well  in  your  head  before  you 
set  it  a-blowing." 

For  a  Battle. — *'  Pick  a  large  quantity  of  images  and  de- 
scriptions from  Homer's  Iliad,  with  a  spice  or  two  of  Virgil ; 
and  if  there  remain  any  overplus,  you  may  lay  them  by  for  a 
skirmish.  Season  it  well  with  similes,  and  it  will  make  an  ex- 
cellent battle." 

For  a  Burning  Town. — "  If  such  a  description  be  necessary, 
because  it  is  certain  there  is  one  in  Virgil,  Old  Troy  is  ready 
burnt  to  your  hands.  But  if  you  fear  that  would  be  thought 
borrowed,  a  chapter  or  two  of  the  Theory  of  Conflagration,! 
well  circumstanced,  and  done  into  verse,  will  be  a  good  suc- 
cedaneum." 

As  for  similes  and  metaphors,  "  they  may  be  found  all 
over  the  creation.  The  most  ignorant  may  gather  them,  but 
the  danger  is  in  applying  them.  For  this,  advise  with  your 
bookseller." 

FOR  THE  LANGUAGE. 

(I  mean  the  diction.')  "  Here  it  will  do  well  to  be  an  imita- 
tor of  Milton  ;  for  you  will  find  it  easier  to  imitate  him  in  this 
than  any  thing  else.  Hebraisms  and  Grecisms  are  to  be  found 
in  him  without  the  trouble  of  learning  the  languages.  I  knew 
a  painter,  who  (like  our  poet)  had  no  genius,  make  his  daub- 
ings  to  be  thought  originals,  by  setting  them  in  the  smoke. 
You  may,  in  the  same  manner,  give  the  venerable  air  of  an- 
tiquity to  your  piece,  by  darkening  up  and  down  like  Old  Eng- 
lish. With  this  you  may  be  easily  furnished  upon  any  occa- 
sion, by  the  Dictionary  commonly  printed  at  the  end  of  Chau- 
cer." 

1  From  Lib.  iii.  De  Conflagratione  Mundi,  or  Telluris  Theoria  Sacr* 
published  in  4to.  1689.  By  Dr.  Thomas  Burnet,  muster  of  the  Charter- 
House. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TKIERMAIJN. 


381 


of  hrnnrjr.  would  be  deprived  of  the  individual  in- 
terest whu  1  it  is  so  well  calculated  to  excite. 

Modern  ^oets  may  therefore  be  pardoned  in 
seeking  simpler  subjects  of  verse,  more  interesting 
ui  proportion  to  their  simplicity.  Two  or  three 
figures,  well  grouped,  suit  the  artist  better  than 
a  crowd,  for  whatever  purpose  assembled.  For 
the  same  reason,  a  scene  immediately  presented 
to  the  imagination,  and  directly  brought  home  to 
the  feelings,  though  involving  the  fate  of  but  one 
or  two  persons,  is  more  favorable  for  poetry  than 
the  political  struggles  and  convulsions  which  in- 
fluence the  fate  of  kingdoms.  The  former  are 
within  the  reach  and  comprehension  of  all,  and 
if  depicted  with  vigor,  seldom  fail  to  fix  atten- 
tion :  The  other,  if  more  sublime,  are  more  vague 
and  distant,  less  capable  of  being  distinctly  un- 
derstood, and  infinitely  less  capable  of  exciting 
those  sentiments  which  it  is  the  very  purpose  of 
poetry  to  inspire.  To  generalize  is  always  to 
destroy  effect.  "We  would,  for  example,  be  more 
interested  in  the  fate  of  an  individual  soldier  in 
combat,  than  in  the  grand  event  of  a  general 
action ;  with  the  happiness  of  two  lovers  raised 
from  misery  and  anxiety  to  peace  and  union,  than 
with  the  successful  exertions  of  a  whole  nation. 
From  what  causes  this  may  originate,  is  a  sep- 
arate and  obviously  an  immaterial  consideration. 
Before  ascribing  this  peciiliarity  to  causes  de- 
cidedly and  odiously  selfish,  it  is  proper  to  recol- 
lect, that  while  men  see  only  a  limited  space,  and 
while  their  affections  and  conduct  are  regulated, 
not  by  aspiring  to  an  universal  good,  but  by 
exerting  their  power  of  making  themselves  and 
others  happy  within  the  limited  scale  allotted  to 
each  individual,  so  long  will  individual  history 
and  individual  virtue  be  the  readier  and  more 
accessible  road  to  general  interest  and  attention ; 

"  I  must  not  conclude  without  cautioning  all  writers  without 
genius  in  one  material  point,  which  is,  never  to  be  afraid  of 
having  too  much  fire  in  their  works.  I  should  advise  rather 
to  take  their  warmest  thoughts,  and  spread  them  abroad  upon 
paper  ;  for  they  are  observed  to  cool  before  they  are  read." — 
Pope.     The  Guardian,  No.  78. 

i  "  In  all  this  we  cheerfully  acquiesce,  without  abating  any 
thing  of  our  former  hostility  to  the  modern  Romaunt  style, 
which  is  founded  on  very  different  principles.  Nothing  is,  in 
our  opinion,  so  dangerous  to  the  very  existence  of  poetry  as 
the  extreme  laxity  of  rule  and  consequent  facility  of  compo- 
sition, which  are  its  principal  characteristics.  Our  very  ad- 
mission in  favor  of  that  license  of  plot  and  conduct  which  is 
claimed  by  the  Romance  writers,  ought  to  render  us  so  mnch 
the  more  guarded  in  extending  the  privilege  to  the  minor 
poets  of  composition  and  versification.  The  removal  of  all 
technical  bars  and  impediments  sets  wide  open  the  gates  of 
Parnassus ;  and  so  much  the  better.  We  dislike  mystery 
quite  as  much  in  matters  of  taste,  as  of  politics  and  religion. 
But  let  us  not,  in  opening  the  door,  pull  down  the^  wall,  and 
level  the  very  foundation  of  the  edifice." — Critical  Review, 
1813. 


and,  perhaps,  we  may  add,  that  it  is  the  more 
useful,  as  well  as  the  more  accessible,  inasmuch 
as  it  affords  an  example  capable  of  being  easily 
imitated. 

According  to  the  author's  idea  of  Romantic 
Poetry,  as  distinguished  from  Epic,  the  former 
comprehends  a  fictitious  narrative,  framed  and 
combined  at  the  pleasure  of  the  writer ;  begin 
ning  and  ending  as  he  may  judge  best :  which 
neither  exacts  nor  refuses  the  use  of  supernatural 
machinery  ;  winch  is  free  from  the  technical  rules 
of  the  Epee ;  and  is  subject  only  to  those  which 
good  sense,  good  taste,  and  good  morals,  apply 
to  every  species  of  poetry  without  exception. 
The  date  may  be  in  a  remote  age,  or  in  the 
present ;  the  story  may  detail  the  adventures  of 
a  prince  or  of  a  peasant.  In  a  word,  the  author 
is  absolute  master  of  his  country  and  its  inhabi 
tants,  and  every  thing  is  permitted  to  him,  except 
ing  to  be  heavy  or  prosaic,  for  winch,  free  and 
unembarrassed  as  he  is,  he  has  no  manner  of 
apology.  Those,  it  is  probable,  will  be  found  the 
peculiarities  of  this  species  of  composition ;  and. 
before  joining  the  outcry  against  the  vitiated  taste 
that  fosters  and  encourages  it,  the  justice  and 
grounds  of  it  ought  to  be  made  perfectly  ap- 
parent. If  the  want  of  sieges,  and  battles,  and 
great  military  evolutions,  in  our  poetry,  is  com 
plained  of,  let  us  reflect,  that  the  campaigns  and 
heroes  of  our  days  are  perpetuated  in  a  record 
that  neither  requires  nor  admits  of  the  aid  of  fic- 
tion ;  and  if  the  complaint  refers  to  the  inferiority 
of  our  bards,  let  us  pay  a  just  tribute  to  their 
modesty,  limiting  them,  as  it  does,  to  subjects 
which,  however  indifferently  treated,  have  still 
the  interest  and  charm  of  novelty,  and  which  thus 
prevents  them  from  adding  insipidity  to  their 
other  more  insuperable  defects.1 

"  In  the  same  letter  in  which  William  Erskine  acknowl- 
edges the  receipt  of  the  first  four  pages  of  Kokeby,  he  ad- 
verts also  to  the  Bridal  of  Triermain  as  being  already  in  rapid 
progress.  The  fragments  of  this  second  poem,  inserted  in  the 
Register  of  the  preceding  year,  had  attracted  considerable 
notice  ;  the  secret  of  their  authorship  had  been  well  kept ; 
and  by  some  means,  even  in  the  shrewdest  circles  of  Edin- 
burgh, the  belief  had  become  prevalent  that  they  proceeded 
not  from  Scott,  but  from  Erskine.  Scott  had  no  sooner  com- 
pleted his  bargain  as  to  the  copyright  of  the  unwritten  Rokeby, 
than  he  resolved  to  pause  from  time  to  time  in  its  composi- 
tion, and  weave  those  fragments  into  a  shorter  and  lighter 
romance,  executed  in  a  different  metre,  and  to  be  published 
anonymously,  in  a  small  pocket  volume,  as  nearly  as  possible 
on  the  same  day  with  the  avowed  quarto.  He  expected 
great  amusement  from  the  comparisons  which  the  critics 
would  no  doubt  indulge  themselves  in  drawing  between  him- 
self and  this  humble  candidate  ;  and  Erskine  good-humoredly 
entered  into  the  scheme,  undertaking  to  do  nothing  which 
should  effectually  suppress  the  notion  of  his  having  set  nun 
self  up  as  a  modest  rival  to  his  friend." — Life  of  Scott,  vo» 
iv.  p.  12. 


882 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Stye  Bridal  of  ©rurtnain. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Comb,  Lucy  !  while  'tis  morning  hour, 

The  woodland  brook  we  needs  must  pass ; 
So,  ere  the  sun  assume  his  power, 
We  shelter  in  our  poplar  bower, 
Where  dew  lies  long  upon  the  flower, 

Though  vanish'd  from  the  velvet  grass. 
Curbing  the  stream,  this  stony  ridge 
May  serve  us  for  a  silvan  bridge ; 

For  here,  compell'd  to  disunite, 

Round  petty  isles  the  runnels  glide, 
And  chafing  off  their  puny  spite, 
The  shallow  murmurers  waste  their  might, 

Yielding  to  footstep  free  and  light 
A  dry-shod  pass  from  side  to  side. 

II. 

Nay,  why  this  hesitating  pause  ? 
And,  Lucy,  as  thy  step  withdraws, 
Why  sidelong  eye  the  streamlet's  brim  ? 

Titania's  foot  without  a  slip, 
Like  thine,  though  timid,  light,  and  slim, 

From  stone  to  stone  might  safely  trip, 

Nor  risk  the  glow-worm  clasp  to  dip 
That  binds  her  slipper's  silken  rim. 
Or  trust  thy  lover's  strength  :  nor  fear 

That  this  same  stalwart  arm  of  mine, 
Which  could  yon  oak's  prone  trunk  uprear, 
Shall  shrink  beneath  the  burden  dear 

Of  form  so  slender,  light,  and  fine. — 
So, — now,  the  danger  dared  at  last, 
Look  back,  and  smile  at  perils  past ! 

III. 

And  now  we  reach  the  favorite  glade, 

Paled  in  by  copsewood,  cliff,  and  stone, 
Where  never  harsiier  sounds  invade, 

To  break  affection's  whispering  tone, 
Than  the  deep  breeze  that  waves  the  shade, 

Than  the  small  brooklet's  feeble  moan. 
Some  !  rest  thee  on  thy  wonted  seat ; 

Moss'd  is  the  stone,  the  turf  is  green, 

1  MS.—"  Haughty  eye." 


A  place  where  lovers  best  may  meet, 

Who  would  not  that  their  love  be  seen. 
The  "boughs,  that  dim  the  summer  sky, 
Shall  hide  us  from  each  lurking  spy, 

That  fain  would  spread  the  invidious  talej 
How  Lucy  of  the  lofty  eye,1 
Noble  in  birth,  in  fortunes  high, 
She  for  whom  lords  and  barons  sigh, 
Meets  her  poor  Arthur  in  the  dale. 

IV. 

How  deep  that  blush ! — how  deep  that  sigh  1 
And  why  does  Lucy  shun  mine  eye  ? 
Is  it  because  that  crimson  draws 
Its  color  from  some  secret  cause, 
Some  hidden  movement  of  the  breast, 
She  would  not  that  her  Arthur  guess'd  ? 
0 !  quicker  far  is  lovers'  ken 
Than  the  dull  glance  of  common  men,9 
And,  by  strange  sympathy,  can  spell 
The  thoughts  the  loved  one  will  not  tell ! 
And  mine,  in  Lucy's  blush,  saw  met 
The  hues  of  pleasure  and  regret ; 
Pride  mingled  in  the  sigh  her  voice, 

And  shared  with  Love  the  crimson  glow 
Well  pleased  that  thou  art  Arthur's  choice- 
Yet  shamed  tlune  own  is  placed  so  low : 
Thou  turn'st  thy  self-confessing  cheek, 

As  if  to  meet  the  breeze's  cooling ; 
Then,  Lucy,  hear  thy  tutor  speak, 

For  Love,  too,  has  his  hours  of  schooling. 

V. 
Too  oft  my  anxious  eye  has  spied 
That  secret  grief  thou  fain  wouldst  hide, 
The  passing  pang  of  humbled  pride ; 

Too  oft,  when  through  the  splendid  hall, 

The  load-star  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
My  fair  one  leads  the  glittering  ball, 
Will  her  stol'n  glance  on  Arthur  fall, 
With  such  a  blush  and  such  a  sigh ! 
Thou  wouldst  not  yield,   for  wealth  or 
rank, 
The  heart  thy  worth  and  beauty  won, 


with  wings  as  swift 


As  meditation  or  the  thoughts  of  love." — Hamlet. 


PANTO  I. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


383 


Nor  leave  me  on  this  mossy  bank, 

To  meet  a  .rival  on  a  throne  : 
Why,  then,  should  vain  repinings  rise, 
That  to  thy  lover  fate  denies 
A  nobler  name,  a  wide  domain, 
A  Baron's  birth,  a  menial  train, 
Since  Heaven  assign'd  him,  for  his  part, 
A  lyre,  a  falchion,  and  a  heart ! 

VI. 

My  sword its  master  must  be  dumb ; 

But,  when  a  soldier  names  my  name, 

Approach,  my  Lucy !  fearless  come, 
Nor  dread  to  hear  of  Arthur's  shame. 

My  heart — 'mid  all  yon  courtly  crew, 
Of  lordly  rank  and  lofty  line, 

Is  there  to  love  and  honor  true, 

That  boasts  a  pulse  so  warm  as  mine  ?* 
They  praised  thy  diamonds'  lustre  rare — 

Match'd  with  thine  eyes,  I  thought  it  faded  ; 
Iliey  praised  the  pearls  that  bound  thy  hair — 

I  only  saw  the  locks  they  braided  ; 
They  talk'd  of  wealthy  dower  and  land, 

And  titles  of  high  birth  the  token — 
.  thought  of  Lucy's  heart  and  hand, 

Nor  knew  the  sense  of  what  was  spoken. 
And  yet,  if  rank'd  in  Fortune's  roll, 

I  might  have  learn'd  their  choice  unwise, 
Who  rate  the  dower  above  the  soul, 

And  Lucy's  diamonds  o'er  her  eyes.1 

VII. 

My  lyre — it  is  an  idle  toy, 

That  borrows  accents  not  its  own, 

Like  warbler  of  Colombian  sky, 
That  sings  but  in  a  mimic  tone.8 

Ne'er  did  it  sound  o'er  sainted  well, 

Nor  boasts  it  aught  of  Border  spell ; 

i  MS. — "  That  boasts  so  warm  a  heart  as  mine." 

2  MS. — "  And  Lucy's  gems  before  her  eyes." 

s  The  Mocking  Bird. 

4  MS. — "  Perchance,  because  it  sung  their  praise." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

e  "  The  Introduction,  though  by  no  means  destitute  of  beau- 
res,  is  decidedly  inferior  to  the  Poem  :  its  plan,  or  conception, 
is  neither  very  ingenious  nor  very  striking.  The  best  passages 
s.re  those  in  which  the  author  adheres  most  strictly  to  his  ori- 
ginal :  in  those  which  are  composed  without  having  his  eyes 
fixed  on  his  model,  there  is  a  sort  of  affectation  and  straining 
at  humor,  that  will  probably  excite  some  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment, either  because  the  effort  is  not  altogether  successful,  or 
because  it  does  not  perfectly  harmonize  with  the  tone  and  col- 
oring of  the  whole  piece. 

"  The  '  Bridal'  Uself  is  purely  a  tale  of  chivalry  ;  a  tale  of 
'Britain's  isle,  and  Arthur's  days,  when  midnight  fairies 
daunced  the  maze.'  The  author  never  gives  us  a  glance  of 
ordinary  life,  or  of  ordinary  personages.  From  the  splendid 
court  of  Arthur,  we  are  conveyed  to  the  halls  of  enchant- 
wenf,,  and,  of  course,  are  introduced  to  a  system  of  man- 
ners  perfectly  decided  and  appropriate,  but  altogether  remote 


Its  strings  no  feudal  slogan  pour, 
Its  heroes  draw  no  broad  claymore  ; 
No  shouting  clans  applauses  raise, 
Because  it  sung  their  fathers'  praise  ;4 
On  Scottish  moor,  or  English  down, 
It  ne'er  was  graced  with  fair  renown ; 
Nor  won, — best  meed  to  minstrel  true, — 
One  favoring  smile  from  fair  Buccleuch  1 
By  one  poor  streamlet  sounds  its  tone, 
And  heard  by  one  dear  maid  alone. 

VIIL 

But,  if  thou  bid'st,  these  tones  shall  tell 

Of  errant  knight,  and  damozelle  ; 

Of  the  dread  knot  a  Wizard  tied, 

In  punishment  of  maiden's  pride, 

In  notes  of  marvel  and  of  fear, 

That  best  may  charm  romantic  ear. 
For  Lucy  loves, — like  Collins,  ill-starred  name  !* 
Whose  lay's  requital,  was  that  tardy  fame, 
Who  bound  no  laurel  round  his  living  head, 
Should  hang  it  o'er  his  monument  when  dead, — 
For  Lucy  loves  to  tread  enchanted  strand, 
And  thread,  like  him,  the  maze  of  Fairy -land ; 
Of  golden  battlements  to  view  the  gleam, 
And  slumber  soft  by  some  Elysian  stream ; — 
Such  lays  she  loves, — and  such  my  Lucy's  choice. 
What  other  song  can  claim  her  Poet's  voice  1* 


(ftlje  Brfoal  of  STricrmam. 


CANTO    FIRST. 


Where  is  the  Maiden  of  mortal  strain, 

That  may  match  with  the  Baron  of  Triermain  ?* 


from  those  of  this  vulgar  world.' 
1813. 


-Quarterly  Review,  July 


"  The  poem  now  before  us  consists  properly  of  two  distinct 
subjects,  interwoven  together  something  in  the  manner  of  the 
Last  Minstrel  and  his  Lay,  in  the  first  and  most  enchanting  of 
Walter  Scott's  romances.  The  first  is  the  history  (real  or  im- 
aginary, we  presume  not  to  guess  which)  of  the  author's  pas 
sion,  courtship,  and  marriage,  with  a  young  lady,  his  superior 
in  rank  and  circumstances,  to  whom  he  relates  at  intervals  tlw 
story  which  may  be  considered  as  the  principal  design  of  the 
work,  to  which  it  gives  its  title.  This  is  a  mode  of  introdu- 
cing romantic  and  fabulous  narratives  which  we  very  much 
approve,  though  there  may  be  reason  to  fear  that  too  frequent 
repetition  may  wear  out  its  effect.  It  attaches  a  degree  of 
dramatic  interest  to  the  work,  and  at  the  same  time  softens  the 
absurdity  of  a  Gothic  legend,  by  throwing  it  to  a  greater  dis- 
tance from  the  relation  and  auditor,  by  representing  it,  not  ag 
a  train  of  facts  which  actually  took  place,  but  as  a  mere  fable, 
either  adopted  by  the  credulity  of  former  times,  or  invented 
for  the  purposes  of  amusement,  and  the  exercise  of  the  im- 
agination."— Critical  Review,  1813. 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


S84 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I 


She  must  be  lovely,  and  constant,  and  kind, 

Holy  and  pure,  and  humble  of  mind, 

Blithe  of  cheer,  and  gentle  of  mood, 

Courteous,  and  generous,  and  noble  of  blood — 

Lovely  as  the  sun's  first  ray, 

When  it  breaks  the  clouds  of  an  April  day ; 

Constant  and  true  as  the  widow'd  dove, 

Kind  as  a  minstrel  that  sings  of  love ; 

Pure  as  the  fountain  in  rocky  cave, 

Where  never  sunbeam  kiss'd  the  wave  ; 

Humble  as  maiden  that  loves  in  vain, 

Holy  as  hermit's  vesper  strain ; 

Gentle  as  breeze  that  but  whispers  and  dies, 

Yet  blithe  as  the  light  leaves  that  dance  in  its 

sighs  | 
Courteous  as  monarch  the  morn  he  is  crown' d, 
Generous  as  spring-dews  that  bless  the  glad 

ground ; 
Noble  her  blood  as  the  currents  that  met 
In  the  veins  of  the  noblest  Plantagenet — 
Such  must  her  form  be,  her  mood,  and  her 

strain, 
That  shall  match  with  Sir  Roland  of  Triermain. 

II. 

Sir  Roland  de  Vaux  he  hath  lain  him  to  sleep, 
His  blood  it  was  fever'd,  his  breathing  was  deep, 
He  had  been  pricking  against  the  Scot, 
The  foray  was  long,  and  the  skirmish  hot : 
His  dinted  helm  and  his  buckler's  plight 
Bore  token  of  a  stubborn  fight. 

All  in  the  castle  must  hold  them  still, 
Harpers  must  lull  him  to  his  rest, 
With  the  slow  soft  tunes  he  loves  the  best, 
Till  sleep  sink  down  iipon  liis  breast, 

Like  the  dew  on  a  summer  hilL 

III. 
It  was  the  dawn  of  an  autumn  day ; 
The  sun  was  struggling  with  frost-fog  gray, 
That  like  a  silvery  crape  was  spread 
Round  Skiddaw's  dim  and  distant  head, 
And  faintly  gleam'd  each  painted  pane 
Of  the  lordly  halls  of  Triermain, 

When  that  Baron  bold  awoke. 
Starting  he  woke,  and  loudly  did  call, 
Rousing  his  menials  in  bower  and  hall, 

While  hastily  he  spoke. 

IV. 
"  Hearken,  my  minstrels  !  Which  of  ye  all 
Touch'd  his  harp  with  that  dying  fall, 

So  sweet,  so  soft,  so  faint, 
It  seem'd  an  angel's  whisper'd  call 

To  an  expiring  saint  \ 


I  Dnnmailraise  is  one  of  the  grand  passes  from  Cumberland 
into  Westmoreland.     It  takes  its  name  from  a  cairn,  or  pile 


And  hearken,  my  merry-men  I  What  time  or 
where  [brow, 

Did  she  pass,  that  maid  with  her  heavenly 
With  her  look  so  sweet  and  her  eyes  so  fair, 
And  her  graceful  step  and  her  angel  air, 
And  the  eagle  plume  in  her  dark-brown  hair, 

That  pass'd  from  my  bower  e'en  now  V 


V. 


be 


Answer'd  him  Richard  de  Bretville : 
Was  chief  of  the  Baron's  minstrelsy, — 
"  Silent,  noble  chieftain,  we 

Have  sat  since  midnight  close, 
When  such  lulling  sounds  as  the  brooklet  sings, 
Murmur'd  from  our  melting  strings, 
And  hush'd  you  to  repose. 

Had  a  harp-note  sounded  here, 

It  had  caught  my  watchful  ear, 
Although  it  fell  as  faint  and  shy 
As  bashful  maiden's  half-form'd  sigh, 

When  she  thinks  her  lover  near." — 
Answer'd  Philip  of  Fasthwaite  tall, 
He  kept  guard  in  the  outer  hall, — 
"  Since  at  eve  our  watch  took  post, 
Not  a  foot  has  thy  portal  cross'd ; 

Else  had  I  heard  the  steps,  though  low 
And  light  they  fell,  as  when  earth  receives, 
In  morn  of  frost,  the  wither'd  leaves, 
That  drop  when  no  winds  blow." 

VI.' 

"  Then  come  thou  hither,  Henry,  my  page, 
Whom  I  saved  from  the  sack  of  Hermitage, 
When  that  dark  castle,  tower,  and  spire, 
Rose  to  the  skies  a  pile  of  fire, 

And  redden'd  all  the  Nine-stane  Hill, 
And  the  shrieks  of  death,  that  wildly  broke 
Through  devouring  flame  and  smothering  smokt' 

Made  the  warrior's  heart-blood  chilL 
The  trustiest  thou  of  all  my  tram. 
My  fleetest  courser  thou  must  rein, 

And  ride  to  Lyulph's  tower, 
And  from  the  Baron  of  Triermain 

Greet  well  that  sage  of  power. 
He  is  sprung  from  Druid  sires, 
And  British  bards  that  tuned  their  lyres 
To  Arthur's  and  Pendragon's  praise, 
And  his  who  sleeps  at  Dunmailraise.1 
Gifted  like  his  gifted  race, 
He  the  characters  can  trace, 
Graven  deep  in  elder  time 
Upon  Hellvellyn's  cliffs  sublime ; 
Sign  and  sigil  well  doth  he  kno^v, 
And  can  bode  of  weal  and  woe, 
Of  kingdoms'  fall,  and  fate  of  wars, 


of  stones,  erected,  it  is  said,  to  the  memory  of  Dunmail,  tin 
last  King  of  Cumberland 


canto  i.                               THE  BRIDAL  OF  TR1ERMAIN.                                    385 

From  mystic  dreams  and  course  of  stars. 

So  perilous  to  knightly  worth, 

He  shall  tell  if  middle  earth 

In  the  vaUey  of  St.  John  ? 

To  that  enchanting  shape  gave  birth, 

Listen,  youth,  to  what  I  tell, 

Or  if  'twas  but  an  airy  thing, 

And  bind  it  on  thy  memory  well ; 

Such  as  fantastic  slumbers  bring, 

Nor  muse  that  I  commence  the  rhyme 

Framed  from  the  rainbow's  varying  dyes, 

Far  distant,  'mid  the  wrecks  of  time. 

Or  fading  tints  of  western  skies.1 

The  mystic  tale,  by  bard  and  sage, 

For,  by  the  Blessed  Rood  I  swear, 

Is  handed  down  from  Merlin's  age. 

If  that  fair  form  breathe  vital  air, 

No  other  maiden  by  my  side 

X. 

Shall  ever  rest  De  Vaux's  bride  !"a 

Himlp&'s  2Tale. 

"  King  Arthur  has  ridden  from  merry  Carlisle, 

VII. 

When  Pentecost  was  o'er : 

The  faithful  Page  he  mounts  his  steed, 

He  journey'd  like  errant-knight  the  while, 

And  soon  he  cross'd  green  Irthing's  mead, 

And  sweetly  the  summer  sun  did  smile 

Dash'd  o'er  Kirkoswald's  verdant  plain, 

On  mountain,  moss,  and  moor. 

And  Eden  barr'd  his  course  in  vain. 

Above  Ins  solitary  track 

He  pass'd  red  Penrith's  Table  Round,8 

Rose  Glaramara's  ridgy  back, 

For  feats  of  chivalry  renown'd, 

Amid  whose  yawning  gulfs  the  sun 

Left  Mayburgh's  mound4  and  stones  of  power, 

Cast  umber'd  radiance  red  and  dun. 

By  Druids  raised  in  magic  hour, 

Though  never  sunbeam  could  discern 

And  traced  the  Eamont's  winding  way, 

The  surface  of  that  sable  tarn,6 

Till  Ulfo's  lake6  beneath  him  lay. 

In  whose  black  mirror  you  may  spy 

The  stars,  while  noontide  lights  the  sky. 

VIII. 

The  gallant  King  he  skirted  still 

Onward  he  rode,  the  pathway  still 

The  margin  of  that  mighty  hill ; 

Winding  betwixt  the  lake  and  hill ; 

Rock  upon  rocks  incumbent  hung, 

Till,  on  the  fragment  of  a  rock, 

And  torrents,  down  the  gullies  flung, 

Struck  from  its  base  by  lightning  shock, 

Join'd  the  rude  river  that  brawl' d  on. 

He  saw  the  hoary  Sage : 

Recoiling  now  from  crag  and  stone, 

The  silver  moss  and  lichen  twined, 

Now  diving  deep  from  human  ken. 

"With  fern  and  deer -hair,  check'd  and  lined, 

And  raving  down  its  darksome  glen. 

A  cushion  fit  for  age ; 

The  Monarch  judged  this  desert  wild. 

And  o'er  him  shook  the  aspen-tree, 

With  such  romantic  ruin  piled, 

A  restless,  rustling  canopy. 

Was  theatre  by  Nature's  hand 

Then  sprung  young  Henry  from  his  selle, 

For  feat  of  high  achievement  plann'd. 

And  greeted  Lyulph  grave, 

And  then  his  master's  tale  did  tell, 

XI. 

And  then  for  counsel  crave. 

"  0  rather  he  chose,  that  Monarch  bold. 

The  Man  of  Years  mused  long  and  deep, 

On  vent'rous  quest  to  ride, 

Of  time's  lost  treasures  taking  keep, 

In  plate  and  mail,  by  wood  and  wold, 

And  then,  as  rousing  from  a  sleep, 

Than,  with  ermine  trapp'd  and  cloth  of  gold, 

ilis  solemn  answer  gave. 

In  princely  bower  to  bide ; 

The  bursting  crash  of  a  foeman's  spear, 

IX. 

As  it  shiver'd  against  his  mail, 

"  That  maid  is  born  of  middle  earth, 

Was  merrier  music  to  his  ear 

And  may  of  man  be  won, 

Than  courtier's  whisper'd  tale  : 

Though  there  have  glided  since  her  birth 

And  the  clash  of  Caliburn  more  dear, 

Five  hundred  years  and  one. 

When  on  the  hostile  casque  it  rung, 

But  where's  the  Knight  in  all  the  north, 

Than  all  the  lays 

That  dare  the  adventure  follow  forth, 

To  their  monarch's  praise 

1  "  Just  like  Aurora,  when  she  ties 

his  nightly  visitant,  of  whom  at  this  time  he  could  know  noth- 

A rainbow  round  the  morning  skies."— Moork. 

ing,  but  that  she  looked  and  sung  like  an  angel,  if  of  mortal 

2  "  This  powerful  Baron  required  in  the  fair  one  whom  he 

mould,  shall  be  his  bride." — Quarterly  Review. 

should  honor  with   his  hand   an  assemblage  of  qualities,  that 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  C.                  *  Ibid.  Note  D. 

appears  to    us  rather   unreasonable  even  in  those  high  days, 

6  Ulswater. 

profuse  as  they  are  known  to  have  been  of  perfections  now 

6  The  small  lake  called  Scales-tam  lies  so  deeply  embosomeu 

Unattainable.     His  resolution,  however,  was  not  more  inflexi- 

in  the  recesses  of  the  huge  mountain  called  Saddleback,  more 

Die  than  that  of  any  mere  modern  youth  ;  for  he  decrees  that 
49 

poetically  Glaramara,  is  of  such  great  depth,  and  so  conrilet*- 

b'8b                                        SCOTT  IS  POKtlCAL  WORKS.                                 canto  i. 

That  the  harpers  of  Reged  sung. 

And,  where  the  Gothic  gateway  frown'd, 

He  loved  better  to  rest  by  wood  or  river, 

Glanced  neither  bill  nor  bow. 

Than  in  bower  of  his  bride,  Dame  Guenever, 

For  he  left  that  lady,  so  lovely  of  cheer, 

XIV. 

To  follow  adventures  of  danger  and  fear ; 

"  Beneath  the  castle's  gloomy  pride, 

And  the  frank-hearted  Monarch  full  little  did 

In  ample  round  did  Arthur  ride 

wot,                                           [Launcelot. 

Three  times ;  nor  living  tiling  he  spied, 

That    she    smiled,  in  his  absence,  on  brave 

Nor  heard  a  living  sound, 

Save  that,  awakening  from  her  dream, 

XII. 

The  owlet  now  began  to  scream, 

"  He  rode,  till  over  down  and  dell 

In  concert  with  the  rushing  stream, 

The  shade  more  broad  and  deeper  fell ; 

That  wash'd  the  battled  mound. 

And  though  around  the  mountain's  head 

He  lighted  from  his  goodly  steed, 

Flow'd  streams  of  purple,  and  gold,  and  red, 

And  he  left  him  to  graze  on  bank  and  mead , 

Dark  at  the  base,  unblest  by  beam, 

And  slowly  he  climb'd  the  narrow  way, 

Frown'd  the  black  rocks,  and  roar'd  the  stream. 

That  reach'd  the  entrance  grim  and  gray, 

With  toil  the  King  his  way  pursued 

And  he  stood  the  outward  arch  below, 

By  lonely  Threlkeld's  waste  and  wood, 

And  his  bugle-horn  prepared  to  blow, 

Till  on  his  course  obliquely  shone 

In  summons  blithe  and  bold 

The  narrow  valley  of  Saint  John, 

Deeming  to  rouse  from  iron  sln"p 

Down  sloping  to  the  western  sky, 

The  guardian  of  this  dismal  Keep, 

Where  lingering  sunbeams  love  to  lie. 

Which  well  he  guess'd  the  hold 

Right  glad  to  feel  those  beams  again, 

Of  wizard  stern,  or  goblin  grim, 

The  King  drew  up  his  charger's  rein  ; 

Or  pagan  of  gigantic  limb, 

With  gauntlet  raised  he  screen'd  his  sight, 

The  tyrant  of  the  wold. 

As  dazzled  with  the  level  light, 

And,  from  beneath  his  glove  of  mail, 

XV. 

Scann'd  at  his  ease  the  lovely  vale, 

"  The  ivory  bugle's  golden  tip 

While  'gainst  the  sun  his  armor  bright 

Twice  touch'd  the  Monarch's  manly  lip, 

Gleam'd  ruddy  like  the  beacon's  light. 

And  twice  his  hand  withdrew. 

— Think  not  but  Arthur's  heart  was  good  i 

XIII. 

His  shield  was  cross'd  by  the  blessed  rood, 

"  Paled  in  by  many  a  lofty  hill, 

Had  a  pagan  host  before  him  stood, 

The  narrow  dale  lay  smooth  and  still, 

He  had  charged  them  through  and  through 

And,  down  its  verdant  bosom  led, 

Yet  the  silence  of  that  ancient  place 

A  winding  brooklet  found  its  bed. 

Sunk  on  his  heart,  and  he  paused  i  space 

But,  midmost  of  the  vale,  a  mound 

Ere  yet  his  horn  he  blew. 

Arose  with  airy  turrets  crown'd, 

But,  instant  a«  its  'larum  rung, 

Buttress,  and  rampire's  circling  bound, 

The  castle  gate  was  open  flung, 

And  mighty  keep  and  tower  ; 

Portcullis  rose  with  crashing  groan 

Seem'd  some  primeval  giant's  hand 

Full  harshly  up  its  groove  of  stone : 

The  castle's  massive  walls  had  plann'd, 

The  balance-beams  obey'd  the  blast, 

A  ponderous  bulwark  to  withstand 

And  down  the  trembling  drawbridge  cult ; 

Ambitious  Nimrod's  power. 

The  vaulted  arch  before  him  lay, 

Above  the  moated  entrance  slung, 

With  naught  to  bar  the  gloomy  way, 

The  balanced  drawbridge  trembling  hung, 

And  onward  Arthur  paced,  with  hand 

As  jealous  of  a  foe  ; 

On  Caliburn's1  resistless  brand. 

Wicket  of  oak,  as  iron  hard, 

With  iron  studded,  clench'd,  and  barr'd, 

XVL 

Ajad  prong'd  portcullis,  join'd  to  guard 

■  A  hundred  torches,  flashing  bright, 

The  gloomy  pass  below. 

Dispell'd  at  once  the  gloomy  night 

But  the  gray  walls  no  banners  crown'd, 

That  lour'd  along  the  walls, 

Upon  the  watch-tower's  airy  round 

And  show'd  the  King's  astonish'd  sight 

No  warder  stood  his  horn  to  sound, 

The  inmates  of  the  halls. 

No  guard  beside  the  bridge  was  found, 

Nor  wizard  stern,  nor  goblin  grim, 

Iy  hidden  from  the  sun,  that  it  is  said  its  beams  never  res.ch  it, 

l  This  was  the  name  of  King  Arthur's  well-known  sword, 

%nd  that  the  reflection  of  the  stars  may  be  seen  at  mid-day. 

sometimes  also  called  Excalibar. 

CANTO  1. 


THE  BRIDAL  OE  TRIERMAIN. 


as; 


Nor  giant  huge  of  form  and  limb, 

Nor  heathen  knight,  was  there ; 
But  the  cressets,  which  odors  flung  aloft, 
Show'd  by  their  yellow  light  and  soft, 

A  band  of  damsels  fair. 
Onward  they  came,  like  summer  wave 

That  dances  to  the  shore  ; 
An  hundred  voices  welcome  gave, 

And  welcome  o'er  and  o'er  1 
An  hundred  lovely  hands  assail 
The  bucklers  of  the  monarch's  mail, 
And  busy  labor'd  to  unhasp 
Rivet  of  steel  and  iron  clasp. 
One  wrapp'd  him  in  a  mantle  fair, 
And  one  flung  odors  on  his  hair ; 
His  short  cmTd  ringlets  one  smooth'd  down, 
One  wreathed  them  with  a  myrtle  crown. 
A  bride  upon  her  wedding-day, 
Was  tended  ne'er  by  troop  so  gay. 

XVII. 
"  Loud  laugh'd  they  all, — the  King,  in  vain, 
With  questions  task'd  the  giddy  train ; 
Let  him  entreat,  or  crave,  or  call, 
'Twas  one  reply, — loud  laugh'd  they  all. 
Then  o'er  him  mimic  chains  they  fling, 
Framed  of  the  fairest  flowers  of  spring, 
While  some  their  gentle  force  unite, 
Onward  to  drag  the  wondering  knight, 
Some,  bolder,  urge  his  pace  with  blows, 
Dealt  with  the  lily  or  the  rose. 
Behind  him  were  in  triumph  borne 
The  warlike  arms  he  late  had  worn. 
Four  of  the  train  combined  to  rear 
The  terrors  of  TintadgePs  spear  ;J 
Two,  laughing  at  their  lack  of  strength, 
Dragg'd  Caliburn  in  cumbrous  length, 
One,  while  she  aped  a  martial  stride, 
Placed  on  her  brows  the  helmet's  pride  ; 
Then  scream'd,  'twixt  laughter  and  surprise, 
To  feel  its  depth  o'erwhelm  her  eyes. 
With  revel-shout,  and  triumph-song, 
Thus  gayly  march'd  the  giddy  throng. 

XVIII. 

*  Through  many  a  gallery  and  hall 
They  led,  I  ween,  their  royal  thrall ; 
At  length,  beneath  a  fair  arcade 
Their  march  and  song  at  once  they  staid. 
The  eldest  maiden  of  the  band 

(The  lovely  maid  was  scarce  eighteen), 

i  Tinladgel  Castle,  in  Cornwall,  is  reported  to  have  been  the 
pirth-place  of  King  Arthur. 

a  "  In  the  description  of  the  Queen  s  entrance,  as  well  as  in 
the  contrasted  enumeration  of  the  levities  of  her  attendants,  the 
author,  we  think,  has  had  in  his  recollection  Gray's  celebrated 
description  of  the  power  of  harmony  to  produce  all  the  graces 
of  motion  in  the  body." — Quarterly  Review 


Raised,  with  imposing  air,  her  hand, 
And  reverent  silence  did  command, 

On  entrance  of  their  Queen, 
And  they  were  mute. — But  as  a  glance 
They  steal  on  Arthur's  countenance 

Bewilder'd  with  surprise, 
Their  smother'd  mirth  again  'gan  speak, 
In  archly  dimpled  chin  and  cheek, 

And  laughter-lighted  eyes. 

XIX. 

"  The  attributes  of  those  high  days 
Now  only  live  in  minstrel  lays ; 
For  Nature,  now  exhausted,  still 
Was  then  profuse  of  good  and  ill. 
Strength  was  gigantic,  valor  high, 
And  wisdom  soar'd  beyond  the  sky, 
And  beauty  had  such  matchless  beam 
As  lights  not  now  a  lover's  dream. 
Yet  e'en  in  that  romantic  age, 

Ne'er  were  such  charms  by  mortal  seen. 
As  Arthur's  dazzled  eyes  engage, 
When  forth,  on  that  enchanted  stage, 
With  glittering  train  of  maid  and  page, 

Advanced  the  castle's  Queen ! 
While  up  the  hall  she  slowly  pass'd, 
Her  dark  eye  on  the  King  she  cast, 

That  flash'd  expression  strong  ;2 
The  longer  dwelt  that  lingering  look, 
Her  cheek  the  livelier  color  took, 
And  scarce  the  shame-faced  King  could  brook 

The  gaze  that  lasted  long. 
A  sage,  who  had  that  look  espied, 
Where  kindling  passion  strove  with  pride, 

Had  whisper'd,  '  Prince,  beware  ! 
From  the  chafed  tiger  rend  the  prey, 
Rush  on  the  lion  when  at  bay, 
Bar  the  fell  dragon's  blighted  way, 

But  shun  that  lovely  snare  1' — ' 

XX. 

"  At  once,  that  inward  strife  suppress'd, 
The  dame  approach'd  her  warlike  guest, 
With  greeting  in  that  fair  degree, 
Where  female  pride  and  courtesy 
Are  bended  with  such  passing  art 
As  awes  at  once  and  charms  the  heart.* 
A  courtly  welcome  first  she  gave, 
Then  of  his  goodness  'gan  to  crave 

Construction  fan  and  true 
Of  her  light  maidens'  idle  mirth, 

3  ••  Arouse  the  tiger  of  Hyrcanian  deserts, 

Strive  with  the  half-starved  lion  for  his  prey  ; 
Lesser  the  risk,  than  rouse  the  slumbering  fire 

Of  wild  Fanaticism." 

Waverley  Novels,  vol.  xvii.  p.  207 
<  "  Still  sways  their  souls  with  that  commanding  art 
That  dazzles,  leads,  yet  chills  the  vulgar  heart." 
Byron'8  Cormir,  1814 


388                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  ii    J 

Who  drew  from  lonely  glens  their  birth, 

The  Saxon  stern,  the  pagan  Dane, 

"Nor  knew  to  pay  to  stranger  worth 

Maraud  on  Britain's  shores  again. 

And  dignity  their  due  ; 

Arthur,  of  Christendom  the  flower, 

And  then  she  pray'd  that  he  would  rest 

Lies  loitering  in  a  lady's  bower ; 

That  night  her  castle's  honor'd  guest. 

The  horn,  that  foemen  wont  to  fear, 

The  Monarch  meetly  thanks  express'd ; 

Sounds  but  to  wake  the  Cumbrian  deer, 

The  banquet  rose  at  her  behest, 

And  Caliburn,  the  British  pride, 

With  lay  and  tale,  and  laugh  and  jest, 

Hangs  useless  by  a  lover's  sidg. 

Apace  the  evening  flew.1 

II. 

XXI. 

"  Another  day,  another  day, 

w  The  Lady  sate  the  Monarch  by, 

And  j  et  another,  glides  away  ! 

Now  in  her  turn  abash'd  and  shy, 

Heroic  plans  in  pleasure  drown'd, 

And  with  indifference  seem'd  to  hear 

He  thinks  not  of  the  Table  Round  ; 

The  toys  he  wliisper'd  in  her  ear. 

In  lawless  love  dissolved  his  life, 

Her  bearing  modest  was  and  fair, 

He  thinks  not  of  his  beauteous3  wife : 

Yet  shadows  of  constraint  were  there, 

Better  he  loves  to  snatch  a  flower 

That  show'd  an  over-cautious  care 

From  bosom  of  his  paramour, 

Some  inward  thought  to  hide ; 

Than  from  a  Saxon  knight4  to  wrest 

Oft  did  she  pause  in  full  reply, 

The  honors  of  his  heathen  crest  1 

And  oft  cast  down  her  large  dark  eye, 

Better  to  wreathe,  'mid  tresses  brown, 

Oft  check'd  the  soft  voluptuous  sigh, 

The  heron's  plume  her  hawk  struck  down, 

That  heaved  her  bosom's  pride. 

Than  o'er  the  altar  give  to  flow 

Slight  symptoms  these,  but  shepherds  know 

The  banners  of  a  Paynim  foe.6 

How  hot  the  mid-day  sun  shall  glow, 

Thus,  week  by  week,  and  day  by  day, 

From  the  mist  of  morning  sky  ; 

His  life  inglorious  glides  away ; 

And  so  the  wily  monarch  guess'd, 

But  she,  that  soothes  his  dream,  with  fear 

That  this  assumed  restraint  express'd 

Beholds  his  hour  of  waking  near  !' 

More  ardent  passions  in  the  breast, 

Than  ventured  to  the  eye. 

III. 

Closer  he  press'd,  while  beakers  rang, 

"  Much  force  have  mortal  charms  to  stay 

While  maidens  laugh'd  and  minstrels  sang, 

Our  peace  in  Virtue's  toilsome  way ; 

Still  closer  to  her  ear — 

But  Guendolen's  might  far  outshine 

But  why  pursue  the  common  tale  ? 

Each  maid  of  merely  mortal  line. 

Or  wherefore  show  how  knights  prevail 

Her  mother  was  of  human  birth, 

When  ladies  dare  to  hear  ? 

Her  sire  a  Genie  of  the  earth, 

Or  wherefore  trace,  from  what  slight  cause 

In  days  of  old  deem'd  to  preside 

Its  source  one  tyrant  passion  draws, 

O'er  lovers'  wiles  and  beauty's  pride, 

Till,  mastering  all  within,2 

By  youths  and  virgins  worship'd  long, 

Where  lives  the  man  that  has  not  tried, 

With  festive  dance  and  choral  song, 

How  mirth  can  into  folly  glide, 

Till,  when  the  cross  to  Britain  came, 

And  folly  into  sin  ?" 

On  heathen  altars  died  the  flame. 

Now,  deep  in  Wastdale  solitude, 
The  downfall  of  his  rights  he  rued, 

®t)c  Brfoal  of  Srtermam. 

And,  born  of  his  resentment  heir, 
He  train'd  to  guile  that  lady  fair, 

To  sink  in  slothful  sin  and  shame 

CANTO    SECOND. 

The  champions  of  the  Christian  name. 
Well  skill'd  to  keep  vain  thoughts  alive. 

I. 

And  all  to  promise,  naught  to  give, — 

Hsulptj's  Enlt,  continue*. 

The  timid  youth  had  hope  in  store, 

"  Another  day,  another  day, 

The  bold  and  pressing  gain'd  no  more. 

And  yet  another  glides  away ! 

As  wilder'd  children  leave  their  home, 

*  "  On  the  opinion  that  may  be  formed  even  of  these  two 

Like  Aaron's  serpent,  swallows  up  the  rest." — Pops. 

(tanzas  (xix.  and  xx.)  we  are  willing  to  hazard  the  justness  of 

3  MS.— "  Lovely."                   *  MS.—"  Paynim  knight." 

the  enlogium  we  have  bestowed  on  the  general  poetical  merit 

5  MS. — "  Vanquish'd  foe." 

of  this  little  work." — Quarterly  Review. 

«  The  MS.  has  this  and  the  sixth  couplet  of  stanza  iii.  id 

* "  One  Master  Passion  in  the  breast, 

terpolated. 

(TANTO  IT, 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


389 


After  the  rainbow's  arch  to  roam, 
Her  lovers  barter'd  fair  esteem, 
Faith,  fame,  and  honor,  for  a  dream.1 

IV. 

"  Her  sire's  soft  arts  the  soul  to  tame8 
She  practised  thus — till  Arthur  came ; 
Then,  frail  humanity  had  part, 
And  all  the  mother  claim'd  her  heart. 
Forgot  each  rule  her  father  gave, 
Sunk  from  a  princess  to  a  slave, 
Too  late  must  Guendolen  deplore, 
He,  that  has  all,3  can  hope  no  more ! 
Now  must  she  see4  her  lover  strain, 
At  every  turn,  her  feeble  chain  ;5 
Watch,  to  new-bind  each  knot,  and  shrink 
To  view  each  fast-decaying  link. 
Art  she  invokes  to  Nature's  aid, 
Her  vest  to  zone,  her  locks  to  braid ; 
Each  varied  pleasure  heard  her  call, 
The  feast,  the  tourney,  and  the  ball: 
Her  storied  lore  she  next  applies, 
Taxing  her  mind  to  aid  her  eyes ; 
Now  more  than  mortal  wise,  and  then 
In  female  softness  sunk  again ; 
Now,  raptured,  with  each  wish  complying, 
"With  feign'd  reluctance  now  denying ; 
Each  charm  she  varied,  to  retain 
A  varying  heart8 — and  all  in  vain  1 


"  Thus  in  the  garden's  narrow  bound, 
Flank'd  by  some  castle's  Gothic  round, 
Fain  would  the  artist's  skill  provide, 
The  limits  of  his  realms  to  hide. 
The  walks  in  labyrinths  he  twines, 
Shade  after  shade  with  skill  combines, 
With  many  a  varied  flowery  knot, 
And  copse,  and  arbor,  decks  the  spot, 
Tempting  the  hasty  foot  to  stay, 

And  linger  on  the  lovely  way 

Vain  art !  vain  hope !  'tis  fruitless  all  1 
At  length  we  reach  the  bounding  wall, 
And,  sick  of  flower   and   trim-dress'd 

tree, 
Long  for  rough  glades  and  forest  free. 

I  MS. — "  So  the  poor  dupes  exchanged  esteem, 

Fame,  faith,  and  honor,  for  a  dream." 
»  MS. — "  Such  art/;  as  best  her  sire  became." 
s  MS.—"  That  who  gives  all,"  &c. 
•  MS. — "  Now  must  she  watch,"  &c. 
MS. "  her  wasting  chain." 

"  As  some  tair  female,  unadorn'd  and  plain, 
Secure  to  please  while  youth  confirms  her  reign, 
Slights  every  borrow'd  charm  that  dress  supplies, 
Nor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes  ; 
But  when  those  charms  are  pa«t,  for  charms  sie  frail, 
When  time  advances,  and  jvhen  lovers  fail. 


VI. 

"  Three  summer  months  had  scantly  flown, 

When  Arthur,  in  embarrass'd  tone, 

Spoke  of  Ins  liegemen  and  his  throne ; 

Said,  all  too  long  had  been  his  stay, 

And  duties,  which  a  monarch  sway, 

Duties,  unknown  to  humbler  men, 

Must  tear  her  knight  from  Guendolen. — 

She  listen' d  silently  the  while, 

Her  mood  express'd  in  bitter  smile ;' 

Beneath  her  eye  must  Arthur  quail, 

And  oft  resume  the  unfinish'd  tale,8 

Confessing,  by  his  downcast  eye, 

The  wrong  he  sought  to  justify. 

He  ceased.     A  moment  mute  she  gazed, 

And  then  her  looks  to  heaven  she  raised ; 

One  palm  her  temples  veil'd,  to  hide8 

The  tear  that  sprung  in  spite  of  pride ; 

The  other  for  an  instant  press'd 

The  foldings  of  her  silken  vest  1 

VII. 

"  At  her  reproachful  sign  and  look, 

The  hint  the  Monarch's  conscience  took." 

Eager  he  spoke — '  No,  lady,  no  ! 

Deem  not  of  British  Arthur  so, 

Nor  think  he  can  deserter  prove 

To  the  dear  pledge  of  mutual  love. 

I  swear  by  sceptre  and  by  sword, 

As  belted  knight  and  Britain's  lord, 

That  if  a  boy  shall  claim  my  care, 

That  boy  is  born  a  kingdom's  heir : 

But,  if  a  maiden  Fate  allows, 

To  choose  that  maul  a  fitting  spouse, 

A  summer-day  in  lists  shall  strive 

My  knights, — the  bravest  knights  alive, — 

And  he,  the  best  and  bravest  tried, 

Shall  Arthur's  daughter  claim  for  bride.'— 

He  spoke,  with  voice  resolved  and  high — 

The  lady  deign'd  him  not  reply. 

VIIL 
"  At  dawn  of  morn,  ere  on  the  brake 
His  matins  did  a  warbler  make," 
Or  stirr'd  his  wing  to  brush  away 
A  single  dew-drop  from  the  spray, 

She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 
la  all  the  glaring 'impotence  of  dress." 

Goldsmith, 
t  MS. — "  Wreathed  were  her  lips  in  bitter  smile  " 

f>  MS. "  his  broken  tale, 

With  downcast  eye  and  flushing  cheeks, 
As  one  who  'gainst  his  conscience  sp'eaks." 
B  MS. — "  One  hand  her  temples  press'd  to  hide." 
io  "  The  scene  in  which  Arthur,  sated  with  his  lawless  love 
and  awake  at  last  to  a  sense  of  his  duties,  Announces  his  imm& 
diate  departure,  is  managed,  we  think,  with  uncommon  skil 
and  delicacy." — Quarterly  Review. 

»  MS. — "  A  single  warbler  was  awake." 


390 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II. 


Ere  yet  a  sunbeam,  through  the  mist, 
The  castle-battlements  had  kiss'd, 
The  gates  revolve,  the  drawbridge  falls, 
And  Arthur  sallies  from  the  -walls. 
Doff 'd  his  soft  garb  of  Persia's  loom, 
And  steel  from  spur  to  helmet-plume, 
His  Lybian  steed  full  proudly  trode, 
ind  joyful  neigh'd  beneath  his  load. 
The  Monarch  gave  a  passing  sigh 
To  penitence1  and  pleasures  by, 
When,  lo !  to  his  astonish'd  ken 
Appear'd  the  form  of  Guendolen. 

IX. 

"  Beyond  the  outmost  wall  she  stood, 

Attired  like  huntress  of  the  wood : 

Sandall'd  her  feet,  her  ankles  bare,3 

And  eagle-plumage  deck'd  her  hair ; 

Firm  was  her  look,  her  bearing  bold, 

And  in  her  hand  a  cup  of  gold. 

1  Thou  goest !'  she  said, '  and  ne'er  again 

Must  we  two  meet,  in  joy  or  pain. 

Full  fain  would  I  this  hour  delay, 

Though  weak  the  wish — yet,  wilt  thou  stay  ? 

— No !  thou  look'st  forward.     Still  attend, — 

Part  we  like  lover  and  like  friend.' 

She  raised  the  cup — '  Not  this  the  juice 

The  sluggish  vines  of  earth  produce ; 

Pledge  we,  at  parting,  in  the  draught 

Which  Genii  love  !' — she  said,  and  quaff'd ; 

And  strange  unwonted  lustres  fly 

From  her  flush'd  cheek  and  sparkling  eye. 

"  The  courteous  Monarch  bent  him  low, 
And,  stooping  down  from  saddlebow, 
Lifted  the  cup,  in  act  to  drink. 
A  drop  escaped  the  goblet's  brink — 
Intense  as  liquid  fire  from  hell, 
Upon  the  charger's  neck  it  fell. 
Screaming  with  agony  and  fright, 
He  bolted  twenty  feet  upright — 
— The  peasant  still  can  show  the  dint, 
Where  his  hoofs  lighted  on  the  flint. — 
From  Arthur's  hand  the  goblet  flew, 
Scattering  a  shower  of  fiery  dew,8 


MS. — "  To  deep  remorse." 
1  MS. — "  Her  arms  and  buskin'd  feet  were  bare." 

;MS. "ofj  J"".1"*  |  dew." 

'  blazing  » 


*  The  author  has  an  indistinct  recollection  of  an  adventure, 
somewhat  similar  to  that  which  is  here  ascribed  to  King  Ar- 
thur, having  befallen  one  of  the  ancient  Kings  of  Denmark. 
The  horn  in  which  the  burning  liquor  was  presented  to  that 
Monarch,  is  said  still,  to  be  preserved  in  the  Royal  Museum  at 
Copenhagen. 

5  MS       '  Curb,  bit,  and  bridle  he  disdain'd, 
Until  a  mountain  crest  he  gain'd, 


That  burn'd  and  blighted  where  it  fell  !4 
The  frantic  steed  rush'd  up  the  dell,6 
As  whistles  from  the  bow  the  reed ; 
Nor  bit  nor  rein  could  check  his  speed, 

Until  he  gain'd  the  hill ; 
Then  breath  and  sinew  fail'd  apace, 
And,  reeling  from  the  desperate  race, 

He  stood,  exhausted,  still. 
The  Monarch,  breathless  and  amazed, 

Back  on  the  fatal  castle  gazed 

Nor  tower  nor  donjon  could  he  spy, 
Darkening  against  the  morning  sky  ;• 
But,  on  the  spot  where  once  they  frown'd, 
The  lonely  streamlet  brawl'd  around 
A  tufted  knoll,  where  dimly  shone 
Fragments  of  rock  and  rifted  stone.7 
Musing  on  this  strange  hap  the  while, 
The  King  wends  back  to  fair  Carlisle ; 
And  cares,  that  cumber  royal  sway, 
Wore  memory  of  the  past  away. 

XI. 

u  Full  fifteen  years,  and  more,  were  sped,  • 

Each  brought  new  wreaths  to  Arthur's  head. 

Twelve  bloody  fields,  with  glory  fought, 

The  Saxons  to  subjection  brought  :8 

Rython,  the  mighty  giant,  slain 

By  his  good  brand,  relieved  Bretagne : 

The  Pictish  Gillamore  in  fight 

And  Roman  Lucius,  own'd  his  might ; 

And  wide  were  through  the  world  renown' d* 

The  glories  of  his  Table  Round. 

Each  knight,  who  sought  adventurous  fame, 

To  the  bold  court  of  Britain  came, 

And  all  who  suffer'd  causeless  wrong, 

From  tyrant  proud,  or  faitour  strong, 

Sought  Arthur's  presence  to  complain, 

Nor  there  for  aid  implored  in  vain.10 

XII. 
"  For  this  the  King,  with  pomp  and  pride, 
Held  solemn  court  at  Whitsuntide, 

And  summon'd  Prince  and  Peer, 
All  who  owed  homage  for  their  land, 
Or  who  craved  knighthood  from  his  hand, 
Or  who  had  succor  to  demand, 


Then  stopp'd  exhausted  ; — all  amazed, 
The  rider  down  the  valley  gazed, 
But  tower  nor  donjon,"  &c. 
e  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

7  MS. — "  But,  on  the  spot  where  once  they  frown'd, 

The  stream  begirt  a  silvan  mound, 

With  rocks  in  shatter'd  fragments  crown'd." 

8  Arthur  is  said  to  have  defeated  the  Saxons  in  twelvt 
pitched  battles,  and  to  have  achieved  the  other  feats  alludeo 
to  in  the  text. 

9  MS. — "  And  wide  was  blazed  the  world  around." 
1°  MS. — "  Sought  before  Arthur  to  complain, 

Nor  there  for  succor  sued  in  vain." 


canto  n.                            THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN.                                    391 

To  come  from  far  and  near. 

A  maiden,  on  a  palfrey  white, 

At  such  high  tide,  were  glee  and  game 

Heading  a  band  of  damsels  bright, 

Mingled  with  feats  of  martial  fame, 

Paced  through  the  circle,  to  alight 

"Vor  many  a  stranger  champion  came, 

And  kneel  before  the  King. 

In  lists  to  break  a  spear ; 

Arthur,  with  strong  emotion,  saw 

And  ni  t  a  knight  of  Arthur's  host, 

Her  graceful  boldness  check'd  by  awe, 

Save  that  he  trode  some  foreign  coast, 

Her  dress,  like  huntress  of  the  wold, 

But  at  this  feast  of  Pentecost 

Her  bow  and  baldric  trapp'd  with  gold, 

Before  him  must  appear. 

Her  sandall'd  feet,  her  ankles  bare,5 

Ah.  Minstrels  1  when  the  Table  Round 

And  the  eagle-plume  that  deck'd  her  hair. 

Arose,  with  all  its  warriors  crown'd, 

Graceful  her  veil  she  backward  flung — 

There  was  a  theme  for  bards  to  sound 

The  King,  as  from  his  seat  he  sprung, 

In  triumph  to  their  string ! 

Almost  cried  '  Guendolen !' 

Five  hundred  years  are  past  and  gone, 

But  'twas  a  face  more  frank  and  wild, 

But  Time  shall  draw  his  dying  groan, 

Betwixt  the  woman  and  the  child, 

Ere  he  behold  the  British  throne 

Where  less  of  magic  beauty  smiled 

Begirt  with  such  a  ring  I 

Than  of  the  race  of  men ; 

And  in  the  forehead's  haughty  grace, 

XIII. 

The  lines  oi  Britain's  royal  race,6 

"  The  heralds  named  the  appointed  spot, 

Pendragon's,  you  might  ken 

As  Caerleon  or  Oamelot, 

Or  Carlisle  fair  and  free. 

XV. 

At  Penrith,  now,  the  feast  was  set, 

"  Faltering,  yet  gracefully,  she  said — 

And  in  fair  Eamont's  vale  were  met 

1  Great  Prince  !  behold  an  orphan  maid, 

The  flower  of  Chivalry.1 

In  her  departed  mother's  name, 

There  Galaad  sate  with  manly  grace, 

A  father's  vow'd  protection  claim ! 

Yet  maiden  meekness  in  his  face ; 

The  vow  was  sworn  in  desert  lone, 

There  Morolt  of  the  iron  mace,2 

In  the  deep  valley  of  St.  John.' 

And  love-lorn  Tristrem  there : 

At  once  the  King  the  suppliant  raised, 

And  Dinadam  with  lively  glance, 

And  kiss'd  her  brow,  her  beauty  praised ; 

And  Lanval  with  the  fairy  lance, 

His  vow,  he  said,  should  well  be  kept, 

And  Mordred  with  his  look  askance, 

Ere  in  the  sea  the  sun  was  dipp'd, — 7 

Brunor  and  Bevidere. 

Then,  conscious,  glanced  upon  his  queen : 

Why  should  I  tell  of  numbers  more  ? 

But  she,  unruffled  at  the  scene 

Sir  Cay,  Sir  Banier,  and  Sir  Bore, 

Of  human  frailty,  construed  mild, 

Sir  Carodac  the  keen, 

Look'd  upon  Lancelot  and  smiled. 

The  gentle  Gawain's  courteous  lore, 

Hector  de  Mares  and  Pellinore, 

XVI. 

And  Lancelot,3  that  ever  more 

" '  Up !  up !  each  knight  of  gallant  crest 

Look'd  stol'n-wise  on  the  Queen.4 

Take  buckler,  spear,  and  brand  ! 

He  that  to-day  shall  bear  him  best, 

XIV. 

Shall  win  my  Gyneth's  hand. 

"  When  wine  and  mirth  did  most  abound, 

And  Arthur's  daughter,  when  a  bride, 

And  harpers  play'd  their  blithest  round, 

Shall  bring  a  noble  dower ; 

A  shrilly  trumpet  shook  the  ground, 

Both  fair  Strath-Clyde  and  Reged  wide, 

And  marshals  clear'd  the  ring ; 

And  Carlisle  town  and  tower.' 

i  "  The  whole  description  of  Arthur's  Court  is  picturesque 

And  eagle-plumes  that  deck'd  her  hair." 

»nd  appropriate." — Quarterly  Review. 

8  MS. — "  The  lineaments  of  royal  race." 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

7  Mr.  Adolphus,  in  commenting  on  the  similarity  of  man* 

8  MS. — "  And  Lancelot  for  evermore 

ners  in  the  ladies  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  poetry,  and  those  of  his 

That  scowl'd  upon  the  scene." 

then  anonymous  Novels,  says,  "In  Rokeby,  the  filial  attach 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

ment  and  duteous  auxieties  of  Matilda  form  the  leading  fea- 

4 MS  — "  The  King  with  strong  emotion  saw, 

ture  of  her  character,  and  the  chief  source  of  her  distresses. 

Her  \  dignity  and  millSled             I  awe. 

The  intercourse  between  King  Arthur  and  his  daughter  Gyneth, 

\  strange  attire,  her  reverend  ) 

in  The  Bridal  of  Triermain,  is  neither  long  nor  altogether  ami- 

Attired     > ,.,     , 

cable  ;  but  the  monarch's  feelings  on  first  beholding  that  beau- 

Her dress  ) llke  huntress  of  the  wold» 

tiful  'slip  of  wilderness,'  and    his   manner  of  receiving   her 

Her  silken  buskins  braced  with  gold, 

before  the  Queen  and  Court,  are  too  forcibly  and  naturally 

t  sandall'd  feet,  her     > 

described  to  be  omitted  in  this  enumeration." — letters  on  Vu 

Her  J  arms  and  buskin'd  \  ankles  bare> 

Author  of  Waverley,  1822,  p.  212. 

«92 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  II 


Then  might  you  hear  eacli  valiant  knight, 

To  page  and  squire  that  cried, 
'  Bring  my  armor  bright,  and  my  courser  wight ! 
'Tis  not  each  day  that  a  warrior's  might 

May  win  a  royal  bride.' 
Then  cloaks  and  caps  of  maintenance 

In  haste  aside  they  fling ; 
The  helmets  glance,  and  gleams  the  lance, 

And  the  steel-weaved  hauberks  ring. 
Small  care  had  they  of  their  peaceful  array, 

They  might  gather  it  that  wolde  ; 
For  brake  and  bramble  glitter'd  gay, 

With  pearls  and  cloth  of  gold. 

XVII. 
"  Within  trumpet  sound  of  the  Table  Round 

Were  fifty  champions  free, 
«  And  they  all  arise  to  fight  that  prize, — 

They  all  arise  but  three. 
Nor  love's  fond  troth,  nor  wedlock's  oath, 

One  gallant  could  withhold, 
For  priests  will  allow  of  a  broken  vow, 

For  penance  or  for  gold. 
But  sigh  and  glance  from  ladies  bright 

Among  the  troop  were  thrown, 
To  plead  their  right,  and  true-love  plight, 

And  'plain  of  honor  flown. 
The  knights  they  busied  them  so  fast, 

With  buckling  spur  and  belt, 
That  sigh  and  look,  by  ladies  cast, 

Were  neither  seen  nor  felt. 
From  pleading,  or  upbraiding  glance, 

Each  gallant  turns  aside, 
And  only  thought,  '  If  speeds  my  lance, 

A  queen  becomes  my  bride  ! 
She  has  fair  Strath-Clyde,  and  Reged  wide, 

And  Carlisle  tower  and  town ; 
She  is  the  loveliest  maid,  beside, 

That  ever  heir'd  a  crown.' 
So  in  haste  their  coursers  they  bestride, 

And  strike  their  visors  down. 

XVIII. 

"  The  champions,  arm'd  in  martial  sort, 

Have  throng'd  into  the  list, 
.    And  but  three  knights  of  Arthur's  court 

Are  from  the  tourney  missed. 
And  still  these  lovers'  fame  survives 

For  faith  so  constant  shown, — 
There  were  two  who  loved  their  neighbor's  wives, 

And  one  who  loved  his  own.1 
The  first  was  Lancelot  de  Lac, 

]  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

*  See  the  comic  tale  of  The  Boy  and  the  Mantle,  in  the  third 
rolume  of  Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry,  from  the  Breton 
or  Norman  original  of  which  Ariosto  is  supposed  to  have  taken 
•is  Tale  of  the  Enchanted  Cup. 

«  "  The  preparations  for  the  combat,  and  the  descriptions  of 


The  second  Tristrem  bold, 
The  third  was  valiant  Carodac, 

Who  won  the  cup  of  gold* 
What  time,  of  all  King  Arthur's  crew 

(Thereof  came  jeer  and  laugh), 
He,  as  the  mate  of  lady  true, 

Alone  the  cup  could  quaff. 
Though  envy's  tongue  would  fain  surmise, 

That,  but  for  very  shame, 
Sir  Carodac,  to  fight  that  prize, 

Had  given  both  cup  and  dame  ; 
Yet,  since  but  one  of  that  fair  court 

Was  true  to  wedlock's  shrine, 
Brand  him  who  will  with  base  report, — 

He  shall  be  free  from  mine. 

XIX. 

"  Now  caracoled  the  steeds  in  air, 
Now  plumes  and  pennons  wanton'd  fair 
As  all  around  the  lists  so  wide 
In  panoply  the  champions  ride. 
King  Arthur  saw,  with  startled  eye, 
The  flower  of  chivalry  march  by, 
The  bulwark  of  the  Christian  creed, 
The  kingdom's  shield  in  hour  of  need. 
Too  late  he  thought  him  of  the  woe 
Might  from  their  civil  conflict  flow  ;* 
For  well  he  knew  they  would  not  part 
Till  cold  was  many  a  gallant  heart. 
His  hasty  vow  he  'gan  to  rue. 
And  Gyneth  then  apart  he  drew ; 
To  her  his  leading-staff  resign'd, 
But  added  caution  grave  and  kind. 

XX. 

"  '  Thou  see'st,  my  child,  as  promise -bound, 

I  bid  the  trump  for  tourney  sound. 

Take  thou  my  warder,  as  the  queen 

And  umpire  of  the  martial  scene  ; 

But  mark  thou  this : — as  Beauty  bright 

Is  polar  star  to  valiant  knight, 

As  at  her  word  his  sword  he  draws, 

His  fairest  guerdon  her  applause, 

So  gentle  maid  should  never  ask 

Of  knighthood  vain  and  dangerous  task ; 

And  Beauty's  eyes  should  ever  be 

Like  the  twin  stars  that  soothe  the  sea, 

And  Beauty's  breath  shall  wliisper  peace, 

And  bid  the  storm  of  battle  cease. 

I  tell  thee  this,  lest  all  too  far, 

These  knights  urge  tourney  into  war. 

Blithe  at  the  trumpet  let  them  go, 

its  pomp  and  circumstance,  are  conceived  in  the  best  manna 
of  the  author's  original,  seizing  the  prominent  parts  of  the 
picture,  and  detailing  them  with  the  united  beauty  of  Mr. 
Scott's  vigor  of  language,  and  the  march  and  richness  of  *he 
late  Thomas  Warton's  versification." — Quarterly  Review, 
1813. 


canto  ii.                             THE  BRIDAL 

OF  TRIERMAIN.                                     39* 

And  fairly  counter  blow  for  blow ; — 

With  that  he  turn'd  his  head  aside, 

No  striplings  these,  who  succor  need 

Nor  brook'd  to  gaze  upon  her  pride, 

For  a  razed  helm  or  falling  steed. 

As,  with  the  truncheon  raised,  she  sate 

But,  Gyneth,  when  the  strife  grows  warm, 

The  arbitress  of  mortal  fate ; 

And  threatens  death  or  deadly  harm, 

Nor  brookd  to  mark,  in  ranks  disposed, 

Thy  sire  entreats,  thy  Icing  commands, 

How  the  bold  champions  stood  opposed, 

Thou  drop  the  warder  from  thy  hands. 

For  shrill  the  trumpet-flourish  fell 

Trust  thou  thy  father  with  thy  fate, 

Upon  his  ear  like  passing  bell  !a 

Doubt  not  he  choose  thee  fitting  mate  ; 

Then  first  from  sight  of  martial  fray 

Nor  be  it  said,  through  Gyneth' s  pride 

Did  Britain's  hero  turn  away. 

A  rose  of  Arthur's  chaplet  died.' 

XXIII. 

XXI. 

"  But  Gyneth  heard  the  clangor  high, 

"  A  proud  and  discontented  glow 

As  hears  the  hawk  the  partridge  cry. 

O'ershadow'd  Gyneth's  brow  of  snow ; 

Oh,  blame  her  not !  the  blood  was  hers, 

She  put  the  warder  by  : — 

That  at  the  trumpet's  summons  stirs ! — 

'  Keserve  thy  boon,  my  liege,'  she  said, 

And  e'en  the  gentlest  female  eye 

1  Thus  chaffer'd  down  and  limited, 

Might  the  brave  strife  of  chivalry                          m 

Debased  and  narrow'd,  for  a  maid 

A  while  untroubled  view ; 

Of  less  degree  than  I. 

So  well  accomplish'd  was  each  knight, 

No  petty  chief,  but  holds  his  heir 

To  strike  and  to  defend  in  fight, 

At  a  more  honor'd  price  and  rare 

Their  meeting  was  a  goodly  sight, 

Than  Britain's  King  holds  me ! 

While  plate  and  mail  held  true. 

Although  the  sun-burn'd  maid,  for  dower, 

The  lists  with  planted  plumes  were  strown, 

Has  but  her  father's  rugged  tower, 

Upon  the  wind  at  random  thrown, 

His  barren  hill  and  lee. — 

But  helm  and  breastplate  bloodless  shone, 

King  Arthur  swore,  "  By  crown  and  sword, 

It  seem'd  their  feather'd  crests  alone 

As  belted  knight  and  Britain's  lord, 

Should  this  encounter  rue. 

That  a  whole  summer's  day  should  strive 

And  ever,  as  the  combat  grows, 

His  knights,  the  bravest  knights  alive  1" 

The  trumpet's  cheery  voice  arose, 

Recall  thine  oath  !  and  to  her  glen 

Like  lark's  shrill  song  the  flourish  flows, 

Poor  Gyneth  can  return  agen ; 

Heard  while  the  gale  of  April  blows 

Not  on  thy  daughter  will  the  stain 

The  merry  greenwood  through. 

That  soils  thy  sword  and  crown,  remain. 

But  think  not  she  will  e'er  be  bride 

XXIV. 

Save  to  the  bravest,  proved  and  tried ; 

"  But  soon  too  earnest  grew  their  game, 

Pendragon's  daughter  will  not  fear 

The  spears  drew  blood,  the  swords  struck  flame 

For  clashing  sword  or  splinter'd  spear, 

And,  horse  and  man,  to  ground  there  came 

Nor  shrink  though  blood  should  flow ; 

Knights,  who  shall  rise  no  more  ! 

And  all  too  well  sad  Guendolen 

Gone  was  the  pride  the  war  that  graced, 

Hath  taught  the  faithlessness  of  men, 

Gay  shields  were  cleft,  and  crests  defaced, 

That  child  of  hers  should  pity,  when 

And  steel  coats  riven,  and  helms  unbraced, 

Their  meed  they  undergo.' — 

And  pennons  stream'd  with  gore. 

Gone,  too,  were  fence  and  fair  array, 

XXII 

And  desperate  strength  made  deadly  way 

"He  frown'd  and  sigh'd,  the  Monarch  bold: — 

At  random  through  the  bloody  fray, 

1 1  give — what  I  may  not  withhold  ; 

And  blows  were  dealt  with  headlong  sw^y, 

For,  not  for  danger,  dread,  or  death, 

Unheeding  where  they  fell ; 

Must  British  Arthur  break  his  faith. 

And  now  the  trumpet's  clamors  seem 

Too  late  I  mark,  thy  mother's  art 

Like  the  shrill  sea-bird's  wailing  scream, 

Hath  taught  thee  this  relentless  part. 

Heard  o'er  the  whirlpool's  gulfing  stream, 
The  sinking  seaman's  knell ! 

I  blame  her  not,  for  she  had  wrong, 

BV  not  to  these  my  faults  belong. 

Use,  then,  the  warder  as  thou  wilt ; 

XXV. 

But  trust  me,  that  if  life  be  spilt,1 

"  Seem'd  in  this  dismal  hour,  that  Fate 

In  Arthur's  love,  in  Arthur's  grace, 

Would  Camlan's  ruin  antedate, 

Gyneth  shall  lose  a  daughter's  place.' 

And  spare  dark  Mordred's  crime ; 

i  MS. "  if  blood  be  spilt." 

50                                * 

2  MS. "  dying  knell." 

394                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  n. 

Already  gasping  on  the  ground 

For  feats  of  arms  as  far  renown'd 

Lie  twenty  of  the  Table  Round, 

As  warrior  of  the  Table  Round. 

Of  chivalry  the  prime.1 

Long  endurance  of  thy  slumber 

Arthur,  in  anguish,  tore  away 

Well  may  teach  the  world  to  number 

From  head  and  beard  his  tresses  gray, 

All  their  woes  from  Gyneth's  pride, 

And  she,  proud  Gyneth,  felt  dismay, 

When  the  Red  Cross  champions  died.' 

And  quaked  with  ruth  and  fear ; 

But  still  she  deem'd  her  mother's  shade 

XXVII 

Hung  o'er  the  tumult,  and  forbade 

u  As  Merlin  speaks,  on  Gyneth's  eye 

The  sign  that  had  the  slaughter  staid, 

Slumber's  load  begins  to  lie ; 

And  chid  the  rising  tear. 

Fear  and  anger  vainly  strive 

Then  Brunor,  Taulas,  Mador,  fell, 

Still  to  keep  its  light  alive. 

Helias  the  White,  and  Lionel, 

Twice,  with  effort  and  with  pause, 

And  many  a  champion  more  ; 

O'er  her  brow  her  hand  she  draws ; 

Rochemont  and  Dinadam  are  down, 

Twice  her  strength  in  vain  she  tries, 

And  Ferrand  of  the  Forest  Brown                        < 

From  the  fatal  chair  to  rise ; 

Lies  gasping  in  his  gore. 

Merlin's  magic  doom  is  spoken, 

•      Vanoc,  by  mighty  Morolt  press'd 

Vanoc's  death  must  now  be  wroken. 

Even  to  the  confines  of  the  list, 

Slow  the  dark-fringed  eyelids  fall, 

Young  Vanoc  of  the  beardless  face 

Curtaining  each  azure  ball, 

(Fame  spoke  the  youth  of  Merlin's  race), 

Slowly  as  on  summer  eves 

O'erpower'd  at  Gyneth's  footstool  bled, 

Violets  fold  their  dusky  leaves. 

His  heart's  blood  dyed  her  sandals  red. 

The  weighty  baton  of  command 

But  then  the  sky  was  overcast, 

Now  bears  down  her  sinking  hand, 

Then  howl'd  at  once  a  whirlwind's  blast, 

On  her  shoulder  droops  her  head  ; 

And,  rent  by  sudden  throes, 

Net  of  pearl  and  golden  thread, 

Yawn'd  in  mid  lists  the  quaking  earth, 

Bursting,  gave  her  locks  to  flow 

And  from  the  gulf, — tremendous  birth  ! — 

O'er  her  arm  and  breast  of  snow. 

The  form  of  Merlin  rose. 

And  so  lovely  seem'd  she  there, 

Spell-bound  in  her  ivory  chair, 

XXVI. 

That  her  angry  sire,  repenting, 

"Sternly  the  "Wizard  Prophet  eyed 

Craved  stern  Merlin  for  relenting, 

The  dreary  lists  with  slaughter  dyed, 

And  the  champions,  for  her  sake, 

And  sternly  raised  his  hand  : — 

Would  again  the  content  wake ; 

'  Madmen,'  he  said,  •  your  strife  forbear  1 

Till,  in  necromantic  night, 

And  thou,  fair  cause  of  mischief,  hear 

Gyneth  vanish'd  from  their  sight. 

The  doom  thy  fates  demand ! 

Long  shall  close  in  stony  sleep 

XXVIII. 

Eyes  for  ruth  that  would  not  weep ; 

"  Still  she  bears  her  weird  alone, 

Iron  lethargy  shall  seal 

In  the  Valley  of  Saint  John ; 

Heart  that  pity  scorn'd  to  feel. 

And  her  semblance  oft  will  seem, 

Yet,  because  thy  mother's  art 

Mingling  in  a  champion's  dream, 

Warp'd  thine  unsuspicious  heart, 

Of  her  weary  lot  to  'plain, 

And  for  love  of  Arthur's  race, 

And  crave  his  aid  to  burst  her  chain. 

Punishment  is  blent  with  grace, 

While  her  wondrous  tale  was  new, 

Thou  shalt  bear  thy  penance  lone 

Warriors  to  her  rescue  drew, 

In  the  Valley  of  Saint  John, 

East  and  west,  and  south  and  north, 

A.,    this  weird2  shall  overtake  thee  ; 

From  the  Liffy,  Thames,  and  Forth. 

Sleep,  until  a  knight  shall  wake  thee, 

Most  have  »ought  in  vain  the  glen, 

i  "  The  difficult  subject  of  a  tournament,  in  which  several 

sound  of  the  trumpets,  and  drowned  the  groans  of  those  wh« 

knights  engage  at  once,  is  admirably  treated  by  the  novelist  in 

fell,  and  lay  rolling  defenceless  beneath  the  feet  of  the  horses. 

Ivanhoe,  and  by  his  rival  in  The  Bridal  of  Triermain,  and  the 

The  splendid  armor  of  the  combatants  was  now  defaced  with 

leading  thought  in  both  descriptions  is  the  sudden  and  tragic 

dust  and  blood,  and  gave  way  at  every  stroke  of  the  sword 

change  from  a  scene  of  pomp,  gayety,  and  youthful  pride,  to 

and  battle-axe.     The  gay  plumage,  shorn  from  the   crests, 

one  of  misery,  confusion,  and  death." — rfdolphus,  p.  24«. 

drifted  upon  the  breeze  like  snow-flakes.     All  that  was  beau- 

" The  tide  of  battle  seemed  to  flow  now  toward  the  south- 

tiful and  graceful  in  the  martial  array  had  disappeared,  and 

ern,  now  toward  the  northern  extremity  of  the  lists,  as  the  one 

what  was  now  visible  was  only  calculated  to  awake  terror  or 

or  the  other  party  prevailed.    Meantime,  the  clang  of  the  blows, 

compassion." — Ivanhoe — ffaverley  Novels,  vol.  xvi.  p.  187 

and  the  shouts  of  the  combatants,  mixed  fearfully  with  the 

a  Doom. 

OANTO  II. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAI^. 


39o 


Tower  nor  castle  could  they  ken ; 

Damning  whate'er  of  vast  and  fair 

Not  at  every  time  or  tide, 

Exceeds  a  canvas  three  feet  square. 

Nor  by  every  eye,  descried. 

This  thicket,  for  their  gumption  fit, 

Fast  and  vigil  must  be  borne, 

May  furnish  such  a  happy  bit. 

Many  a  night  in  watching  worn, 

Bards,  too,  are  hers,  wont  to  recite 

Ere  an  eye  of  mortal  powers 

Their  own  sweet  lays  by  waxen  light, 

Car  discern  those  magic  towers. 

Half  in  the  salver's  tingle  drown'd, 

Of  the  persevering  few, 

While  the  chasse-cafe  glides  around  \ 

Some  from  hopeless  task  withdrew, 

And  such  may  hither  secret  stray, 

When  they  read  the  dismal  threat 

To  labor  an  extempore : 

Graved  upon  the  gloomy  gate. 

Or  sportsman,  with  his  boisterous  hollo, 

Few  have  braved  the  yawning  door, 

May  here  his  wiser  spaniel  follow, 

And  those  few  return'd  no  more. 

Or  stage-struck  Juliet  may  presume 

In  the  lapse  of  time  forgot, 

To  choose  this  bower  for  tiring-room ; 

Wellnigh  lost  is  Gyneth's  lot ; 

And  we  alike  must  shun  regard, 

Sound  her  sleep  as  in  the  tomb, 

From  painter,  player,  sportsman,  bard. 

Till  waken' d  by  the  trump  of  doom." 

Insects  that  skim  in  Fashion's  sky, 

END  OF  LYULPH'S  TALE. 

Wasp,  blue-bottle,  or  butterfly, 
Lucy,  have  all  alarms  for  us, 

For  all  can  hum  and  all  can  buzz. 

Here  pause,  my  tale ;  for  all  too  soon 

III. 

But  oh,  my  Lucy,  sa£  how  long 

My  Lucy,  comes  the  hour  of  noon. 

We  still  must  dread  this  trifling  throng, 

Already  from  thy  lofty  dome 

And  stoop  to  hide,  with  coward  art, 

Its  courtly  inmates  'gin  to  roam, 

The  genuine  feelings  of  the  heart ! 

And  each,  to  kill  the  goodly  day 

No  parents  thine,  whose  just  command 

That  God  has  granted  them,  his  way 

Should  rule  their  child's  obedient  hand ; 

Of  lazy  sauntering  has  sought : 

Thy  guardians,  with  contending  voice, 

Lordlings  and  witlings  not  a  few, 

Press  each  his  individual  choice, 

Incapable  of  doing  aught, 

And  which  is  Lucy's  ? — Can  it  be 

Yet  ill  at  ease  with  naught  to  do. 

That  puny  fop,  trimm'd  cap-a-pee, 

Here  is  no  longer  place  for  me : 

Who  loves  in  the  saloon  to  show 

For,  Lucy,  thou  wouldst  blush  to  see 

The  arms  that  never  knew  a  foe ; 

Some  phantom,  fashionably  thin, 

Whose  sabre  trail?  along  the  ground, 

With  limb  of  lath  and  kerchief'd  chin, 

Whose  legs  in  si  apeless  boots  are  drown'd ; 

And  lounging  gape,  or  sneering  grin, 

A  new  Achilles,  sure, — the  steel 

Steal  sudden  on  our  privacy. 

Fled  from  his  breast  to  fence  his  heel ; 

And  how  should  I,  so  humbly  born, 

One,  for  the  simple  manly  grace 

Endure  the  graceful  spectre's  scorn  ? 

That  wont  to  deck  our  martial  race, 

Faith !  ill,  I  fear,  while  conjuring  wand 

Who  comes  in  foreign  trashery 

Of  English  oak  is  hard  at  hand. 

Of  tinkling  chain  and  spur, 

A  walking  haberdashery, 

II. 

Of  feathers,  lace,  and  fur : 

Or  grant  the  hour  be  all  too  soon 

In  Rowley's  antiquated  phrase, 

For  Hessian  boot  and  pantaloon, 

Horse-milliner1  of  modern  days  ? 

And  grant  the  lounger  seldom  strays 

Beyond  the  smooth  and  gravell'd  maze, 

IV 

Laud  we  the  gods,  that  Fashion's  train 

Or  is  it  he,  the  wordy  youth, 

Holds  hearts  of  more  adventurous  strain. 

So  early  train'd  for  statesman's  part, 

Artists  are  hers,  who  scorn  to  trace 

Who  talks  of  honor,  faith,  and  truth, 

Their  rules  from  Nature's  boundless  grace, 

As  themes  that  he  has  got  by  heart ; 

But  their  right  paramount  assert 

Whose  ethics  Chesterfield  can  teach, 

To  limit  her  by  pedant  art, 

Whose  logic  is  from  Single-speech;5 

» '•  The  ^ammels  of  the  palfraye  pleased  his  sight, 

2  See  "Parliamentary  Logic,  &c,  by  the  Right  HonorabU 

And  the  horse-millajiere  his  head  with  roses  dight." 

William  Gerard  Hamilton"  (1808),  commonly  called  "  Sir* 

Rowley's  Ballads  of  Charitie. 

gle-Speech  Hamilton." 

396 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IIL 


Who  scorn3  the  meanest  thought  to  vent, 
Save  in  the  phrase  of  Parliament ; 
Who,  hi  a  tale  of  cat  and  mouse, 
Calls  "  order,"  and  "  divides  the  house," 
Who  "  craves  permission  to  reply," 
Whose  "  noble  friend  is  in  his  eye  ;" 
Whose  loving  tender  some  have  reckon'd 
A.  motion  you  should  gladly  second  ? 

V. 

What,  neither  ?    Can  there  be  a  third, 
To  such  resistless  swains  preferr'd  ? — 
0  why,  my  Lucy,  turn  aside, 
With  that  quick  glance  of  injured  pride  ? 
Forgive  me,  love,  I  cannot  bear 
That  alter'd  and  resentful  air. 
Were  all  the  wealth  of  Russel  mine, 
And  all  the  rank  of  Howard's  line, 
All  would  I  give  for  leave  to  dry 
That  dew-drop  trembling  in  thine  eye. 
Think  not  I  fear  such  fops  can  wile 
From  Lucy  more  than  careless  smile ; 
But  yet  if  wealth  and  high  degree 
Give  gilded  counters  currency, 
Must  I  not  fear,  when  rank  and  birth 
Stamp  the  pure  ore  of  genuine  worth  ? 
Nobles  there  are,  whose  martial  fires 
Rival  the  fame  that  raised  their  sires, 
And  patriots,  skill'd  through  storms  of  fate 
To  guide  and  guard  the  reeling  state. 
Such,  such  there  are — If  such  should  come, 
Arthur  must  tremble  and  be  dumb, 
Self-exiled  seek  some  distant  shore, 
And  mourn  till  life  and  grief  are  o'er. 

VI. 

What  sight,  what  signal  of  alarm, 
That  Lucy  clings  to  Arthur's  arm  ? 
Or  is  it,  that  the  rugged  way 
Makes  Beauty  lean  on  lover's  stay  ? 
Oh,  no  !  for  on  the  vale  and  brake, 
Nor  sight  nor  sounds  of  danger  wake, 
And  this  trim  sward  of  velvet  green, 
Were  carpet  for  the  Fairy  Queen. 
That  pressure  slight  was  but  to  telL 
That  Lucy  loves  her  Arthur  well, 
And  fain  would  banish  from  his  mind 
Suspicious  fear  and  doubt  unkind. 

VII. 
But  wouldst  thou  bid  the  demons  fly 
Like  mist  before  the  dawning  sky 
There  is  but  one  resistless  spell — 
Say,  wilt  thou  guess,  or  must  I  tell  ? 
'Twere  hard  to  name,  in  minstrel  phrase, 
A  landaulet  and  four  blood-bays, 
But  bards  agree  this  wizard  band 
Can  but  be  bound  in  Northern  land. 


'Tis  there — nay,  draw  not  back  thy  hand  !- 

'Tis  there  this  slender  finger  round 

Must  golden  amulet  be  bound, 

Which,  bless'd  with  many  a  holy  prayer, 

Can  change  to  rapture  lovers'  care, 

And  doubt  and  jealousy  shall  die, 

And  fears  give  place  to  ecstasy. 

VIII. 

Now,  trust  me,  Lucy,  all  too  long 
Has  been  thy  lover's  tale  and  song. 
0,  why  so  silent,  love,  I  pray  ? 
Have  I  not  spoke  the  livelong  day? 
And  will  not  Lucy  deign  to  say 

One  word  her  friend  to  bless  ? 
I  ask  but  one — a  simple  sound, 
Within  three  little  letters  bound, 

0,  let  the  word  be  YES  ! 


©I)c  Bribal  of  Sriermain. 


CANTO  THIRD. 


INTRODUCTION. 

I. 
Long  loved,  long  woo'd,  and  lately  won, 
My  life's  best  hope,  and  now  mine  own ! 
Doth  not  this  rude  and  Alpine  glen 
Recall  our  favorite  haunts  agen  ? 
A  wild  resemblance  we  can  trace, 
Though  reft  of  every  softer  grace, 
As  the  rough  warrior's  brow  may  bear 
A  likeness  to  a  sister  fair. 
Full  well  advised  our  Highland  host, 
That  this  wild  pass  on  "oot  be  cross'd, 
While  round  Ben-Cn      a's  mighty  base 
Wheel  the  slow  steeds  «md  lingering  chaise 
The  keen  old  carl,  with  Scottish  pride, 
He  praised  his  glen  and  mountains  wide : 
An  eye  he  bears  for  nature's  face, 
Ay,  and  for  woman's  lovely  grace. 
Even  in  such  mean  degree  we  find 
The  subtle  Scot's  observing  mind ; 
For,  nor  the  chariot  nor  the  train 
Could  gape  of  vulgar  wonder  gain, 
But  when  old  Allan  would  expound 
Of  Beal-na-paish1  the  Celtic  sound, 
His  bonnet  doff 'd,  and  bow,  applied 
His  legend  to  my  bonny  bride ; 
While  Lucy  blush'd  beneath  his  eye, 
Courteous  and  cautious,  shrewd  and  sly. 

i  Be&l-na-paish,  the  Vale  of  the  BridaL 


canto  in.                              THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 

391 

II. 

When  twice  you  pray'd  I  would  again 

Enough  of  him. — Now,  ere  we  lose, 

Resume  the  legendary  strain 

Plunged  in  the  vale,  the  distant  views, 

Of  the  bold  Knight  of  Triermain  ? 

Turn  thee,  my  love  1  look  back  once  more 

At   length   yon   peevish  vow  you 

To  the  blue  lake's  retiring  shore. 

swore, 

On  its  smooth  breast  the  shadows  seem 

That  you  would  sue  to  me  no  more,' 

Like  objects  in  a  morning  dream, 

Until  the  minstrel  fit  drew  near, 

"What  time  the  slumberer  is  aware 

And  made  me  prize  a  listening  ear. 

He  sleeps,  and  all  the  vision's  ah* : 

But,   loveliest,   when  thou  first   didst 

Even  so,  on  yonder  liquid  lawn, 

pray 

In  hues  of  bright  reflection  drawn, 

Continuance  of  the  knightly  lay, 

Distinct  the  shaggy  mountains  lie, 

Was  it  not  on  the  happy  day 

Distinct  the  rocks,  distinct  the  sky ; 

That  made  thy  hand  mine  own  ? 

The  summer-clouds  so  plain  we  note, 

When,  dizzied  with  mine  ecstasy, 

That  we  might  count  each  dappled  spot : 

Naught  past,  or  present,  or  to  be, 

We  gaze  and  we  admire,  yet  know 

Could  I  or  think  on,  hear,  or  see, 

The  scene  is  all  delusive  show. 

Save,  Lucy,  thee  alone  !       ( 

Such  dreams  of  bliss1  would  Arthur  draw,   i 

A  giddy  draught  my  rapture  was. 

•  :, 

When  first  his  Lucy's  form  he  saw ; 

As  ever  chemist's  magic  gas. 

Yet  sigh'd  and  sicken'd  as  he  drew, 

Despairing  they  could  e'er  prove  true ! 

V. 

Again  the  summons  I  denied 

III. 

In  yon  fair  capital  of  Clyde  : 

But,  Lucy,  turn  thee  now,  to  view 

My  Harp — or  let  me  rather  choose 

Up  the  fair  glen,  our  destined  way : 

The  good  old  classic  form — my  Muse, 

The  fairy  path  that  we  pursue, 

(For  Harp's  an  over-scutched  plirase 

Distinguish' d  but  by  greener  hue, 

Worn  out  by  bards  of  modern  days), 

Winds  round  the  purple  brae, 

My  Muse,  then — seldom  will  she  wak  3, 

While  Alpine  flowers  of  varied  dye 

Save  by  dim  wood  and  silent  lake  • 

For  carpets  serve,  or  tapestry. 

She  is  the  wild  and  rustic  Maid, 

See  how  the  little  runnels  leap, 

Whose  foot  unsandall'd  loves  to  tread 

In  threads  of  silver,  down  the  steep, 

Where  the  soft  greensward  is  inlaid 

To  swell  the  brooklet's  moan  1 

With  varied  moss  and  thyme  • 

Seems  that  the  Highland  Naiad  grieves, 

And,  lest  the  simple  lily-braid, 

Fantastic  while  her  crown  she  weaves, 

That  coronets  her  temples,  fade, 

Of  rowan,  birch,  and  alder  leaves, 

She  hides  her  still  in  greenwood  shade, 

So  lovely,  and  so  lone. 

To  meditate  her  rhyme. 

There's  no  illusion  there ;  these  flowers, 

That  wailing  brook,  these  lovely  bowers, 

VI. 

Are,  Lucy,  all  our  own  ; 

And  now   she   comes!   The   murmur 

And,  since  thine  Arthur  call'd  thee  wife, 

dear 

Such  seems  the  prospect  of  his  life, 

Of  the  wild  brook  hath  caught  her  ear, 

A  lovely  path,  on-winding  still, 

The  glade  hath  won  her  eye ; 

By  gurgling  brook  and  sloping  hill. 

She  longs  to  join  with  each  blithe  rill 

'Tis  true,  that  mortals  cannot  tell 

That  dances  down  the  Highland  hill, 

What  waits  them  in  the  distant  dell ; 

Her  blither  melody.3 

But  be  it  hap,  or  be  it  harm, 

And  now  my  Lucy's  way  to  cheer , 

We  tread  the  pathway  aim  in  arm. 

She  bids  Ben-Cruach's  echoes  hear 
How  closed  the  tale,  my  love  whilere 

IV. 

Loved  for  its  chivalry. 

And  now,  my  Lucy,  wot'st  thou  why 

List  how  she  tells,  in  notes  of  flame, 

I  could  thy  bidding  twice  deny, 

"  Child  Roland  to  the  dark  tower  came  l"1 

1  MS. — "  Scenes  of  bliss." 

3  MS. — "  Her  wild-wood  melody." 

*  MS. — "  Until  yon  peevish  oath  you  swore, 

That  you  would  sue  for  it  no  more." 

*  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

898 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  in 


Sl)e  Bridal  of  triermaw. 


CANTO   THIRD. 


I. 

Bewcastle  now  must  keep  the  Hold, 

Speir- Adam's  steeds  must  bide  in  stall, 
Of  Hartley-burn  the  bowmen  bold 

Must  only  shoot  from  battled  wall ; 
And  Liddesdale  may  buckle  spur, 

And  Teviot  now  may  belt  the  brand, 
Taras  and  Ewes  keep  nightly  stir, 

And  Eskdale  foray  Cumberland. 
Of  wasted  fields  and  plunder'd  flocks 

The  Borderers  bootless  may  complain ; 
They  lack  the  sword  of  brave  de  Vaux, 

There  comes  no  aid  from  Triermain. 
That  lord,  on  high  adventure  bound, 

Hath  wander'd  forth  alone, 
And  day  and  night  keeps  watchful  round 

In  the  valley  of  Saint  John. 

II 

When  first  began  his  vigil  bold, 

The  moon  twelve  summer  nights  was  old, 

And  shone  both  fair  and  full ; 
High  in  the  vault  of  cloudless  blue, 
O'er  streamlet,  dale,  and  rock,  she  threw 

Her  fight  composed  and  cool. 
Stretch'd  on  the  brown  hill's  heathy  breast, 

Sir  Roland  eyed  the  vale  ; 
Chief  where,  distinguish'd  from  the  rest, 
Those  clustering  rocks  uprear'd  their  crest, 
The  dwelling  of  the  fair  distresa'd, 

As  told  gray  Lyulph's  tale. 
Thus  as  he  lay,  the  lamp  of  night 
Was  quivering  on  his  armor  bright, 

In  beams  that  rose  and  fell, 
And  danced  upon  his  buckler's  boss, 
That  lay  beside  him  on  the  moss, 

As  on  a  crystal  well. 

III. 

Ever  he  watch'd,  and  oft  he  deem'd, 

While  on  the  mound  the  moonlight  stream' d, 

It  alter'd  to  his  eyes ; 
Fain  would  he  hope  the  rocks  'gan  change 
To  buttress'd  walls  their  shapeless  range, 
Fain  think,  by  transmutation  strange, 

He  saw  gray  turrets  rise. 
But  scarce  his  heart  with  hope  throb'd  high, 
Before  the  wild  illusions  fly, 

Which  fancy  had  conceived, 
Abetted  by  an  anxious  eye 

That  long'd  to  be  deceived. 
It  was  a  fond  deception  all, 


Such  as,  in  solitary  hall, 

Beguiles  the  musing  eye, 
When,  gazing  on  the  sinking  fire, 
Bulwark,  and  battlement,  and  spire, 

In  the  red  gulf  we  spy. 
For,  seen  by  moon  of  middle  night, 
Or  by  the  blaze  of  noontide  bright, 
Or  by  the  dawn  of  morning  light, 

Or  evening's  western  flame, 
In  every  tide,  at  every  hour, 
In  mist,  in  sunshine,  and  in  shower, 

The  rocks  remain'd  the  same. 

IV. 
Oft  has  he  traced  the  charmed  mound, 
Oft  climb'd  its  crest,  or  paced  it  round, 

Yet  notliing  might  explore, 
Save  that  the  crags  so  rudely  piled, 
At  distance  seen,  resemblance  wild 

To  a  rough  fortress  bore. 
Yet  still  his  watch  the  Warrior  keeps, 
Feeds  hard  and  spare,  and  seldom  sleeps, 

And  drinks  but  of  the  well ; 
Ever  by  day  he  walks  the  hill, 
And  when  the  evening  gale  is  chill, 

He  seeks  a  rocky  cell, 
Like  hermit  poor  to  bid  his  bead, 
And  tell  his  Ave  and  his  Creed, 
Invoking  every  saint  at  need, 

For  aid  to  burst  his  spell. 

V. 

And  now  the  moon  her  orb  has  hid, 
And  dwindled  to  a  silver  thread, 

Dim  seen  in  middle  heaven, 
While  o'er  its  curve  careering  fast, 
Before  the  fury  of  the  blast 

The  midnight  clouds  are  driven. 
The  brooklet  raved,  for  on  the  hills 
The  upland  showers  had  swoln  the  rills, 

And  down  the  torrents  came  ; 
Mutter'd  the  distant  thunder  dread, 
And  frequent  o'er  the  vale  was  spread 

A  sheet  of  lightning  flame. 
De  Vaux,  within  his  mountain  cave 
(No  human  step  the  storm  durst  brave), 
To  moody  meditation  gave 

Each  faculty  of  soul,1 
Till,  lull'd  by  distant  torrent  sound, 
And  the  sad  winds  that  whistled  round, 
Upon  his  thoughts,  in  musing  drown'd, 

A  broken  slumber  stole. 

VI. 
'Twas  then  was  heard  a  heavy  sound 
(Sound,  strange  and  fearful  there  to  hear 

i  MS  — "  His  faculties  of  soul." 


CANTO  III. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIELIMAIN. 


399 


'Mongat  desert  hills,  where,  leagues  around, 

Came  mounted  on  that  car  of  fire, 

Dwelt  but  the  gorcock  and  the  deer) : 

To  do  his  errand  dread. 

As  starting  from  his  couch  of  fern,1 

Far  on  the  sloping  valley's  course, 

Again  he  heard,  in  clangor  stern, 

On  thicket,  rock,  and  torrent  hoarse, 

That  deep  and  solemn  swell,— 

Shingle  and  Scrae,4  and  Fell  and  Force* 

Twelve  times,  in  measured  tone,  it  spoke, 

A  dusky  light  arose  : 

Like  some  proud  minster's  pealing  clock, 

Display'd,  yet  alter'd  was  the  scene  ; 

Or  city's  larum-bell. 

Dark  rock,  and  brook  of  silver  sheen, 

What  thought  was  Roland's  first  when  fell, 

Even  the  gay  thicket's  summer  green, 

In  that  deep  wilderness,  the  knell 

In  bloody  tincture  glows. 

Upon  his  startled  ear  ? 

To  slander  warrior  were  I  loth, 

IX. 

Yet  must  I  hold  my  minstrel  troth, — 

De  Vaux  had  mark'd  the  sunbeams  set, 

It  was  a  thought  of  fear. 

At  eve,  upon  the  coronet 

Of  that  enchanted  mound, 

VII. 

And  seen  but  crags  at  random  flung, 

But  lively  was  the  mingled  thrill 

That,  o'er  the  brawling  torrent  hung,8 

That  chased  that  momentary  chill, 

In  desolation  frown'd. 

For  Love's  keen  wish  was  there, 

What  sees  he  by  that  meteor's  lour  ? — 

And  eager  Hope,  and  Valor  high, 

A  banner'd  Castle,  keep,  and  tower, 

And  the  proud  glow  of  Chivalry, 

Return  the  lurid  gleam, 

That  burn'd  to  do  and  dare. 

With  battled  walls  and  buttress  fast, 

Forth  from  the  cave  the  Warrior  rush'd, 

And  barbican7  and  ballium8  vast, 

Long  ere  the  mountain-voice2  was  hush'd, 

And  airy  flanking  towers,  that  cast 

That  answer'd  to  the  knell ; 

Their  shadows  on  the  stream. 

For  long  and  far  the  unwonted  sound, 

'Tis  no  deceit ! — distinctly  clear 

Eddying  in  echoes  round  and  round, 

Crenell9  and  parapet  appear, 

Was  toss'd  from  fell  to  fell ; 

While  o'er  the  pile  that  meteor  drear 

And  Glaramara  answer  flung, 

Makes  momentary  pause ; 

And  Grisdale-pike  responsive  rung, 

Then  forth  its  solemn  path  it  drew, 

And  Legbert  heights  their  echoes  swung, 

And  fainter  yet  and  fainter  grew 

As  far  as  Derwent's  dell.3 

Those  gloomy  towers  upon  the  view, 

As  its  wild  light  withdraws. 

VIII. 

Forth  upon  trackless  darkness  gazed 

X. 

The  Knight,  bedeafen'd  and  amazed, 

Forth  from  the  cave  did  Roland  rush, 

Till  all  was  hush'd  and  still, 

O'er  crag  and  stream,  through  brier  and  bush ; 

Save  the  swoln  torrent's  sullen  roar, 

Yet  far  he  had  not  sped,10 

And  the  night-blast  that  wildly  bore 

Ere  sunk  was  that  portentous  light 

Its  course  along  the  hill. 

Behind  the  hills,  and  utter  night 

Then  on  the  northern  sky  there  came 

Was  on  the  valley  spread.11 

A  light  as  of  reflected  flame, 

He  paused  perforce,  and  blew  his  horn, 

And  over  Legbert-head, 

And,  on  the  mountain  echoes  borne,13 

As  if  by  magic  art  controll'd, 

Was  heard  an  answering  sound, 

A  mighty  meteor  slowly  roll'd 

A  wild  and  lonely  trumpet-note, — 

Its  orb  of  fiery  red ; 

In  middle  air  it  seem'd  to  float 

Thou  wouldst  have  thought  some  demon  dire 

High  o'er  the  battled  mound ; 

MS. *'  his  conch  of  rock, 

His  speaking-trumpet ; — back  out  of  the  clouds 

Again  upon  his  ear  it  broke." 

Of  Glaramara  southward  came  the  vo:"ce  ; 

MS. "  mingled  sounds  were  hush'd." 

And  Kirkstone  tossed  it  from  his  misty  head." 

»  "  The  rock,  like  something  starting  from  a  sleep, 

Wordsworth 

Took  up  the  lady's  voice,  and  laugh'd  again  ; 

*  Bank  of  loose  stones.                     •  Waterfall. 

That  ancient  Woman  seated  on  Helm-Crag 

6  MS. "  rocks  at  random  piled, 

Was  ready  with  her  cavern  ;  Hammar-^car, 

That  on  the  torrent  brawling  wild." 

And  the  tall  steep  of  Silver-How,  sent  forth 

1  The  outer  defence  of  the  castle  gate. 

A  noise  of  laughter ;  southern  Loughrigg  heard, 

8  Fortified  court.                »  Apertures  for  shooting  arrowf 

And  Fairfield  answer'd  with  a  mountain  tone ; 

io  MS. "  had  not  gone." 

Helvellyn  far  into  the  clear  blue  sky 

"  MS. "  the  valley  lone." 

Carried  the  lady's  voice, — old  Skiddaw  blew 

12  MS. — "  And  far  upon  the  echoes  borne." 

4:00 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III 


And  sounds  were  heard,  as  when  a  guard 
Of  some  proud  castle,  holding  ward, 

Pace  forth  their  nightly  round. 
The  valiant  Knight  of  Triermain 
Rung  forth  his  challenge-blast  again, 

But  answer  came  there  none  ; 
And  'mid  the  mingled  wind  and  rain, 
Darkling  he  sought  the  vale  in  vain,1 

Until  the  dawning  shone ; 
And  when  it  dawn'd,  that  wondrous  sight, 
Distinctly  seen  by  meteor-light, 

It  all  had  passed  away  ! 
And  that  enchanted  mound  Once  more 
A  pile  of  granite  fragments  bore, 

As  at  the  close  of  day. 

XI. 

Steel'd  for  the  deed,  De  Vaux's  heart 
Scorn'd  from  his  venturous  quest  to  part, 

He  walks  the  vale  once  more  ; 
But  only  sees,  by  night  or  day, 
That  shatter'd  pile  of  rocks  so  gray, 

Hears  but  the  torrent's  roar. 
Till  when,  through  hills  of  azure  borne,3 
The  moon  renew'd  her  silver  horn, 
Just  at  the  time  her  waning  ray 
Had  faded  in  the  dawning  day, 

A  summer  mist  arose ; 
Adown  the  vale  the  vapors  float, 
And  cloudy  undulations  moat8 
That  tufted  mound  of  mystic  note, 

As  round  its  base  they  close. 
And  higher  now  the  fleecy  tide 
Ascends  its  stern  and  shaggy  side, 
Until  the  airy  billows  hide4 

The  rock's  majestic  isle ; 
It  seem'd  a  veil  of  filmy  lawn, 
By  some  fantastic  fairy  drawn6 

Around  enchanted  pile. 

XII. 

The  breeze  came  softly  down  the  brook,6 
And,  sighing  as  it  blew, 

1  MS. "  he  sought  the  towers  in  vain." 

5  MS.—"  But  when,  through  fields  of  azure  home." 
8  MS.—"  And  with  their  eddying  billows  moat." 

*  MS.—"  Until  the  mist's  gray  bosom  hide." 

6  MS. "a  veil  of  airy  lawn." 

«  "  A  sharp  frost  wind,  which  made  itself  heard  and  felt 
from  time  to  time,  removed  the  clouds  of  mist  which  might 
otherwise  have  slumbered  till  morning  on  the  valley  ;  and, 
though  it  could  not  totally  disperse  the  clouds  of  vapor,  yet 
threw  them  in  confused  and  changeful  masses,  now  hovering 
round  the  heads  of  the  mountains,  now  filling,  as  with  a  dense 
and  voluminous  stream  of  smoke,  the  various  deep  gullies 
where  masses  of  the  composite  rock,  or  brescia,  tumbling  in 
fragments  from  the  dill's,  have  rushed  to  the  valley,  leaving 
each  behind  its  course  a  rent  and  torn  ravine,  resembling  a.  de- 
serted water-course.  The  moon,  which  was  now  high,  and 
twinkled  with  all  the  vivacity  of  a  frosty  atmosphere,  silvered 


The  veil  of  silver  mist  it  shook, 
And  to  De  Vaux's  eager  look 

Renew'd  that  wondrous  view. 
For,  though  the  loitering  vapor  braved 
The  gentle  breeze,  yet  oft  it  waved 

Its  mantle's  dewy  fold ; 
And  still,  when  shook  that  filmy  screen, 
Were  towers  and  bastions  dimly  seen, 
And  Gothic  battlements  between 

Their  gloomy  length  unroll'd.7 
.    Speed,  speed,  De  Vaux,  ere  on  thine  eye 
Once  more  the  fleeting  vision  die  ! 

— The  gallant  knight  'gan  speed 
As  prompt  and  light  as,  when  the  hound 
Is  opening,  and  the  horn  is  wound, 

Careers  the  hunter's  steed. 
Down  the  steep  dell  his  course  amain 

Hath  rivall'd  archer's  shaft ; 
But  ere  the  mound  he  could  attain, 
The  rocks  their  shapeless  form  regain, 
And,  mocking  loud  his  labor  vain, 

The  mountain  spirits  laugh'd. 
Far  up  the  echoing  dell  was  borne 
Their  wild  unearthly  shout  of  scorn. 

XIII. 
Wroth  wax'd  the  Warrior. — "  Am  I  then 
Fooled  by  the  enemies  of  men, 
Like  a  poor  hind,  whose  homeward  wav 
Is  haunted8  by  malicious  fay  ? 
Is  Triermain  become  your  taunt, 
De  Vaux  your  scorn  ?     False  fiends,  avaunt !" 
A  weighty  curtal-axe  he  bare  ; 
The  baleful  blade  so  bright  and  square, 
And  the  tough  shaft  of  heben  wood, 
Were  oft  in  Scottish  gore  imbrued. 
Backward  his  stately  form  he  drew, 
And  at  the  rocks  the  weapon  threw, 
Just  where  one  crag's  projected  crest 
Hung  proudly  balanced  o'er  the  rest. 
Hurl'd  with  main  force,  the  weapon's  shock 
Rent  a  huge  fragment  of  the  rock. 
If  by  mere  strength,  'twere  hard  to  tell. 

the  windings  of  the  river,  and  the  peaks  and  precipices  which 
the  mist  left  visible,  while  her  beams  seemed,  as  it  were,  ab- 
sorbed by  the  fleecy  whiteness  of  the  mist,  where  i*.  lay  thick 
and  condensed,  and  gave  to  the  more  light  and  vapory  specks, 
which  were  elsewhere  visible,  a  sort  of  filmy  transparency  re- 
sembling the  lightest  veil  of  silver  gauze." — Wav  &  ley  No- 
vels— Rob  Roy — vol.  viii.  p.  267. 

"  The  praise  of  truth,  precision,  and  distinctness,  is  not  very 
frequently  combined  with  that  of  extensive  magnificence  and 
splendid  complication  of  imagery  ;  yet,  how  masterly,  and 
often  sublime,  is  the  panoramic  display,  in  all  these  works,  of 
vast  and  diversified  scenery,  and  of  crowded  and  tumultuous 
action,"  &c. — Jldolphus,  p.  163. 

i  "  The  scenery  of  the  valley,  seen  by  the  light  of  the  sum- 
mer and  autumnal  moon,  is  described  with  an  aerial  touch  to 
which  we  cannot  do  justice." — Quarterly  Review. 

B  MS.—"  Is  wilder'd." 


canto  in.                         THE  BRIDAL  OF  TEIERMAIN.                                    401 

Or  if  the  blow  dissolved  some  spell, 

This  enduring  fabric  plann'd ; 

But  down  the  headlong  ruin  came, 

Sign  and  sigil,  word  of  power, 

"With  cloud  of  dust,  and  flash  of  flame. 

From  the  earth  raised  keep  and  tower. 

Down  bank,  o'er  bush,  its  course  was  borne, 

View  it  o'er,  and  pace  it  round, 

Crush' d  lay  the  copse,  the  earth  was  torn, 

Rampart,  turret,  battled  mound. 

Till  staid  at  length,  the  ruin  dread 

Dare  no  more !     To  cross  the  gate 

Cumber'd  the  torrent's  rocky  bed, 

Were  to  tamper  with  thy  fate  ; 

And  bade  the  waters'  high-swoln  tide 

Strength  and  fortitude  were  vain, 

Seek  other  passage  for  its  pride. 

View  it  o'er — and  turn  again." — 

XIV. 

XVII. 

When  ceased  that  thunder,  Triermain 

"  That  would  I,"  said  the  Warrior  bold, 

Survey'd  the  mound's  rude  front  again ; 

"  If  that  my  frame  were  bent  and  old, 

And,  lo !  the  ruin  had  laid  bare, 

And  my  thin  blood  dropp'd  slow  and  cold 

Hewn  in  the  stone,  a  winding  stair, 

As  icicle  in  thaw ; 

Whose  moss'd  and  fractured  steps  might  lend 

But  while  my  heart  can  feel  it  dance, 

The  means  the  summit  to  ascend ; 

Blithe  as  the  sparkling  wine  of  France, 

And  by  whose  aid  the  brave  De  Vaux 

And  this  good  arm  wields  sword  or  lance, 

Began  to  scale  these  magic  rocks, 

I  mock  these  words  of  awe  !" 

And  soon  a  platform  won, 

He  said  ;  the  wicket  felt  the  sway 

Where,  the  wild  witchery  to  close, 

Of  his  strong  hand,  and  straight  gave  way 

Within  three  lances'  length  arose 

And,  with  rude  crash  and  jarring  bray. 

The  Castle  of  Saint  John ! 

The  rusty  bolts  withdraw  ; 

No  misty  phantom  of  the  air, 

But  o'er  the  threshold  as  he  strode> 

No  meteor-blazon' d  show  was  there ; 

And  forward  took  the  vaulted  roart, 

Tn  morning  splendor,  full  and  fair, 

An  unseen  arm,  with  force  amain, 

The  massive  fortress  shone. 

The  ponderous  gate  flung  close  again, 

And  rusted  bolt  and  bar 

XV. 

Spontaneous  took  their  place  once  more, 

Embattled  high  and  proudly  tower'd, 

While  the  deep  arch  with  sullen  roar 

Shaded  by  pond'rous  flankers,  lower'd 

Eeturn'd  their  surly  jar. 

The  portal's  gloomy  way. 

"  Now  closed  is  the  gin  and  the  prey  withii* 

Though  for  six  hundred  years  and  more, 

By  the  Rood  of  Lanercost ! 

Its  strength  had  brook'd  the  tempest's  roar 

But  he  that  would  win  the  war- wolf 's  skin, 

The  scutcheon'd  emblems  which  it  bore 

May  rue  him  of  his  boast." 

Had  suffer'd  no  decay : 

Thus  muttering,  on  the  Warrior  went, 

But  from  the  eastern  battlement 

By  dubious  light  down  steep  descent. 

A  turret  had  made  sheer  descent, 

And,  down  in  recent  ruin  rent, 

XVIII. 

In  the  mid  torrent  lay. 

Unbarr'd,  unlock'd,  unwatch'd,  a  port 

Else,  o'er  the  Castle's  brow  sublime, 

Led  to  the  Castle's  outer  court : 

Insults  of  violence  or  of  time 

There  the  main  fortress,  broad  and  tall 

Unfelt  had  pass'd  away. 

Spread  its  long  range  of  bower  and  halL 

In  shapeless  characters  of  yore, 

And  towers  of  varied  size, 

The  gate  this  stern  inscription  bore : — 

Wrought  with  each  ornament  extreme, 

That  Gothic  art,  in  wildest  dream 

XVI. 

Of  fancy,  could  devise  ; 

Xnscrtytfon. 

But  full  between  the  Warrior's  way 

w  Patience  waits  the  destined  day, 

And  the  main  portal  arch,  there  lay 

Strength  can  clear  the  cumber'd  way. 

An  inner  moat ; 

Warrior,  who  hast  waited  long, 

Nor  bridge  nor  boat 

Firm  of  soul,  of  sinew  strong, 

Affords  De  Vaux  the  means  to  cross 

It  is  given  to  thee  to  gaze 

The  clear,  profound,  and  silent  fosse. 

On  the  pile  of  ancient  days. 

His  arms  aside  in  haste  he  flings, 

Never  mortal  builder's  hand 

Cuirass  of  steel  and  hauberk  rings, 

And  down  falls  helm,  and  down  the  shield, 

*  MS.—"  And  bade  its  waters,  in  their  pride 

Rough  with  the  dints  of  many  a  field. 

Seek  other  current  for  their  tide." 

Fair  was  his  manly  form,  and  fair 

402 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  J II 


His  keen  dark  eye,  and  close  curl'd  hair, 
When,  all  unarm'd,  save  that  the  brand 
Of  well-proved  metal  graced  his  hand, 
With  naught  to  fence  his  dauntless  breast 
But  the  close  gipon's1  under-vest, 
Whose  sullied  buff  the  sable  stains 
Of  hauberk  and  of  mail  retains, — 
Roland  De  Vaux  upon  the  brim 
Of  the  broad  moat  stood  prompt  to  swim. 

XIX. 

Accoutred  thus  he  dared  the  tide, 
And  soon  he  reach'd  the  farther  side, 

And  enter'd  soon  the  Hold, 
And  paced  a  hall,  whose  walls  so  wide 
Were  blazon'd  all  with  feats  of  pride, 

By  warriors  done  of  old. 
In  middle  lists  they  counter'd  here, 

While  trumpets  seem'd  to  blow ; 
And  there,  in  den  or  desert  drear, 

They  quell'd  gigantic  foe.2 
Braved  the  fierce  griffon  in  his  ire, 
Or  faced  the  dragon's  breath  of  fire. 
Strange  in  their  arms,  and  strange  in  face, 
Heroes  they  seem'd  of  ancient  race, 
Whose  deeds  of  arms,  and  race,  and  name, 
Forgotten  long  by  later  fame, 

Were  here  depicted,  to  appal* 
Ihose  of  an  age  degenerate, 
Whose  bold  intrusion  braved  their  fate 

In  this  enchanted  halL 
For  some  short  space  the  venturous  Knight 
With  these  high  marvels  fed  his  sight, 
Then  sought  the  chamber's  upper  end, 
Where  three  broad  easy  steps  ascend 

To  an  arch'd  portal  door, 
In  whose  broad  folding  leaves  of  State 
Was  framed  a  wicket  window-grate, 

And,  ere  he  ventured  more, 
The  gallant  Knight  took  earnest  view 
The  grated  wicket-window  through. 

XX. 

O,  for  his  arms !  Of  martial  weed 

Had  never  mortal  Knight  such  need ! — 

He  spied  a  stately  gallery ;  all 

Of  snow-white  marble  was  the  wall, 

The  vaulting,  and  the  floor  ; 
And,  contrast  strange  !  on  either  hand 
There  stood  array'd  in  sable  band 

Four  Maids  whom  Afric  bore  ;4 
And  each  a  Lybian  tiger  led, 
Held  by  as  bright  and  frail  a  thread 

As  Lucy's  golden  hair, — 

*  A  sort  of  doublet,  worn  beneath  the  armor. 

*  MS.—"  They  counter'd  giant  foe." 

»  MS.—"  Portray 'd  by  limner  to  appal." 

*  MS.—"  Four  Maidens  stood  in  sable  band 


For  the  leash  that  bound  these  monsters 
dread 

Was  but  of  gossamer. 
Each  Maiden's  short  barbaric  vest5 
Left  all  unclosed  the  knee  and  breast, 

And  limbs  of  shapely  jet ; 
White  was  their  vest  and  turban's  fold, 
On  arms  and  ankles  rings  of  gold 

In  savage  pomp  were  set ; 
A  quiver  on  their  shoulders  lay, 
And  in  their  hand  an  assagay.6 
Such  and  so  silent  stood  they  there, 

That  Roland  wellnigh  hoped 
He  saw  a  band  of  statues  rare, 
Station'd  the  gazer's  soul  to  scare  ; 

But,  when  the  wicket  oped, 
Each  grisly  beast  'gan  upward  draw, 
Roll'd  his  grim  eye,  and  spread  his  claw, 
Scented  the  air,  and  lick'd  his  jaw ; 
While  these  weird  Maids,  in  Moorish  tongue, 
A  wild  and  dismal  warning  sung. 

XXI. 
"  Rash  Adventurer,  bear  thee  back  I 

Dread  the  spell  of  Dahomay ! 
Fear  the  race  of  Zaharak,7 

Daughters  of  the  burning  day  1 

"  When  the  whirlwind's  gusts  are  wheeling, 

Ours  it  is  the  dance  to  braid ; 
Zarah's  sands  in  pillars  reeling, 

Join  the  measure  that  we  tread, 
When  the  Moon  has  donn'd  her  cloak, 

And  the  stars  are  red  to  see, 
Slirill  when  pipes  the  sad  Siroc, 

Music  meet  for  such  as  we. 

"Where  the  shatter'd  columns  lie, 

Showing  Carthage  once  had  been, 
If  the  wandering  Santon's  eye 

Our  mysterious  rites  hath  seen, — 
Oft  he  cons  the  prayer  of  death, 

To  the  nations  preaches  doom, 
'  Azrael's  brand  hath  left  the  sheath ! 

Moslems,  think  upon  the  tomb !' 

"  Ours  the  scorpion,  ours  the  snake, 

Ours  the  hydra  of  the  fen, 
Ours  the  tiger  of  the  brake, 

All  that  plagues  the  sons  of  men. 
Ours  the  tempest's  midnight  wrack, 

Pestilence  that  wastes  by  day — 
Dread  the  race  of  Zaharak ! 

Fear  the  spell  of  Dahomay  !' 

The  blackest  Afrique  bore." 

6  MS. — "Each  Maiden's  short  and  savage  vest." 
«  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

7  Zaharak  or  Zaharah  is  the  Arab  name  of  the  Great  Deser* 


/ 


canto  in.                             THE  BRIDAL  OF  TK1EHMA1JM.                                      403 

XXII. 

"  Five  hundred  years  o'er  this  cold  glen 

Uncouth  and  strange  the  accents  shrill 

Hath  the  pale  sun  come  round  agen ; 

Rung  those  vaulted  roofs  among, 

Foot  of  man,  till  now,  hath  ne'er 

Long  it  was  ere,  faint  and  still, 

Dared  to  cross  the  Hall  of  Fear. 

Died  the  far-resounding  song. 

While  yet  the  distant  echoes  roll, 

"  Warrior !  thou,  whose  dauntless  heart 

The  Warrior  communed  with  his  soul 

Gives  us  from  our  ward  to  part, 

"  When  first  I  took  this  venturous  quest, 

Be  as  strong  in  future  trial, 

I  swore  upon  the  rood, 

Where  resistance  is  denial 

Neither  to  stop,  nor  turn,  nor  rest, 

For  evil  or  for  good. 

"  Now  for  Afric's  glowing  sky, 

My  forward  path  too  well  I  ween, 

Zwenga  wide  and  Atlas  high, 

Lies  yonder  fearful  ranks  between ! 

For  man  unarm'd,  'tis  bootless  hope 

Mount  the  winds  1  Hurra,  hurra  !" 

With  tigers  and  with  fiends  to  cope — 

Yet,  if  I  turn,  what  waits  me  there, 

XXV. 

Save  famine  dire  and  fell  despair  ? — 

The  wizard  song  at  distance  died, 

Other  conclusion  let  me  try, 

As  if  in  ether  borne  astray, 

Since,  choose  howe'er  I  list,  I  die. 

While  through  waste  halls  and  chambers 

Forward,  lies  faith  and  knightly  fame  ; 

wide 

Behind,  are  perjury  and  shame. 

The  Knight  pursued  his  steady  way, 

In  life  or  degth  I  hold  my  word  I" 

Till  to  a  lofty  dome  he  came, 

With  that  he  drew  his  trusty  sword, 

That  flash'd  with  such  a  brilliant  flame, 

Caught  down  a  banner  from  the  wall, 

As  if  the  wealth  of  all  the  world 

And  enter'd  thus  the  fearful  hall. 

Were  there  in  rich  confusion  hurl'd. 

For  here  the  gold,  in  sandy  heaps, 

XXIII. 

With  duller  earth,  incorporate,  sleeps-, 

On  high  each  wayward  Maiden  threw 

Was  there  in  ingots  piled,  and  there 

Her  swarthy  arm,  with  wild  halloo ! 

Coin'd  badge  of  empery  it  bare ; 

On  either  side  a  tiger  sprung — 

Yonder,  huge  bars  of  silver  lay, 

Against  the  leftward  foe  he  flung 

Dimm'd  by  the  diamond's  neighboring  ray 

The  ready  banner,  to  engage 

Like  the  pale  moon  in  morning  day ; 

With  tangling  folds  the  brutal  rage  ; 

And  in  the  midst  four  Maidens  stand, 

The  right-hand  monster  in  mid-air 

The  daughters  of  some  distant  land. 

He  struck  so  fiercely  and  so  fair, 

Their  hue  was  of  the  dark-red  dye, 

Through  gullet  and  through  spinal  bone 

That  fringes  oft  a  thunder  sky ; 

The  trenchant  blade  hath  sheerly  gone. 

Their  hands  palmetto  baskets  baro, 

His  grisly  brethren  ramp'd  and  yell'd, 

And  cotton  fillets  bound  their  hair ; 

But  the  slight  leash  their  rage  withheld, 

Slim  was  their  form,  their  mien  was  shy, 

Whilst,  'twixt  their  ranks,  the  dangerous  road 

To  earth  they  bent  the  humbled  eye, 

Firmly,  though  swift,  the  champion  strode. 

Folded  their  arms,  and  suppliant  kneel'd, 

Safe  to  the  gallery's  bound  he  drew,    * 

And  thus  their  proffer'd  gifts  reveal'd.' 

Safe  pass'd  an  open  portal  through ; 

XXVL 

And  when  against  pursuit  he  flung 

The  gate,  judge  if  the  echoes  rung ! 

CHORUS. 

Onward  his  daring  course  he  bore, 

"  See  the  treasures  Merlin  piled, 

While,  mix'd  with  dying  growl  and  roar, 

Portion  meet  for  Arthur's  child. 

Wild  jubilee  and  loud  hurra 

Bathe  in  Wealth's  unbounded  stream, 

Pursued  him  on  his  venturous  way. 

Wealth  that  Avarice  ne'er  could  dream !" 

XXIV. 

FIRST  MAIDEN. 

"  Hurra,  hurra !  Our  watch  is  done ! 

"  See  these  clots  of  virgin  gold  ! 

We  hail  once  more  the  tropic  sua 

Sever'd  from  the  sparry  mould, 

Pallid  beams  of  northern  day, 

Nature's  mystic  alchemy 

Farewell,  farewell !   Hurra,  hurra ! 

In  the  mine  thus  bade  them  lie ; 

MS. — "  That  flash'd  with  such  a  golden  flame." 

2  MS. — "  And,  suppliant  as  on  earth  they  kneel'd, 

The  gifts  they  proffer'd  thus  reveal'd." 

£04- 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III 


And  their  orient  smile  can  win 
Kings  to  stoop,  and  saints  to  sin." — 

SECOND  MAIDEN. 

"  See,  these  pearls,  that  long  have  slept ; 
These  were  tears  by  Naiads  wept 
For  the  loss  of  Marinel. 
Tritons  in  the  silver  shell 
Treasured  them,  till  hard  and  white 
As  the  teeth  of  Amphitrite." — 

THIRD  MAIDEN. 

"  Does  a  livelier  hue  delight  ? 
Here  are  rubies  blazing  bright, 
Here  the  emerald's  fairy  green, 
And  the  topaz  glows  between ; 
Here  their  varied  hues  unite, 
In  the  changeful  chrysolite." — 

FOURTH  MAIDEN. 

w  Leave  these  gems  of  poorer  shine, 
Leave  them  all,  and  look  on  mine  ! 
While  their  glories  I  expand, 
Shade  thine  eyebrows  with  thy  hand. 
Mid-day  sun  and  diamond's  blaze 
Blind  the  rash  beholder's  gaze." — 

CHORUS. 

■  Warrior,  seize  the  splendid  store  ; 
Would  'twere  all  our  mountains  bore ! 
We  should  ne'er  in  future  story, 
Read,  Peru,  thy  perish' d  glory  !" 

XXVII. 
Calmly  and  unconcern'd,  the  Knight 
Waved  aside  the  treasures  bright : — 
"  Gentle  Maidens,  rise,  I  pray  1 
Bar  not  thus  my  destined  way. 
Let  these  boasted  brilliant  toys 
Braid  the  hair  of  girls  and  boys  I1 
Bid  your  streams  of  gold  expand 
O'er  proud  London's  thirsty  land. 
De  Vaux  of  wealth  saw  never  need, 
Save  to  purvey  him  arms  and  steed, 
And  all  the  ore  he  deign'd  to  hoard 
Inlays  his  helm,  and  hilts  his  sword." 
Thus  gently  parting  from  their  hold, 
He  left,  unmoved,  the  dome  of  gold. 

xxvnx 

And  now  the  morning  sun  was  high, 
De  Vaux  was  weary,  faint,  and  dry ; 
When,  lo  1  a  plashing  sound  he  hears, 
A  gladsome  signal  that  he  nears 
Some  frolic  water-run ; 

1  MS  — "  Let  those  boasted  gems  and  pearls 
Braid  the  hair  of  toy-caught  girls." 


And  soon  he  reach'd  a  court-yard  square, 
Where,  dancing  in  the  sultry  air, 
Toss'd  high  aloft,  a  fountain  fair 

Was  sparkling  in  the  sun. 
On  right  and  left,  a  fair  arcade, 
In  long  perspective  view  display'd 
Alleys  and  bowers,  for  sun  or  shade : 

But,  full  in  front,  a  door, 
Low-brow'd  and  dark,  seem'd  as  it  led 
To  the  lone  dwelling  of  the  dead, 

Whose  memory  was  no  more. 

XXIX. 
Here  stopp'd  De  Vaux  an  instant's  space, 
To  bathe  his  parched  lips  and  face, 

And  mark'd  with  well-pleased  eye, 
Refracted  on  the  fountain  stream, 
In  rainbow  hues  the  dazzling  beam 

Of  that  gay  summer  sky. 
His  senses  felt  a  mild  control, 
Like  that  which  lulls  the  weary  soul, 

From  contemplation  high 
Relaxing,  when  the  ear  receives 
The  music  that  the  greenwood  leaves 

Make  to  the  breezes'  sigh. 

XXX. 

And  oft  in  such  a  dreamy  mood, 

The  half-shut  eye  can  frame  , 

Fair  apparitions  in  the  wood, 
As  if  the  nymphs  of  field  and  flood 

In  gay  procession  came. 
Are  these  of  such  fantastic  mould, 

Seen  distant  down  the  fair  arcade, 
These  Maids  enlink'd  in  sister-fold, 

Who,  late  at  bashful  distance  staid, 

ISTow  tripping  from  the  greenwood  shads 
Nearer  the  musing  champion  draw, 
And,  in  a  pause  of  seeming  awe, 

Again  stand  doubtful  now  ? — 
Ah,  that  sly  pause  of  witching  powers  1 
That  seems  to  say,  "  To  please  be  ours, 

Be  yours  to  tell  us  how." 
Their  hue  was  of  the  golden  glow 
That  suns  of  Candahar  bestow, 
O'er  which  in  slight  suffusion  flows 
A  frequent  tinge  of  paly  rose ; 
Their  limbs  were  fashion'd  fair  and  free, 
In  nature's  justest  symmetry ; 
And,  wreathed  with  flowers,  with  odors  graced 
Their  raven  ringlets  reach'd  the  waist : 
In  eastern  pomp,  its  gilding  pale 
The  hennah  lent  each  shapely  nail, 
And  the  dark  sumah  gave  the  eye 
More  liquid  and  more  lustrous  dye. 
The  spotless  veil  of  misty  lawn, 
In  studied  disarrangement,  drawn 

The  form  and  bosom  o'er, 


canto  in.                           THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN.                                     405 

To  win  the  eye,  or  tempt  the  touch, 

"  Fair  Flower  of  Courtesy,  depart  I 

For  modesty  show'd  all  too  much — 

Go,  where  the  feelings  of  the  heart 

Too  much — yet  promised  more. 

With  the  warm  pulse  in  concord  move ; 
Go,  where  Virtue  sanctions  Love !" 

XXXI. 

"  Gentle  Knight,  a  while  delay," 

XXXIII. 

Thus  they  sung,  "  thy  toilsome  way, 

Downward  De  Vaux  through  darksome  wavi 

While  we  pay  the  duty  due 

And  ruined  vaults  has  gone, 

To  our  Master  and  to  you. 

Till  issue  from  their  wilder'd  maze, 

Over  Avarice,  over  Fear, 

Or  safe  retreat,  seem'd  none, — 

Love  triumphant  led  thee  here 

And  e'en  the  dismal  path  he  strays 

Warrior,  list  to  us,  for  we 

Grew  worse  as  he  went  on. 

Are  slaves  to  Love,  are  friends  to  thee. 

For  cheerful  sun,  for  living  air, 

Though  no  treasured  gems  have  we, 

Foul  vapors  rise  and  mine-fires  glare, 

To  proffer  on  the  bended  knee, 

Whose  fearful  light  the  dangers  show'd 

Though  we  boast  nor  arm  nor  heart, 

That  dogg'd  him  on  that  dreadful  road. 

For  the  assagay  or  dart, 

Deep  pits,  and  lakes  of  waters  dun, 

Swains  allow  each  simple  girl 

They  show'd,  but  show'd  not  how  to  shun 

Ruby  lip  and  teeth  of  pearl ; 

These  scenes2  of  desolate  despair, 

Or,  if  dangers  more  you  prize, 

These  smothering  clouds  of  poison'd  air, 

Flatterers  find  them  in  our  eyes. 

How  gladly  had  De  Vaux  exchanged, 
Though  'twere  to  face  yon  tigers  ranged  I 

"  Stay,  then,  gentle  Warrior,  stay, 

Nay,  soothful  bards  have  said, 

Rest  till  evening  steal  on  day ; 

So  perilous  his  state  seem'd  now, 

Stay,  0  stay ! — in  yonder  bowers 

He  wish'd  him  under  arbor  bough 

We  will  braid  thy  locks  with  flowers, 

With  Asia's  willing  maid. 

Spread  the  feast  and  fill  the  wine, 

When,  joyful  sound  !  at  distance  near 

Charm  thy  ear  with  sounds  divine, 

A  trumpet  fiourish'd  loud  and  clear, 

Weave  our  dances  till  delight 

And  as  it  ceased,  a  lofty  lay 

Yield  to  languor,  day  to  night. 

Seem'd  thus  to  chide  his  lagging  way. 

Then  shall  she  you  most  approve, 

Sing  the  lays  that  best  you  love, 

XXXIV. 

Soft  thy  mossy  couch  shall  spread, 

"  Son  of  Honor,  theme  of  story, 

Watch  thy  pillow,  prop  thy  head, 

Think  on  the  reward  before  ye  I 

Till  the  weary  night  be  o'er — 

Danger,  darkness,  toil  despise ; 

Gentle  Warrior,  wouldst  thou  more  ? 

'Tis  Ambition  bids  thee  rise. 

Wouldst  thou  more,  fair  Warrior, — she 

Is  slave  to  Love  and  slave  to  thee." 

"  He  that  would  her  heights  ascend, 
Many  a  weary  step  must  wend ; 

XXXII. 

Hand  and  foot  and  knee  he  tries ; 

0  do  not  hold  it  for  a  crime 

Thus  Ambition's  minions  rise. 

In  the  bold  hero  of  my  rhyme, 

For  Stoic  look, 

"  Lag  not  now,  though  rough  the  way, 

And  meet  rebuke, 

Fortune's  mood  brooks  no  delay ; 

He  lack'd  the  heart  or  time ; 

Grasp  the  boon  that's  spread  before  ye, 

As  round  the  band  of  sirens  trip, 

Monarch's  power,  and  Conqueror's  glory  !" 

He  kiss'd  one  damsel's  laughing  lip,1 

And  press'd  another's  proffered  hand, 

It  ceased.     Advancing  on  the  sound, 

Spoke  to  them  all  in  accents  bland, 

A  steep  ascent  the  Wanderer  found, 

But  broke  their  magic  circle  through ; 

And  then  a  turret  stair : 

"  Kind  Maids,"  he  said,  "  adieu,  adieu ! 

Nor  climb'd  he  far  its  steepy  round 

My  fate,  my  fortune,  forward  lies." 

Till  fresher  blew  the  air, 

He  said,  and  vanish'd  from  their  eyes ; 

And  next  a  welcome-  glimpse  was  given, 

But,  as  he  dared  that  darksome  way, 

That  cheer'd  him  with  the  light  of  heaven 

Still  heard  behind  their  lovely  lay : — 

At  length  his  toil  had  won 

*  MS. — "  As  round  the  band  of  sirens  press'd, 

2  MS.—"  This  state,"  &c 

One  damsel's  laughing  lip  he  kiss'd." 
1 

406                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  hi. 

A  lofty  hall  with  trophies  dress'd, 

Bid  your  vaulted  echoes  moan, 

Where,  as  to  greet  imperial  guest, 

As  the  dreaded  step  they  own. 

Four  Maidens  stood,  whose  crimson  vest 

"Was  bound  with  golden  zone. 

"  Fiends,  that  wait  on  Merlin's  spell. 

Hear  the  foot-fall !  mark  it  well ! 

XXXV. 

Spread  your  dusky  wings  abroad,8 

Of  Europe  seem'd  the  damsels  all ; 

Boune  ye  for  your  homeward  road  I 

The  first  a  nymph  of  lively  Gaul, 

Whose  easy  step  and  laughing  eye 

"  It  is  His,  the  first  who  e'er 

Her  borrow'd  air  of  awe  belie ; 

Dared  the  dismal  Hall  of  Fear ; 

The  next  a  maid  of  Spain, 

His,  who  hath  the  snares  defied 

Dark-eyed,  dark-han'd,  sedate,  yet  bold; 

Spread  by  Pleasure,  Wealth,  and  Pride 

White  ivory  skin  and  tress  of  gold, 

Her  shy  and  bashful  comrade  told 

u  Quake  to  your  foundations  deep, 

For  daughter  of  Almaine. 

Bastion  huge,  and  Turret  steep  \* 

These  maidens  bore  a  royal  robe, 

Tremble,  Keep !  and  totter,  Tower  1 

"With  crown,  with  sceptre,  and  with  globe, 

This  is  Gyneth's  waking  hour." 

Emblems  of  empery ; 

The  fourth  a  space  behind  them  stood, 

XXXVII. 

And  leant  upon  a  harp,  in  mood 

Thus  while  she  sung,  the  venturous  Knight 

Of  minstrel  ecstasy. 

Has  reach'd  a  bower,  where  milder  light6 

Of  merry  England  she,  in  dress 

Through  crimson  curtains  fell ; 

Like  ancient  British  Druidess. 

Such  soften'd  shade  the  hill  receives, 

Her  hair  an  azure  fillet  bound, 

Her  purple  veil  when  twilight  leaves 

Her  graceful  vesture  swept  the  ground, 

Upon  its  western  swell. 

And,  in  her  hand  display'd, 

That  bower,  the  gazer  to  bewitch, 

A  crown  did  that  fourth  Maiden  hold, 

Hath  wondrous  store  of  rare  and  rich 

But  unadorn'd  with  gems  and  gold, 

As  e'er  was  seen  with  eye ; 

Of  glossy  laurel  made.1 

For  there  by  magic  skill,  I  wis, 

Form  of  each  thing  that  living  is 

XXXVL 

Was  limn'd  in  proper  dye. 

At  once  to  brave  De  Vaux  knelt  down 

All  seem'd  to  sleep — the  timid  hare 

These  foremost  Maidens  three, 

On  form,  the  stag  upon  his  lair, 

And  proffer'd  sceptre,  robe,  and  crown, 

The  eagle  in  her  eyrie  fair 

Liegedom  and  seignorie, 

Between  the  earth  and  sky. 

O'er  many  a  region  wide  and  fair, 

But  what  of  pictured  rich  and  rare8 

Destined,  they  said,  for  Arthur's  heir ; 

Could  win  De  Vaux's  eye-glance,  where 

But  homage  would  he  none : — a 

Deep  slumbering  in  the  fatal  chair, 

"  Rather,"  he  said,  "  De  Vaux  would  ride, 

He  saw  King  Arthur's  cluld ! 

A  Warden  of  the  Border-side, 

Doubt,  and  anger,  and  dismay, 

In  plate  and  mail,  than,  robed  in  pride, 

From  her  brow  had  pass'd  away. 

A  monarch's  empire  own ; 

Forgot  was  that  fell  tourney-day, 

Rather,  far  rather,  would  he  be 

For,  as  she  slept,  she  smiled : 

A  free-born  knight  of  England  free, 

It  seem'd,  that  the  repentant  Seer 

Than  sit  on  Despot's  throne." 

Her  sleep  of  many  a  hundred  year 

So  pass'd  he  on,  when  that  fourth  Maid, 

With  gentle  dreams  beguiled. 

As  starting  from  a  trance, 

Upon  the  harp  her  finger  laid ; 

XXXVIII. 

Her  magic  touch  the  chords  obey'd, 

That  form  of  maiden  loveliness, 

Their  soul  awaked  at  once  ! 

'Twixt  childhood  and  'twixt  youth, 

That  ivory  chair,  that  silvan  dress, 

SONG  OF  THE  FOURTH  MAIDEN. 

The  arms  and  ankles  bare,  express 

w  Quake  to  your  foundations  deep, 

Of  Lyulph's  tale  the  truth. 

Stately  Towers,  and  Banner'd  Keep, 

Still  upon  her  garment's  hem 

l  MS  — "  Of  laurel  leaves  was  made." 

*  MS. "  and  battled  keep." 

*  MS. — "  But  the  firm  knight  pass'd  on." 

s  MS. "  soften'd  light." 

8  MS. — "  Spread  your  pennons  all  abroad." 

6  MS. — "  But  what  of  rich  or  what  of  rare.** 

canto  in.                            THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN.                                     407 

Vanoc's  blood  made  purple  gem, 

And  to  require  of  bard 

And  the  "warder  of  command 

That  to  his  dregs  the  tale  should  run, 

Cumber'd  still  her  sleeping  hand ; 

Were  ordinance  too  hard. 

Still  her  dark  locks  dishevell'd  flow 

Our  lovers,  briefly  be  it  said, 

From  net  of  pearl  o'er  breast  of  snow ; 

Wedded  as  lovers  wont  to  wed,1 

And  so  fair  the  slumberer  seems, 

When  tale  or  play  is  o'er ; 

That  De  Vaux  impeach'd  his  dreams, 

Lived  long  and  blest,   loved  fond  and 

Vapid  all  and  void  of  might, 

true, 

Hiding  half  her  charms  from  sight. 

And  saw  a  numerous  race  renew 

Motionless  a  while  he  stands, 

The  honors  that  they  bore. 

Folds  his  arms  and  clasps  his  hands, 

Know,  too,  that  when  a  pilgrim  strays, 

Trembling  in  his  fitful  joy, 

In  morning  mist  or  evening  maze, 

Doubtful  how  he  should  destroy 

Along  the  mountain  lone, 

Long-enduring  spell ; 

That  fairy  fortress  often  mocks 

Doubtful,  too,  when  slowly  rise 

His  gaze  upon  the  castled  rocks 

Dark-fringed  lids  of  Gyneth's  eyes. 

Of  the  Valley  of  St  John ; 

What  these  eyes  shall  tell. — 

But  never  man  since  brave  De  Vaux 

"  St.  George  !  St.  Mary !  can  it  be 

The  charmed  portal  won. 

That  they  will  kindly  look  on  me  I" 

"Tis  now  a  vain  illusive  show, 

That  melts  whene'er  the  sunbeams  glow 

XXXIX. 

Or  the  fresh  breeze  hath  blown.2 

Gently,  lo !  the  Warrior  kneels, 

Soft  that  lovely  hand  he  steals, 

II. 

Soft  to  kiss,  and  soft  to  clasp — 

But  see,  my  love,  where  far  below 

But  the  warder  leaves  her  grasp ; 

Our  lingering  wheels  are  moving  slow, 

Lightning  flashes,  rolls  the  thunder  1 

The  whiles,  up-gazing  still, 

Gyneth  startles  from  her  sleep, 

Our  menials  eye  our  steepy  way, 

Totters  Tower,  and  trembles  Keep, 

Marvelling,  perchance,  what  whim  can  stay. 

Burst  the  Castle-walls  asunder  1 

Our  steps  when  eve  is  sinking  gray, 

Fierce  and  frequent  were  the  shocks, — 

On  this  gigantic  hill. 

Melt  the  magic  halls  away  ; 

So  think  the  vulgar — Life  and  time 

But  beneath  their  mystic  rocks, 

"Ring  all  their  joys  in  one  dull  chime 

In  the  arms  of  bold  De  Vaux, 

Of  luxury  and  ease ; 

Safe  the  princess  lay ; 

And,  0 !  beside  these  simple  knaves, 

Safe  and  free  from  magic  power, 

How  many  better  born  are  slaves 

Blushing  like  the  rose's  flower 

To  such  coarse  joys  as  these, — 

Opening  to  the  day ; 

Dead  to  the  nobler  sense  that  glows 

And  round  the  Champion's  brows  were  bound 

When  nature's  grander  scenes  unclose  ! 

The  crown  that  Druidess  had  wound, 

But,  Lucy,  we  will  love  them  yet, 

Of  the  green  lam-el-bay. 

The  mountain's  misty8  coronet, 

And  this  was  what  remain'd  of  all 

The  greenwood,  and  the  wold ; 

The  wealth  of  each  enchanted  hall, 

And  love  the  more,  that  of  their  maze 

The  Garland  and  the  Dame : 

Adventure  high  of  other  days 

But  where  should  Warrior  seek  the  meed, 

By  ancient  bards  is  told, 

Duo  i  D  high  worth  for  daring  deed, 

Bringing,  perchance,  like  my  poor  tale, 

Excspt  from  Love  and  Fame  ! 

Some  moral  truth  in  fiction's  veil  :4 

Nor  love  them  less,  that  o'er  the  hill 

The  evening  breeze,  as  now,  comes  chill  •— 

My  love  shall  wrap  her  warm, 

CONCLUSION. 

And,  fearless  of  the  slippery  way, 

While  safe  she  trips  the  heathy  brae, 

L 

Shall  hang  on  Arthur's  arm. 

My  Lucy,  when  the  Maid  is  won, 

The  Minstrel's  task,  thou  know'st,  is  done ; 

THE  END  OF  TRIERMAIN.8 

»  MS.  — "  Yet  know,  this  maid  and  warrior  too, 

s  MS.—"  Silvan." 

Wedded  as  lovers  wont  to  do." 

<  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

*  MS. — "  That  melts  whene'er  the  breezes  blow, 

6  "  The  Bridal  of  Triermain  is  written  in  the  style  of  Mi 

Or  beams  a  cloudless  sun." 

Walter  Scott ;  and  if  in  magnis  voluisse  sat  est,  the  autho 

40b 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


whatever  may  be  the  merits  of  his  work,  has  earned  the  meed 
at  which  he  aspires.  To  attempt  a  serious  imitation  of  the 
most  popular  living  poet, — and  this  imitation,  not  a  short  frag- 
ment, in  which  all  his  peculiarities  might,  with  comparatively 
little  difficulty,  be  concentrated — but  a  long  and  complete 
work,  with  plot,  character,  and  machinery  entirely  new— and 
with  no  manner  of  resemblance,  therefore,  to  a  parody  on  any 
pron  action  of  the  original  author  ; — this  must  be  acknowledged 
an  attempt  of  no  timid  daring." — Edinburgh  Magazine,  1817. 


"  The  fate  of  this  work  must  depend  on  its  own  merits,  for 
t  is  not  borne  up  by  any  of  the  adventitious  circumstances  that 
requently  contribute  to  literary  success.  It  is  ushered  into  the 
world  in  the  most  modest  guise  ;  and  the  author,  we  believe, 
s  entirely  unknown.  Should  it  fail  altogether  of  a  favorable 
reception,  we  shall  be  disposed  to  abate  something  of  the  in- 
dignation which  we  have  occasionally  expressed  against  the  ex- 
travagant gaudiness  of  modern  publications,  and  imagine  that 
there  are  readers  whose  suffrages  are  not  to  be  obtained  by  a 
work  without  a  name. 

"The  merit  of  the  Bridal  of  Triermain,  in  our  estimation, 
consists  in  its  perfect  simplicity,  and  an  interweaving  the  re- 
finement of  modern  times  with  the  peculiarities  of  the  ancient 
metrical  romance,  which  are  in  no  respect  violated.  In  point 
of  interest,  the  first  and  second  cantos  are  superior  to  the  third. 
One  event  naturally  arises  out  of  that  which  precedes  it,  and 
the  eye  is  delighted  and  dazzled  with  a  series  of  moving  pic- 
tures, each  of  them  remarkable  for  its  individual  splendor,  and 
all  contributing  more  or  less  directly  to  produce  the  ultimate 
result.  The  third  canto  is  less  profuse  of  incident,  and  some- 
what more  monotonous  in  its  effect.  This,  we  conceive,  will 
be  thetimpression  on  the  first  perusal  of  the  poem.  When  we 
have  leisure  to  mark  the  merits  of  the  composition,  and  to  sep- 
arate them  from  the  progress  of  the  events,  we  are  disposed  to 
think  that  the  extraordinary  beauty  of  the  description  will  near- 
ly compensate  for  the  defect  we  have  already  noticed. 

"  But  it  is  not  from  the  fable  that  an  adequate  notion  of  the 
merits  of  this  singular  work  can  be  formed.  We  haw  already 
spoken  of  it  as  an  imitation  of  Mr.  Scott's  style  of  composi- 
tion ;  and  if  we  are  compelled  to  make  the  general  approbation 
more  precise  and  specific,  we  should  say,  that  if  it  be  inferior 
in  vigor  to  some  of  his  productions,  it  equals,  or  surpasses  them, 
in  elegance  and  beauty  ;  that  it  is  more  uniformly  tender,  and 
**ar  less  infected  with  the  unnatural  prodigies  and  coarsenesses  of 
the  earlier  romancers.  In  estimating  its  merits,  however,  we 
should  forget  that  it  is  offered  as  an  imitation.  The  diction 
undoubtedly  reminds  us  of  a  rhythm  and  cadence  we  have 
heard  before  ;  but  the  sentiments,  descriptions,  and  characters, 
have  qualities  that  are  native  and  unborrowed. 

♦'In  his  sentiments,  the  author  has  avoided  the  slight  de- 
ficiency we  ventured  to  ascribe  to  his  prototype.  The  pictures 
of  pure  description  are  perpetually  illuminated  with  reflection* 
that  bring  out  their  coloring,  and  increase  their  moral  effect : 
these  reflections  are  suggested  by  the  scene,  produced  without 
effort,  and  expressed  with  unaffected  simplicity.  The  descrip- 
tions a-e  spirited  and  striking,  possessing  an  airiness  suited  to 
the  mythology  and  manners  of  the  times,  though  restrained  by 
correct  taate.  Among  the  characters,  many  of  which  are  such 
as  we  expect  to  find  in  this  department  of  poetry,  it  is  impossi- 
ble not  to  distinguish  that  of  Arthur,  in  Vhich,  identifying 
himself  with  his  original,  the  author  has  contrived  to  unite  the 
valor  of  the  hero,  the  courtesy  and  dignity  of  the  monarch,  and 
ihe  amiable  weaknesses  of  any  ordinary  mortal,  and  thus  to 
iresent  to  us  the  express  lineaments  of  the  flower  of  chivalry." 
—Quarterly  Review.     1813. 


'  With  regard  to  this  poem,  we  have  often  heard,  from  what 
may  be  deemed  good  authority,  a  very  curious  anecdote,  which 


we  shall  give  merely  as  such,  without  vouching  for  the  truth 
of  it.  When  the  article  entitled,  '  The  Inferno  of  Altisidora, 
appeared  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  1809,  it  will 
be  remembered  that  the  last  fragment  contained  in  that  singu- 
lar production,  is  the  beginning  of  the  romance  of  Triermain. 
Report  says,  that  the  fragment  was  not  meant  to  be  an  Imita' 
tion  of  Scott,  but  of  Coleridge ;  and  that,  for  this  purpose, 
the  author  borrowed  both  the  name  of  the  hero  and  the  scene 
from  the  then  unpublished  poem  of  Christabelle  ;  and  further, 
that  so  few  had  ever  seen  the  manuscript  of  that  poem,  that 
amongst  these  few  the  author  of  Triermain  could  not  be  mis- 
taken. Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  well  known,  that  on  the  ap- 
pearance of  this  fragment  in  the  Annual  Register,  it  was  uni- 
versally taken  for  an  imitation  of  Walter  Scott,  and  never  once 
of  Coleridge.  The  author  perceiving  this,  and  that  the  poem 
was  well  received,  instantly  set  about  drawing  it  out  into  a  reg- 
ular and  finished  work  ;  for  shortly  after  it  was  ann§ unced  in 
the  papers,  and  continued  to  be  so  for  three  long  years  ;  the 
author,  as  may  be  supposed,  having,  during  that  period,  his 
hands  occasionally  occupied  with  heavier  metal.  In  1813,  the 
poem  was  at  last  produced,  avowedly  and  manifestly  as  an  im- 
itation of  Mr.  Scott ;  and  it  may  easily  be  observed,  that  from 
the  27th  page  onward,  it  becomes  much  more  decidedly  like 
the  manner  of  that  poet,  than  it  is  in  the  preceding  part  which 
was  published  in  the  Register,  and  which,  undoubtedly,  doet 
bear  some  similarity  to  Coleridge  in  the  poetry,  and  more  es 
pecially  in  the  rhythm,  as,  e.  g. — 

'  Harpers  must  lull  him  to  his  rest, 
With  the  slow  tunes  he  loves  the  best, 
Till  sleep  sink  down  upon  his  breast, 
Like  the  dew  on  a  summer  hill.' 

*  It  was  the  dawn  of  an  autumn  day  ; 

The  sun  was  struggling  with  frost-fog  gray, 
That,  like  a  silvery  crape,  was  spread 
Round  Skiddaw's  dim  and  distant  head  ' 

'  What  time,  or  where 

Did  she  pass,  that  maid  with  the  heavenly  brow 
With  her  look  so  sweet,  and  her  eyes  so  fair, 
And  her  graceful  step,  and  her  angel  air, 
And  the  eagle-plume  on  her  dark-brown  hair, 
That  pass'd  from  my  bower  e'en  now  V 

•  Although  it  fell  as  faint  and  shy 

As  bashful  maiden's  half-form'd  sigh, 
When  she  thinks  her  lover  near.' 

1  And  light  they  fell,  as  when  earth  receivef, 
In  morn  of  frost,  the  wither'd  leaves, 
That  drop  when  no  winds  blow.' 

'  Or  if  'twas  but  an  airy  thing, 
Such  as  fantastic  slumbers  bring, 
Framed  from  the  rainbow's  varying  tfyes, 
Or  fading  tints  of  western  skies.' 

"  These,  it  will  be  seen,  are  not  exactly  Colerid/<i,  bil  the' 
are  precisely  such  an  imitation  of  Coleridge  as,  v,  e  conceive 
another  poet  of  our  acquaintance  would  write  :  on  that  ground, 
we  are  inclined  to  give  some  credit  to  the  anecdote  here  re- 
lated, and  from  it  we  leave  our  readers  to  guess,  as  we  have 
done,  who  is  the  author  of  the  poem." — Blackwood's  Mag 
azine.    Jlyril,  1817. 


The  quarto  of  Rokeby  was  followed,  within  two  months,  by 
the  small  volume  which  had  been  designed  for  a  twin-birth  ; 
— the  MS.  had  been  transcribed  by  one  of  the  Ballantynes 
themselves,  in  order  to  guard  against  any  indiscretion  of  th* 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


*0i> 


press-people ;  and  the  mystification,  aided  and  abetted  by  Ers- 
kine,  in  no  small  degree  heightened  the  interest  of  its  reception. 
Scott  says,  in  the  Introduction  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  "  As 
Mr.  Erskine  was  more  than  suspected  of  a  taste  for  poetry,  and 
as  I  took  care,  in  several  places,  to  mix  something  that  might 
resemble  (as  fa/  as  was  in  my  power)  my  friend's  feeling  and 
manner,  the  train  easily  caught,  and  two  large  editions  were 
•old."  Among  the  passages  to  which  he  here  alludes,  are  no 
doubt  those  in  which  the  character  of  the  minstrel  Arthur  is 
shaded  with  the  colorings  of  an  almost  effeminate  gentleness. 
Y"et,  in  the  midst  of  them,  the  "  mighty  minstrel"  himself, 
from  time  to  time,  escapes  ;  as,  for  instance,  where  the  lover 
bids  Lucy,  in  that  exquisite  picture  of  crossing  a  mountain 
stream,  trust  to  his  "  stalwart  arm," — 

u  Which  could  yon  oak's  prone  trunk  aprear." 

Nor  can  I  pass  the  compliment  to  Scott's  own  fair  patroness, 
where  Lucy's  admirer  is  made  to  confess,  with  some  momen- 
tary lapse  of  gallantry,  that  he 


"  Ne'er  won — best  meed  to  minstrel 
One  favoring  smile  from  fair  Buccleuch  ; 

aor  the  burst  of  genuine  Borderism, — 

•  Bewcastle  now  must  keep  the  hold, 

Speir-Adam's  steeds  must  bide  in  stall  j 
Of  Hartley-burn  the  bow-men  bold 

Must  only  shoot  from  battled  wall ; 
And  Liddesdale  may  buckle  spur, 

And  Teviot  now  may  belt  the  brand, 
Tarras  and  Ewes  keep  nightly  stir, 
And  Eskdale  foray  Cumberland." — 
52 


But,  above  all,  the  choice  of  the  scenery,  both  of  the  li  traduc- 
tions and  of  the  story  itself,  reveals  the  early  and  treasured  pre 
dilections  of  the  poet. 

As  a  whole,  the  Bridal  of  Triermain  appears  to  me  as  char- 
acteristic of  Scott  as  any  of  his  larger  poems.  His  genius  per- 
vades and  animates  it  beneath  a  thin  and  playful  veil,  which 
perhaps  adds  as  much  of  grace  as  it  takes  away  of  splendor 
As  Wordsworth  says  of  the  eclipse  on  the  lake  of  Lugano 

"  'Tis  sunlight  sheathed  and  gently  charm'd  ;" 

and  I  think  there  is  at  once  a  lightness  and  a  polish  o*     *mtv 
fication  beyond  what  he  has  elsewhere  attained.     If  it  be  a 
miniature,  it  is  such  a  one  as  a  Cooper  might  have  hung  ft~% 
lessly  beside  the  masterpieces  of  Vandyke. 

The  Introductions  contain  some  of  the  most  exquisite  pas- 
sages he  ever  produced  ;  but  their  general  effect  has  always 
struck  me  as  unfortunate.  No  art  can  reconcile  ns  to  con- 
temptuous satire  of  the  merest  frivolities  of  modern  life — sonw 
of  them  already,  in  twenty  years,  grown  obsolete — interlaid 
between  sucb  bright  visions  of  the  old  world  of  romance,  when 

"  Strength  was  gigantic,  valor  high, 
And  wisdom  soar'd  beyond  the  sky, 
And  beauty  had  such  matchless  beam 
As  lights  not  now  alover's  dream." 

The  fall  is  grievous,  from  the  hoary  minstrel  of  Newark,  awti 
his  feverish  tears  on  Killecrankie,  to  a  pathetic  swain,  whe 
can  stoop  to  denounce  as  objects  of  his  jealousy — 

"  The  landaulet  and  four  blood-bays-  - 
The  Hessian  boot  and  pantaloon." 

R,CKHART--Z,?/eo/' '«'-"    vol    '  I*  14 


410 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


APPENDIX 


Note  A. 

Like  Collins,  thread  the  maze  of  Fairy-land. — P.  383. 

Collins,  according  to  Johnson,  "  by  indulging  some  pecu- 
liar habits  of  thought,  was  eminently  delighted  with  those 
flights  of  imagination  which  pass  the  bounds  of  nature,  and  to 
which  the  mind  is  reconciled  only  by  a  passive  acquiescence 
in  popular  traditions.  He  loved  fairies,  genii,  giants,  and  mon- 
sters ;  he  delighted  to  rove  through  the  meanders  of  enchant- 
ment, to  gaze  on  the  magnificence  of  golden  palaces,  to  repose 
by  the  waterfalls  of  Elysian  gardens." 


Note  IJ. 
The  Baron  of  Triermain.—?.  383. 

Triermain  was  a  fief  of  the  Barony  of  Gilsland,  in  Cumber- 
land :  it  was  possessed  by  a  Saxon  family  at  the  time  of  the 
Conquest,  but,  "  after  the  death  of  Gilmore,  Lord  of  Tryer- 
maine  and  Torcrossock,  Hubert  Vaux  gave  Tryermaine  and 
Torcrossock  to  his  second  son,  Ranulph  Vaux  ;  which  Ra- 
nulph afterwards  became  heir  to  his  elder  brother  Robert,  the 
founder  of  Lanercost,  who  died  without  issue.  Ranulph,  be- 
ing Lord  of  all  Glisland,  gave  Gilmore's  lands  to  his  younger 
son,  named  Roland,  and  let  the  Barony  descend  to  his  eldest 
son  Robert,  son  of  Ranulph.  Roland  had  issue  Alexander, 
and  he  Ranulph,  after  whom  succeeded  Robert,  and  they  were 
named  Rolands  successively,  that  were  lords  thereof,  until  the 
reign  of  Edward  the  Fourth.  That  house  gave  for  arms,  Vert, 
a  bend  dexter,  chequy,  or  and  gules." — Burn's  Antiquities 
of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  vol.  ii.  p.  482. 

This  branch  of  Vaux,  with  its  collateral  alliances,  is  now 
represented  by  the  family  of  Braddyl  of  Conishead  Priory,  in 
the  county  palatine  of  Lancaster ;  for  it  appears  that  about 
the  time  above  mentioned,  the  house  of  Triermain  was  united 
to  its  kindred  family  Vaux  of  Caterlen,  and,  by  marriage  with 
the  heiress  of  Delamore  and  Leybourne,  became  the  represen- 
tative of  those  ancient  and  noble  families.  The  male  line 
failing  in  John  De  Vaux,  about  the  year  H565,  his  daughter  and 
heiress,  Mabel,  married  Christopher  Richmond,  Esq.,  of  High- 
head  Castle,  in  the  county  of  Cumberland,  descended  from 
va  ancient  family  of  that  name,  Lords  of  Corby  Castle,  in  the 
same  county,  soon  after  the  Conquest,  and  which  they  alien- 
ated about  the  loth  of  Edward  the  Second,  to  Andrea  de 
Harcla,  Earl  of  Carlisle.  Of  this  family  was  Sir  Thomas  Je 
Raigemont  (miles  auratus),  in  the  reign  of  King  Edward  the 
First,  who  appears  to  have  greatly  distinguished  himself  at  the 
siege  of  Kaerlaveroc,  with  William,  Baron  of  Leybourne.  In 
an  ancient  heraldic  poem,  now  extant,  and  preserved  in  the 
British  Museum,  describing  that  siege,1  his  arms  are  stated  to 
be,  Or,  2  Bars  Gemelles  Gules,  and  a  chief  Or,  the  same  borne 
by  his  descendants  at  the  present  day.  The  Richmonds  re- 
moved to  their  castle  of  Highhead  in  the  reign  of  Henry  the 
Eighth,  when  the  then  representative  of  the  family  married 
Margaret,  daughter  of  Sir  Hugh  Lowther,  by  the  Lady  Doro- 
Ihy  de  Clifford,  only  child  by  a  second  marriage  of  Henry  Lord 
Clifford,  great-grandson  of  John  Lord  Clifford,  by  Elizabeth 
Percy,  daughter  of  Henry  (surnamed  Hotspur),  by  Elizabeth 

1  This  Voem  has  been  recently  edited  by  Sir  Nicolas  Harris  Nicholas, 
IMS 


Mortimer,  which  said  Elizabeth  was  daughter  of  Edw  id  Mor- 
timer, third  Earl  of  Marche,  by  Philippa,  sole  daughter  and 
heiress  of  Lionel,  Duke  of  Clarence. 

The  third  in  descent  from  the  above-mentioned  John  Rich- 
mond, became  the  representative  of  the  families  of  Vaux,  of 
Triermain,  Caterlen,  and  Torcrossock,  by  his  marriage  with 
Mabel  de  Vaux,  the  heiress  of  them.  His  grandson,  Henry 
Richmond,  died  without  issue,  leaving  five  sisters  co-heiresses, 
four  of  whom  married  ;  but  Margaret,  who  married  Wiiliam 
Gale,  Esq.,  of  Whitehaven,  was  the  only  one  who  had  male 
issue  surviving.  She  had  a  son,  and  a  daughter  married  to  Hen 
ry  Curwen  of  Workington,  Esq.,  who  represented  the  county 
of  Cumberland  for  many  years  in  Parliament,  and  by  her  had 
a  daughter  married  to  John  Christian,  Esq.  (now  Curwen). 
John,  son  and  heir  of  William  Gale,  married  Parah,  daughtei 
and  heiress  of  Christopher  Wilson  of  Bardsea  Hall,  in  the 
county  of  Lancaster,  by  Margaret,  aunt  and  co-heiress  of  Thom- 
as Braddyl,  Esq.,  of  Braddyl,  and  Conishead  Priory  in  tho 
same  county,  and  had  issue  four  sons  and  two  daughters.  1st, 
William  Wilson,  died  an  infant ;  2d,  Wilson,  who,  upon  the 
death  of  his  cousin,  Thomas  Braddyl,  without  issue,  succeeded 
to  his  estates,  and  took  the  name  of  Braddyl,  in  pursuance  of 
his  will,  by  the  King's  sign-manual  ;  3d,  William,  died  young  ; 
and,  4th,  Henry  Richmond,  a  lieutenant-general  of  the  army, 
married  Sarah,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  R.  Baldwin  ;  Margaret 
married  Richard  Greaves  Townley,  Esq.,  of  Fulbourne,  ir.  the 
county  of  Cambridge,  and  of  Bellfield,  in  the  /jounty  of  Lan- 
caster ;  Sarah  married  to  George  Bigland  of  Bigland  Hall,  in 
the  same  county.  Wilson  Braddyl,  eldest  son  of  John  Gale, 
and  grandson  of  Margaret  Richmond,  married  Jane,  daughter 
and  heiress  of  Matthias  Gale,  Esq.,  of  Catgill  Hall,  in  the 
county  of  Cumberland,  by  Jane,  daughter  and  heiress  of  the 
Rev.  S.  Bennet,  D.  D.  ;  and,  as  the  eldest  surviving  male 
branch  of  t.:e  families  above  mentioned,  he  quarters,  in  addi- 
tion to  his  own,  their  paternal  coats  in  the  following  order,  as 
appears  by  the  records  in  the  College  of  Arms.  1st,  Argent, 
a  fess  azure,  between  3  saltiers  of  the  same,  charged  with  an 
anchor  between  2  lions'  heads  erased,  or, — Gale.  2^,  Or,  2 
bars  gemelles  gules,  and  a  chief  or, — Richmond.  3d,  Or,  a 
fess  chequey,  or  and  gules  between  9  gerbes  gules, — Vaux  of 
Caterlen.  4th,  Gules,  a  fess  chequey,  or  and  gules  between 
6  gerbes  or, — Vaux  of  Torcrossock.  5th,  Argent  (not  vert,  an 
stated  by  Burn),  a  bend  chequey,  or  and  gules,  for  Vaux  of 
Triermain.  6th,  Gules,  a  cross  patonce,  or, — Delamore.  7th, 
Gules,  6  lions  rampant  argent,  3,  2,  and  1, — Leybourne. — This 
more  detailed  genealogy  of  the  family  of  Triermain  was  obli- 
gingly sent  to  the  author  by  Major  Braddyll  of  Conisheae 
Priory. 


l^OTE  0. 

He  pass'd  red  Penrith's  Table  Round, — P.  385. 

A  circular  intrenchment,  about  half  a  mile  from  Penrith,  is 
thus  popularly  termed.  The  circle  within  the  ditch  is  abouJ 
one  hundred  and  sixty  pacer  in  circumference,  with  openings 
or  approaches,  directly  opposite  to  each  other.  As  the  ditch 
is  on  the  inner  side,  it  could  not  b«  intended  for  the  purpose  of 
defence,  and  it  has  reasonably  been  conjectured,  that  the  en- 
closure was  designed  for  the  solemn  ex«rcise  of  feats  of  cMt 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


411 


airy,  and  the  embankment  around  for  the  convenience  of  the 
ipectators. 


-P.  385. 


Note  D. 
Mayburgh'  s  mound. 
Higher  up  the  river  Eamont  than  Arthur's  Round  Table,  is 
a  prodigious  enclosure  of  great  antiquity,  formed  by  a  collec- 
tion of  stones  upon  the  top  of  a  gently  sloping  bill,  called  May- 
liurgh.  In  the  plain  which  it  encloses  there  stands  erect  an 
unhewn  stone  of  twelve  feet  in  height.  Two  similar  masses 
are  said  to  have  been  destroyed  during  the  memory  of  man. 
The  whole  appears  to  be  a  monument  of  Druidical  times. 


Note  E. 


The  monarch,  breathless  and  amazed, 

Back  on  the  fatal  castle  gazed 

Nor  tower  nor  donjon  could  he  spy, 
Darkening  against  the  morning  sky. — P.  390. 

"  We  now  gained  a  view  of  the  Vale  of  St.  John's,  a 

very  narrow  dell,  hemmed  in  by  mountains,  through  which  a 
small  brook  makes  many  meanderings,  washing  little  enclo- 
sures of  grass-ground,  which  stretch  up  the  rising  of  the  hills. 
In  the  widest  part  of  the  dale  you  are  struck  with  the  appear- 
ance of  an  ancient  ruined  castle,  which  seems  to  stand  upon 
the  summit  of  a  little  mount,  the  mountains  around  forming 
an  amphitheatre.  This  massive  bulwark  shows  a  front  of  va- 
rious towers,  and  makes  an  awful,  rude,  and  Gothic  appear- 
ance, with  its  lofty  turrets  and  ragged  battlements  ;  we  traced 
the  galleries,  the  bending  arches,  the  buttresses.  The  greatest 
antiquity  stands  characterized  in  its  architecture  ;  the  inhabit- 
ants near  it  assert  it  as  an  antediluvian  structure. 

"The  traveller's  curiosity  is  roused,  and  he  prepares  to 
make  a  nearer  approach,  when  that  curiosity  is  put  upon  the 
rack,  by  his  being  assured,  that,  if  he  advances,  certain  genii 
who  govern  the  place,  by  virtue  of  their  supernatural  art  and 
necromancy,  will  strip  it  of  all  its  beauties,  and,  by  enchant- 
ment, transform  the  magic  walls.  The  vale  seems  adapted 
for  the  habitation  of  such  beings  ;  its  gloomy  recesses  and  re- 
tirements look  like  haunts  of  evil  spirits.  There  was  no  de- 
lusion in  the  report ;  we  were  soon  convinced  of  its  truth  ;  for 
this  piece  of  antiquity,  so  venerable  and  noble  in  its  aspect,  as 
we  drew  near,  changed  its  figure,  and  proved  no  other  than  a 
shaken  massive  pile  of  rocks,  which  stand  in  the  midst  of  this 
little  vale,  disunited  from  the  adjoining  mountains,  and  have 
bo  much  the  real  form  and  resemblance  of  a  castle,  that  they 
bear  the  name  of  the  Castle  Rocks  of  St.  John." — Hutchin- 
son's Excursion  to  the  Lakes,  p.  121. 


Note  F. 


The  flower  of  Chivalry, 
There  Oalaad  sate  with  manly  grace, 
Yet  maiden  meekness  in  his  face  ; 


There  Morolt  of  the  iron  mace, 
And  love-lorn  Tristrem  there.- 


-P.  391. 


The  characters  named  in  the  stanza  are  all  of  them  more  c* 
less  distinguished  in  the  romances  which  treat  of  King  Arthui 
and  his  Round  Table,  and  their  names  are  strung  togethei 
according  to  the  established  custom  of  minstrels  upon  such 
occasions  ;  for  example,  in  the  ballad  of  the  Marriage  of  Sii 
Gawaine : — 

"  Sir  Lancelot,  Sir  Stephen  bolde, 
They  rode  with  them  that  daye, 
And,  foremost  of  the  companye, 
There  rode  the  stewarde  Kaye. 

"  Soe  did  Sir  Banier,  and  Sir  Bore, 
And,  eke  Sir  Garratte  keen, 
Sir  Tristrem  too,  that  gentle  knight, 
To  the  forest  fresh  and  greene." 


Note  G-. 


Lancelot,  that  ever  more 

Looked  stolen-wise  on  the  Queen. — P.  391. 

Upon  this  delicate  subject  hear  Richard  Robinson,  citizet 
of  London,  in  his  Assertion  of  King  Arthur  : — "  But  as  it  is  a 
thing  sufficiently  apparent  that  she  (Guenever,  wife  of  King 
Arthur)  was  beautiful,  so  it  is  a  thing  doubted  whether  she 
was  chaste,  yea  or  no.  Truly,  so  far  as  I  can  with  honestie,  I 
would  spare  the  impayred  honour  and  fame  of  noble  women. 
But  yet  the  truth  of  the  historie  pluckes  me  by  the  eare,  and 
willeth  not  onely,  but  commandeth  me  to  declare  what  the 
ancients  have  deemed  of  her.  To  wrestle  or  contend  with  so 
great  authoritie  were  indeede  unto  mei  a  controversie,  and 
that  greate." — Assertion  of  King  Arthur e.  Imprinted  by 
John  Wolfe,  London,  1582. 


Note  H. 


There  were  two  who  loved  their  neighbor's  wives, 
And  one  who  loved  his  own. — P.  392. 

"In  our  forefathers'  tyme,  when  Papistrie,  as  a  standyng 
poole,  covered  and  overflowed  all  England,  fewe  books  were 
read  in  our  tongue,  savying  certaine  bookes  of  chevalrie,  as 
they  said,  for  pastime  and  pleasure  ;  which,  as  some  say,  were 
made  in  the  monasteries,  by  idle  monks  or  wanton  chanons. 
As  one,  for  example,  La  Morte  d'Arthure ;  the  whole  pleas- 
ure of  which  book  standeth  in  two  speciall  poynts,  in  open 
manslaughter  and  bold  bawdrye  ;  in  which  booke  they  be 
counted  the  noblest  knightes  that  do  kill  most  men  without 
any  quarrell,  and  commit  fowlest  adoulteries  by  sutlest  shiftes ; 
as  Sir  Launcelot,  with  the  wife  of  King  Arthur,  his  master ; 
Sir  Tristram,  with  the  w:fe  of  King  Marke,  his  uncle ;  Sir 
Lamerocke,  with  the  wife  of  King  Lote,  that  was  his  own 
aunt.  This  is  good  stuff'e  for  wise  men  to  laugh  at :  or  honest 
men  to  take  pleasure  at :  yet  I  know  when  God's  Bible  wa» 
banished  the  Court,  and  La  Morte  d'Arthure  received  into  ih» 
Prince's  chamber." — Ascham's  Schoolmaster. 


tt|]e  Corir  of  tlje  3*U«: 

A  POEM,  IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833. 

The  composition  of  "The  Lord  of  the  Isles,"  as 
we  now  have  it  in  the  Author's  MS.,  seems  to  have 
been  begun  at  Abbotsford,  in  the  autumn  of  1814, 
and  it  ended  at  Edinburgh  the  16th  of  December. 
Some  part  of  Canto  I.  had  probably  been  com- 
mitted to  writing  in  a  rougher  form  earlier  in  the 
year.  The  original  quarto  appeared  on  the  2d  of 
January,  1815.1 

It  may  be  mentioned,  that  those  parts  of  this 
Poem  which  were  written  at  Abbotsford,  were 
composed  almost  all  in  the  presence  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  family,  and  many  in  that  of  casual  visitors 
also :  the  original  cottage  winch  he  then  occupied 
not  affording  him  any  means  of  retirement.  Nei- 
ther conversation  nor  music  seemed  to  disturb  him. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1833. 

1  could  hardly  have  chosen  a  subject  more  pop- 
ular in  Scotland,  than  any  thing  connected  with 
the  Bruce's  history,  unless  I  had  attempted  that 
of  Wallace.  But  I  am  decidedly  of  opinion,  that  a 
popular,  or  what  is  called  a  taking  title,  though 
well  qualified  to  ensure  the  publishers  against  loss, 
and  clear  their  shelves  of  the  original  impression, 
is  rather  apt  to  be  hazardous  than  otherwise  to  the 
reputation  of  the  author.  He  who  attempts  a  sub- 
ject of  distinguished  popularity,  has  not  the  privi- 
1  ege  of  awakening  the  enthusiasm  of  Ins  audience ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  is  already  awakened,  and  glows, 
it  may  be,  more  ardently  than  that  of  the  author 
himself.  In  this  case,  the  warmth  of  the  author  is 
inferior  to  that  of  the  party  whom  he  addresses, 
who  has,  therefore,  little  chance  of  being,  in  Bayes's 
phrase,  "  elevated  and  surprised"  by  what  he  has 
thought  of  with  more  enthusiasm  than  the  writer. 
The  sense  of  this  risk,  joined  to  the  consciousness 

i  Published  by  Archibald  Constable  and  Co.,  £2  2s. 

2  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Journal  of  this  voyage ,  some  fragments 
of  which  were  printed  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for 
1814,  is  now  given  entire  in  his  Life  by  Lockhart,  vol.  iv. 
ffiap.  28-32. 

8  Harriet,  Duchess  of  Buccleuch,  died  24th  August,  1814. 
Sir  Walter  Scott  received   the   mournful  intelligence  while 


of  striving  against  wind  and  tide,  made  the  task  of 
composing  the  proposed  Poem  somewhat  heavy 
and  hopeless;  but,  like  the  prize-fighter  in  "As 
You  Like  it,"  I  was  to  wrestle  for  my  reputation, 
and  not  neglect  any  advantage.  In  a  most  agree 
able  pleasure-voyage,  wliich  I  have  tried  to  com- 
memorate in  the  Introduction  to  the  new  edition 
of  the  "  Pirate,"  I  visited,  in  social  and  friendly 
company,8  the  coasts  and  islands  of  Scotland,  and 
made  myself  acquainted  with  the  localities  of  wliich 
I  meant  to  treat.  But  tliis  voyage,  which  was  in 
every  other  effect  so  delightful,  was  in  its  conclu- 
sion saddened  by  one  of  those  strokes  of  fate  which 
so  often  mingle  themselves  with  our  pleasures. 
The  accomplished  and  excellent  person  who  had 
recommended  to  me  the  subject  for  "  The  Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel,"  and  to  whom  I  proposed  to  in- 
scribe what  I  already  suspected  might  be  the  close 
of  my  poetical  labors,  was  unexpectedly  removed 
from  the  world,  which  she  seemed  only  to  have 
visited  for  purposes  of  kindness  and  benevolence. 
It  is  needless  to  say  how  the  author's  feelings,  or 
the  composition  of  his  trifling  work,  were  affected 
by  a  circumstance  which  occasioned  so  many  tears 
and  so  much  sorrow.8  True  it  is,  that  "  The  Lord 
of  the  Isles"  was  concluded,  unwillingly  and  in 
haste,  under  the  painful  feeling  of  one  who  has  ? 
task  which  must  be  finished,  rather  than  with  the 
ardor  of  one  who  endeavors  to  perform  that  task 
well.  Although  the  Poem  cannot  be  said  to  have 
made  a  favorable  impression  on  the  public,  the  sale 
of  fifteen  thousand  copies  enabled  the  author  to 
retreat  from  the  field  with  the  honors  of  war.4 

In  the  mean  time,  what  was  necessarily  to  be 
considered  as  a  failure,  was  much  reconciled  to  my 
feelings  by  the  success  attending  my  attempt  in 
another  species  of  composition.  "  Waverley"  had, 
under  strict  incognito,  taken  its  flight  from  the 
press,  just  before  I  set  out  upon  the  voyage  already 
mentioned ;  it  had  now  made  its  way  to  popularity 
and  the  success  of  that  work  and  the  volumes 

visiting    the    Giant's   Causeway,   and    immediately  returned 
home. 

4  "  As  Scott  passed  through  Edinburgh  on  his  return  from  his 
voyage,  the  negotiation  as  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  which  had 
been  protracted  through  several  months,  was  completed — 
Constable  agreeing  to  give  fifteen  hundred  guineas  for  one-half 
of  the  copyright,  while  the  other  moiety  was  retained  by  the 
author."-  -Life,  vol.  iv.  p.  394. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


413 


which  followed,  was  sufficient  to  have  satisfied  a 
greater  appetite  for  applause  than  I  have  at  any- 
time possessed.1 

I  may  as  well  add  in  this  place,  that,  being 
much  urged  by  my  intimate  friend,  now  unhappily 
no  more,  William  Erskine  (a  Scottish  judge,  by 
the  title  of  Lord  Kinedder),  I  agreed  to  write  the 
little  romantic  tale  called  the  "  Bridal  of  Trier- 
main  ;"  but  it  was  on  the  condition,  that  he  should 
make  no  serious  effort  to  disown  the  composition, 
if  report  should  lay  it  at  his  door.  As  he  was 
more  than  suspected  of  a  taste  for  poetry,  and  as 
I  took  care,  in  several  places,  to  mix  something 
which  might  resemble  (as  far  as  was  in  my  power) 
my  friend's  feeling  and  manner,  the  train  easily 
caught,  and  two  large  editions  were  sold.  A  third 
being  called  for,  Lord  Kinedder  became  unwilling 
to  aid  any  longer  a  deception  which  was  going  far- 
ther than  he  expected  or  desired,  and  the  real  au- 
thor's name  was  given.  Upon  another  occasion,  I 
sent  up  another  of  these  trifles,  which,  like  school- 
boys' kites,  served  to  show  how  the  wind  of  popu- 
lar taste  was  setting.     The  manner  was  supposed 

*  The  first  edition  of  Waverley  appeared  in  July,  1814. 
2  "Harold  the  Dauntless"  was  first  published  in  a  small 
i2mo  volume,  January,  1817. 


to  be  that  of  a  rude  minstrel  or  Scald,  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  "  Bridal  of  Triermain,"  which  was  de- 
signed to  belong  rather  to  the  Italian'  school.  Tliis 
new  fugitive  piece  was  called  "  Harold  the  Daunt- 
less ;"2  and  I  am  still  astonished  at  my  having 
committed  the  gross  error  of  selecting  the  very 
name  which  Lord  Byron  had  made  so  famous.  It 
encountered  rather  an  odd  fate.  My  ingenious 
friend,  Mr.  James  Hogg,  had  published  about  the 
same  time,  a  work  called  the  "  Poetic  Mirror,"  con- 
taining imitations  of  the  principal  living  poets.s 
There  was  in  it  a  very  good  imitation  of  my  own 
style,  which  bore  such  a  resemblance  to  "  Harold 
the  Dauntless,"  that  there  was  no  discovering  the 
original  from  the  imitation;  and  I  believe  that 
many  who  took  the  trouble  of  thinking  upon  the 
subject,  were  rather  of  opinion  that  my  ingenious 
friend  was  the  true,  and  not  the  fictitious  Simon 
Pure.  Since  this  period,  which  was  in  the  year 
1817,  the  Author  has  not  been  an  intruder  on  the 
public  by  any  poetical  work  of  importance. 

W.  S. 
Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 

3  Mr.  Hogg's  "  Poetic  Mirror"  appeared  in  October,  1816 


L 


!■  — 


414 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


1 


Stlie  €oxh  of  the  #sk0, 


ADVERTISEMENT    TO    THE    FIRST    EDITION. 


The  scene  of  this  Poem  lies,  at  first,  in  the  Castle  of  Artornish,  on  the  coast  of  Ar gyle shire  ;  and, 
afterwards,  in  the  Islands  of  Skye  and  Arran,  and  upon  the  coast  of  Ayrshire.  Finally,  it  is  laid 
near  Stirling.  The  story  opens  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1307,  when  Bruce,  who  had  been  driven  out  of 
Scotland  by  the  English,  and  the  Barons  who  adhered  to  that  foreign  interest,  returned  from  the  Island 
of  Rachrin,  on  the  coast  of  Ireland,  again  to  assert  his  claims  to  the  Scottish  crown.  Many  of  the  per- 
sonages and  incidents  introduced  are  of  historical  celebrity.  The  authorities  used  are  chiefly  those  oj 
the  venerable  Lord  Hailes,  as  well  entitled  to  be  called  the  restorer  of  Scottish  history,  as  Bruce  the  re 
storer  of  Scottish  monarchy ;  and  of  Archdeacon  Barbour,  a  correct  edition  of  whose  Metrical  History 
of  Robert  Bruce1  will  soon,  I  trust,  appear,  under  the  care  of  my  learned  friend,  the  Rev.  Br.  Jamieson. 

Abbotsford,  10  th  December,  1814.8 


i  The  work  alluded  to  appeared  in  1820,  under  the  title  of 
"  The  Bruce  and  Wallace."     2  vols.  4to. 

2  "  Here  is  another  genuine  lay  of  the  great  Minstrel,  with 
&!l  his  characteristic  faults,  beauties,  and  irregularities.  The 
Bame  glow  of  coloring — the  same  energy  of  narration— the 
same  amplitude  of  description,  are  conspicuous  here,  which 
distinguish  all  his  other  productions :  with  the  same  still  more 
characteristic  disdain  of  puny  graces  and  small  originalities — 
the  true  poetical  hardihood,  in  the  strength  of  which  he  urges 
on  his  Pegasus  fearlessly  through  dense  and  rare,  and  aiming 
gallantly  at  the  great  ends  of  truth  and  effect,  stoops  but  rarely 
to  study  the  means  by  which  they  are  to  be  attained — avails 
viimself,  without  scruple,  of  common  sentiments  and  common 
.mages  wherever  they  seem  fitted  for  his  purposes — and  is  origi- 
nal by  the  very  boldness  of  his  borrowing,  and  impressive  by 
his  disregard  of  epigram  and  emphasis. 

"  Though  bearing  all  these  marks  of  the  master's  hand,  the 
work  before  us  does  not  come  up,  in  interest,  to  The  Lady  of 
the  Lake,  or  even  to  Marmion.  There  is  less  connected  story  ; 
and,  what  there  is,  is  less  skilfully  complicated  and  disen- 
tangled, and  less  diversified  with  change  of  scene,  or  variety  of 
character.  In  the  scantiness  of  the  narrative,  and  the  broken 
and  discontinuous  order  of  the  events,  as  well  as  the  inartificial 
insertion  of  detached  descriptions  and  morsels  of  ethical  reflec- 
tion, it  bears  more  resemblance  to  the  earliest  of  the  author's 
greater  productions;  and  suggests  a  comparison,  perhaps  not 
altogether  to  his  advantage,  with  the  structure  and  execution 
of  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel : — for  though  there  is  probably 
more  force  and  substance  in  the  latter  parts  of  the  present  work, 
it  is  certainly  inferior  to  that  enchanting  performance  in  deli- 
cacy and  sweetness,  and  even— is  it  to  be  wondered  at,  after 
wur  such  publications  ? — in  originality. 

1  The  title  of '  The  Lord  of  ".he  Isles'  has  been  adopted,  we 


presume,  to  match  that  of '  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  ;'  but  there 
is  no  analogy  in  the  stories — nor  does  the  title,  on  this  occasion, 
correspond  very  exactly  with  the  contents.  It  is  no  unusual 
misfortune,  indeed,  for  the  author  of  a  modern  Epic  to  have 
his  hero  turn  out  but  a  secondary  personage,  in  the  gradua' 
unfolding  of  the  story,  while  some  unruly  underling  runs  of] 
witli  the  whole  glory  and  interest  of  the  poem.  But  here  the 
author,  we  cor.ceive,  must  have  been  aware  of  the  misnomer 
from  the  beginning  ;  the  true,  and  indeed  the  ostensible  hero 
being,  from  the  very  first,  no  less  a  person  than  King  Robert 
Bruce." — Edinburgh  Review,  No.  xlviii.  1815. 

"  If  it  be  possible  for  a  poet  to  bestow  upon  his  writings  a 
superfluous  degree  of  care  and  correction,  it  may  also  be  pos* 
sible,  we  should  suppose,  to  bestow  too  little.  Whether  this 
be  the  case  in  the  poem  before  us,  is  a  point  upon  which  Mr. 
Scott  can  possibly  form  a  much  more  competent  judgment  than 
ourselves;  we  can  only  say,  that  without  possessing  greate* 
beauties  than  its  predecessors,  it  has  certain  violations  of  pro- 
priety, both  in  the  language  and  in  the  composition  of  the  story, 
of  which  the  former  efforts  of  his  muse  afforded  neither  so 
many  nor  such  striking  examples. 

"  We  have  not  now  any  quarrel  with  Mr.  Scott  on  account 
of  the  measure  which  he  has  chosen;  still  less  on  account  of 
his  subjects ,  we  believe  that  they  are  both  of  them  not  only 
pleasing  in  themselves,  but  well  adapted  to  each  other,  and 
to  the  bent  of  his  peculiar  genius.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  be- 
cause we  admire  his  genius,  and  are  partial  to  the  subjects 
which  he  delights  in,  that  we  so  much  regret  he  should  leave 
room  for  any  difference  of  opinion  respecting  them,  merely 
from  not  bestowing  upon  his  publications  that  common  degree 
of  labor  and  meditation  which  we  cannot  help  saying  it  » 
scarcely  decorous  to  withhold." — Quarterly  Review,  N%. 
xxvi.    July,  1815. 


— — — 


CANTO  I. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


41  i 


ffilje  Ccrb  of  tlje  J0U0. 


CANTO    FIRST. 


Autumn  departs — but  still  his  mantle's  fold 
Rests  on  the  groves  of  noble  Somerville,1 
Beneath  a  shroud  of  russet  dropped  with  gold 
Tweed  and  his  tributaries  mingle  still ; 
Hoarser  the  wind,  and  deeper  soimds  the  rill, 
Yet  lingering  notes  of  silvan  music  swell, 
The  deep-toned  cushat,  and  the  redbreast  shrill ; 
And  yet  some  tints  of  summer  splendor  tell 
When  the  broad  sun  sinks  down  on  Ettrick's  wes- 
tern fell. 

Autumn  departs — from  Gala's2  fields  no  more 
Come  rural  sounds  our  kindred  banks  to  cheer ; 
Blent  with  the  stream,  and  gale  that  wafts  it 

o'er, 
No  more  the  distant  reaper's  mirth  we  hear. 
The  last  blithe  shout  hath  died  upon  our  ear, 
And    harvest-home  hath  hush'd  the   clanging 

wain, 
On  the  waste  hill  no  forms  of  life  appear, 
Save  where,  sad  laggard  of  the  autumnal  train, 
Some  age-struck  wanderer  gleans  few  ears  of  scat- 

ter'd  grain. 

Deem'st  thou  these  sadden'd  scenes  have  pleas- 
ure still, 
Lovest  thou  through  Autumn's  fading  realms  to 

stray, 
To  see  the  heath-flower  wither'd  on  the  hill, 
To  listen  to  the  wood's  expiring  lay, 
To  note  the  red  leaf  shivering  on  the  spray, 
To  mark  the  last  bright  tints  the  mountain  stain, 
On  the  waste  fields  to  trace  the  gleaner's  way, 
And  moralize  on  mortal  joy  and  pain  ? — 
Oh !  if  such  scenes  thou  lovest,  scorn  not  the  min- 
strel strain. 

No  1  do  not  scorn,  although  its  hoarser  note 
Scarce  with  the  cushat's  homely  song  can  vie, 
Though  faint  its  beauties  as  the  tints  remote 
"That  gleam  through  mist  in  Autumn's  evening 

sky, 
And  few  as  leaves  that  tremble,  sear  and  dry, 

1  John,  fifteenth  Lord  Somerville,  illustrious  for  his  patriotic 
devotion  to  the  science  of  agriculture,  resided  frequently  in  his 
beautiful  villa  called  the  Pavilion,  situated  on  the  Tweed  over 
against  Melrose,  and  was  an  intimate  friend  and  almost  daily 
companion  of  the  poet,  from  whose  windows  at  Abbotsford 
his  lordship's  plantations  formed  a  prominent  object.  Lord  S. 
#eu  In  1819. 

2  The  river  Gala,  famous  in  song,  flows  into  the  Tweed  a 
few  hundred  yards  below  Abbotsford  :  but  probably  the  word 


When  wild  November  hath  his  bugle  wound ; 
Nor  mock  my  tou\—  a  lonely  gleaner  I,3 
Through   fields   time-wasted,   on   sad   inquest 
bound, 
Where  happier  bards  of  yore  have  richer  harvest 
found. 

So  shalt  thou  list,  and  haply  not  unmoved, 
To  a  wild  tale  of  Albyn's  warrior  day  ; 
In  distant  lands,  by  the  rough  West  reproved, 
Still  live  some  relics  of  the  ancient  lay. 
For,  when  on  Coolin's  hills  the  lights  decay, 
With  such  the  Seer  of  Skye4  the  eve  beguiles , 
'Tis  known  amid  the  pathless  wastes  of  Reay. 
In  Harries  known,  and  in  Iona's  piles, 
Where  rest  from  mortal  coil  the  Mighty  of  the 
Isles. 


"  Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn  !"  the  Minstrels  sung. 

Thy  rugged  halls,  Artornish  !  rung,5 

And  the  dark  seas,  thy  towers  that  lave, 

Heaved  on  the  beach  a  softer  wave, 

As  'mid  the  tuneful  choir  to  keep 

The  diapason  of  the  Deep. 

Lull'd  were  the  winds  on  Inninmore, 

And  green  Loch-Alline's  woodland  shore, 

As  if  wild  woods  and  waves  had  pleasure 

In  listing  to  the  lovely  measure. 

And  ne'er  to  symphony  more  .sweet 

Gave  mountain  echoes6  answer  meet, 

Since,  met  from  mainland  and  from  isle; 

Ross,  Arran,  Hay,  and  Argyle, 

Each  minstrel's  tributary  lay 

Paid  homage  to  the  festal  day. 

Dull  and  dishonor'd  were  the  bard, 

Worthless  of  guerdon  and  regard, 

Deaf  to  the  hope  of  minstrel  fame, 

Or  lady's  smiles,  his  noblest  aim, 

Who  on  that  morn's  resistless  call 

Were  silent  in  Artornish  halL 

II. 

"  Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn !"  'twas  thus  they  sung-, 
And  yet  more  proud  the  descant  rung, 
"  Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn !  high  right  is  ours, 
To  charm  dull  sleep7  from  Beauty's  bowers  ; 
Earth,  Ocean,  Air,  have  naught  so  shy 

Gala  here  stands  for  the  poet's  neighbor  and  kinsman,  and 
much  attached  friend,  John  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Gala. 

3  MS. "  an  humble  gleaner  I." 

«  MS. "  the  aged  of  Skye." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

6  MS. — "  Made  mountain  echoes, "&c. 

i  MS. "for  right  is  ours 

To  suvimon  sleep,"  &c. 


416                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                                canto  i 

But  owns  the  power  of  minstrelsy. 

V. 

In  Lettermore  the  timid  deer 

Retired  her  maiden  train  among, 

Will  pause,   the   harp's  wild  chime   to 

Edith  of  Lorn  received  the  song,2 

hear ; 

But  tamed  the  minstrel's  pride  had  been 

Rude  Heiskar's  seal  through  surges  dark 

That  had  her  cold  demeanor  seen ; 

"Will  long  pursue  the  minstrel's  bark ;] 

For  not  upon  her  cheek  awoke 

To  list  his  notes,  the  eagle  proud 

The  glow  of  pride  when  Flattery  spoke, 

"Will  poise  him  on  Ben-Cailliach's  cloud* 

Nor  could  their  tenderest  numbers  bring 

Then  let  not  Maiden's  ear  disdain 

One  sigh  responsive  to  the  string. 

The  summons  of  the  minstrel  train, 

As  vainly  had  her  maidens  vied 

But,  while  our  harps  wild  music  make, 

In  skill  to  deck  the  princely  bride. 

Edith  of  Lorn,  awake,  awake  1 

Her  locks,  in  dark-brown  length  array' d, 

Cathleen  of  Ulne,  'twas  tliine  to  braid ; 

III. 

Young  Eva  with  meet  reverence  drew 

"  0  wake,  while  Dawn,  with  dewy  shine, 

On  the  light  foot  the  silken  shoe, 

"Wakes  Nature's  charms  to  vie  with  tliine ! 

"While  on  the  ankle's  slender  round 

She  bids  the  mottled  thrush  rejoice 

Those  strings  of  pearl  fair  Bertha  wound, 

To  mate  thy  melody  of  voice ; 

That,  bleach'd  Lochryan's  depths  within, 

The  dew  that  on  the  violet  lies 

Seem'd  dusky  still  on  Edith's  skin. 

Mocks  the  dark  lustre  of  thine  eyes ; 

But  Einion,  of  experience  old, 

But,  Edith,  wake,  and  all  we  see 

Had  weightiest  task — the  mantle's  fold  • 

Of  sweet  and  fair  shall  yield  to  thee !" — 

In  many  an  artful  plait  she  tied, 

"  She  comes  not  yet,"  gray  Ferrand  cried ; 

To  show  the  form  it  seem'd  to  hide, 

"  Brethren,  let  softer  spell  be  tried, 

Till  on  the  floor  descending  roll'd8 

Those  notes  prolong'd,  that  soothing  theme. 

Its  waves  of  crimson  blent  with  gold. 

"Which  best  may  mix  with  Beauty's  dream, 

And  whisper,  with  their  silvery  tone, 

VI. 

The  hope  she  loves,  yet  fears  to  own." 

0 1  lives  there  now  so  cold  a  maid, 

He  spoke,  and  on  the  harp-strings  died 

Who  thus  in  beauty's  pomp  array'd, 

The  strains  of  flattery  and  of  pride ; 

In  beauty's  proudest  pitch  of  power, 

More  soft,  more  low,  more  tender  fell 

And  conquest  won — the  bridal  hour — 

The  lay  of  love  he  bade  them  telL 

With  every  charm  that  wins  the  heart, 

By  Nature  given,  enhanced  by  Art, 

IV. 

Could  yet  the  fair  reflection  view, 

"Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn !  the  moments  fly, 

In  the  bright  mirror  pictured  true, 

Which  yet  that  maiden-name  allow ; 

And  not  one  dimple  on  her  cheek 

Wake,  Maiden,  wake  !  the  hour  is  nigh, 

A  tell-tale  consciousness  bespeak  ? — 

"When   Love   shall    claim   a  plighted 

Lives  still  such  maid  ? — Fair  damsels,  say, 

vow. 

For  further  vouches  not  my  lay, 

By  Fear,  thy  bosom's  fluttering  guest, 

Save  that  sUch  lived  in  Britain's  isle, 

By  hope,  that  soon  shall  fears  remove, 

When  Lorn's  bright  Edith  scorn'd  to  smila 

"We  bid  thee  break  the  bonds  of  rest, 

And  wake  thee  at  the  call  of  Love  ! 

VII. 

But  Morag,  to  whose  fostering  care 

"  "Wake,  Edith,  wake !  in  yonder  bay 

Proud  Lorn  had  given  his  daughter  fair. 

Lies  many  a  galley  gayly  mann'd, 

Morag,  who  saw  a  mother's  aid4 

We  hear  the  merry  pibrochs  play, 

By  all  a  daughter's  love  repaid, 

We  see  the  streamers'  silken  band. 

(Strict  was  that  bond — most  kind  of  all- 

What   Chieftain's   praise   these   pibrochs 

Inviolate  in  Highland  hall) — 

swell, 

Gray  Morag  sate  a  space  apart, 

What  crest  is  on  these  banners  wove, 

In  Edith's  eyes  to  read  her  heart. 

The  harp,  the  minstrel,  dare  not  tell — 

In  vain  the  attendants'  fond  appeal 

The  riddle  must  be  read  by  Love." 

To  Morag's  skill,  to  Morag's  zeal ; 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

s  MS. — "  The  train  upon  the  pavement  }  aovr>A  r 

Then  to  the  floor  descending    ) 

8MS. — '  Retired  amid  her  menial  train, 

4  MS. — "  But  Morag,  who  the  maid  had  press'd, 

Edith  of  Lorn  received  the  strain." 

An  infant,  to  her  fostering  breast, 

And  seen  a  mother's  early  aid,"  &c. 

ciNTo  i.                                  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                        411 

She  mark'd  her  child  receive  their  care, 

Yet,  empress  of  this  joyful  day, 

Cold  as  the  image  sculptured  fair 

Edith  is  sad  while  all  are  gay." — 

(Form  of  some  sainted  patroness), 

Which  cloister'd  maids  combine  to  dress; 

IX. 

She  mark'd — and  knew  her  nursling's  heart 

Proud  Edith's  soul  came  to  her  eye, 

In  the  vain  pomp  took  little  p?rt. 

Resentment  check'd  the  struggling  sigh. 

"Wistful  a  while  she  gazed — then  press'd 

Her  hurrying  hand  indignant  dried 

Tlu  maiden  to  her  anxious  breast 

The  burning  tears  of  injured  pride — ■ 

In  finish'd  loveliness — and  le  1 

"  Morag,  forbear !  or  lend  thy  praise 

To  where  a  turret's  airy  hea  J, 

To  swell  yon  hireling  harpers'  lays ; 

Slender  and  steep,  and  battled  round, 

Make  to  yon  maids  thy  boast  of  power, 

O'erlook'd,  dark  Mull !  thy  mighty  Sound,1 

That  they  may  waste  a  wondering  hour, 

Where    thwarting    tides,    with    mingled 

Telling  of  banners  proudly  borne, 

roar, 

Of  pealing  bell  and  bugle-horn, 

Part  thy  swarth  hills  from  Morven's  shore. 

Or,  theme  more  dear,  of  robes  of  price, 

Crownlets  and  gauds  of  rare  device. 

VIII. 

But  thou,  experienced  as  thou  art, 

"  Daughter,"  she  said,  "  these  seas  behold, 

Think'st  thou  with  these  to  cheat  the  heart, 

Round  twice  a  hundred  islands  roll'd, 

That,  bound  in  strong  affection's  chain, 

From  Hirt,  that  hears  their  northern  roar, 

Looks  for  return,  and  looks  in  vain  ? 

To  the  green  Hay's  fertile  shore  ;2 

No !  sum  tliine  Edith's  wretched  lot 

Or  mainland  turn,  where  many  a  tower 

In  these  brief  words — He  loves  her  not  1 

Owns  thy  bold  brother's  feudal  power,3 

Each  on  its  own  dark  cape  reclined, 

X. 

And  listening  to  its  own  wild  wind, 

"  Debate  it  not — too  long  I  strove 

From  where  Mingarry,  sternly  placed, 

To  call  his  cold  observance  love, 

O'erawes  the  woodland  and  the  waste,4 

All  blinded  by  the  league  that  styled 

To  where  Dunstaffnage  hears  the  raging 

Edith  of  Lorn, — while  yet  a  child, 

Of  Connal  with  his  rocks  engaging. 

She  tripp'd  the  heath  by  Morag's  side, — 

Think'st  thou,  amid  this  ample  round, 

*  The  brave  Lord  Ronald's  destined  bride. 

A  single  brow  but  thine  has  frown' d, 

Ere  yet  I  saw  him,  while  afar 

To  sadden  this  auspicious  morn, 

His  broadsword  blazed  in  Scotland's  war 

That  bids  the  draghter  of  high  Lom 

Train'd  to  believe  our  fates  the  same, 

Impledge  her  or.ousal  faith  to  wed 

My  bosom  throbb'd  when  Ronald's  name 

The  heir  of  eighty  Somerled  !5 

Came  gracing  Fame's  heroic  tale, 

Ronald,  from  many  a  hero  sprung, 

Like  perfume  on  the  summer  gale. 

The  fair,  the  valiant,  and  the  young, 

What  pilgrim  sought  our  halls,  nor  told 

Lord  of  the  Isles,  whose  lofty  name6 

Of  Ronald's  deeds  in  battle  bold ; 

A  thousand  bards  have  given  to  fame, 

Who  touch'd  the  harp  to  heroes'  praise, 

The  mate  of  monarchs,  and  allied 

But  his  achievements  swell'd  the  lays  ? 

On  equal  terms  with  England's  pride. — 

Even  Morag — not  a  tale  of  fame 

From  chieftain's  tower  to  bondsman's  cot, 

Was  hers  but  closed  with  Ronald's  name. 

Who  hears  the  tale,7  and  triumphs  not  ? 

He  came  !  and  all  that  had  been  told 

The  damsel  dons  her  best  attire, 

Of  his  high  worth  seem'd  poor  and  cold, 

The  shepherd  lights  his  beltane  fire, 

Tame,  lifeless,  void  of  energy, 

Joy,  joy !  each  warder's  horn  hath  sung, 

Unjust  to  Ronald  and  to  me  I 

Joy,  joy !  each  matin  bell  hath  rung 

The  holy  priest  says  grateful  mass, 

XL 

Loud  shouts  each  hardy  galla-glass, 

"  Since  then,  what  thought  had  Edith's  heart 

No  mountain  den  holds  outcast  boor, 

And  gave  not  plighted  love  its  part ! — 

Of  heart  so  dull,  of  soul  so  poor, 

And  what  requital  ?*cold  delay — 

But  he  hath  flung  his  task  aside, 

Excuse  that  shunn'd  the  spousal  day. — 

And  claim'd  tins  morn  for  holy-tide  ; 

It  dawns,  and  Ronald  is  not  here  ! — 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  C.                    a  Ibid.  Note  D. 

7  MS.— "The  news." 

8  MS.—"  When,  from  that  hour,  had  Edith's  heart 

A  thought,  and  Ronald  iack'd  hi3  part .' 

™  ft*S.                            father  s  feudal  po*ver. " 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  E.                  6  ibid.  Note  F 

»  Ibid.  Note  G 

53 

And  what  her  guerdon  ?" 

418                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                                canto  i, 

Hunts  he  Bentalla's  nimble  deer,1 

And  shifted  >ft  her  stooping  side, 

Or  loiters  he  in  secret  dell 

In  weary  tack  from  shore  to  shore. 

To  bid  some  lighter  love  farewell, 

Yet  on  her  destined  course  no  more 

And  swear,  that  thoughJie  may  not  scorn 

She  gain'd,  of  forward  way, 

A  daughter  of  the  House  of  Lorn,2 

Than  what  a  minstrel  may  compare 

Yet,  when  these  formal  rites  are  o'er, 

To  the  poor  meed  which  peasants  share. 

Again  they  meet,  to  part  no  more  V 

Who  toil  the  livelong  day ; 

And  such  the  risk  her  pilot  braves, 

XII. 

That  oft,  before  she  wore, 

— "  Hush,  daughter,  hush !  thy  doubts  remove, 

Her  boltsprit  kiss'd  the  broken  waves, 

More  nobly  think  of  Ronald's  love. 

"Where  iu  white  foam  the  ocean  raves 

Look,  where  beneath  the  castle  gray 

Upon  the  shelving  shore. 

His  fleet  unmoor  from  Aros  bay ! 

Yet,  to  their  destined  purpose  true, 

See'st  not  each  galley's  topmast  bend, 

Undaunted  toil'd  her  hardy  crew, 

As  on  the  yards  the  sails  ascend  ? 

Nor  look'd  where  shelter  lay, 

Hiding  the  dark-blue  land,  they  rise 

Nor  for  Artornish  Castle  drew, 

Like  the  white  clouds  on  April  skies ; 

Nor  steer'd  for  Aros  bay. 

The  shouting  vassals  man  the  oars, 

Behind  them  sink  Mull's  mountain  shores, 

XV. 

Onward  their  merry  course  they  keep, 

Thus  while    they   strove   with   wind    and 

Through  whistling  breeze   and   foaming 

seas, 

deep. 

Borne  onward  by  the  willing  breeze, 

And  mark  the  headmost,  seaward  cast, 

Lord  Ronald's  fleet  swept  by, 

Stoop  to  the  freshening  gale  her  mast, 

Streamer'd  with  silk,  and  trick'd  with  gold, 

As  if  she  veil'd  its  banner'd  pride, 

Mann'd  with  the  noble  and  the  bold 

To  greet  afar  her  prince's  bride  ! 

Of  Island  chivalry. 

Thy  Ronald  comes,  and  while  in  speed 

Around  their  prows  the  ocean  roars, 

His  galley  mates  the  flying  steed, 

And  chafes  beneath  their  thousand  oars, 

He  chides  her  sloth !" — Fair  Edith  sigh'd, 

Yet  bears  them  on  their  way : 

Blush'd,  sadly  smiled,  and  thus  replied : —        * 

So  chafes6  the  war-horse  in  his  might, 

That  fieldward  bears  some  valiant  knight, 

XIIL 

Champs,  till  both  bit  and  boss  are  white, 

"  Sweet  thought,  but  vain ! — No,  Morag ! 

But,  foaming,  must  obey. 

mark, 

On  each  gay  deck  they  might  behold 

Type  of  his  course,  yon  lonely  bark, 

Lances  of  steel  and  crests  of  gold, 

That  oft  hath  shifted  helm  and  sail 

And  hauberks  with  their  burnish'd  fold, 

To  win  its  way  against  the  gale. 

That  shimme/d  fair  and  free ; 

Since  peep  of  morn,  my  vacant  eyes 

And  each  proud  galley,  as  she  pass'd, 

Have  view'd  by  fits  the  course  she  tries  ;9 

To  the  wild  cadence  of  the  Vlast 

Now,  though  the  darkening  scud  comes  on, 

Gave  wilder  minstrelsy. 

And  dawn's  fair  promises  be  gone, 

Full  many  a  shrill  triumphant  note 

And  though  the  weary  crew  may  see 

Saline  and  Scallastle  bade  float 

Our  sheltering  haven  on  their  lee, 

Then-  misty  shores  around ; 

Still  closer  to  the  rising  wind 

And  Moi  9-en's  echoes  answer'd  well, 

They  strive  her  shivering  sail  to  bind, 

And  Duart  heard  the  distant  swell 

Still  nearer  to  the  shelves'  dread  verge4 

Come  down  the  darksome  Sound, 

Ai  every  tack  her  course  they  urge, 

As  if  they  fear'd  Artornish  more 

XVI. 

Than  adverse  winds  and  breakers'  roar." 

feo  bore  they  on  with  mirth  and  pride, 

And  if  that  laboring  bark  they  spied, 

xiy. 

'Twas  with  such  idle  eye 

Sooth  spoke  the  maid. — Amid  the  tide 

As  nobles  cast  on  lowly  boor, 

The  skiff  she  mark'd  lay  tossing  sore, 

When,  toiling  in  his  task  obscure, 

*  MS. — "  And  on  its  dawn  the  bridegroom  lags  ; — 

Young  Eva  view'd  the  course  she  tries." 

Hunts  he  Bentalla's  nimble  stags  ?" 

4  MS. "  the  breakers'  verge." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

6  MS.—"  So  fumes,"  &c. 

•  MS. — "  Since  dawn  of  morn,  with  vacant  eyes 

6  MS. — "  That  bears  to  fight  some  gallant  knight.' 

•A MO  I. 


THE  LORD  OE  THE  LSLEiS. 


41b 


They  pass  him  careless  by.1 

Thus  to  the  Leader  spoke : — 

Let  them  sweep  on  with  heedless  eyes ! 

"  Brother,  how  hopest  thou  to  abide 

But,  had  they  known  what  mighty  prize 

The  fury  of  this  wilder'd  tide, 

In  that  frail  vessel  lay, 

Or  how  avoid  the  rock's  rude  side, 

The  famish'd  wolf,  that  prowls  the  wold, 

Until  the  day  has  broke  ? 

Had  scatheless  pass'd  the  unguarded  fold, 

Didst  thou  not  mark  the  vessel  reel, 

Ere,  drifting  by  these  galleys  bold, 

With  quivering  planks,  and  groaning  keel, 

Unchallenged  were  her  way  !2 

At  the  last  billow's  shock  ? 

And  thou,  Lord  Ronald,  sweep  thou  on, 

Yet  how  of  better  counsel  tell, 

With  mirth,  and  pride,  and  minstrel  tone  ! 

Though  here  thou  see'st  poor  Isabel 

But  hadst  thou  known  who  sail'd  so  nigh, 

Half  dead  with  want  and  fear ; 

Far  other  glance  were  in  thine  eye ! 

For  look  on  sea,  or  look  on  land, 

Far  other  flush  were  on  thy  brow, 

Or  yon  dark  sky — on  every  hand 

That,  shaded  by  the  bonnet,  now 

Despair  and  death  are  near. 

Assumes  but  ill  the  blithesome  cheer 

For  her  alone  I  grieve, — on  me 

Of  bridegroom  when  the  bride  is  near  1 

Danger  sits  light,  by  land  and  sea, 

I  follow  where  thou  wilt ; 

XVII. 

Either  to  bide  the  tempest's  lour, 

Yes,  sweep  they  on ! — We  will  not  leave, 

Or  wend  to  yon  unfriendly  tower, 

For  them  that  triumph,  those  who  grieve. 

Or  rush  amid  their  naval  power,5 

With  that  armada  gay 

With  war-cry  wake  their  wassail-hour 

Be  laughter  loud  and  jocund  shout, 

And  die  with  hand  on  hilt." — 

And  bards  to  cheer  the  wassail  rout 

With  tale,  romance,  and  lay  ;3 

XX. 

And  of  wild  mirth  each  clamorous  art, 

That  elder  Leader's  calm  reply 

Which,  if  it  cannot  cheer  the  heart, 

In  steady  voice  was  given, 

May  stupefy  and  stun  its  smart, 

"  In  man's  most  dark  extremity 

For  one  loud  busy  day. 

Oft  succor  dawns  from  Heaven. 

Yes,  sweep  they  on ! — But  with  that  skiff 

Edward,  trim  thou  the  shatter'd  sail, 

Abides  the  minstrel  tale, 

The  helm  be  mine,  and  down  the  gale 

Where  there  was  dread  of  surge  and  cliff, 

Let  our  free  course  be  driven ; 

Labor  that  strain'd  each  sinew  stiff, 

So  shall  we  'scape  the  western  bay, 

And  one  sad  Maiden's  wail. 

The  hostile  fleet,  the  unequal  fray, 

So  safely  hold  our  vessel's  way 

XVIII. 

Beneath  the  Castle  wall ; 

All  day  with  fruitless  strife  they  toil'd, 

For  if  a  hope  of  safety  rest, 

With  eve  the  ebbing  currents  boil'd 

'Tis  on  the  sacred  name  of  guest, 

More  fierce  from  strait  and  lake ; 

Who  seeks  for  shelter,  storm-distress' d, 

And  midway  through  the  channel  met 

Within  a  chieftain's  halL 

Conflicting  tides  that  foam  and  fret, 

If  not — it  best  beseems  our  worth, 

And  high  their  mingled  billows  jet, 

Our  name,  our  right,  our  lofty  birth, 

As  spears,  that,  in  the  battle  set, 

By  noble  hands  to  fall." 

Spring  upward  as  they  break. 

Then,  too,  the  lights  of  eve  were  past,4 

XXI. 

And  louder  sung  the  western  blast 

The  helm,  to  his  strong  arm  consign'd, 

On  rocks  of  Inninmore ; 

Gave  the  reef 'd  sail  to  meet  the  wind*, 

Rent  was  the  sail,  and  strain'd  the  mast, 

And  on  her  alter'd  way, 

And  many  a  leak  was  gaping  fast, 

Fierce  bounding,  forward  sprung  the  ship 

And  the  pale  steersman  stood  aghast, 

Like  greyhound  starting  from  the  slip 

And  gave  the  conflict  o'er. 

To  seize  his  flying  prey. 

Awaked  before  the  pushing  prow, 

XIX. 

The  mimic  fires  of  ocean  glow, 

'Twas  then  that  One,  whose  lofty  look 

Those  lightnings  of  the  wave  ;a 

Nor  labor  dull'd  nor  terror  shook, 

Wild  sparkles  crest  the  broken  tides, 

MS. — "  As  the  gay  nobles  give  the  boor, 

3  MS. — "  With  mirth,  song,  tale,  and  la7." 

When,  toiling  in  his  task  obscure, 

*  MS. — "  Then,  too,  the  clouds  were  sinking  fast." 

Their  greatness  passes  by." 

6 "  the  hostile  power." 

MS. — "  She  held  unchallenged  way." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

420 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  1 


And,  flashing  round,  the  vessel's  sides 

"With  elvish  lustre  lave,1 
While,  far  behind,  their  livid  light 
To  the  dark  billows  of  the  night 

A  gloomy  splendor  gave. 
It  seems  as  if  old  Ocean  shakes 
From  his  dark  brow  the  lucid2  flakes 

In  envious  pageantry, 
To  match  the  meteor-light  that  streaks 

Grim  Hecla's  midnight  sky. 

XXII. 

Nor  lack'd  they  steadier  light  to  keep 
Their  course  upon  the  darken'd  deep ; — 
Artornish,  on  her  frowning  steep 

'Twixt  cloud  and  ocean  hung, 
Glanced  with  a  thousand  lights  of  glee, 
And  landward  far,  and  far  to  sea, 

Her  festal  radiance  flung.3 
By  that  blithe  beacon-light  they  steer'd, 

Whose  lustre  mingled  well 
With  the  pale  beam  that  now  appear' d, 
As  the  cold  moon  her  head  upreard 

Above  the  eastern  fell. 

XXIII. 
Thus  guided,  on  their  course  they  bore, 
Until  they  near'd  the  mainland  shore, 
Whe^i  frequent  on  the  hollow  blast 
Wild  shouts  of  merriment  were  cast, 
And  wind  and  wave  and  sea-bird's  cry 
With  wassail  sounds  in  concert  vie,4 
Like  funeral  shrieks  with  revelry, 

Or  like  the  battle-shout 
By  peasants  heard  from  cliffs  on  high, 
When  Triumph,  Rage,  and  Agony, 

Madden  the  fight  and  route. 
Now  nearer  yet,  through  mist  and  storm 
Dimly  arose  the  Castle's  form, 

And  deepen' d&  shadow  made, 
Far  lengthen'd  on  the  main  below, 
Where,  dancing  in  reflected  glow, 

A  hundred  torches  play'd, 
Spangling  the  wave  with  lights  as  vain 
As  pleasures  in  this  vale  of  pain, 

That  dazzle  as  they  fade.8 

MS. — "  And,  bursting  round  the  vessel's  sides, 
A  livid  lustre  gave." 
»  MS— "  Livid." 

s  '  The  description  of  the  vessel's  approach  to  the  Castle 
through  the  tempestuous  and  sparkling  waters,  and  the  con- 
trast of  the  gloomy  aspect  of  the  billows  with  the  glittering 
splendor  of  Artornish, 

'  'Twixt  cloud  and  ocean  hung,' 
Bending  her  radiance  abroad  through  the  terrors  of  the  night, 
and  mingling  at  intervals  the  shouts  of  her  revelry  with  the 
wilder  cadence  of  the  blast,  is  one  of  ihe  happiest  instances  of 
Mr.  Scott's  felicity  in  awful  and  magnificent  scenery." — Criti- 
cal Review 


XXIV. 
Beneath  the  Castle's  sheltering  lee, 
They  staid  their  course  in  quiet  sea. 
Hewn  in  the  rock,  a  passage  there 
Sought  the  dark  fortress  by  a  stair, 

So  straight,  so  high,  so  steep, 
With  peasant's  staff  one  valiant  hand 
Might  well  the  dizzy  pass  have  mann'd, 
'Gainst  hundreds  arm'd  with  spear  and  brand, 

And  plunged  them  in  the  deep.7 
His  bugle  then  the  helmsman  wound ; 
Loud  answer'd  every  echo  round, 

From  turret,  rock,  and  bay, 
The  postern's  hinges  crash  and  groan, 
And  soon  the  warder's  cresset  shone 
On  those  rude  steps  of  slippery  stone, 

To  light  the  upward  way. 
"  Thrice  welcome,  holy  Sire  !"  he  said  ; 
"  Full  long  the  spousal  train  have  staid, 

And,  vex'd  at  thy  delay, 
Fear'd  lest,  amidst  these  wildering  seas, 
The  darksome  night  and  freshening  breeze 

Had  driven  thy  bark  astray." — 

XXV. 

"  Warder,"  the  younger  stranger8  said, 
"  Thine  erring  guess  some  mirth  had  made 
In  mirthful  hour ;  but  nights  like  these, 
When  the  rough  winds  wake  western  seas, 
Brook  not  of  glee.     We  crave  some  aid 
And  needful  shelter  for  this  maid 

Until  the  break  of  day ; 
For,  to  ourselves,  the  deck's  rude  plank 
Is  easy  as  the  mossy  bank 

That's  breathed  upon  by  May, 
And  for  our  storm-toss'd  skiff  we  seek 
Short  shelter  in  tins  leeward  creek, 
Prompt  when  the  dawn  the  east  shall  streak 

Again  to  bear  away." — 
Answered  the  Warder, — "  In  what  name 
Assert  ye  hospitable  claim  ? 

Whence  come,  or  whither  bound  ? 
Hath  Erin  seen  your  parting  sails  ? 
Or  come  ye  on  Norweyan  gales  ? 
And  seek  ye  England's  fertile  vales, 

Or  Scotland's  mountain  ground  ?" — 

4  MS. — "  The  wind,  the  wave,  the  sea-birds'  cry, 
In  melancholy  concert  vie." 

6  MS. — "Darksome." 

6  "  Mr.  Scott,  we  observed  in  the  newspapers,  was  engaged 
during  last  summer  in  a  maritime  expedition  ;  and,  according- 
ly, the  most  striking  novelty  in  the  present  poem  is  the  extent 
and  variety  of  the  sea  pieces  with  which  it  abounds.  One  of 
the  first  we  meet  with  is  the  picture  of  the  distresses  of  the 
King's  little  bark,  and  her  darkling  run  to  the  shelter  of  Ar- 
tornish Castle." — Edinburgh  Ilev.'ew,  1815 

T  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 

8  MS.—"  That  young  leader." 


canto  i.                                 THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                        42  j 

XXVI. 

Such  as  few  arms  could  wield ; 

"  Warriors — for  other  title  none 

But  when  he  boun'd  him  to  such  task, 

For  some  brief  space  we  list  to  own, 

Well  could  it  cleave  the  strongest  casque, 

Bound  by  a  vow — warriors  are  we ; 

And  rend  the  surest  shield.4 

In  strife  by  land,  and  storm  by  sea, 

We  have  been  known  to  fame ; 

XXIX. 

And  these  brief  words  have  import  dear, 

The  raised  portcullis'  arch  they  pass, 

When  sounded  in  a  noble  ear, 

The  wicket  with  its  bars  of  brass, 

To  harbor  safe,  and  friendly  cheer, 

The  entrance  long  and  low,8 

That  gives  us  rightful  claim. 

Flank'd  at  each  turn  by  loop-holes  strait, 

,         Grant  us  the  trivial  boon  we  seek, 

Where  bowmen  might  in  ambush  wait 

And  we  in  other  realms  will  speak 

(If  Torce  or  fraud  should  burst  the  gate), 

Fair  of  your  courtesy ; 

To  gall  an  entering  foe. 

Deny — and  be  your  niggard  Hold 

But  every  jealous  post  of  ward 

Scorn'd  by  the  noble  and  the  bold, 

Was  now  defenceless  and  unbarr'd, 

Shunn'd  by  the  pilgrim  on  the  wold, 

And  all  the  passage  free 

And  wanderer  on  the  lea  !" — 

To  one  low-brow'd  and  vaulted  room, 

Where  squire  and  yeoman,  page  and  groom. 

XXVII. 

Plied  their  loud  revelry. 

"  Bold  stranger,  no — 'gainst  claim  like  thine 

No  bolt  revolves  by  hand  of  mine,1 

XXX. 

Though  urged  in  tone  that  more  express'd 

And  "  Rest  ye  here,"  the  Warder  bade, 

A  monarch  than  a  suppliant  guest. 

"  Till  to  our  Lord  your  suit  is  said. — 

Be  what  ye  will,  Artoruish  Hall 

And,  comrades,  gaze  not  on  the  maid, 

On  this  glad  eve  is  free  to  all. 

And  on  these  men  who  ask  our  aid, 

Though  ye  had  drawn  a  hostile  sword 

As  if  ye  ne'er  had  seen 

'Gainst  our  ally,  great  England's  Lord, 

A  damsel  tired  of  midnight  bark, 

Or  mail  upon  your  shoulders  borne, 

Or  wanderers  of  a  moulding  stark.* 

To  battle  with  the  Lord  of  Lorn, 

And  bearing  martial  mien." 

Or,  outlaw'd,  dwelt  by  greenwood  tree 

But  not  for  Eachin's  reproof 

With  the  fierce  Knight  of  Ellerslie,2 

Would  page  or  vassal  stand  aloof, 

Or  aided  even  the  murderous  strife, 

But  crowded  on  to  stare, 

When  Comyn  fell  beneath  the  knife 

As  men  of  courtesy  untaught, 

Of  that  fell  homicide  The  Bruce,3 

Till  fiery  Edward  roughly  caught, 

This  night  had  been  a  term  of  truce. — 

From  one  the  foremost  there,* 

Ho,  vassals !  give  these  guests  your  care, 

His  checker'd  plaid,  and  in  its  shroud, 

And  show  the  narrow  postern  stair." 

To  hide  her  from  the  vulgar  crowd, 

Involved  his  sister  fair. 

XXVIII. 

His  brother,  as  the  clansman  bent 

To  land  these  two  bold  brethren  leapt 

His  sullen  brow  in  discontent, 

(The  weary  crew  their  vessel  kept), 

Made  brief  and  stern  excuse  ; — 

And,  lighted  by  the  torches'  flare, 

"  Vassal,  were  thine  the  cloak  of  pall 

That  seaward  flung  their  smoky  glare, 

That  decks  thy  Lord  in  bridal  hall, 

The  younger  knight  that  maiden  bare 

'Twere  honor'd  by  her  use." 

Half  lifeless  up  the  rock ; 

On  his  strong  shoulder  lean'd  her  head, 

XXXI. 

And  down  her  long  dark  tresses  shed, 

Proud  was  his  tone,  but  calm ;  his  eye 

As  the  wild  vine  in  tendrils  spread, 

Had  that  compelling  dignity, 

Droops  from  the  mountain  oak. 

His  mien  that  bearing  haught  and  high 

Him  follow'd  close  that  elder  Lord, 

Which  common  spirits  fear  !8 

And  in  his  hand  a  sheathed  sword, 

Needed  nor  word  nor  signal  more, 

J  MS. "  'gainst  claim  like  yonrs, 

e  MS.—"  Or  warlike  men  of  moulding  stark." 

No  bolt  ere  closed  our  castle  doors." 

»  MS.—"  Till  that  hot  Edward  fiercely  caught 

»  Sir  William  Wallace. 

From  one,  the  boldest  there." 

See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

8  "  Still  sways  their  souls  with  that  commanding  art 

MS. — "  Well  could  it  cleave  the  gilded  casque, 

That  dazzles,  leads,  yet  chills  the  vulgar  heart. 

And  rend  the  trustiest  shield  " 

What  is  that  spell,  that  thus  his  lawless  train 

MS. — "  The  entrance  vaulted  low," 

Confess  and  envy,  yet  oppose  in  vain? 

—                                                                                                       ' 

i22                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  ii. 

Nod,  wink,  and  laughter,  all  -were  o'er ; 

From  deeper  source  than  festal  mirth. 

Upon  each  other  back  they  bore, 

By  fits  he  paused,  and  harper's  strain 

And  gazed  like  startled  deer. 

And  jester's  tale  went  round  in  vain, 

But  now  appear'd  the  Seneschal, 

Or  fell  but  on  his  idle  ear 

Commission'd  by  his  lord  to  call 

Like  distant  sounds  which  dreamers  hear. 

The  strangers  to  the  Baron's  hall, 

Then  would  he  rouse  him,  and  employ 

"Where  feasted  fair  and  free 

Each  art  to  aid  the  clamorous  joy,4 

That  Island  Prince  in  nuptial  tide, 

And  call  for  pledge  and  lay, 

With  Edith  there  his  lovely  bride, 

And,  for  brief  space,  of  all  the  crowd, 

And  her  bold  brother  by  her  side, 

As  he  was  loudest  of  the  loud, 

And  many  a  chief,  the  flower  and  pride 

Seem  gayest  of  the  gay.6 

Of  Western  land  and  sea.1 

III. 

Here  pause  we,  gentles,  for  a  space  ; 

Yet  naught  amiss  the  bridal  throng 

And,  if  our  tale  hath  won  your  grace, 

Mark'd  in  brief  mirth,  or  musing  long ; 

Grant  us  brief  patience,  and  again 

The  vacant  brow,  the  unlistening  ear, 

We  will  renew  the  minstrel  strain.3 

They  gave  to  thoughts  of  raptures  near, 

And  his  fierce  starts  of  sudden  glee 

Seem'd  bursts  of  bridegroom's  ecstasy. 
Nor  thus  alone  misjudged  the  crowd, 

Since  lofty  Lorn,  suspicious,  proud," 

®I)e  Cort  of  %  Mts. 

And  jealous  of  his  honor'd  line, 

And  that  keen  knight,  De  Argentine' 

CANTO  SECOND. 

(From  England  sent  on  errand  high, 
The  western  league  more  firm  to  tie),8 
Both  deem'd  in  Ronald's  mood  to  find 

I. 

A  lover's  transport-troubled  mind. 

Fill  the  bright  goblet,  spread  the  festive  board ! 

But  one  sad  heart,  one  tearful  eye, 

Summon  the  gay,  the  noble,  and  the  fair  1 

Pierced  deeper  through  the  mystery, 

Through  the  loud  hall  in  joyous  concert  pour'd, 

And  watch' d,  with  agony  and  fear, 

Let  mirth  and  music  sound  the  dirge  of  Care  ! 

Her  wayward  bridegroom's  varied  cheer. 

But  ask  thou  not  if  Happiness  be  there, 

If  the  loud  laugh  disguise  convulsive  throe, 

IV. 

Or  if  the  brow  the  heart's  true  livery  wear; 

She  watch'd — yet  fear'd  to  meet  his  glance, 

Lift  not  the  festal  mask ! — enough  to  know, 

And  he  shunn'd  hers,  till  when  by  chance 

No  scene  of  mortal  life  but  teems  with  mortal  woe.8 

They  met,  the  point  of  foeman's  lance 

Had  given  a  milder  pang ! 

II. 

Beneath  the  intolerable  smart 

With  beakers'  clang,  with  harpers'  lay, 

He  writhed — then  sternly  mann'd  his  heart 

With  all  that  olden  time  deem'd  gay, 

To  play  his  hard  but  destined  part, 

The  Island  Chieftain  feasted  high ; 

And  from  the  table  sprang. 

But  there  was  in  his  troubled  eye 

"  Fill  me  the  mighty  cup  !"  he  said, 

A  gloomy  fire,  and  on  his  brow 

■  Erst  own'd  by  royal  Somerled  :9 

Now  sudden  flush'd,  and  faded  now, 

Fill  it,  till  on  the  studded  brim 

Emotions  such  as  draw  their  birth 

In  burning  gold  the  bubbles  swim, 

What  should  it  be,  that  thus  their  faith  can  bind  ? 

tains  many  very  pleasing  lines.     The  description  of  Lord  Ro- 

The power  of  Thought— the  magic  of  the  Mind  ! 

nald's  fleet,  and  of  the  bark  endeavoring  to  make  her  way 

Link'd  with  success,  assumed  and  kept  with  skill, 

against  the  wind,   more  particularly  of  the  last,  is  executea 

That  moulds  another's  weakness  to  its  will ; 

with  extraordinary  beauty  and-  fidelity." — Quarterly  Review 

Wields  with  her  hands,  but,  still  to  these  unknown, 

3  "  Even  in  laughter  the  heart  is  sorrowful  ;  and  the  end  o, 

Makes  even  their  mightiest  deed'  appear  hiscwn. 

that  mirth  is  heaviness." — Proverbs,  xiv.  13. 

Such  hath  it  been— shall  be— boneath  the  sun 

*  MS. "  and  give  birth 

The  many  still  must  labor  for  the  one  ! 

To  jest,  to  wassail,  and  to  mirth  " 

Tis  Nature's  doom." 

6  MS. — "  Would  seem  the  loudest  of  the  loud, 

Byron's  Corsair. 

And  gayest  of  the  gay." 

i  MS. — "  Of  mountain  chivalry." 

8  MS.—"  Since  Lorn,  the  proudest  of  the  proud." 

l  "  The  first  Canto  is  full  of  business  and  description,  and 

i  MS. — "  And  since  the  keen  De  Argentine." 

me  scenes  are  such  as  Mr.  Scott's  muse  generally  excels  in. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

The  scene  between  Edith  and  her  nurse  is  spirited,  and  con- 

9  Ibid.  Note  M. 

CANTO  II. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


42? 


And  every  gem  of  varied  shine 
Glow  doubly  bright  in  rosy  wine  ! 
To  you,  brave  lord,  and  brother  mine, 

Of  Lorn,  this  pledge  I  drink — 
The  union  of  Our  House  with  thine, 
By  this  fair  bridal-link  !" — 


"  Let  it  pass  round I"  quoth  He  of  Lorn, 
'  And  in  good  time — that  winded  horn 

Must  of  the  Abbot  tell ; 
The  laggard  monk  is  come  at  last." 
Lord  Ronald  heard  the  bugle-blast, 
And  on  the  floor  at  random  cast, 

The  untested  goblet  fell. 
But  when  the  warder  in  his  ear 
Tells  other  news,  his  blither  cheer 

Returns  like  sun  of  May, 
When  through  a  thunder-cloud  it  beams ! — 
Lord  of  two  hundred  isles,  he  seems 

As  glad  of  brief  delay, 
As  some  poor  criminal  might  feel, 
When,  from  the  gibbet  or  the  wheel, 

Respited  for  a  day. 

VI. 
"  Brother  of  Lorn,"  with  hurried  voice 
He  said,  "  and  you,  fair  lords,  rejoice  1 

Here,  to  augment  our  glee, 
Come  wandering  knights  from  travel  far 
Well  proved,  they  say,  in  strife  of  war, 

And  tempest  on  the  sea. — 
Ho !  give  them  at  your  board  such  place 
As  best  their  presences  may  grace,1 

And  bid  them  welcome  free  !" 
With  solemn  step,  and  silver  wand, 
The  Seneschal  the  presence  scann'd 
Of  these  strange  guests  ;2   and  well  he 

knew 
How  to  assign  their  rank  its  due  ;3 

For  though  the  costly  furs 
That  erst  had  deck'd  their  caps  were  torn, 
And  their  gay  robes  were  over-worn, 

And  soil'd  their  gilded  spurs, 
Yet  such  a  high  commanding  grace 
Was  in  their  mien  and  in  their  face, 
As  suited  best  the  princely  dais,* 

And  royal  canopy ;    ' 
And  there  he  marshall'd  them  their  place, 

First  of  that  company. 

i  MS. — "  As  may  their  presence  fittest  grace." 
2  MS. — "  With  solemn  pace,  and  silver  rod, 
The  Seneschal  the  entrance  show'd 
To  these  strange  guests." 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

«  Dais — the  great  hall  table — elevated  a  step  or  two  above 
>be  rest  of  the  room. 
'  MS. — "  A  side  then  lords  and  ladies  spake, 


VII. 
Then  lords  and  ladies  spake  aside, 
And  angry  looks  the  error  chide,* 
That  gave  to  guests  unnamed,  unknown, 
A  place  so  near  their  prince's  throne  ; 

But  Owen  Erraught  said, 
"  For  forty  years  a  seneschal, 
To  marshal  guests  in  bower  aid  hall 

Has  been  my  honor'd  trade. 
Worship  and  birth  to  me  are  known, 
By  look,  by  bearing,  and  by  tone, 
Not  by  furr'd  robe  or  broider'd  zone ; 

And  'gainst  an  oaken  bough 
I'll  gage  my  silver  wand  of  state, 
That  these  three  strangers  oft  have  sate 

In  higher  place  than  now."—  8 

VIIL 
"  I,  too,"  the  aged  Ferrand  said, 
"  Am  qualified  by  minstrel  trade7 

Of  rank  and  place  to  tell ; — 
Mark'd  ye  the  younger  stranger's  eye, 
My  mates,  how  quick,  how  keen,  how  high, 

How  fierce  its  flashes  fell, 
Glancing  among  the  noble  rout8 
As  if  to  seek  the  noblest  out, 
Because  the  owner  might  not  brook 
On  any  save  his  peers  to  look  ? 

And  yet  it  moves  me  more, 
That  steady,  calm,  majestic  brow, 
With  which  the  elder  chief  even  now 

Scann'd  the  gay  presence  o'er, 
Like  being  of  superior  kind, 
In  whose  high-toned  impartial  mind 
Degrees  of  mortal  rank  and  state 
Seem  objects  of  indifferent  weight. 
The  lady  too — though  closely  tied 

The  mantle  veil  both  face  and  eye, 
Her  motions'  grace  it  could  not  hide, 

Nor  could9  her  form's  fair  symmetry.' 

IX. 
Suspicious  doubt  and  lordly  ftcorn 
Lour'd  on  the  haughty  front  of  Lorn. 
From  underneath  his  brows  of  pride, 
The  stranger  guests  he  sternly  eyed, 
And  whisper'd  closely  what  the  ear 
Of  Argentine  alone  might  hear ; 

Then  question'd,  high  and  brief, 
If,  in  their  voyage,  aught  they  knew 


And  ushers  censured  the  mistake.' 
•  "  The  first  entry  of  the  illustrious  strangers  into  the  castle 
of  the  Celtic  chief,  is  in  the  accustomed  and  peculiar  style  o 
the  poet  of  chivalry." — Jeffrey. 

7  MS.—"  '  I,  too,'  old  Ferrand  said,  and  laugh'd, 

4  Am  quahfied  by  minstrel  craft.'  " 

8  MS. "  the  festal  rout." 

»  MS.— "  Nor  hide  "  &c. 


4'24 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  Ii. 


Of  the  rebellious  Scottish  crew, 

Did  the  fairy  of  the  fountain, 

Who  to  Rath-Erin's  shelter  drew, 

Or  the  mermaid  of  the  wave, 

With  Carrick's  outlaw'd  chief  V 

Frame  thee  in  some  coral  cave  ? 

And  if,  their  winter's  exile  o'er, 

Did,  in  Iceland's  darksome  mine, 

They  harbor'd  still  by  Ulster's  shore, 

Dwarf's  swart  hands  thy  metal  twine  ? 

Or  launch'd  their  galleys  on  the  main, 

Or,  mortal-moulded,  comest  thou  here, 

To  vex  their  native  land  again  ? 

From  England's  love,  or  France's  fear  ? 

X. 

That  younger  stranger,  fierce  and  high, 

XII. 
Sonn.  continued. 

At  once  confronts  the  Chieftain's  eye2 

"  No ! — thy  splendors  nothing  tell 

With  look  of  equal  scorn ; — 

Foreign  art  or  faery  spell. 

*  Of  rebels  have  we  naught  to  show ; 

Moulded  thou  for  monarch's  use, 

But  if  of  Royal  Bruce  thou'dst  know, 

By  the  overweening  Bruce, 

I  warn  thee  he  has  sworn,3 

When  the  royal  robe  he  tied 

Ere  thrice  three  days  shall  come  and  go, 

O'er  a  heart  of  wrath  and  pride  ; 

His  banner  Scottish  winds  shall  blow, 

Thence  in  triumph  wert  thou  torn, 

Despite  each  mean  or  mighty  foe, 

By  the  victor  hand  of  Lorn ! 

From  England's  every  bill  and  bow, 

To  Allaster  of  Lorn." 

"  When  the  gem  was  won  and  lost, 

Kindled  the  mountain  Chieftain's  ire, 

Widely  was  the  war-cry  toss'd ! 

But  Ronald  quench'd  the  rising  fire  ; 

Rung  aloud  Bendourish  fell, 

"  Brother,  it  better  suits  the  time 

Answer'd  Douchart's  sounding  dell, 

To  chase  the  night  with  Ferrand's  rhyme, 

Fled  the  deer  from  wiM  Teyndrum, 

Than  wake,  'midst  mirth  and  wine,  the  jars 

When  the  homicide,  o'ercome, 

That  flow  from  these  unhappy  wars." — 4 

Hardly  'scaped,  with  scathe  and  scorn, 

"  Content,"  said  Lorn  ;  and  spoke  apart 

Left  the  pledge  with  conquering  Lorn  1 

With  Ferrand,  master  of  his  art, 

Then  whisper'd  Argentine, — • 

XIII. 

*  The  lay  I  named  will  carry  smart 

Sotuj  concluoeU. 

To  these  bold  strangers'  haughty  heart, 

"  Vain  was  then  the  Douglas  brand,8 

If  right  this  guess  of  mine." 

Vain  the  Campbell's  vaunted  hand, 

He  ceased,  and  it  was  silence  all, 

Vain  Kirkpatrick's  bloody  dirk, 

Until  the  minstrel  waked  the  hall.6 

Making  sure  of  murder's  work  ;9 

XL 

Barendown  fled  fast  away, 

Fled  the  fiery  De  la  Haye,10 

8T&e  33roocf)  of  Horn.8 

When  this  brooch,  triumphant  borne, 

"  Whence  the  brooch  of  burning  gold, 

Beam'd  upon  the  breast  of  Lorn. 

That  clasps  the  Chieftain's  mantle-fold, 

Wrought  and  chased  with  rare  device, 

"  Farthest  fled  its  former  Lord, 

Studded  fair  with  gems  of  price,7 

Left  his  men  to  brand  and  cord,11 

On  the  varied  tartans  beaming, 

Bloody  brand  of  Highland  steel, 

As,  through  night's  pale  rainbow  gleaming, 

English  gibbet,  axe,  and  wheeL 

Fainter  now,  now  seen  afar, 

Let  him  fly  from  coast  to  coast, 

Fitful  shines  the  northern  star  ? 

Dogg'd  by  Comyn's  vengeful  ghost, 

While  his  spoils,  in  triumph  worn, 

"  Gem !  ne'er  wrought  on  Highland  mountain, 

Long  shall  grace  victorious  Lorn !" 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 

chief  over  Robert  Bruce,  in  one  of  their  rencontres.     Bruce, 

«  MS.—"  That  younger  stranger,  naught  out-dared, 

in  truth,  had  been  set  on  by  some  of  that  clan,  and  had  extri- 

Was prompt  the  haughty  Chief  to  beard." 

cated  himself  from  a  fearful  overmatch  by  stupendous  exertions. 

3  MS. — "  Men  say  that  he  has  sworn." 

In  the  struggle,  however,  the  brooch  which  fastened  his  royal 

«  "  The  description  of  the  bridal  feast,  in  the  second  Canto, 

mantle  had  been  torn  off  by  the  assailants ;  and  it  is  en  the 

has  several  animated  lines  ;  but  the  real  power  and  poetry  of 

subject  of  this  trophy  that  the  Celtic  poet  pours  forth  this  wild 

the  author  do  not  appear  to  us  to  be  called  out  until  the  occa- 

rapid,  and  spirited  strain." — Jeffrey. 

lion  of  the  Highland   quarrel   which   follows  the   feast."— 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  P.                       i  Ibid.  Note  Q,. 

Monthly  Review,  March,  1815. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  R. 

6  "  In  a  very  different  style  of  excellence  (from  that  of  the 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  S. 

first  three  stanzas)  is  the  triumphant  and  insulting  song  of  the 

io  See  Appendix,  Note  T. 

bard  of  Lorn,  commemorating  the  pretended    victory  of  his 

11  MS. — "  Left  his  followers  to  the  sword.' 

uinto  ii.                               THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                       42a 

XIV. 

XVI. 

as  glares  the  tiger  on  his  foes, 

Then  up  sprang  many  a  mainland  Lord, 

Hemm'd  in  by  hunters,  spears,  and  bows, 

Obedient  to  their  Chieftain's  word. 

And,  ere  he  bounds  upon  the  ring, 

Barcaldine's  arm  is  high  m  air, 

Selects  the  object  of  his  spring, —                     • 

'  And  Kinloch-Alline's  blade  is  bare, 

Now  on  the  bard,  now  on  his  Lord, 

Black  Murthok's  dirk  has  left  its  sheath, 

So  Edward  glared  and  grasp'd  his  sword — 

And  clench'd  is  Dermid's  hand  of  death. 

But  stern  his  brother  spoke, — "  Be  still. 

Their  mutter'd  threats  of  vengeance  swell 

What !  art  thou  yet  so  wild  of  will, 

Into  a  wild  and  warlike  yell ; 

After  high  deeds  and  sufferings  long, 

Onward  they  press  with  weapons  high, 

To  chafe  thee  for  a  menial's  song  ? — 

The  affrighted  females  shriek  and  fly, 

Well  hast  thou  framed,  Old  Man,  thy  strains, 

And,  Scotland,  then  thy  brightest  ray 

To  praise  the  hand  that  pays  thy  pains  I1 

Had  darken'd  ere  its  noon  of  day, — 

Yet  something  might  thy  song  have  told 

But  every  chief  of  birth  and  fame, 

Of  Lorn's  three  vassals,  true  and  bold, 

That  from  the  Isles  of  Ocean  came, 

Who  rent  their  lord  from  Bruce's  hold, 

At  Ronald's  side  that  hour  withstoo  { 

As  underneath  his  knee  he  lay, 

•     Fierce  Lorn's  relentless  thirst  for  blood* 

And  died  to  save  him  in  the  fray. 

I've  heard  the  Bruce's  cloak  and  clasp 

XVII. 

Was  clench'd  within  their  dying  grasp, 

Brave  Torquil  from  Dunvegan  high, 

What  time  a  hundred  -foemen  more 

Lord  of  the  misty  hills  of  Skye, 

Rush'd  in,  and  back  the  victor  bore,2 

Mac-Niel,  wild  Bara's  ancient  thane, 

Long  after  Lorn  had  left  the  strife,3 

Duart,  of  bold  Clan-Gillian's  strain, 

Full  glad  to  'scape  with  limb  and  life.-  - 

Fergus,  of  Carina's  castled  bay, 

Enough  of  this — And,  Minstrel,  hold, 

Mac-Duffith,  Lord  of  Colonsay, 

As  minstrel-hire,  this  chain  of  gold, 

Soon  as  they  saw  the  broadswords  glance, 

For  future  lays  a  fair  excuse, 

With  ready  weapons  rose  at  once, 

To  speak  more  nobly  of  the  Bruce." — 

More  prompt,  that  many  an  ancient  feud. 

Full  oft  suppress'd,  full  off  renew'd, 

XV. 

Glow'd  'twixt  the  chieftains  of  Argyle, 

*  Now,  by  Columba's  shrine,  I  swear, 

And  many  a  lord  of  ocean's  isle. 

And  every  saint  that's  buried  there, 

Wild  was  the  scene — each  sword  was  bare, 

'Tis  he  himself!"  Lorn  sternly  cries, 

Back  stream'd  each  chieftain's  shaggy  hair 

"  And  for  my  kinsman's  death  he  dies." 

In  gloomy  opposition  set, 

As  loudly  Ronald  calls, — "  Forbear ! 

Eyes,  hands,  and  brandish'd  weapons  met ; 

Not  in  my  sight  while  brand  I  wear, 

Blue  gleaming  o'er  the  social  board, 

O'ermatched  by  odds,  shall  warrior  fall 

Flash'd  to  the  torches  many  a  sword ; 

Or  blood  of  stranger  stain  my  hall ! 

And  soon  those  bridal  lights  may  ghine 

This  ancient  fortress  of  my  race 

On  purple  blood  for  rosy  wine. 

Shall  be  misfortune's  resting-place, 

Shelter  and  shield  of  the  distress'd, 

XVIII. 

No  slaughter-house  for  shipwreck'd  guest." — 

While  thus  for  blows  and  death  prepared. 

"  Talk  not  to  me,"  fierce  Lorn  replied, 

Each  heart  was  up,8  each  weapon  bared, 

■  Of  odds,  or  match ! — when  Comyn  died, 

Each  foot  advanced, — a  surly  pause 

Three  daggers  clash'd  within  his  side ! 

Still  reverenced  hospitable  laws. 

Talk  not  to  me  of  sheltering  hall, 

All  menaced  violence,  but  alike 

The  Church  of  God  saw  Comyn  fall ! 

Reluctant  each  the  first  to  strike 

On  God's  own  altar  stream'd  his  blood, 

(For  aye  accursed  in  minstrel  line 

While  o'er  my  prostrate  kinsman  stood 

Is  he  who  brawls  'mid  song  and  wine), 

The  ruthless  murderer — e'en  as  now — 

And,  match'd  in  numbers  and  in  might 

With  armed  hand  and  scornful  brow  ! — 

Doubtful  and  desperate  seem'd  the  fight. 

Up,  all  who  love  me  !  blow  on  blow  1 

Thus  threat  and  murmur  died  away, 

And  lay  the  outlaw'd  felons  low !" 

Till  on  the  crowded  hall  there  lay 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 

"But  stern  the  Island  Lord  withstood 

a  The  MS.  has.  not  this  couplet. 

The  vengeful  Chieftain's  thirst  of  blood." 

I  MS  — "  When  breathless  Lorn  had  left  the  strife." 

6  MS. — "  While  thus  for  blood  and  blows  prepared. 

For  these  lour  lines  the  MS.  has — 
54 

Raised  was  each  hand  "  &a 

426                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  il 

Such  silence,  as  the  deadly  still, 

Hath  whisper'd  of  a  lawful  claim, 

Ere  bursts  the  thunder  on  the  hill 

That  calls  the  Bruce  fair  Scotland's  Lord, 

With  blade  advanced,  each  Chieftain  bold 

Though  dispossess'd  by  foreign  sword. 

Show'd  like  the  Sworder's  form  of  old,1 

This  craves  reflection — but  though  right 

As  wanting  still  the  torch  of  life, 

t  And  just  the  charge  of  England's  Knight, 

To  wake  the  marble  into  strife.2 

Let  England's  crown-her  rebels  seize 

Where   she   has   power; — in  towers  like 

XIX. 

these, 

That  awful  pause  the  stranger  maid, 

'Midst  Scottish  Chieftains  summon'd  here 

And  Edith,  seized  to  pray  for  aid. 

To  bridal  mirth  and  bridal  cheer, 

As  to  De  Argentine  she  clung, 

Be  sure,  with  no  consent  of  mine, 

Away  her  veil  the  stranger  flung, 

Shall  either  Lorn  or  Argentine 

A.nd,  lovely  'mid  her  wild  despair, 

With  chains  or  violence,  in  our  sight, 

Fast  stream'd  her  eyes,  wide  flow'd  her  hair. 

Oppress  a  brave  and  banish'd  Knight." 

"  0  thou,  of  knighthood  once  the  flower, 

Sure  refuge  in  distressful  hour, 

XXI. 

Thou,  who  in  Judah  well  hast  fought 

Then  waked  the  wild  debate  again, 

For  our  dear  faith,  and  oft  hast  sought 

With  brawling  threat  and  clamor  vain 

Renown  in  knightly  exercise, 

Vassals  and  menials,  thronging  in, 

When  this  poor  hand  has  dealt  the  prize, 

Lent  their  brute  rage  to  swell  the  din ; 

Say,  can  thy  soul  of  honor  brook 

When,  far  and  wide,  a  bugle-clang 

On  the  unequal  strife  to  look, 

From  the  dark  ocean  upward  rang. 

When,  butcher'd  thus  in  peaceful  hall, 

"  The  Abbot  comes !"  they  cry  at  once, 

Those  once  thy  friends,  my  brethren,  fall !" 

"  The  holy  man,  whose  favor'd  glance 

To  Argentine  sht>  turn'd  her  word, 

Hath  sainted  visions  known ; 

But  her  eye  sought  the  Island  Lord.3 

Angels  have  met  him  on  the  way, 

A  flush  like  evening's  setting  flame 

Beside  the  blessed  martyrs'  bay, 

Glow'd  on  his  cheek ;  his  hardy  frame, 

And  by  Columba's  stone. 

As  with  a  brief  convulsion,  shook : 

His  monks  have  heard  their  hymnings  high 

With  hurried  voice  and  eager  look, — 

Sound  from  the  summit  of  Dun-Y, 

"  Fear  not,"  he  said,  "  my  Isabel ! 

To  cheer  his  penance  lone, 

What  said  I— Edith !— all  is  well- 

When  at  each  cross,  on  girth  and  wold4 

Nay,  fear  not — I  will  well  provide 

(Their  number  thrice  a  hundred  fold), 

The  safety  of  my  lovely  bride — 

His  prayer  he  made,  his  beads  he  told, 

My  bride  ?" — but  there  the  accents  clung 

With  Aves  many  a  one — 

In  tremor  to  his  faltering  tongue. 

He  comes  our  feuds  to  reconcile, 

A  sainted  man  from  sainted  isle ; 

XX. 

We  will  his  holy  doom  abide, 

Now  rose  l5e  Argentine,  to  claim 

The  Abbot  shall  our  strife  decide."8 

The  prisoners  in  his  sovereign's  name, 

To  England's  crown,  who,  vassals  sworn, 

XXII. 

'Gainst  their  liege  lord  had  weapon  borne — 

Scarcely  this  fair  accord  was  o'er," 

(Such  speech,  I  ween,  was  but  to  hide 

When  througlnthe  wide  revolving  door 

His  care  their  safety  to  provide ; 

The  black-stoled  brethren  wind ; 

For  knight  more  true  in  thought  and  deed 

Twelve  sandall'd  monks,  who  relics  bore, 

Than  Argentine  ne'er  spurr'd  a  steed)— 

With  many  a  torch-bearer  before, 

And  Ronald,  who  his  meaning  guess' d, 

And  many  a  cross  behind.7 

Seem'd  half  tc  sanction  the  request. 

Then  sunk  each  fierce  uplifted  hand, 

This  purpose  fiery  Torquil  broke  : — 

And  dagger  bright  and  flashing  brand 

"  Somewhat  we've  heard  of  England's  yoke," 

Dropp'd  swiftly  at  the  sight ; 

He  said,  "  and,  in  our  islands,  Fame 

They  vanish'd  from  the  Churchman's  eye, 

»  MS. "  each  Chieftain  rude,   . 

6  MS. — "  We  will  his  holy  rede  obey, 

Like  that  famed  Swordsman's  statue  stood." 

The  Abbot's  voice  shall  end  the  fray." 

»  MS. — "  To  waken  him  to  deadly  strife." 

6  MS.—"  Scarce  was  this  peaceful  paction  o'er." 

»  The  MS.  adds  :— 

7  MS. — "  Did  slow  procession  wind  ; 

"  With  such  a  frantic  fond  appeal, 

Twelve  monks,  who  stole  and  mantle  wore, 

As  only  lovers  make  and  feel." 

And  chalice,  pyx,  and  relics  bore, 

*  MS. — "  What  time  at  every  cross  of  old." 

With  many,"  &c. 

canto  ii.                               THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                        42? 

As  shooting  stars,  that  glance  and  die, 

XXV. 

Dart  from  the  vault  of  night. 

Then  Ronald  pled  the  stranger's  cause, 

And  knighthood's  oath  and  honor's  laws  ;6 

XXIII. 

And  Isabel,  on  bended  knee, 

The  Abbot  on  the  threshold  stood, 

Brought  pray'rs  and  tears  to  back  the  plea : 

And  in  his  hand  the  holy  rood; 

And  Edith  lent  her  generous  aid, 

Back  or.  his  shoulders  flow'd  his  hood, 

And  wept,  and  Lorn  for  mercy  pray'd.6 

The  torch's  glaring  ray 

"  Hence,"  he  exclaim' d,  degenerate  maid"- 

Shcvrd,  in  its  red  and  flashing  light, 

Was't  not  enough  to  Roland's  bower 

His  wither'd  cheek  and  amice  white, 

I  brought  thee,  like  a  paramour,7 

His  blue  eye  glistening  cold  and  bright, 

Or  bond-maid  at  her  master's  gate, 

His  tresses  scant  and  gray. 

His  careless  cold  approach  to  wait  ? — 

"  Fair  Lords,"  he  said,  "  Our  Lady's  love, 

But  the  bold  Lord  of  Cumberland, 

And  peace  be  with  you  from  above, 

The  gallant  Clifford,  seeks  thy  hand ; 

And  Benedicite ! — 

His  it  shall  be — Nay,  no  reply ! 

— But  what  means  this  ?  no  peace  is  here  ! — 

Hence !  till  those  rebel  eyes  be  dry." 

Do  dirks  unsheathed  suit  bridal  cheer  ? 

With  grief  the  Abbot  heard  and  saw, 

Or  are  these  naked  brands 

Yet  naught  relax'd  his  brow  of  awe.8 

A  seemly  show  for  Churchman's  sight, 

When  he  comes  summon'd  to  unite 

XXVL 

Betrothed  hearts  and  hands  ?" 

Then  Argentine,  in  England's  name, 

So  highly  urged  his  sovereign's  claim,9 

XXIV. 

He  waked  a  spark,  that  long  suppress' d, 

-  Then,  cloaking  hate  with  fiery  zeal, 

Had  smoulder'd  in  Lord  Ronald's  breast ; 

Proud  Lorn  first  answer'd  the  appeal ; — 

And  now,  as  from  the  flint  the  fire, 

"  Thou  comest,  0  holy  Man, 

Flash'd  forth  at  once  his  generous  ire. 

True  sons  of  blessed  church  to  greet,1 

"  Enough  of  noble  blood,"  he  said, 

But  little  deeming  here  to  meet 

"  By  English  Edward  had  been  shed, 

A  wretch,  beneath  the  ban 

Since  matchless  Wallace  first  had  been 

Of  Pope  and  Church,  for  murder  clone 

In  mock'ry  crown'd  with  wreaths  of  green,1* 

Even  on  the  sacred  altar-stone  ! — 2 

And  done  to  death  by  felon  hand, 

Well  mayst  thou  wonder  we  should  know 

For  guarding  well  his  father's  land. 

Such  miscreant  here,  nor  lay  him  low,3 

Where's  Nigel  Bruce  ?  And  De  la  Haye, 

Or  dream  of  greeting,  peace,  or  truce, 

And  valiant  Seton — where  are  they  ? 

With  excommunicated  Bruce ! 

Where  Somerville,  the  kind  and  free  ? 

Yet  will  I  grant,  to  end  debate, 

And  Fraser,  flower  of  chivalry  ?u 

Thy  sainted  voice  decide  his  fate."4 

Have  they  not  been  on  gibbet  bound, 

I  The  MS.  here  adds  :— 

Still  to  prevent  unequal  fight ; 

"  Men  bound  in  her  communion  sweet, 

And  Isabel,"  &c. 

And  duteous  to  the  Papal  seat." 

6  MS. — "  And  wept  alike  and  knelt  and  pray'd" — The  nin« 

'  MS. "  the  blessed  altar-stone." 

lines  which  intervene  betwixt  this  and  the  concluding  couple' 

of  the  stanza  are  not  in  the  MS. 

*  In  place  of  the  couplet  which  follows,  the  MS.  has — 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

"  But  promptly  had  my  dagger's  edge 
Avenged  the  guilt  of  sacrilege, 

8  The  MS.  adds— 

Save  for  my  new  and  kind  ally, 

"  He  raised  the  suppliants  from  the  floor, 

And  Torquil,  chief  of  stormy  Skye 

And  bade  their  sorrowing  be  o'er,            ) 
And  bade  them  give  their  weeping  o'er,  ) 

(In  whose  wild  land  there  rests  the  seed, 

Men  say,  of  ancient  heathen  creed), 

But  in  a  tone  that  well  explain'd 

Who  would  enforce  me  to  a  truce 

How  little  grace  their  prayers  had  gain'd ; 

With  excommunicated  Bruce." 

For  though  lie  purposed  true  and  well, 

Still  stubborn  and  inflexible 

*  The  MS.  adds  : 

In  what  he  deem'd  his  duty  high, 

"  Secure  such  foul  offenders  find 

Was  Abbot  Ademar  of  Y." 

No  favor  in  a  holy  mind." 

9  MS. — "  For  Bruce's  custody  made  claim."— In  place  ©« 

b  The  MS.  has  : 

the  two  couplets  which  follow,  the  MS.  has — 

"  Alleged  the  hest  of  honor's  laws, 

**  And  Torquil,  stout  Dunvegan's  Knight, 

The  succor  J  J"}**  by  j  storm-staid  guest, 

As  well  defended  Scotland's  right, 
Enough  of,"  &c. 

The  refuge  due  to  the  distress'd, 

w  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 

The  oath  that  binds  each  generous  knigh/ 

11  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 

428                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  n 

Their  quarters  flung  to  hawk  and  hound, 

Arms  every  hand  against  thy  life, 

And  hold  we  here  a  cold  debate, 

Bans  all  who  aid  thee  in  the  strife, 

To  yield  more  victims  to  their  fate  ? 

Nay,  each  whose  succor,  cold  and  scant,6 

What !  can  the  English  Leopard's  mood 

With  meanest  alms  relieves  thy  want : 

Never  be  gorged  with  northern  blood? 

Haunts  thee  while  living, — and,  when  dead, 

Was  not  the  life  of  Athole  shed, 

Dwells  on  thy  yet  devoted  head, 

To  soothe  the  tyrant's  sicken'd  bed  V 

Rends  Honor's  scutcheon  from  thy  hearse, 

And  must  his  word,  till  dying  day, 

Stills  o'er  thy  bier  the  holy  verse, 

Be  naught  but  quarter,  hang,  and  slay ! — 9 

And  spurns  thy  corpse  from  hallow'd  ground, 

Thou  frown'st,  De  Argentine, — My  gage 

Flung  like  vile  carrion  to  the  hound  ; 

Is  prompt  to  prove  the  strife  I  wage." — 

Such  is  the  dire  and  desperate  doom 

For  sacrilege,  decreed  by  Rome ; 

XXVII. 

And  such  the  well-deserved  meed 

"  Nor  deem,"  said  stout  Dunvegan's  knight,3 

Of  thine  unhallow'd,  ruthless  deed." 

"  That  thou  shalt  brave  alone  the  fight ! 

By  saints  of  isle  and  mainland  both, 

XXIX. 

By  Woden  wild  (my  grandsire's  oath),* 

"  Abbot !"  the  Bruce  replied,  "  thy  charge 

Let  Rome  and  England  do  their  worst, 

It  boots  not  to  dispute  at  large. 

Howe'er  attainted  or  accursed, 

This  much,  howe'er,  I  bid  thee  know, 

If  Bruce  shall  e'er  find  friends  again, 

No  selfish  vengeance  dealt  the  blow, 

Once  more  to  brave  a  battle-plain, 

For  Comyn  died  his  country's  foe. 

If  Douglas  couch  again  his  lance, 

Nor  blame  I  friends  whose  ill-timed  speed 

Or  Randolph  dare  another  chance, 

Fulfill'd  my  soon-repented  deed, 

Old  Torquil  will  not  be  to  lack 

Nor  censure  those  from  whose  stern  tongue 

With  twice  a  thousand  at  his  back. — 

The  dire  anathema  has  rung. 

Nay,  chafe  not  at  my  bearing  bold, 

I  only  blame  mine  own  wild  ire, 

Good  Abbot !  for  thou  know'st  of  old, 

By  Scotland's  wrongs  incensed  to  fire. 

Torquil's  rude  thought  and  stubborn  will 

Heaven  knows  my  purpose  to  atone, 

Smack  of  the  wild  Norwegian  still ; 

Far  as  I  may,  the  evil  done, 

Nor  will  I  barter  Freedom's  cause 

And  hears  a  penitent's  appeal 

For  England's  wealth,  or  Rome's  applause." 

From  papal  curse  and  prelate's  zeal. 

XXVIII. 

My  first  and  dearest  task  achieved, 

Fair  Scotland  from  her  thrall  relieved, 

The  Abbot  seem'd  with  eye  severe 

Shall  many  a  priest  in  cope  and  stole 

The  hardy  Chieftain's  speech  to  hear  ; 

Say  requiem  for  Red  Comyn's  soul, 

Then  on  King  Robert  turn'd  the  Monk,' 

While  I  the  blessed  cross  advance, 

But  twice  his  courage  came  and  sunk, 

And  expiate  this  unhappy  chance 

Confronted  with  the  hero's  look ; 

In  Palestine,  with  sword  and  lance.' 

Twice  fell  his  eye,  his  accents  shook  ; 

But,  while  content  the  Church  should  know 

At  length,  resolved  in  tone  and  brow, 

My  conscience  owns  the  debt  I  owe,8 

Sternly  he  question'd  him — "  And  thou, 

Unto  De  Argentine  and  Lorn 

Unhappy !  what  hast  thou  to  plead, 

The  name  of  traitor  I  return, 

Why  I  denounce  not  on  thy  deed 

Bid  them  defiance  stem  and  high,9 

That  awful  doom  which  canons  tell 

And  give  them  in  their  throats  the  lie ! 

Shuts  paradise,  and  opens  hell ; 

These  brief  words  spoke,  I  speak  no  more, 

Anathema  of  power  so  dread, 

Do  what  thou  wilt ;  my  shrift  is  o'er." 

It  blends  the  living  with  the  dead, 

Bids  each  good  angel  soar  away, 

XXX. 

And  every  ill  one  claim  his  prey ; 

Like  man  by  prodigy  amazed, 

Expels  thee  from  the  church's  care, 

Upon  the  King  the  Abbot  gazed ; 

And  deafens  Heaven  against  thy  prayer ; 

Then  o'er  his  pallid  features  glance, 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 

or  imperfect  converts  to  Christianity.     The  family  names  or 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  Z. 

Torquil,  Thormod,  &c.  are  all  Norwegian. 

»  In  the  MS.  this  couplet  is  wanting,  and,  without  breaking 

5  MS. — "  Then  turn'd  him  on  the  Bruce  the  Monk." 

Ihe  stanza,  Lord  Roland  continues, 

6  MS. — "  Nay,  curses  each  whose  succor  scant." 

"  By  saints  of  isle,"  &c. 

7  S?ee  Appendix,  Note  2  A. 

*  The  MacLeods,  and  most  other  distinguished  Hebridean 

8  The  MS.  adds  :— "  For  this  ill-timed  and  luckless  blow  ' 

Kimilies,  were  of  Scandinavian  extraction,  and  some  were  late 

9  MS. "  bold  and  high." 

CANTO  II. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


42? 


Convulsions  of  ecstatic  trance. 
His  breathing  came  more  thick  and  fast, 
And  from  his  pale  blue  eyes  were  cast 
Strange  rays  of  wild  and  wandering  light ; 
Uprise  his  locks  of  silver  white, 
Flush'd  is  his  brow,  through  every  vein 
In  azure  tide  the  currents  strain, 
And  undistinguished  accents  broke 
The  awful  silence  ere  he  spoke.1 

XXXI. 

*  De  Bruce  !  I  rose  with  purpose  dread 
To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head,9 
And  give  thee  as  an  outcast  o'er 
To  him  who  burns  to  shed  thy  gore ; — 
But,  like  the  Midianite  of  old, 
Who  stood  on  Zophim,  heaven-controll'd,' 
I  feel  within  mine  aged  breast 
A  power  that  will  not  be  repress'd.4 
It  prompts  my  voice,  it  swells  my  veins, 
It  burns,  it  maddens,  it  constrains  ! — 
De  Bruce,  thy  sacrilegious  blow 
Hath  at  God's  altar  slain  thy  foe : 
O'ermaster'd  yet  by  high  behest, 
I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd  !" 
He  spoke,  and  o'er  the  astonish'd  throng 
Was  silence,  awful,  deep,  and  long. 

XXXII. 

Again  that  light  has  fired  Ins  eye, 
Again  his  form  swells  bold  and  high, 
The  broken  voice  of  age  is  gone, 
'Tis  vigorous  manhood's  lofty  tone  : — 

1  MS. — "  Swell  on  his  wither'd  brow  the  veins, 

Each  in  its  azure  current  strains, 
And  interrupted  tears  express'd 
The  tumult  of  his  laboring  breast." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  B. 

3  See  the  Booft:  of  Numbers,  chap,  xxiii.  and  xxiv. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 
e  Ibid.  Note  2  D. 

6  "  On  this  transcendent  passage  we  shall  only  remark,  that 
of  the  gloomy  part  of  the  prophecy  we  hear  nothing  more 
through  the  whole  of  the  poem,  and  though  the  Abbot  informs 
the  King  that  he  shall  be  '  On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled,' 
the  poet  never  speaks  of  him  but  as  resident  in  Scotland,  up 
to  the  period  of  the  battle  of  Bannockburn." — Critical  Re- 
view. 

i  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

8  "  The  conception  and  execution  of  these  stanzas  constitute 
excellence  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  match  from  any  other 
part  of  the  poem.  The  surprise  is  grand  and  perfect.  The 
monk,  struck  with  the  heroism  of  Robert,  foregoes  the  intended 
anathema,  and  breaks  out  into  a  prophetic  annunciation  of  his 
Anal  triumph  over  all  his  enemies,  and  the  veneration  in  which 
his  name  will  be  held  by  posterity.  These  stanzas,  which  con- 
clude the  second  Canto,  derive  their  chief  title  to  encomium 
from  the  emphatic  felicity  of  their  burden, 

'  I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd  ;' 

*•»  which  few  and  simple  words   following,  as  they  do,  a  series 


"  Thrice  vanquish'd  on  the  battle-plain, 

Thy  followers  slaughter'd,  fled,  or  ta'en, 

A  hunted  wanderer  on  the  wild, 

On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled,5 

Disown'd,  deserted,  and  distress'd,6 

I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd  I 

Bless'd  in  the  hall  and  in  the  field, 

Under  the  mantle  as  the  shield. 

Avenger  of  thy  country's  shame, 

Restorer  of  her  injured  fame, 

Bless'd  in  thy  sceptre  and  thy  sword,    v  ' 

De  Bruce,  fair  Scotland's  rightful  Lord, 

Bless'd  in  thy  deeds  and  in  thy  fame, 

What  lengthen'd  honors  wait  thy  name  1 

In  distant  ages,  sire  to  son 

Shall  tell  thy  tale  of  freedom  won, 

And  teach  his  infants,  in  the  use 

Of  earliest  speech,  to  falter  Bruce. 

Qo,  then,  triumphant !  sweep  along 

Thy  course,  the  theme  of  many  a  song ! 

The  Power,  whose  dictates  swell  my  breast, 

Hath  bless'd  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd  !- 

Enough — my  short-lived  strength  decays, 

And  sinks  the  momentary  blaze. — 

Heaven  hath  our  destined  purpose  broke, 

Not  here  must  nuptial  vow  be  spoke  ;7 

Brethren,  our  errand  here  is  o'er, 

Our  task  discharged. — Unmoor,  unmoor  !*  — 

His  priests  received  the  exhausted  Monk, 

As  breathless  in  their  arms  he  sunk. 

Punctual  his  orders  to  obey, 

The  train  refused  all  longer  stay, 

Embark'd,  raised  sail,  and  bore  away.8 


of  predicated  ills,  there  is  an  energy  that  instantaneously  ap- 
peals to  the  heart,  and  surpasses,  all  to  nothing,  the  results  of 
passages  less  happy  in  their  application,  though  more  labored 
and  tortuous  in  their  construction." — Critical  Review. 

"  The  story  of  the  second  Canto  exhibits  fewer  of  Mr.  Scott's 
characteristical  beauties  than  of  his  characteristical  faults. 
The  scene  itself  is  not  of  a  very  edifying  description;  nor  is 
the  want  of  agreeableness  in  the  subject  compensated  by  anv 
detached  merit  in  the  details.  Of  the  language  and  versifica 
tion  in  many  parts,  it  is  hardly  possible  to  speak  favorably. 
The  same  must  be  said  of  the  speeches  which  the  different 
characters  address  to  each  other.  The  rude  vehemence  which 
they  display  seems  to  consist  much  more  in  the  loudness  and 
gesticulation  with  which  the  speakers  express  themselves  thar 
in  the  force  and  energy  of  their  sentiments,  which,  for  the  W3Jl 
part,  are  such  as  the  barbarous  chiefs,  to  whom  they  are  af 
tributed,  might,  without  any  great  premeditation,  either  rs  U 
the  thought  or  language,  have  actually  uttered.  To  f  rd  -in- 
guage  and  sentiments  proportioned  to  characters  of  such  ex- 
traordinary dimensions  as  the  agents  in  the  poems  of  Hjn.« 
and  Milton,  is  indeed  an  admirable  effort  of  genius  ;  but  tc 
make  sucli  as  we  meet  with  in  the  epic  poetry  of  the  present 
day,  persons  often  below  the  middle  size,  and  never  very  much 
above  it,  merely  speak  in  character,  is  not  likely  to  occasion 
either  much  difficulty  to  the  poet,  or  much  pleasure  to  the 
reader.  As  an  example,  we  might  adduce  the  speech  of  stou; 
Dunvegan's  knight,  stanza  xxvii.,  which  is  not  the  less  wanting 
in  taste,  because  it  is  natural  and  characteristic." — Quarter 
Review. 


430 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


canto  in 


©lie  Corir  of  tl)e  J0U0. 


CANTO    THIRD. 


I. 

Hast  thou  not  mark'd,  when  o'er  thy  startled 

head 
Sudden  and  deep  the  thunder-peal  has  roll'd, 
How,  when  its  echoes  fell,  a  silence  dead 
Sunk  on  the  wood,  the  meadow,  and  the  wold  ? 
The  rye-grass  shakes  not  on  the  sod-built  fold, 
The  rustling  aspen's  leaves  are  mute  and  still,1 
The  wall-flower  waves  not  on  the  ruin'd  hold, 
Till,   murmuring   distant   first,   then   near  and 

shrill,  [groaning  hill. 

The   savage   whirlwind  wakes,    and  sweeps   the 


II 

Artornish !  such  a  silence  sunk 
Upon  thy  halls,  when  that  gray  Monk 

His  prophet-speech  had  spoke  ; 
And  his  obedient  brethren's  sail 
Was  stretch'd  to  meet  the  southern  gale 

Before  a  whisper  woke. 
Then  murmuring  sounds  of  doubt  and  fear, 
Close  pour'd  in  many  an  anxious  ear, 

The  solemn  stillness  broke  ; 
And  still  they  gazed  with  eager  guess, 
Where,  in  an  oriel's  deep  recess, 
The  Island  Prince  seem'd  bent  to  press 
What  Lorn,  by  his  impatient  cheer, 
And  gesture  fierce,  scarce  deign'd  to  hear. 

III. 

Starting  at  length,  with  frowning  look, 
His  hand  he  clench'd,  his  head  he  shook, 

And  sternly  flung  apart ; — 
"  And  deem'st  thou  me  so  mean  of  mood, 
As  to  forget  the  mortal  feud, 
And  clasp  the  hand  with  blood  imbrued2 

From  my  dear  Kinsman's  heart  ? 
Is  this  thy  rede  ? — a  due  return 
For  ancient  league  and  friendship  sworn ! 
But  well  our  mountain  proverb  shows 
The  faith  of  Islesmen  ebbs  and  flows. 
Ge  it  even  so — believe,  ere  long, 
He  that  now  bears  shall  wreak  the  wrong.- 
Call  Edith— call  the  Maid  of  Lorn ! 
My  sister,  slaves ! — for  further  scorn, 
Be  sure  nor  she  nor  I  will  stay. — 
Away,  De  Argentine,  away ! — 

i  MS.—"  The  rustling  aspen  bids  his  leaf  be  still." 
*  MS.—"  And  c.asp  the  bloody  hand  imbrued." 
3  MS. — "  Nor  brother  we,  nor  ally  know." 
«  The  MS.  has,— 

"  Such  was  fierce  Lorn's  cry."— 


We  nor  ally  nor  brother  know,8 
In  Bruce's  friend,  or  England's  foe." 

IV. 

But  who  the  Chieftain's  rage  can  telL 
When,  sought  from  lowest  dungeon  cell 
To  highest  tower  the  castle  round, 
No  Lady  Edith  was  there  found ! 
He  shouted,  "  Falsehood  ! — treachery  !— 
Revenge  and  blood ! — a  lordly  meed 
To  him  that  will  avenge  the  deed ! 
A  Baron's  lands !" — His  frantic  mood 
Was  scarcely  by  the  news  withstood, 
That  Morag  shared  his  sister's  flight, 
And  that,  in  hurry  of  the  night, 
'Scaped  noteless,  and  without  remark, 
Two  strangers  sought  the  Abbot's  bark. — 
"  Man  every  galley  ! — fly — pursue  ! 
The  priest  his  treachery  shall  rue  ! 
Ay,  and  the  time  shall  quickly  come, 
When  we  shall  hear  the  thanks  that  Rome 
Will  pay  his  feigned  prophecy  !" 
Such  was  fierce  Lorn's  indignant  cry  1* 
And  Cormac  Doil  in  haste  obey'd, 
Hoisted  liis  sail,  his  anchor  weigh'd 
(For,  glad  of  each  pretext  for  spoil, 
A  pirate  sworn  was  Cormac  Doil).6 
But  others,  lingering,  spoke  apart, — 
"  The  Maid  has  given  her  maiden  heart 

To  Ronald  of  the  Isles, 
And,  fearful  lest  her  brother's  word 
Bestow  her  on  that  English  Lord, 

She  seeks  lona's  piles, 
And  wisely  deems  it  best  to  dwell 
A  votaress  in  the  holy  cell, 
Until  these  feuds  so  fierce  and  fell 

The  Abbot  reconciles."6 

V. 

As,  impotent  of  ire,  the  hall 
Echo'd  to  Lorn's  impatient  call, 
"  My  horse,  my  mantle,  and  my  train ! 
Let  none  who  honors  Lorn  remain  !" — 
Courteous,  but  stern,  a  bold  request 
To  Bruce  De  Argentine  express'd. 
"  Lord  Earl,"  he  said, — "  I  cannot  chuse 
But  yield  such  title  to  the  Bruce, 
Though  name  and  earldom  both  are  gone, 
Since  he  braced  rebel's  armor  on — 
But,  Earl  or  Serf — rude  phrase  was  thine 
Of  late,  and  launch'd  at  Argentine ; 
Such  as  compels  me  to  demand 
Redress  of  honor  at  thy  hand. 

See  a  note  on  a  line  in  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  antt 
p.  21. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E. 
6  MS. — "  While  friends  shall  labor  fair  and  well 
These  feuds  to  reconcile." 


jouwu  in.                                THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                     431 

We  need  not  to  each  other  tell, 

Even  now  there  jarr'd  a  secret  door — 

That  both  can  wield  their  weapons  well ; 

A  taper-light  gleams  on  the  floor — 

Ther  d  j  me  but  the  soldier  grace, 

Up,  Edward,  up,  I  say  ! 

This  glove  upon  thy  helm  to  place 

Some  one  glides  in  like  midnight  ghost — 

Where  we  may  meet  in  right ; 

Nay,  strike  not !  'tis  our  noble  Host." 

And  I  will  say,  as  still  I've  said, 

Advancing  then  Ins  taper's  flame, 

Though  by  ambition  far  misled, 

Ronald  stept  forth,  and  with  him  came 

Thou  art  a  noble  knight." — 

Dunvegan's  chief — each  bent  the  kneo 

To  Bruce  in  sign  of  fealty, 

VI. 

And  proffer'd  him  his  sword, 

"  And  I,"  the  princely  Bruce  replied, 

And  hail'd  him,  in  a  monarch's  style, 

u  Might  term  it  stain  on  knighthood's  pride, 

As  king  of  mainland  and  of  isle, 

That  the  bright  sword  of  Argentine 

And  Scotland's  rightful  lord. 

Should  in  a  tyrant's  quarrel  shine  ; 

"  And  0,"  said  Ronald,  "  Own'd  of  Heaven  I 

But,  for  your  brave  request, 

Say,  is  my  erring  youth  forgiven, 

Be  sure  the  honor'd  pledge  you  gave 

By  falsehood's  arts  from  duty  driven, 

In  every 'battle-field  sliall  wave 

Who  rebel  falchion  drew, 

Upon  my  helmet-crest ; 

Yet  ever  to  thy  deeds  of  fame, 

Believe,  that  if  my  hasty  tongue 

Even  while  I  strove  against  thy  claim, 

Hath  done  thine  honor  causeless  wrong, 

Paid  homage  just  and  true  ?" — 

It  shall  be  well  redress' d. 

"  Alas  !  dear  youth,  the  unhappy  time," 

Not  dearer  to  my  soul  was  glove, 

Answer'd  the  Bruce,  "  must  bear  the  crime, 

Bestow'd  in  youth  by  lady's  love, 

Since,  guiltier  far  than  you, 

Than  tins  which  thou  hast  given  ! 

Even  I" — he  paused ;  for  Falkirk's  woes 

Thus,  then,  my  noble  foe  I  greet ; 

Upon  his  conscious  soul  arose.1 

Health  and  high  fortune  till  we  meet, 

The  Chieftain  to  his  breast  he  press' d, 

And  then — what  pleases  Heaven." 

And  in  a  sigh  conceal'd  the  rest. 

vn. 

IX. 

Thus  parted  they — for  now,  with  sound 

They  proffer'd  aid,  by  arms  and  might, 

Like  waves  roll'd  back  from  rocky  ground, 

To  repossess  him  in  his  right ; 

The  friends  of  Lorn  retire  ; 

But  well  their  counsels  must  be  weigh' d, 

Each  mainland  chieftain,  with  his  train, 

Ere  banners  raised  and  musters  made, 

Draws  to  his  mountain  towers  again, 

For  English  hire  and  Lorn's  intrigues 

Pondering  how  mortal  schemes  prove  vain 

Bound  many  chiefs  in  southern  leagues. 

And  mortal  hopes  expire. 

In  answer,  Bruce  his  purpose  bold 

But  through  the  castle  double  guard, 

To  his  new  vassals2  frankly  told. 

By  Ronald's  charge,  kept  wakeful  ward, 

"  The  winter  worn  in  exile  o'er, 

Wicket  and  gate  were  trebly  barr'd, 

I  long'd  for  Carrick's  kindred  shore. 

By  beam  and  bolt  and  chain ; 

I  thought  upon  my  native  Ayr, 

Then  of  the  guests,  in  courteous  sort, 

And  long'd  to  see  the  burly  fare 

He  pray'd  excuse  for  mirth  broke  short, 

That  Clifford  makes,  whose  lordly  call 

And  bade  them  in  Artornish  fort 

Now  echoes  through  my  father's  hall. 

In  confidence  remain. 

But  first  my  course  to  Arran  led, 

Now  torch  and  menial  tendance  led 

Where  valiant  Lennox  gathers  head, 

Chieftain  and  knight  to  bower  and  bed, 

And  on  the  sea,  by  tempest  toss'd, 

And  Deads  were  told,  and  Aves  said, 

Our  barks  dispersed,  our  purpose  cross' d, 

And  soon  they  sunk  away 

Mine  own,  a  hostile  sail  to  shun, 

lite  such  sleep,  as  wont  to  shed 

Far  from  her  destined  course  had  run, 

Oblivion  on  the  weary  head, 

When  that  wise  will,  which  masters  ours, 

After  a  toilsome  day. 

Compell'd  us  to  your  friendly  towers." 

VIII. 

X. 

But  soon  uproused,  the  Monarch  cried 

Then  Torquil  spoke : — "  The  time  craves  speed . 

To  Edward  slumbering  by  his  side, 

We  must  not  linger  in  our  deed, 

"  Awake,  or  sleep  for  aye ! 

But  instant  pray  our  Sovereign  Liege, 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2F. 

a  MS.— «  Allies  » 

432 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  III 


To  shun  the  perils  of  a  siege. 

The  vengeful  Lorn,  with  all  his  powers, 

Lies  but  too  near  Artornish  towers, 

And  England's  light-arm'd  vessels  ride, 

Not  distant  far,  the  waves  of  Clyde, 

Prompt  at  these  tidings  to  unmoor, 

And  sweep  each  strait,  and  guard  each  shore. 

Then,  till  this  fresh  alarm  pass  by, 

Secret  and  safe  my  Liege  must  he 

In  the  far  bounds  of  friendly  Skye, 

Torquil  thy  pilot  and  thy  guide." — 

"Not  so,  brave  Chieftain,"  Ronald  cried; 

"  Myself  will  on  my  Sovereign  wait,1 

And  raise  in  arms  the  men  of  Sleate, 

Whilst  thou,  renown'd  where  chiefs  debate, 

Shalt  sway  their  souls  by  council  sage, 

And  awe  them  by  thy  locks  of  age." 

— "  And  if  my  words  in  weight  shall  fail,3 

This  ponderous  sword  shall  turn  the  scale." 

XL 

— "  The   scheme,"  said  Bruce,   "  contents  me 

well ; 
Meantime,  'twere  best  that  Isabel, 
For  safety,  with  my  bark  and  crew, 
Again  to  friendly  Erin  drew. 
There  Edward,  too,  shall  with  her  wend, 
In  need  to  cheer  her  and  defend, 
And  muster  up  each  scatter'd  friend." — 9 
Here  seem'd  it  as  Lord  Ronald's  ear 
Would  other  counsel  gladlier  hear ; 
But,  all  achieved  as  soon  as  plann'd, 
Both  barks,  in  secret  arm'd  and  mann'd, 

From  out  the  haven  bore  ; 
On  different  voyage  forth  they  ply, 
UK  a  for  the  coast  of  winged  Skye, 

And  that  for  Erin's  shore. 

XII. 
With  Bruce  and  Ronald  bides  the  tale. 
To  favoring  winds  they  gave  the  sail, 
Till  Mull's  dark  headlands  scarce  they  knew, 
And  Ardnamurchan's  hills  were  blue.4 
But  then  the  squalls  blew  close  and  hard, 
And,  fain  to  strike  the  galley's  yard, 

And  take  them  to  the  oar, 
With  these  rude  seas,  in  weary  plight, 
They  strove  the  livelong  day  and  night, 
Nor  till  the  dawning  had  a  sight 

Of  Skye's  romantic  shore. 


MS. — "  '  Myself  thy  pilot  and  thy  guide.' 

'  Not  so,  kind  Torquil,'  Ronald  cried  ; 
'  'Tis  I  will  on  my  sovereign  wait.'  " 
The  MS.  has, 

"  '  Aye,'  said  the  Chief,  '  or  if  they  fail, 

This  broadsword's  weight  shall  turn  the  scale.'  " 
In  altering  this  passage,  the  poet  appears  to  have  lost  a  link. 
-Ed. 


Where  Coolin  stoops  him  to  the  west, 
They  saw  upon  his  shiver'd  crest 

The  sun's  arising  gleam  ; 
But  such  the  labor  and  delay, 
Ere  they  were  moor'd  in  Scavigh  bay 
(For  calmer  heaven  compell'd  to  stay),' 

He  shot  a  western  beam. 
Then  Ronald  said,  "  If  true  mine  eye, 
These  are  the  savage  wilds  that  he 
North  of  Strathnardill  and  Dunskye  ;" 

No  human  foot  comes  here, 
And,  since  these  adverse  breezes  blow, 
If  my  good  Liege  love  hunter's  bow, 
What  hinders  that  on  land  we  go, 

And  strike  a  mountain-deer  ? 
Allan,  my  page,  shall  with  us  wend ; 
A  bow  full  deftly  can  he  bend, 
And,  if  we  meet  a  herd,  may  send 

A  shaft  shall  mend  our  cheer." 
Then  each  took  bow  and  bolts  in  hand, 
Their  row-boat  launch'd  and  leapt  to  land, 

And  left  their  skiff  and  train, 
Where  a  wild  stream,  with  headlong  shock, 
Came  brawling  down  its  bed  of  rock, 

To  mingle  with  the  main.  / 

XIII. 

A  while  their  route  they  silent  made, 

As  men  who  stalk  for  mountain-deer, 
Till  the  good  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 

"  St.  Mary  1  what  a  scene  is  here ! 
I've  traversed  many  a  mountain-strand, 
Abroad  and  in  my  native  lanu, 
And  it  has  been  my  lot  to  tread 
Where  safety  more  than  pleasure  led ; 
Thus,  many  a  waste  I've  wander'd  o'er, 
Clombe  many  a  crag,  cross'd  many  a  moor, 

But,  by  my  halidome, 
A  scene  so  rude,  so  wild  as  this,    i 
Yet  so  sublime  in  barrenness, 
Ne'er  did  my  wandering  footsteps  press, 

Where'er  I  happ'd  to  roam." 

XIV. 
No  marvel  thus  the  Monarch  spake ; 

For  rarely  human  eye  has  known 
A  scene  so  stern  as  that  dread  lake, 

With  its  dark  ledge7  of  barren  stone. 
Seems  that  primeval  earthquake's  sway 
Hath  rent  a  strange  and  shatter' d  way 


s  The  MS.  adds : 

•«  Our  bark's  departure,  too,  will  blind 
To  our  intent  the  foeman's  mind." 
4  IVrS. — "  Til)  Mull's  dark  isle  no  more  they  knew, 
Nor  Ardnamurchan's  mountains  blue." 
6  MS. — "  For  favoring  gales  compell'd  to  stay." 
6  Fee  Appendix,  Note  2  G. 
i  MS.—"  Dark  banks." 


oanto  in.                              THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                         433 

Through  the  rude  bosom  of  the  hill, 

And  when  return  the  sun's  gkd  b«.  ams, 

And  that  each  naked  precipice, 

Whiten'd  with  foam  a  thousand  streams 

Sable  ravine,  and  dark  abyss, 

Leap  from  the  mountain's  crown.' 

Tells  of  the  outrage  still. 

The  wildest  glen,  but  tliis,  can  show 

XVI. 

Some  touch  of  Nature's  genial  glow  ; 

"  This  lake,"  said  Bruce,  "  whose  barriers 

On  high  Benmore  green  mosses  grow, 

drear 

And  heath-bells  bud  in  deep  Glencroe,1 

Are  precipices  sharp  and  sheer, 

And  copse  on  Cruchan-Ben  ; 

Yielding  no  track  for  goat  or  deer, 

But  here, — above,  around,  below, 

Save  the  black  shelves  we  tread, 

On  mountain  or  in  glen, 

How  term  you  its  dark  waves  ?  and  how 

Nor  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  plant,  nor  flower, 

Yon  northern  mountain's  pathless  brow, 

Nor  aught  of  vegetative  power, 

And  yonder  peak  of  dread, 

The  weary  eye  may  ken. 

That  to  the  evening  sun  uplifts 

For  all  is  rocks  at  random  thrown, 

The  grisly  gulfs  and  slaty  rifts, 

Black  waves,  bare  crags,  and  banks  of  stone, 

Which  seam  its  shiver'd  head  ?" — 

As  if  were  here  denied 

"  Coriskin  call  the  dark  lake's  name, 

The  summer  sun,  the  spring's  sweet  dew, 

Coolin  the  ridge,  as  bards  proclaim, 

That  clothe  with  many  a  varied  hue 

From  old  Cuchullin,  chief  of  fame. 

The  bleakest2  mountain-side.3 

But  bards,  familiar  in  our  isles 

Rather  with  Nature's  frowns  than  smile* 

XV. 

Full  oft  their  careless  humors  please 

And  wilder,  forward,  as  they  wound, 

By  sportive  names  from  scenes  like  the«« 

Were  the  proud  cliffs  and  lake  profound. 

I  would  old  Torquil  were  to  show 

Huge  terraces  of  granite  black4 

His  maidens  with  their  breasts  of  snow   * 

Afforded  rude  and  cumber'd  track ; 

Or  that  my  noble  Liege  were  nigh 

For  from  the  mountain  hoar,8 

To  hear  his  Nurse  sing  lullaby  ! 

Hurl'd  headlong  in  some  night  of  fear, 

(The  Maids — tall  cliffs  with  breakers  white, 

When  yell'd  the  wolf  and  fled  the  deer, 

The  Nurse — a  torrent's  roaring  might), 

Loose  crags  had  toppled  o'er  ;6 

Or  that  your  eye  could  see  the  mood 

And  some,  chance-poised  and  balanced,  lay, 

Of  Corryvrekin's  whirlpool  rude, 

So  that  a  stripling  arm  might  sway 

When  dons  the  Hag  her  whiten'd  hood — 

A  mass  no  host  could  raise, 

'Tis  thus  our  islesmen's  fancy  frames, 

In  Nature's  rage  at  random  thrown, 

For  scenes  so  stern,  fantastic  names." 

Yet  trembling  like  the  Druid's  stone 

On  its  precarious  base. 

XVII 

The  evening  mists,  with  ceaseless  change, 

Answer'd  the  Bruce,  "  And  musing  mind 

Now  clothed  the  mountains'  lofty  range, 

Might  here  a  graver  moral  find. 

Now  left  their  foreheads  bare, 

These  mighty  cliffs,  that  heave  on  high 

And  round  the  skirts  their  mantle  furl'd, 

Their  naked  brows  to  middle  sky, 

Or  on  the  sable  waters  curl'd, 

Indifferent  to  the  sun  or  snow, 

Or  on  the  eddying  breezes  whirl' d, 

Where  naught  can  fade,  and  naught  can  bloT 

Dispersed  in  middle  air. 

May  they  not  mark  a  Monarch's  fate, — 

And  oft,  condensed,  at  once  they  lower,7 

Raised  lugh  mid  storms  of  strife  and  state, 

When,  brief  and  fierce,  the  mountain  shower 

Beyond  life's  lowlier  pleasures  placed, 

Pours  like  a  torrent  down,8 

His  soul  a  rock,  his  heart  a  waste  ?t0 

i  MS.-«  And  \  deers  have  buds  l  in  deep  Glencoe." 
(  heather-bells        J 

4  MS.—"  And  wilder,  at  each  step  they  take, 

Turn  the  proud  cliffs  and  yawning  lake  ; 

«MS.-«iWi,desM" 
'  Rarest.    S 

Huge  naked  sheets  of  granite  black,"  &o. 

e  MS. — "  For  from  the  mountain's  crown." 

8  The  (Quarterly  Reviewer  says,  "This  picture  of  barren 

8  MS. — "  Huge  crags  had  toppled  down." 

lesolation  is  admirably  touched  ;"  and  if  the  opinion  of  Mr. 

?  MS. — "  Oft  closing  too,  at  once  they  lower." 

Turner  be  worth  any  thing,  "  No  words  could  have  given  a 

8  MS. — "  Pour'd  like  a  torrent  dread." 

truer  picture  of  this,  one  of  the  wildest  of  Nature's  land- 

9  MS.— r"  Leap  from  the  mountain's  head." 

rcapes."     Mr.  Turner  adds,  however,  that  he  dissents  in  one 

io  "  He  who  ascends  to  mountain-tops,  shall  find 

Darticular  ;  but  for  one  or  two  tufts  of  grass  he  must  have 

The  loftiest  peaks  most  wrapt  in  clouds  and  snow ; 

broken  his  neck,  having  slipped  when  trying  to  attain  the  best 

He  who  surpasses  or  subdues  mankind, 

•osition  for  taking  the  view  which  embellishes  volume  tenth, 

Must  look  down  on  the  hate  of  those  below. 

•iition  1833. 

55 

Though  high  above  the  sun  of  glory  glow, 

4<j4                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  in. 

O'er  hope  and  love  and  fear  aloft 

XX. 

High  rears  his  crowned  head — But  soft ! 

Onward,  still  mute,  they  kept  the  track ; — 

Look,  underneath  yon  jutting  crag 

"  Tell  who  ye  be,  or  else  stand  back," 

Are  hunters  and  a  slaughter'd  stag. 

Said  Bruce  :  "  in  deserts  when  they  meet, 

Who  may  they  be  ?     But  late  you  said 

Men  pass  not  as  in  peaceful  street." 

No  steps  these  desert  regions  tread  ?" — 

Still,  at  his  stern  command,  they  stood, 

And  proffer'd  greeting  brief  and  rude, 

XVIII. 

But  acted  courtesy  so  ill, 

*  So  said  I — and  believed  in  sooth," 

As  seem'd  of  fear,  and  not  of  will. 

Ronald  replied,  "  I  spoke  the  truth. 

"  Wanderers  we  are,  as  you  may  be ; 

Yet  now  I  spy,  by  yonder  stone, 

Men  hither  driven  by  wind  and  sea, 

Five  men — they  mark  us,  and  come  on ; 

Who,  if  you  list  to  taste  our  cheer, 

And  by  their  badge  on  bonnet  borne, 

Will  share  with  you  tins  fallow  deer." — 

I  guess  them  of  the  land  of  Lorn, 

"  "  If  from  the  sea,  where  lies  your  bark  ?"— 

Foes  to  my  Liege." — "  So  let  it  be  ; 

"  Ten  fathom  deep  in  ocean  dark ! 

I've  faced  worse  odds  than  five  to  three — 

Wreck'd  yesternight :  but  we  are  men, 

— But  the  poor  page  can  little  aid ; 

Who  little  sense  of  peril  ken. 

Then  be  our  battle  thus  array'd, 

The  shades  come  down — the  day  is  shut — 

If  our  free  passage  they  contest ; 

Will  you  go  with  us  to  our  hut  1" — 

Cope  thou  with  two,  I'll  match  the  rest." — 

"  Our  vessel  waits  us  in  the  bay  f 

"  Not  so,  my  Liege — for  by  my  life, 

Thanks  for  your  proffer — have  good-day ."-r- 

This  sword  shall  meet  the  treble  strife ; 

"  Was  that  your  galley,  then,  which  rode 

My  strength,  my  skill  in  arms,  more  small, 

Not  far  from  shore  when  evening  glow'd  ?" — * 

And  less  the  loss  should  Ronald  fall. 

"  It  was." — "  Then  spare  your  needless  pain, 

But  islesmen  soon  to  soldiers  grow, 

There  will  she  now  be  sought  in  vain. 

Allan  has  sword  as  well  as  bow, 

We  saw  her  from  the  mountain  head, 

And  were  my  Monarch's  order  given, 

When,  with  St.  George's  blazon  red, 

Two  shafts  should  make  our  number  even." — 

A  southern  vessel  bore  in  sight, 

"  No  !  not  to  save  my  life  !"  he  said ; 

And  yours  raised  sail,  and  took  to  flight." — 

"  Enough  of  blood  rests  on  my  head, 

Too  rashly  spill' d — we  soon  shall  know, 

XXI. 

Whether  they  come  as  friend  or  foe." 

"Now,  by  the  rood,  unwelcome  news  !" 

Thus  with  Lord  Ronald  communed  Bruce ; 

XIX. 

*  Nor  rests  there  light  enough  to  show 

Nigh  came  the  strangers,  and  more  nigh ; — 

If  tliis  their  tale  be  true  or  no. 

Still  less  they  pleased  the  Monarch's  eye 

The  men  seem  bred  of  churlish  kind, 

Men  were  they  all  of  evil  mien, 

Yet  mellow  nuts  have  hardest  rind ; 

Down-look' d,  unwilling  to  be  seen  ;* 

We  will  go  with  them — food  and  fire4 

They  moved  with  half-resolved  pace, 

And  sheltering  roof  our  wants  require. 

And  bent  on  earth  each  gloomy  face. 

Sure  guard  'gainst  treachery  will  we  keep, 

The  foremost  two  were  fair  array'd, 

And  watch  by  turns  our  comrades'  sleep. — 

With  brogue  and  bonnet,  trews  and  plaid, 

Good  fellows,  thanks ;  your  guests  we'll  be, 

And  bore  the  arms  of  mountaineers, 

And  well  will  pay  the  courtesy. 

Daggers  and  broadswords,  bows  and  spears. 

Come,  lead  us  where  your  lodging  lies, — 

The  three  that  l?gg'd  small  space  behind, 

— Nay,  soft !  we  mix  not  companies. — 

Se%m'd  serfs  of  more  degraded  kind ; 

Show  us  the  path  o'er  crag  and  stone,6 

Goat-skins  or  deer-hides  o'er  them  cast, 

And  we  will  follow  you  ; — lead  on." 

Made  a  rude  lence  against  the  blast ; 

Their  arms  and  feet  and  heads  were  bare, 

XXII. 

Matted  their  beards,  unshorn  their  hair ; 

They  reach'd  the  dreary  cabin,  made 

For  arnLs,  the  caitiffs  bore  in  hand, 

Of  sails  against  a  rock  display'd, 

A  cluo,  an  axe,  a  rusty  brand. 

And  there,  on  entering,8  found 

And  far  beneath  the  earth  and  ocean  spread, 

2  MS. — "  Our  boat  and  vessel  cannot  stay." 

Round  him  are  icy  rocks,  and  loudly  blow 

3  MS. — "  Deep  in  the  bay  when  evening  glow'd." 

Contending  tempests  on  his  naked  head, 

4  MS. — "  Yet  rugged  brows  have  bosoms  kind  ; 

And  thus  reward  the  toils  which  to  those  summits  led.  ' 

Wend  we  with  them — for  food  and  fire." 

Childe  Harold,  Canto  ill. 

6  MS. — "  Wend  you  the  first  o'er  stock  and  stone." 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 

6  MS. — "  Entrance." 

tjr  nto  in.                               THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                        43c 

A  slender  boy,  whose  form  and  mien 

We  never  doff  the  plaid  or  sword, 

111  suited  with  such  savage  scene, 

Or  feast  us  at  a  stranger's  board  ;3 

In  cap  and  cloak  of  velvet  green, 

And  never  share  one  common  sleep, 

Low  seated  on  the  ground. 

But  one  must  still  his  vigil  keep. 

His  garb  was  such  as  minstrels  wear, 

Thus,  for  our  separate  use,  good  friend, 

Dark  was  his  hue,  and  dark  liis  hair, 

We'll  hold  this  hut's  remoter  end." — 

His  youthful  cheek  was  marr'd  by  care, 

"  A  churlish  vow,"  the  eldest  said, 

His  eyes  in  sorrow  drown'd. 

"  And  hard,  methinks,  to  be  obey'd. 

"  Whence  this  poor  boy  ?" — As  Ronald  spoke, 

How  say  you,  if,  to  wreak  the  scorn 

The  voice  his  trance  of  anguish  broke ; 

That  pays  our  kindness  harsh  return, 

As  if  awaked  from  ghastly  dream, 

We  should  refuse  to  share  our  meal?" — 

He  raised  his  head  with  start  and  scream, 

"  Then  say  we,  that  our  swords  are  steel ! 

And  wildly  gazed  around ; 

And  our  vow  binds  us  not  to  fast, 

Then  to  the  wall  his  face  he  turn'd, 

Where  gold  or  force  may  buy  repast." — 

And  his  dark  neck  with  blushes  burn'd. 

Their  host's  dark  brow  grew  keen  and  fell, 

His  teeth  are  clench'd,  his  features  swell ; 

XXIII. 

Yet  sunk  the  felon's  moody  ire 

"  Whose  is  this  boy  ?"  again  he  said. 

Before  Lord  Ronald's  glance  of  fire, 

"  By  chance  of  war  our  captive  made ; 

Nor  could  his  craven  courage  brook 

He  may  be  yours,  if  you  should  hold 

The  Monarch's  calm  and  dauntless  look. 

That  music  has  more  charms  than  gold ; 

With  laugh  constrain'd, — "  Let  every  man 

For,  though  from  earliest  childhood  mute, 

Follow  the  fashion  of  his  clan ! 

The  lad  can  deftly  touch  the  lute, 

Each  to  his  separate  quarters  keep, 

And  on  the  rote  and  viol  play, 

And  feed  or  fast,  or  wake  or  sleep." 

And  well  can  drive  the  time  away 

. 

For  those  who  love  such  glee ; 

XXV. 

For  me,  the  favoring  breeze,  when  loud 

Their  fire  at  separate  distance  burns, 

It  pipes  upon  the  galley's  shroud, 

By  turns  they  eat,  keep  guard  by  turns ; 

Makes  blither  melody." — 1 

For  evil  seem'd  that  old  man's  eye, 

"  Hath  he,  then,  sense  of  spoken  sound  ?" — 

Dark  and  designing,  fierce  yet  shy. 

"  Aye ;  so  his  mother  bade  us  know, 

Still  he  avoided  forward  look, 

A  crone  in  our  late  shipwreck  drown'd, 

But  slow  and  circumspectly  took 

And  hence  the  silly  stripling's  woe. 

A  circling,  never-ceasing  glance, 

More  of  the  youth  I  cannot  say, 

By  doubt  and  cunning  mark'd  at  once, 

Our  captive  but  since  yesterday ; 

Which  shot  a  mischief-boding  ray,3 

When  wind  and  weather  wax'd  so  grim, 

From  under  eyebrows  shagg'd  and  gray. 

We  little  listed  think  of  him. — 

The  younger,  too,  who  seem'd  his  son, 

But  why  waste  time  in  idle  words  ? 

Had  that  dark  look  the  timid  shun ; 

Sit  to  your  cheer— unbelt  your  swords." 

The  half-clad  serfs  behind  them  sate, 

Sudden  the  captive  turn'd  his  head, 

And  scowl'd  a  glare  'twixt  fear  and  hate — 

And  one  quick  glance  to  Ronald  sped. 

Till  all,  as  darkness  onward  crept, 

It  was  a  keen  and  warning  look, 

Couch'd  down,  and  seem'd  to  sleep,  or  slej* 

And  well  the  Chief  the  signal  took. 

Nor  he,  that  boy,  whose  powerless  tongue 

Must  trust  his  eyes  to  wail  his  wrong, 

XXIV. 

A  longer  watch  of  sorrow  made, 

"  Kind  host,"  he  said,  "  our  needs  require 

But  stretch'd  his  limbs  to  slumber  laid.* 

A  separate  board  and  separate  fire ; 

For  know,  that  on  a  pilgrimage 

XXVI. 

Wend  I,  my  comrade,  and  this  page. 

Not  in  his  dangerous  host  confides 

And,  sworn  to  vigil  and  to  fast, 

The  King,  but  wary  watch  provides. 

Long  as  this  hallow'd  task  shall  last, 

Ronald  keeps  ward  till  midnight  past, 

MS. — "  Bat  on  the  clairshoch  he  can  play, 

2  MS. — "  And  we  have  sworn  to  \,    ,        i  powe» 

And  help  a  weary  night  away, 

(  holy      S  F 

With  those  who  love  such  glee. 

While  lasts  this  hallow'd  task  of  ours, 

To  me,  the  favoring  breeze,  when  loud 

Never  to  doff  the  plaid  or  sword, 

It  pipes  through  on  my  galley's  shroud, 

Nor  feast  us  at  a  stranger's  board." 

Malces  better  melody." 

3  MS. "  an  ill  foreboding  ray." 

*  MS. — "  But  seems  in  senseless  slumber  laid." 

436                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  hi. 

Then  wakes  the  King,  young  Allan  last ; 

Then  gazed  awhile,  where  silent  laid 

Thus  rank'd,  to  give  the  youthful  page, 

Their  hosts  were  shrouded  by  the  plaid. 

The  rest  required  by  tender  age. 

But  little  fear  waked  in  his  mind, 

What  is  Lord  Ronald's  wakeful  thought, 

For  he  was  bred  of  martial  kind, 

To  chase  the  languor  toil  had  brought  ?- 

And,  if  to  manhood  he  arrive, 

(For  deem  not  that  he  deign'd  to  throw 

May  match  the  boldest  knight  alive. 

Much  care  upon  such  coward  foe,) — 

Then  thought  he  of  Ins  mother's  tower, 

He  thinks  of  lovely  Isabel, 

His  little  sisters'  greenwood  bower, 

When  at  her  foeman's  feet  she  fell, 

How  there  the  Easter-gambols  pass, 

Nor  less  when,  placed  in  princely  selle, 

And  of  Dan  Joseph's  lengthen'd  mass. 

She  glanced  on  him  with  favoring  eyes, 

But  still  before  his  weary  eye 

At  Woodstocke  when  he  won  the  prize. 

In  rays  prolong'd  the  blazes  die — 

Nor,  fair  in  joy,  in  sorrow  fair, 

Again  he  roused  him — on  the  lake 

In  pride  of  place  as  'mid  despair, 

Look'd  forth,  whore  now  the  twilight-flake 

Must  she  alone  engross  his  care. 

Of  pale  cold  dawn  began  to  wake. 

His  thoughts  to  his  betrothed  bride,1 

On  Coolin's  cliffs  the  mist  lay  fur  I'd, 

To  Edith,  turn — 0  how  decide, 

The  morning  breeze  the  lake  had  cuiTd, 

When  here  his  love  and  heart  are  given, 

The  short  dark  waves,  heaved  to  the  land, 

And  there  his  faith  stands  plight  to  Heaven ! 

With  ceaseless  plash  kiss'd  cliff  or  sand  ;— 

No  drowsy  ward  'tis  his  to  keep, 

It  was  a  slumbrous  sound — he  turn'd 

For  seldom  lovers  long  for  sleep. 

To  tales  at  which  lus  youth  had  burn'd, 

Till  sung  his  midnight  hymn  the  owl, 

Of  pilgrim's  path  by  demon  cross' d, 

Answer'd  the  dog-fox  with  his  howl, 

Of  sprightly  elf  or  yelling  ghost, 

Then  waked  the  King — at  his  request, 

Of  the  wild  witch's  baneful  cot, 

Lord  Ronald  stretch'd  himself  to  rest. 

And  mermaid's  alabaster  grot, 

Who  bathes  her  limbs  in  sunless  well, 

XXVII. 

Deep  in  Strathaird's  enchanted  cell.3 

What  spell  was  good  King  Robert's,  say, 

Thither  in  fancy  rapt  he  flies, 

To  drive  the  weary  night  away  ? 

And  on  his  sight  the  vaults  arise ; 

His  was  the  patriot's  burning  thought, 

That  hut's  dark  walls  he  sees  no  more, 

Of  Freedom's  battle  bravely  fought, 

His  foot  is  on  the  marble  floor, 

Of  castles  storm'd,  of  cities  freed, 

And  o'er  his  head  the  dazzling  spars 

Of  deep  design  and  daring  deed, 

Gleam  like  a  firmament  of  stars  ! 

Of  England's  roses  reft  and  torn, 

— Hark !  hears  he  not  the  sea-nymph  speak 

And  Scotland's  cross  in  triumph  worn, 

Her  anger  in  that  thrilling  shriek ! — 

Of  rout  and  rally,  war  and  truce, — 

No !  all  too  late,  with  Allan's  dream 

As  heroes  think,  so  thought  the  Bruce. 

Mingled  the  captive's  warning  scream.4 

No  marvel,  'mid  such  musings  high, 

As  from  the  ground  he  strives  to  start, 

Sleep  shunn'd  the  Monarch's  thoughtful  eye 

A  ruffian's  dagger  finds  his  heart ! 

Now  over  Coolin's  eastern  head 

Upward  he  casts  his  dizzy  eyes,  .  .  . 

The  grayish  light2  begins  to  spread, 

Murmurs  his  master's  name,  .  .  .  and  dies ! 

The  otter  to  his  cavern  drew, 

And  clamor'd  shrill  the  wakening  mew ; 

XXIX. 

Then  watch'd  the  page — to  needful  rest 

Not  so  awoke  the  King  !  his  hand 

The  King  resign'd  his  anxious  breast. 

Snatch'd  from  the  flame  a  knotted  brand, 

The  nearest  Weapon  of  his  wrath ; 

XXVIII. 

With  this  he  cross'd  the  murderer's  path, 

To  Allan's  eyes  was  harder  task, 

And  venged  young  Allan  well ! 

The  weary  watch  their  safeties  ask. 

The  spatter'd  brain  and  bubbling  blood 

He  trimm'd  the  fire,  and  gave  to  shine 

Hiss'd  on  the  half-extinguish'd  wood, 

With  bickering  light  the  splinter'd  pine  ■ 

The  miscreant  gasp'd  and  fell  !* 

»  MS. — "  Must  she  alone  his  musings  share. 

the  poet  the  opportunity  of  marking,  in  the  most  natural  and 

They  turn  to  his  betrothed  bride." 

happy  manner,  that  insensible  transition  from  the  reality  of 

*  MS.—"  The  cold  blue  light." 

waking  thoughts,  to  the  fanciful  visions  of  slumber,  and  that 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  I. 

delusive  powerof  the  imagination  which  so  blends  the  confines  of 

*  MS. "  with  empty  dream, 

these  separate  states,  as  to  deceive  and  sport  with  the  efforts  evc« 

Mingled  the  captive's  real  scream." 

of  determined  vigilance." — British  Critic,  February,  1815 

'    '  Young  Allan's  turn  (to  watch)  comes  last,  which  gives 

6  MS. — "  What  time  the  miscreant  fell." 

CANTO  IV. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


137 


Nor  rose  in  peace  the  Island  Lord ! 
One  caitiff  died  upon  his  sword, 
And  one  beneath  his  grasp  lies  prone, 
In  mortal  grapple  overthrown. 
But  while  Lord  Ronald's  dagger  drank 
The  life-blood  from  his  panting  flank, 
The  Father-ruffian  of  the  band 
•Behind  him  rears  a  coward  hand  1 

— 0  for  a  moment's  aid, 
Till  Bruce,  who  deals  no  double  blow  l 
Dash  to  the  earth  another  foe, 

Above  his  comrade  laid ! — 
And  it  is  gain'd — the  captive  sprung 
On  the  raised  arm,  and  closely  clung, 

And,  ere  he  shook  him  loose, 
The  master'd  felon  press'd  the  ground, 
And  gasp'd  beneath  a  mortal  wound, 

While  o'er  him  stands  the  Bruce. 

XXX. 

"  Miscreant !  while  lasts  thy  flitting  spark, 

Give  me  to  know  the  purpose  dark, 

That  arm'd  thy  hand  with  murderous  knife, 

Against  offenceless  stranger's  life  ?" — 

"  No  stranger  thou  !"  with  accent  fell, 

Murmur'd  the  wretch ;  "  I  know  thee  well ; 

And  know  thee  for  the  foeman  sworn 

Of  my  high  chief,  the  mighty  Lorn." — 

"  Speak  yet  again,  and  speak  the  truth 

For  thy  soul's  sake  ! — from  whence  this  youth  ? 

His  country,  birth,  and  name  declare, 

And  thus  one  evil  deed  repair." — 

— "  Vex  me  no  more  ! . . .  my  blood  runs  cold  . . . 

No  more  I  know  than  I  have  told. 

"We  found  him  in  a  bark  we  sought 

With  different  purpose  . . .  and  I  thought"  .... 

Fate  cut  him  short ;  in  blood  and  broiL 

As  he  had  lived,  died  Cormac  Doil. 

XXXI. 

Then  resting  on  Ins  bloody  blade, 
The  valiant  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 
"  Now  shame  upon  us  both ! — that  boy 

Lifts  his  mute  face  to  heaven,8 
And  clasps  his  hands,  to  testify 
His  gratitude  to  God  on  high, 

For  strange  deliverance  given. 
His  speechless  gesture  thanks  hath  paid, 
Which  our  free  tongues  have  left  unsaid  1" 
He  raised  the  youth  with  kindly  word, 
But  mark'd  him  shudder  at  the  sword : 

1  "  On  witnessing  the  disinterment  of  Bruce's  remains  at 
Dunfermline,  in  1822,"  says  Sir  Walter,  "  many  people  shed 
tears ;  for  there  was  the  wasted  skull,  which  once  was  the 
bead  that  thought  so  wisely  and  boldly  for  his  country's  de- 
liverance ,  and  there  was  the  dry  bone,  which  had  once  been 
the  sturdy  arm  that  killed  Sir  Henry  de  Bohun,  between  the 
t  wo  armies,  at  a  single  blow,  on  the  evening  before  the  battle 
of  Bannockburn." — Tales  of  a  Grandfather. 


He  cleansed  it  from  its  hue  of  death, 
And  plunged  the  weapon  in  its  sheath. 
"  Alas,  poor  child  !  unfitting  part 
Fate  doom'd,  when  with  so  soft  a  heart, 

And  form  so  slight  as  thine, 
She  made  thee  first  a  pirate's  slave, 
Then,  in  his  stead,  a  patron  gave, 

Of  wayward  lot  like  mine  ; 
A  landless  prince,  whose  wandering  life 
Is  but  one  scene  of  blood  and  strife — 
Yet  scant  of  friends  the  Bruce  shall  be, 
But  he'll  find  resting-place  for  thee.^ 
Come,  noble  Ronald !  o'er  the  dead 
Enough  thy  generous  grief  is  paid, 
And  well  has  Allan's  fate  been  wroke ! 
Come,  wend  we  hence — the  day  has  broke. 
Seek  we  our  bark — I  trust  the  tale 
Was  false,  that  she  had  hoisted  sail." 

XXXII. 

Yet,  ere  they  left  that  charnel-cell, 
The  Island  Lord  bade  sad  farewell 
To  Allan :— "  Who  shall  tell  this  tale," 
He  said,  "  in  halls  of  Donagaile  ! 
Oh,  who  his  widow'd  mother  tell, 
That,  ere  his  bloom,  her  fairest  fell ! — 
Rest  thee,  poor  youth !  and  trust  my  care 
For  mass  and  knell  and  funeral  prayer ; 
While  o'er  those  caitiffs,  where  they  He, 
The  wolf  shall  snarl,  the  raven  cry !" 
And  now  the  eastern  mountain's  head 
On  the  dark  lake  threw  lustre  red ; 
Bright  gleams  of  gold  and  purple  streak 
Ravine  and  precipice  and  peak — 
(So  earthly  power  at  distance  shows ; 
Reveals  his  splendor,  hides  his  woes). 
O'er  sheets  of  granite,  dark,  and  broad,8 
Rent  and  unequal,  lay  the  road. 
In  sad  discourse  the  warriors  wind, 
And  the  mute  captive  moves  behind.4 


ffilje  fori  of  tlje  to. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


Stranger  !  if  e'er  thine  ardent  step  hath  traced 
The  northern  realms  of  ancient  Caledon, 

2  MS. — "  Holds  op  his  speechless  face  to  heaven." 

3  MS. — *'  Along  the  lake's  rude  margin  slow, 

O'er  terraces  of  granite  black  they  go." 

*  MS. — "  And  the  mute  page  moves  slow  behind." 
11  This  canto  is  full  of  beauties  ;  the  first  part  of  it,  contain- 
ing the  conference  of  the  chiefs  in  Bruce's  chamber,   might 
perhaps  have  been  abridged,  because  the  discussion  of  a  meW 


438 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


canto  r 


"Where  the  proud  Queen  of  Wilderness  hath 

placed, 
By  lake  and  cataract,  her  lonely  throne  ; 
Sublime  but  sad  delight  thy  soul  hath  known, 
Gazing  on  pathless  glen  and  mountains  high, 
Listing  where  from  the  cliffs  the  torrents  thrown 
Mingle  their  echoes  with  the  eagle's  cry,      [sky. 
And  with  the  sounding  lake,  and  with  the  moaning 

Yes !  'twas  sublime,  but  sad. — The  loneliness 
Loaded  thy  heart,  the  desert  tired  thine  eye ; 
And  strange  and  awful  fears  began  to  press 
Thy  bosom  with  a  stern  solemnity.  [nigh. 

Then  hast  thou  wish'd  some  woodman's  cottage 
Something  that  show'd  of  life,  though  low  and 

mean ; 
Glad  sight,  its  curling  wreath  of  smoke  to  spy, 
Glad  sound,  its  cock's  blithe  carol  would  have 

been,  [green. 

Or  children  whooping  wild  beneath  the  willows 

Such  are  the  scenes,  where  savage  grandeur 

wakes 
An  awful  thrill  that  softens  into  sighs ; 
Such  feelings  rouse   them  by  dim   Rannoch's 

lakes, 
In  dark  Glencoe  such  gloomy  raptures  rise : 
Or  farther,  where,  beneath  the  northern  skies, 
Chides  wild  Loch-Eribol  his  caverns  hoar — 
But,  be  the  minstrel  judge,  they  yield  the  prize 
Of  desert  dignity  to  that  dread  shore, 
That  sees  grim  Coolin  rise,  and  hears  Coriskin  roar.1 

II. 

Through  such  wild  scenes  the  champion  pass'd, 
"When  bold  halloo  and  bugle-blast 
Upon  the  breeze  came  loud  and  fast. 
"  There,"  said  the  Bruce,  "  rung  Edward's  horn ! 
What  can  have  caused  such  brief  return  ? 
And  see,  brave  Ronald, — see  him  dart 
O'er  stock  and  stone  like  hunted  hart, 
Precipitate,  as  is  the  use, 


matter  of  business  is  unsuited  for  poetry  ;  bnt  the  remainder 
of  the  canto  is  unobjectionable ;  the  scenery  in  which  it  is  laid 
excites  the  imagination ;  and  the  cave  scene  affords  many  op- 
portunities for  the  poet,  of  which  Mr.  Scott  has  very  success- 
fully availed  himself.  The  description  of  Allan's  watch  is 
particularly  pleasing ;  indeed,  the  manner  in  which  he  is  made 
to  fall  asleep,  mingling  the  scenes  of  which  he  was  thinking, 
with  the  scene  around  him,  and  then  mingling  with  his  dreams 
the  captive's  sudden  scream,  is,  we  think,  among  the  most 
happy  passages  of  the  whole  poem." — Quarterly  Review. 

"  We  scarcely  know  whether  we  could  have  selected  a  pas- 
page  from  the  poem  that  will  more  fairly  illustrate  its  general 
merits  and  pervading  blemishes  than  the  one  which  we  have 
just  quoted  (stanzas  xxxi.  and  xxxii.)  The  same  happy  mix- 
Mire  of  moral  remark  and  vivid  painting  of  dramatic  situations, 
frequently  occurs,  and  is  as  frequently  debased  by  prosaic  ex- 
pressions and  couplets,  and  by  every  variety  of  ungrammatical 
icense,  or  even  barbarism.     Our  readers,  in  short,  will  iraine- 


In  war  or  sport,  of  Edward  Bruce. 
— He  marks  us,  and  his  eager  cry 
Will  tell  his  news  ere  he  be  nigh." 

III. 
Loud  Edward  shouts,  "  What  make  ye  Lcj-e 
Warring  upon  the  mountain-deer, 

When  Scotland  wants  her  King  ? 
A  bark  from  Lennox  cross'd  our  track, 
With  her  in  speed  I  hurried  back, 

These  joyful  news  to  bring — 
The  Stuart  stirs  in  Teviotdale, 
And  Douglas  wakes  his  native  vale ; 
Thy  storm-toss'd  fleet  hath  won  its  way 
With  little  loss  to  Brodick-Bay, 
And  Lennox,  with  a  gallant  band, 
Waits  but  thy  coming  and  command 
To  waft  them  o'er  to  Carrick  strand. 
There  are  blithe  news ! — but  mark  the  close ! 
Edward,  the  deadliest  of  our  foes, 
As  with  his  host  he  northward  pass'd, 
Hath  on  the  Borders  breathed  his  last." 

IV. 

Still  stood  the  Bruce — his  steady  cheek 
Was  little  wont  his  joy  to  speak, 

But  then  his  color  rose  : 
"  Now,  Scotland !  shortly  shalt  thou  see, 
With  God's  high  will,  thy  children  free, 

And  vengeance  on  thy  foes ! 
Yet  to  no  sense  of  selfish  wrongs, 
Bear  witness  with  me,  Heaven,  belongs 

My  joy  o'er  Edward's  bier  ;3 
I  took  my  knighthood  at  his  hand, 
And  lordship  held  of  him,  and  land, 

And  well  may  vouch  it  here, 
That,  blot  the  story  from  his  page, 
Of  Scotland  ruin'd  in  his  rage, 
You  read  a  monarch  brave  and  sage, 

And  to  his  people  dear." — 
"  Let  London's  burghers  mourn  her  lord, 
And  Croydon  monks  his  praise  record," 


diately  here  discover  the  powerful  hand  that  has  so  often  pre- 
sented them  with  descriptions  calculated  at  once  to  exalt  and 
animate  their  thoughts,  and  to  lower  and  deaden  the  language 
which  is  their  vehicle  ;  but,  as  we  have  before  observed  again 
and  again,  we  believe  Mr.  Scott  is  inaccessible  even  to  the 
mildest  and  the  most  just  reproof  on  this  subject.  We  really 
believe  that  he  cannot,  write  correct  English  ,  and  we  therefore 
dismiss  him  as  an  incurable,  with  unfeigned  compassion  for 
this  one  fault,  and  with  the  highest  admiration  of  his  many 
redeeming  virtues." — Monthly  Review. 

i  "  That  Mr.  Scott  can  occasionally  clothe  the  grandeur  of 
his  thought  in  the  majesty  of  expression,  unobscured  with  the 
jargon  of  antiquated  b  illads,  and  unencumbered  by  the  awk- 
wardness of  rugged  expression,  or  harsh  involution,  we  car 
with  pleasure  acknowledge  ;  a  finer  specimen  cannot  perlvajM 
be  exhibited  than  in  this  passage." — British  Critic. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  K 


UAS10  IV. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


439 


The  eager  Edward  said ; 
"  Eternal  as  his  own,  my  hate 
Surmounts  the  bounds  of  mortal  fate, 

And  dies  not  with  the  dead  1 
Such  hate  was  his  on  Solway's  strand, 
When  vengeance  clench'd  his  palsied  hand, 
That  pointe "  j  et  to  Scotland's  land,1 

As  his  1  tst  accents  pray'd 
Disgrace  and  curse  upon  his  heir, 
If  he  one  Scottish  head  should  spare, 
Till  stretch'd  upon  the  bloody  lair 

Each  rebel  corpse  was  laid  ! 
Such  hate  was  his,  when  his  last  breath 
Renounced  the  peaceful  house  of  death, 
And  bade  his  bones  to  Scotland's  coast 
Be  borne  by  his  remorseless  host, 
As  if  his  dead  and  stony  eye 
Could  still  enjoy  her  misery  ! 
Such  hate  was  his — dark,  deadly,  long ; 
Mine, — as  enduring,  deep,  and  strong  1" — 


"  Let  women,  Edward,  war  with  words, 

With  curses  monks,  but  men  with  swords: 

Nor  doubt  of  living  foes,  to  sate 

Deepest  revenge  and  deadliest  hate.a 

Now,  to  the  sea  !  behold  the  beach, 

And  see  the  galleys'  pendants  stretch 

Their  fluttering  length  down  favoring  gale  1 

Aboard,  aboard  !  and  hoist  the  sail. 

Hold  we  our  way  for  Arran  first, 

Where  meet  in  arms  our  friends  dispersed ; 

Lennox  the  loyal,  De  la  Haye, 

And  Boyd  the  bold  in  battle  fray. 

I  long  the  hardy  band  to  head, 

And  see  once  more  my  standard  spread. — 

Does  noble  Ronald  share  our  course, 

Or  stay  to  raise  his  island  force  ?" — 

"  Come  weal,  come  woe,  by  Bruce's  side," 

Replied  the  Chief,  "  will  Ronald  bide. 

And  since  two  galleys  yonder  ride, 

Be  mine,  so  please  my  liege,  dismiss'd 

To  wake  to  arms  the  clans  of  Uist, 

And  all  who  hear  the  Minche's  roar, 

On  the  Long  Island's  lonely  shore. 

The  nearer  Isles,  with  slight  delay, 

Ourselves  may  summon  in  our  way ; 

And  soon  on  Arran's  shore  shall  meet, 


i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  L. 

2  "  The  Bruce  was,  unquestionably,  of  a  temper  never  sur- 
passed for  its  humanity,  munificence,  and  nobleness;  yet  to 
represent  him  sorrowing  over  the  death  of  the  first  Plantage- 
aet,  after  the  repeated  and  tremendous  ills  inflicted  by  that 
man  on  Scotland — the  patriot  Wallace  murdered  by  his  order, 
as  well  as  the  royal  race  of  Wales,  and  the  very  brothers  of 
The  Bruce,  slaughtered  by  his  command — to  represent  the 
just  and  generous  Robert,  we  repeat,  feeling  an  instant's  com- 
^aassion  for  the  sudden  fate  of  a  miscreant  like  this,  is,  we  are 


With  Torquil's  aid,  a  gallant  fleet, 
If  aught  avails  their  Chieftain's  hest 
Among  the  islesmen  of  the  west." 

VI. 

Thus  was  their  venturous  council  said 
But,  ere  their  sails  the  galleys  spread, 
Coriskin  dark  and  Coolin  high 
Echoed  the  dirge's  doleful  cry. 
Along  that  sable  lake  pass'd  slow, — 
Fit  scene  for  such  a  sight  of  woe, — 
The  sorrowing  islesmen,  as  they  bore 
The  murder'd  Allan  to  the  shore. 
At  every  pause,  with  dismal  shout, 
Their  coronach  of  grief  rung  out, 
And  ever,  when  they  moved  again, 
The  pipes  resumed  their  clamorous  strain 
And,  with  the  pibroch's  slirilling  wail, 
Mourn'd  the  young  heir  of  Donagaile. 
Round  and  around,  from  cliff  and  cave. 
His  answer  stern  old  Coolin  gave, 
Till  high  upon  his  misty  side 
Languish'd  the  mournful  notes,  and  died 
For  never  sounds,  by  mortal  made, 
Attain'd  his  high  and  haggard  head, 
That  echoes  but  the  tempest's  moan, 
Or  the  deep  thunder's  rending  groan. 

VIL 

Merrily,  merrily  bounds  the  bark, 

She  bounds  before  the  gale, 
The  mountain  breeze  from  Ben-na-darch 

Is  joyous  in  her  sail ! 
With  fluttering  sound  like  laughter  hoarse, 

The  cords  and  canvas  strain, 
The  waves,  divided  by  her  force, 
In  rippling  eddies  chased  her  course, 

As  if  they  laugh'd  again. 
Not  down  the  breeze  more  blithely  flew, 
Skimming  the  wave,  the  light  sea-mew, 

Than  the  gay  galley  bore 
Her  course  upon  that  favoring  wind, 
And  Coolin's  crest  has  sunk  behind, 

And  Slapin's  cavern'd  shore.3 
'Twas  then  that  warlike  signals  wake 
Dunscaith's  dark  towers  and  Eisord's  lake, 
And  soon,  from  Cavilgarrigh's  head, 
Tliick  wreaths  of  eddying  smoke  were  spread 


compelled  to  say  it,  so  monstrous,  and  in  a  Scottish  poet,  sc 
unnatural  a  violation  of  truth  and  decency,  not  to  say  patriot- 
ism, that  we  are  really  astonished  that  the  author  could  have 
conceived  the  idea,  much  more  that  he  could  suffer  his  pen  to 
record  it.  This  wretched  abasement  on  the  part  of  The 
Bruce,  is  farther  heightened  by  the  King's  half-reprehension  of 
Prince  Edward's  noble  and  stern  expression  of  undying  hatred 
against  his  country's  spoiler,  and  his  family's  assassin  — Criti- 
cal Review 
3  MS. "  mountain-shore." 


40 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  I\ 


A  summons  these  of  war  and  wrath 
T'j  the  brave  clans  of  Sleat  and  Strath, 

And,  ready  at  the  sight, 
Each  -warrior  to  his  weapons  sprung, 
And  targe  upon  his  shoulder  flung, 

Impatient  for  the  fight. 
Mac-Kinnon's  chief,  in  warfare  gray, 
Had  charge  to  muster  their  array, 
And  guide  their  barks  to  Brodick-Bay. 

VIIL 

Signal  of  Ronald's  high  command, 
A  beacon  gleam'd  o'er  sea  and  land, 
From  Canna's  tower,  that,  steep  and  gray, 
Like  falcon-nest  o'erhangs  the  bay.1 
Seek  not  the  giddy  crag  to  climb, 
To  view  the  turret  scathed  by  time ; 
It  is  a  task  of  doubt  and  fear 
To  aught  but  goat  or  mountain-deer. 

But  rest  thee  on  the  silver  beach, 

And  let  the  aged  herdsman  teach 
His  tale  of  former  day ; 

His  cur's  wild  clamor  he  shall  chide, 

And  for  thy  seat  by  ocean's  side, 
His  varied  plaid  display ; 

Then  tell,  how  with  their  Chieftain  came, 

In  ancient  times,  a  foreign  dame 
To  yonder2  turret  gray.3 
Stern  was  her  Lord's  suspicious  mind, 
Who  in  so  rude  a  jail  confined 
So  soft  and  fair  a  thrall ! 
And  oft,  when  moon  on  ocean  slept, 
That  lovely  lady  sate  and  wept 

Upon  the  castle-wall, 
And  turn'd  her  eye  to  southern  climes, 
And  thought  perchance  of  happier  times, 
And  touch'd  her  lute  by  fits,  and  sung 
Wild  ditties  in  her  native  tongue. 
And  still,  when  on  the  cliff  and  bay 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeams  play, 

And  every  breeze  is  mute, 
Upon  the  lone  Hebridean's  ear 
Steals  a  strange  pleasure  mix'd  with  fear, 
While  from  that  cliff  he  seems  to  hear 

The  murmur  of  a  lute, 
And  sounds,  as  of  a  captive  lone, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 

J  MS  — !1  To  Canna  s  turret  gray." 

3  "  The  stanzas  which  follow  are,  we  think,  touchingly 
beautiful,  and  breathe  a  sweet  and  melancholy  tenderness, 
perfectly  suitable  to  the  sad  tale  which  they  record." — Criti- 
lal  Review. 

4  MS. — "  That  crag  with  crest  of  ruins  gray." 


5  See  Appendix,  Note  2  N. 
7  MS.—"  Till  in  their  smoke, 


Ibid.  Note  2  O. 


ftc. 


8  "  And  so  also  '  merrily,  merrily,  goes  the  bark,'  in  a  suc- 
cession of  merriment,  which,  like  Dogberry's  tediousness,  he 
finds  it  in  his  heart  to  bestow  wholly  and  entirely  on  us, 
through  page  after  page,  or  wave  after  wave  of  his  voyage. 


That  mourns  her  woes  in  tongue  unknown.- 
Strange  is  the  tale — but  all  too  long 
Already  hath  it  staid  the  song — 

Yet  who  may  pass  them  by, 
That  crag  and  tower  in  ruins  gray,4 
Nor  to  their  hapless  tenant  pay 

The  tribute  of  a  sigh  1 

IX. 

Merrily,  merrily  bounds  the  bark 

O'er  the  broad  ocean  driven, 
Her  path  by  Ronin's  mountains  dark 

The  steersman's  hand  hath  given. 
And  Ronin's  mountains  dark  have  sent 

Their  hunters  to  the  shore,5 
And  each  his  ashen  bow  unbent, 

And  gave  his  pastime  o'er, 
And  at  the  Island  Lord's  command, 
For  hunting  spear  took  warrior's  brand. 
On  Scooreigg  next  a  warning  light 
Summon' d  her  warriors  to  the  fight ; 
A  numerous  race,  ere  stern  MacLeod 
O'er  their  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode* 
When  all  in  vain  the  ocean-cave 
Its  refuge  to  his  victims  gave. 
The  Chief,  relentless  in  his  wrath, 
With  blazing  heath  blockades  the  path ; 
In  dense  and  stifling  volumes  roll'd, 
The  vapor  fill'd  the  cavern'd  hold  ! 
The  warrior-threat,  the  infant's  plain, 
The  mother's  screams,  were  heard  in  vain ; 
The  vengeful  Chief  maintains  his  fires, 
Till  in  the  vault7  a  tribe  expires  ! 
The  bones  which  strew  that  cavern's  gloom, 
Too  well  attest  their  dismal  doom. 

X. 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark8 

On  a  breeze  from  the  northward  free, 

So  shoots  through  the  morning  sky  the  lark. 
Or  the  swan  through  the  summer  sea. 

The  shores  of  Mull  on  the  eastward  lay, 

And  Ulva  dark  and  Colonsay, 

And  all  the  group  of  islets  gay 

That  guard  famed  Staffa  round." 

Then  all  unknown  its  columns  rose, 

We  could  almost  be  tempted  to  believe  that  he  was  on  his  re- 
turn from  Skye  when  he  wrote  this  portion  of  his  poem  : — from 
Skye,  the  depository  of  the  '  mighty  cup  of  royal  Somerled,' 
as  well  as  of  '  Rorie  MoreV  comparatively  modern  '  horn' — 
and  that,  as  he  says  himself  of  a  minstrel  who  celebrated  the 
hospitalities  of  Dunvegan-castle  in  that  island,  '  it  is  pretty 
plain,  that  when  this  tribute  of  poetical  praise  was  bestowed, 
the  horn  of  Rorie  More  had  not  been  inactive.'" — Monthly 
Review.     See  Appendix,  Note  M. 

9  "  Of  the  prominent  beauties  which  abound  in  the  poem, 
the  most  magnificent  we  consider  to  be  the  description  of  the 
celebrated  Cave  of  Fingal,  which  is  conceived  in  a  mighty 
mind,  and  is  expressed  in  a  strain  of  poetry,  clear,  simple, 
and  sublime."— r British  Critic. 


canto  iv.                              THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                         441 

Where  dark  and  undisturbed  repose1 

His  bright  and  brief8  career  is  o'er, 

The  cormorant  had  found, 

And  mute  his  tuneful  strains ; 

And  the  shy  seal  had  quiet  home, 

Quench'd  is  his  lamp  of  varied  lore, 

And  welter' d  in  that  wondrous  dome, 

That  loved  the  light  of  song  to  pour  • 

Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  deck'd 

A  distant  and  a  deadly  shore 

By  skill  of  earthly  architect, 

Has  Leyden's  cold  remains ! 

Nature  herself,  it  seem'd,  would  raise 

A  Minster  to  her  Maker's  praise  !2 

XII. 

Not  for  a  meaner  use  ascend 

Ever  the  breeze  blows  merrily, 

Her  columns,  or  her  arches  bend  ; 

But  the  galley  ploughs  no  more  the  sea. 

Nor  of  a  theme  less  solemn  tells 

Lest,  rounding  wild  Cantyre,  they  meet 

That  mighty  surge  that  ebbs  and  swells, 

The  southern  foeman's  watchful  fleet, 

And  still,  between  each  awful  pause, 

They  held  unwonted  way  : — 

From  the  high  vault  an  answer  draws, 

Up  Tarbat's  western  lake  they  bore, 

In  varied  tone  prolong' d  and  high, 

Then  dragg'd  their  bark  the  isthmus  o'er ' 

That  mocks  the  organ's  melody. 

As  far  as  Kilmaconnel's  shore, 

Nor  doth  its  entrance  front  in  vain 

Upon  the  eastern  bay. 

To  old  Iona's  holy  fane, 

It  was  a  wondrous  sight  to  see 

That  Nature's  voice  might  seem  to  say, 

Topmast  and  pennon  glitter  free, 

u  Well  hast  thou  done,  frail  Child  of  clay  ! 

High  raised  above  the  greenwood  tree, 

Thy  humble  powers  that  stately  shrine 

As  on  dry  land  the  galley  moves, 

Task'd  high  and  hard — but  witness  mine  !"• 

By  cliff  and  copse  and  alder  groves. 

Deep  import  from  that  selcouth  sign. 

XL 

Did  many  a  mountain  Seer  divine, 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark, 

For  ancient  legends  told  the  Gael, 

Before  the  gale  she  bounds ; 

That  when  a  royal  bark  should  sail 

So  darts  the  dolphin  from  the  shark, 

O'er  Kilmaconnel  moss, 

Or  the  deer  before  the  hounds. 

Old  Albyn  should  in  fight  prevail, 

They  left  Loch-Tua  on  their  lee, 

And  every  foe  should  faint  and  quail 

And  they  waken'd  the  men  of  the  wild  Tiree, 

Before  her  silver  Cross. 

And  the  Cliief  of  the  sandy  Coll ; 

They  paused  not  at  Columba's  isle, 

XIII. 

Though  peal'd  the  bells  from  the  holy  pile 

Now  launch'd  once  more,  the  inland  sea 

With  long  and  measur'd  toll  ;4 

They  furrow  with  fair  augury, 

No  time  for  matin  or  for  mass, 

And  steer  for  Arran's  isle ; 

And  the  sounds  of  the  holy  summons  pass 

The  sun,  ere  yet  he  sunk  behind 

Away  in  the  billows'  roll. 

Ben-Ghoil,  "  the  Mountain  of  the  Wind," 

Lochbuie's  fierce  and  warlike  Lord 

Gave  his  grim  peaks  a  greeting  kind, 

Their  signal  saw,  and  grasp'd  his  sword, 

And  bade  Loch  Ranza  smile." 

And  verdant  Hay  call'd  her  host, 

Thither  their  destined  course  they  drew; 

And  the  clans  of  Jura's  rugged  coast 

It  seem'd  the  isle  her  monarch  knew, 

Lord  Ronald's  call  obey, 

So  brilliant  was  the  landward  view, 

And  Scarba's  isle,  whose  tortured  shore 

The  ocean  so  serene ; 

Still  rings  to  Corrievreken's  roar, 

Each  puny  wave  in  diamonds  roll'd 

And  lonely  Colonsay ; 

O'er  the  calm  deep,  where  hues  of  gold 

— Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more  I5 

With  azure  strove  and  green. 

i  MS.—  "  Where  niched,  his  undisturb'd  repose." 

would  be  foolish,  if  it  were  possible.     Whatever  withdraws  ra 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P. 

from  the  power  of  our  senses  ;  whatever,  makes  the  past,  the 

s  The  MS.  adds, 

distant,  or  the  future  predominate  over  the  present,  advances 

"  Which,  when  the  ruins  of  thy  pile 
Cumber  the  desolated  isle, 

us  in  the  dignity  of  thinking  beings.     Far  from  me  and  from 

my  friends  be  such  frigid  philosophy,  as  may  conduct  us  indif 

Firm  and  immutable  shall  stand, 

ferent  and  unmoved  over  any  ground  which  has  been  dignified 

'Gainst  winds,  and  waves,  and  spoiler's  hand." 

by  wisdom,  bravery,  or  virtue.     That  man  is  little  to  be  en- 

vied, whose  patriotism  would  not  gain  force  upon  the  plain  of 

*  "  We  were  now  treading  that  illustrious  island,  which  was 

Marathon,  or  whose  piety  would  not  grow  warmer  among  the 

ince  the  luminary  of  the  Caledonian  regions,  whence  savage 

ruins  of  lona." — Johnson. 

clans  and  roving  barbarians  derived  the  benefits  of  knowledge, 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  &. 

and  the  blessings  of  religion.     To  abstract  the  mind  from  all 

»  MS.—"  His  short  but  bright,"  &c. 

local  emotion  would  be  impossible,  if  it  were  endeavored,  and 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R.             8  ibid.  Note  2  S 

442                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  iv. 

The  hill,  the  vale,  the  tree,  the  tower, 

Our  ruin'd  house  and  hapless  state, 

Glow'd  with  the  tints  of  evening's  hour, 

From  worldly  joy  and  hope  estranged, 

The  beach  was  silver  sheen, 

Much  is  the  hapless  mourner  changed. 

The  wind  breathed  soft  as  lover's  sigh, 

Perchance,"  here  smiled  the  noble  King, 

And,  oft  renew'd,  seem'd  oft  to  die, 

"  This  tale  may  other  musings  bring. 

With  breathless  pause  between. 

Soon  shall  we  know — yon  mountains  hide 

0  who,  with  speech  of  war  and  woes, 

The  little  convent  of  Saint  Bride ; 

Would  wish  to  break  the  soft  repose 

There,  sent  by  Edward,  she  must  stay, 

Of  such  enchanting  scene  1 

Till  fate  shall  give  more  prosperous  day  •• 

And  thither  will  I  bear  thy  suit, 

XIV. 

Nor  will  thine  advocate  be  mute." 

Is  it  of  war  Lord  Ronald  speaks  ? 

The  blush  that  dyes  his  manly  cheeks, 

XVI. 

The  timid  look  and  downcast  eye, 

As  thus  they  talk'd  in  earnest  mood, 

And  faltering  voice  the  theme  deny. 

That  speechless  boy  beside  them  stood 

And  good  King  Robert's  brow  express'd, 

He  stoop'd  his  head  against  the  mast, 

He  ponder'd  o'er  some  high  request, 

And  bitter  sobs  came  thick  and  fast, 

As  doubtful  to  approve  ; 

A  grief  that  would  not  be  repress'd, 

Yet  in  bis  eye  and  lip  the  while, 

But  seem'd  to  burst  his  youthful  b~east. 

Dwelt  the  half-pitying  glance  and  smile, 

His  hands,  against  his  forehead  held, 

Which  manhood's  graver  mood  beguile, 

As  if  by  force  his  tears  repell'd, 

When  lovers  talk  of  love. 

But  through  his  fingers,  long  and  slight, 

Anxious  his  suit  Lord  Ronald  pled ; 

Fast  trill'd  the  drops  of  crystal  bright. 

— "  And  for  my  bride  betrothed,"  he  said, 

Edward,  who  walk'd  the  deck  apart. 

"  My  liege  has  heard  the  rumor  spread 

First  spied  this  conflict  of  the  heart. 

Of  Edith  from  Artornish  fled. 

Thoughtless  as  brave,  with  bluntness  kind 

Too  hard  her  fate — I  claim  no  right1 

He  sought  to  cheer  the  sorrower's  mind ; 

To  blame  her  for  her  hasty  flight ; 

By  force  the  slender  hand  he  drew 

Be  joy  and  happiness  her  lot ! — 

From  those  poor  eyes  that  stream'd  with  de-* 

But  she  hath  fled  the  bridal-knot, 

As  in  his  hold  the  stripling  strove, — 

And  Lorn  recall'd  his  promised  plight, 

('Twas  a  rough  grasp,  though  meant  in  love), 

In  the  assembled  chieftains'  sight. — 

Away  his  tears  the  warrior  swept, 

When,  to  fulfil  our  fathers'  band, 

And  bade  shame  on  him  that  he  wept.4 

I  proffer'd  all  I  could — my  hand — 

"  I  would  to  heaven,  thy  helpless  tongue 

I  was  repulsed  with  scorn  ; 

Could  tell  me  who  hath  wrought  thee  wrong 

Mine  honor  I  should  ill  assert, 

For,  were  he  of  our  crew  the  best, 

And  worse  the  feelings  of  my  heart, 

The  insult  went  not  unredress'd. 

If  I  should  play  a  suitor's  part 

Come,  cheer  thee ;  thou  art  now  of  age 

Again,  to  pleasure  Lorn." — 

To  be  a  warrior's  gallant  page ; 

Thou  shalt  be  mine  ! — a  palfrey  fair 

XV. 

O'er  hill  and  holt  my  boy  shall  bear, 

"  Young  Lord,"  the  Royal  Bruce2  replied, 

To  hold  my  bow  in  hunting  grove, 

"  That  question  must  the  Church  decide : 

Or  speed  on  errand  to  my  love 

Yet  seems  it  hard,  since  rumors  state 

For  well  I  wot  thou  wilt  not  tell 

Edith  takes  Clifford  for  her  male, 

The  temple  where  my  wishes  dwell." 

The  very  tie,  which  she  hath  broke, 

To  thee  should  still  be  binding  yoke. 

XVII. 

But,  for  my  sister  Isabel — 

Bruce  interposed, — "  Gay  Edward,  no, 

The  mood  of  woman  who  can  tell  ? 

This  is  no  youth  to  hold  thy  bow, 

I  guess  the  Champion  of  the  Rock, 

To  fill  thy  goblet,  or  to  bear 

Victorious  in  the  tourney  shock, 

Thy  message  fight  to  lighter  fair. 

That  knight  unknown,  to  whom  the  prize 

Thou  art  a  patron  all  too  wild 

She  dealt, — had  favor  in  her  eyes  ; 

And  thoughtless,  for  tliis  orphan  child. 

But  since  our  brother  Nigel's  fate, 

See'st  thou  not  how  apart  he  steals, 

1  MS. "  no  tongue  is  mine 

s  MS. — "  Thither,  by  Edward  sent,  she  stays 

To  blame  her,"  &c. 

Till  fate  shall  lend  more  prosperous  dayi 

4  MS. — "  And  as  away  the  tears  he  swept, 

*  MS.—"  The  princely  Bruce." 

He  bade  shame  on  him  that  he  wept 

canto  iv.                              THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                        413 

Keeps  lonely  couch,  and  lonely  meals  ? 

The  heavy  sword  or  bossy  shield. 

Fitter  by  far  in  yon  calm  cell 

Men  too  were  there,  that  bore  the  scara 

To  tend  our  sister  Isabel, 

Impress'd  in  Albyn's  woeful  wars, 

With  father  Augustin  to  share 

At  Falkirk's  fierce  and  fatal  fight, 

The  peaceful  change  of  convent  prayer,. 

Teyndrum's  dread  rout,  and  Methven'a 

Than  wander  wild  adventures  through, 

flight ; 

With  such  a  reckless  guide  as  you." — 

The  might  of  Douglas  there  was  seen, 

:  Thanks,  brother !"  Edward  answer'd  gay, 

There  Lennox  with  his  graceful  mien ; 

"  For  the  high  laud  thy  words  convey  1 

Kirkpatrick,  Closeburn's  dreaded  Knight ; 

But  we  may  learn  some  future  day, 

The  Lindsay,  fiery,  fierce,  and  light ; 

If  thou  or  I  can  this  poor  boy 

The  Heir  of  murder'd  De  la  Haye, 

Protect  the  best,  or  best  employ. 

And  Boyd  the  grave,  and  Seton  gay. 

Meanwhile,  our  vessel  nears  the  strand  ; 

Around  their  King  regain'd  they  press'd, 

Launch  we  the  boat,  and  seek  the  land." 

Wept,  shouted,  clasp'd  him  to  their  breast, 

And  young  and  old,  and  serf  and  lord, 

XVIII. 

And  he  who  ne'er  unsheathed  a  sword, 

To  land  King  Robert  lightly  sprung, 

And  he  in  many  a  peril  tried, 

And  thrice  aloud  his  bugle  rung 

Alike  resolved  the  brunt  to  bide, 

With  note  prolong'd  and  varied  strain, 

And  live  or  die  by  Bruce's  side  1 

Till  bold  Ben-Ghoil  replied  again. 

Good  Douglas  then,  and  De  la  Haye, 

XX. 

Had  in  a  glen  a  hart  at  bay, 

Oh,  War  !  thou  hast  thy  fierce  delight, 

And  Lennox  cheer'd  the  laggard  hounds, 

Thy  gleams  of  joy,  intensely  bright! 

When  waked  that  horn  the  greenwood 

Such  gleams,  as  from  thy  polish'd  shield 

bounds. 

Fly  dazzling  o'er  the  battle-field  ! 

"  It  is  the  foe  !"  cried  Boyd,  who  came 

Such  transports  wake,  severe  and  high, 

In  breathless  haste  with  eye  of  flame, — 

Amid  the  pealing  conquest  cry ; 

"  It  is  the  foe  ! — Each  valiant  lord 

Scarce  less,  when,  after  battle  lost, 

Fling  by  his  bow,  and  grasp  his  sword !" — 

Muster  the  remnants  of  a  host, 

"  Not  so,"  replied  the  good  Lord  James, 

And  as  each  comrade's  name  they  tell 

"  That  blast  no  English  bugle  claims. 

Who  in  the  well-fought  conflict  fell, 

Oft  have  I  heard  it  fire  the  fight, 

Knitting  stern  brow  o'er  flashing  eye, 

Cheer  the  pursuit,  or  stop  the  flight. 

Vow  to  avenge  them  or  to  die  ! — 

Dead  were  my  heart,  and  deaf  mine  ear, 

Warriors ! — and  where  are  warriors  found, 

If  Bruce  should  call,  nor  Douglas  hear ! 

If  not  on  martial  Britain's  ground  ?3 

Each  to  Loch  Ranza's  margin  spring ; 

And  who,  when  waked  with  note  of  fire, 

That  blast  was  winded  by  the  King  I"1 

Love  more  than  they  the  British  lyre  ? 

Know  ye  not, — hearts  to  honor  dear  ! 

XIX. 

That  joy,  deep-thrilling,  stern,  severe, 

Fast  to  their  mates  the  tidings  spread, 

At  which  the  heart-strings  vibrate  high, 

And  fast  to  shore  the  warriors  sped. 

And  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye  ?4 

Bursting  from  glen  and  greenwood  tree, 

And  blame  ye,  then,  the  Bruce,  if  trace 

High  waked  their  loyal  jubilee ! 

Of  tear  is  on  his  manly  face, 

Around  the  royal  Bruce  they  crowd, 

When,  scanty  relics  of  the  train 

And  clasp'd  his  hands,  and  wept  aloud. 

That  hail'd  at  Scone  his  early  reign, 

Teterans  of  early  fields  were  there, 

This  patriot  band  around  him  hung, 

Whose  helmets  press'd  their  hoary  hair, 

And  to  his  knees  and  bosom  clung  ? — 

Whose  swords  and  axes  bore  a  stain 

Blame  ye  the  Bruce  ? — his  brother  blamed, 

From  life-blood  of  the  red-hair'd  Dane  ;a 

But  shared  the  weakness,  while  ashamed, 

And  boys,  whose  hands  scarce  brook'd  to 

With  haughty  laugh  his  head  he  turn'd, 

wield 

And  dash'd  away  the  tear  he  scorn'd. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 

In  the  red  cup  that  crowns  our  memory  ; 

I  MS — "  Impress'd  by  life-blood  of  the  Dane." 

And  the  brief  epitaph  in  danger's  day, 

When  those  who  win  at  length  divide  the  prey, 

*  MS. — "  If  not  on  Britain's  warlike  ground." 

And  cry,  Remembrance  saddening  o'er  each  brow, 

«  "  Ours  are  the  tears,  though  few,  sincerely  shed, 

How  had  the  brave  who  fell  exulted  now  /" 

When  Ocean  shrouds  and  sepulchres  our  dead. 

Byron's  CoraaJ* 

For  us,  even  banquets  fond  regret  supply 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U. 

444 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV 


XXI. 

'Tis  morning,  and  the  Convent  bell 

Long  time  had  ceased  its  matin  knell, 
Within  thy  walls,  Saint  Bride  I 

An  aged  Sister  sought  the  cell 

Assign'd  to  Lady  Isabel, 

And  hurriedly  she  cried, 

"  Haste,  gentle  Lady,  haste — there  waits 

A  noble  stranger  at  the  gates  ; 

Saint  Bride's  poor  vot'ress  ne'er  has  seen 

-A  Knight  of  such  a  princely  mien  ; 

H!i  errand,  as  he  bade  me  tell, 

Is  with  the  Lady  Isabel." 

The  princess  rose, — for  on  her  knee 
Low  bent  she  told  her  rosary, — * 
"  Let  him  by  thee  his  purpose  teach : 
I  may  not  give  a  stranger  speech." — 
"  Saint  Bride  forefend,  thou  royal  Maid  !" 
The  portress  cross'd  herself,  and  said, — 
"  Not  to  be  prioress  might  I 
Debate  his  will,  his  suit  deny." — 
r<  Has  earthly  show  then,  simple  fool, 
Power  o'er  a  sister  of  thy  rule, 
And  art  thou,  like  the  worldly  train, 
Subdued  by  splendors  light  and  vain  ?" — 

XXII. 

"  No,  Lady !  in  old  eyes  like  mine, 
Gauds  have  no  glitter,  gems  no  shine  ; 
Nor  grace  his  rank  attendants  vain, 
One  youthful  page  is  all  his  train. 
It  is  the  form,  the  eye,  the  word, 
The  bearing  of  that  stranger  Lord ; 
His  stature  manly,  bold,  and  tall, 
Built  like  a  castle's  battled  wall, 
Yet  moulded  in  such  just  degrees, 
His  giant  strength  seems  lightsome  ease. 
Close  as  the  tendrils  of  the  vine 
His  locks  upon  his  forehead  twine, 
Jet-black,  save  where  some  touch  of  gray 
Has  ta'en  the  youthful  hue  away. 
Weather  and  war  their  rougher  trace 
Have  left  on  that  majestic  face ; — 
But  'tis  his  dignity  of  eye  ! 
There,  if  a  suppliant,  would  I  fly, 
Secure,  'mid  danger,  wrongs,  and  grief, 
Of  sympathy,  redress,  relief — 
That  glance,  if  guilty,  would  I  dread 
More  than  the  doom  that  spoke  me  dead." 
"  Enough,  enough,"  the  princess  cried, 
"  'Tis  Scotland's  hope,  her  joy,  her  pride  ! 
To  meaner  front  was  ne'er  assign'd 
Such  mastery  o'er  the  common  mind — 


Bestow' d  thy  high  designs  to  aid, 
How  long,  0  Heaven  1  how  long  delay'd  !- 
Haste,  Mona,  haste,  to  introduce 
My  darling  brother,  royal  Bruce  !" 

XXIII. 
They  met  like  friends  who  part  in  pain, 
And  meet  in  doubtful  hope  again. 
But  when  subdued5  that  fitful  swell, 
The  Bruce  survey'd  the  humble  cell ; — 
"  And  this  is  thine,  poor  Isabel ! — 
That  pallet-couch,  and  naked  wall, 
For  room  of  state,  and  bed  of  pall ; 
For  costly  robes  and  jewels  rare, 
A  string  of  beads  and  zone  of  hair ; 
And  for  the  trumpet's  sprightly  call 
To  sport  or  banquet,  grove  or  hall, 
The  bell's  grim  voice  divides  thy  care, 
'Twixt  hours  of  penitence  and  prayer ! — 
0  ill  for  thee,  my  royal  claim 
From  the  First  David's  sainted  name  I 
0  woe  for  thee,  that  while  he  sought 
His  right,  thy  brother  feebly  fought !" — 

XXIV. 

"  Now  lay  these  vain  regrets  aside, 

And  be  the  unshaken  Bruce !"  she  cried. 

"  For  more  I  glory  to  have  shared 

The  woes  thy  venturous  spirit  dared, 

When  raising  first  thy  valiant  band 

In  rescue  of  thy  native  land, 

Than  had  fair  Fortune  set  me  down 

The  partner  of  an  empire's  crown. 

And  grieve  not  that  on  Pleasure's  stream 

No  more  I  drive  in  giddy  dream, 

For  Heaven  the  erring  pilot  knew, 

And  from  the  gulf  the  vessel  drew, 

Tried  me  with  judgments  stern  and  great, 

My  house's  ruin,  thy  defeat, 

Poor  Nigel's  death,  till,  tamed,  I  own, 

My  hopes  are  fix'd  on  Heaven  alone  ; 

Nor  e'er  shall  earthly  prospects  win 

My  heart  to  tliis  vain  world  of  sin." — 

XXV. 

"  Nay,  Isabel,  for  such  stern  choice, 
First  wilt  thou  wait  thy  brother's  voice ; 
Then  ponder  if  in  convent  scene 
No  softer  thoughts  might  intervene — 
Say  they  were  of  that  unknown  Knight, 
Victor  in  Woodstock's  tourney-fight — 
Nay,  if  his  name  such  blush  you  owe, 
Victorious  o'er  a  fairer  foe !" 


*  "  Mr.  Scott,  we  have  said,  contradicts  himself.     How  will  we  discover  the  princess  counting  her  beads  a 

ne  explain  the  following  facts  to  his  reader's  satisfaction?  lies  in  the  cloister  of  St.  Bride,  in  the  Island  of  Arran  !     We 

The  third  canto  informs  us  that  Isabel  accompanies  Edward  |  humbly  beseech  the  '  Mighty  Minstrel'  to  clear  u  )  this  mat 

to  Ireland,  there  to  remain  till  the  termination   of  the  war;  I   ter."— Critical  Review. 

ai-d  -n  the  fourth  canto,  the  second  day  after  her  departure,  |       2  MS.—"  But  when  subsides,"  &c. 


CANTO  IV. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


446 


Truly  his  penetrating  eye 

Hath  caught  that  blush's  passing  dye, — 

Like  the  last  beam  of  evening  thrown 

On  a  white  cloud, — just  seen  and  gone.1 

Soon  with  calm  cheek  and  steady  eye, 

The  princess  made  composed  reply : — 

"  I  guess  my  brother's  meaning  well ; 

For  not  so  silent  is  the  cell, 

But  we  have  heard  the  islesmen  all 

Arm  in  thy  cause  at  Ronald's  call, 

And  mine  eye  proves  that  Knight  unknown* 

And  the  brave  Island  Lord  are  one. — 

Had  then  his  suit  been  earlier  made, 

In  Ins  own  name,  with  thee  to  aid 

(But  that  his  plighted  faith  forbade),3 

I  know  not But  thy  page  so  near  ? — 

This  is  no  tale  for  menial's  ear." 

XXVI. 
Still  stood  that  page,  as  far  apart 

As  the  small  cell  would  space  afford ; 
With  dizzy  eye  and  bursting  heart, 

He  leant  his  weight  on  Bruce's  sword, 
The  monarch's  mantle  too  he  bore,4 
And  drew  the  fold  his  visage  o'er. 
"  Fear  not  for  him — in  murderous  strife," 
Said  Bruce,  "  Ins  warning  saved  my  life ;° 
Full  seldom  parts  he  from  my  side, 
And  in  Ins  silence  I  confide, 
Since  he  can  tell  no  tale  again. 
He  is  a  boy  of  gentle  strain, 
And  I  have  purposed  he  shall  dwell 
In  Augustin  the  chaplain's  cell, 
And  wait  on  thee,  my  Isabel. — 
Mind  not  his  tears ;  I've  seen  them  flow, 
As  in  the  thaw  dissolves  the  snow. 
'Tis  a  kind  youth,  but  fanciful, 
Unfit  against  the  tide  to  pull, 
And  those  that  with  the  Bruce  would  sail, 
Must  learn  to  strive  with  stream  and  gale. — 
But  forward,  gentle  Isabel — 
My  answer  for  Lord  Ronald  tell." — 

XXVII. 

"  This  answer  be  to  Ronald  given — 
The  heart  he  asks  is  fix'd  on  heaven.8 

1  "We  would  bow  with  veneration  to  the  powerful  and 
rugged  genius  of  Scott.  We  would  style  him  above  all  others, 
Homer  and  Shakspeare  excepted,  the  Toet  of  Nature — of 
Nature  in  all  her  varied  beauties,  in  all  her  wildest  haunts. 
No  appearance,  however  minute,  in  the  scenes  around  him, 
escapes  his  penetrating  eye  ;  they  are  all  marked  with  the 
nicest  discrimination  ;  are  introduced  with  the  happiest  effect. 
Hence,  in  his  similes,  both  the  genius  and  the  judgment  of 
the  poet  are  peculiarly  conspicuous  ;  his  accurate  observation 
of  the  appearances  of  nature,  which  others  have  neglected, 
imparts  an  originality  to  those  allusions,  of  which  the  reader 
'immediately  recognizes  the  aptness  and  propriety  ;  and  only 
wonders  that  what  must  have  been  so  often  witnessed  should 
have  been  so  uniformly  passed  unregarded  bv.     Such  is  the 


My  love  was  like  a  summer  flower, 

That  wither'd  in  the  wintry  hour, 

Born  but  of  vanity  and  pride, 

And  with  these  sunny  visions  died. 

If  further  press  liis  suit — then  say, 

He  should  his  plighted  troth  obey, 

Troth  plighted  both  with  ring  and  w  r  1, 

And  sworn  on  crucifix  and  sword. — 

Oh,  shame  thee,  Robert !  I  have  seen 

Thou  hast  a  woman's  guardian  been ! 

Even  in  extremity's  dread  hour, 

When  press'd  on  thee  the  Southern  power, 

And  safety,  to  all  human  sight, 

Was  only  found  in  rapid  flight, 

Thou  heard' st  a  wretched  female  plain     ' 

In  agony  of  travail-pain, 

And  thou  didst  bid  thy  little  band 

Upon  the  instant  turn  and  stand, 

And  dare  the  worst  the  foe  might  do, 

Rather  than,  like  a  knight  untrue,  • 

Leave  to  pursuers  merciless 

A  woman  in  her  last  distress.7 

And  wilt  thou  now  deny  thine  aid    - 

To  an  oppress'd  and  injured  maid, 

Even  plead  for  Ronald's  perfidy, 

And  press  his  fickle  faith  on  me  ?  -  - 

So  witness  Heaven,  as  true  I  vow, 

Had  I  those  earthly  feelings  now, 

Wluch  could  my  former  bosom  move 

Ere  taught  to  set  its  hopes  above, 

I'd  spurn  each  proffer  he  could  bring, 

Till  at  my  feet  he  laid  the  ring, 

The  ring  and  spousal  contract  both. 

And  fair  acquittal  of  his  oath, 

By  her  who  brooks  Ins  perjured  scorn, 

The  ill-requited  Maid  of  Lorn  1" 

XXVIII. 
With  sudden  impulse  forward  sprung 
The  page,  and  on  her  neck  he  hung ; 
Then,  recollected  instantly, 
His  head  he  stoop' d,  and  bent  his  knee, 
Kiss'd  twice  the  hand  of  Isabel, 
Arose,  and  sudden  left  the  cell. — 
The  princess,  loosen'd  from  his  hold, 
Blush'd  angi_y  at  his  bearing  bold ; 

simile  applied  to  the  transient   blush    observed    by  Et«0« 
the  countenance  of  Isabel  upon  his  mention  of  Ronala.'' 
British  Critic. 
2  MS.—"  And  well  I  judge  that  Knight  unknown  " 


MS. 


But  that  his  \  ®arlier  \  plight  forbade." 
(  former  ) 


4  MS. — "  The  Monarch's  brand  and  cloak  he  bore." 

5  MS.—"  Answer'd  the  Bruce,  '  he  saved  my  life.'  " 

6  The  MS.  has,— 

"  Label's  thoughts  are  fix'd  on  heaven ;" 
and  the  two  couplets  which   follow  are  interpolated  on  th* 
blank  page. 
»  See  Appendix,  Note  2  V. 


140 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


caavto  v 


But  good  King  Robert  cried, 
"  Chafe  not — by  signs  he  speaks  his  mind, 
He  heard  the  plan  my  care  design'd, 

Nor  could  his  transports  hide. — 
But,  sister,  now  bethink  thee  well ; 
No  easy  choice  the  convent  cell ; 
Trust,  I  shall  play  no  tyrant  part, 
Either  to  force  thy  hand  or  heart, 
Or  suffer  that  Lord  Ronald  scorn, 
Or  wrong  for  thee,  the  Maid  of  Lorn. 
But  think, — not  long  the  time  has  been, 
That  thou  wert  wont  to  sigh  unseen, 
And  wouldst  the  ditties  best  approve, 
That  told  some  lay  of  hapless  love. 
Now  are  thy  wishes  in  thy  power, 
And  thou  art  bent  on  cloister  bower  ! 
0 !  if  our  Edward  knew  the  change, 
How  would  his  busy  satire  range, 
With  many  a  sarcasm  varied  still 
On  woman's  wish,  and  woman's  will !" — 

XXIX. 
"Brother,  I  well  believe,"  she  said, 
"  Even  so  would  Edward's  part  be  play'd. 
Kindly  in  heart,  in  word  severe, 
A  foe  to  thought,  and  grief,  and  fear, 
He  holds  his  humor  uncontroll'd ; 
But  thou  art  of  another  mould. 
Say  then  to  Ronald,  as  I  say, 
Unless  before  my  feet  he  lay 
The  ring  which  bound  the  faith  he  swore, 
By  Edith  freely  yielded  o'er, 
He  moves  his  suit  to  me  no  more. 
Nor  do  I  promise,  even  if  now 
He  stood  absolved  of  spousal  vow, 
That  I  would  change  my  purpose  made, 
To  shelter  me  in  holy  shade. — 
Brother,  for  little  space,  farewell ! 
To  other  duties  warns  the  bell." — 

XXX. 

"  Lost  to  the  world,"  King  Robert  said, 
When  he  had  left  the  royal  maid, 
"  Lost  to  the  world  by  lot  severe, 
0  what  a  gem  lies  buried  here, 
Nipp'd  by  misfortune's  cruel  frost, 
The  buds  of  fair  affection  lost ! — * 


i  The  MS.  here  adds  :— 

**  She  yields  one  shade  of  empty  hope  ; 
But  well  I  guess  her  wily  scope 
Is  to  elude  Lord  Ronald's  plea, 
And  still  my  importunity." 

2  This  and  the  tw~"«M  icceeding  lines  are  interpolated  on  the 
b  ank  page  of  the  MS. 

3  "The  fourth  canto  cannot  be  very  greatly  praised.  It 
contains,  indeed,  many  pleasing  passages  ;  but  the  merit  which 
they  possess  is  too  much  detached  from  the  general  interest 
©f  the  poem.  The  only  business  is  Bruce's  arrival  at  the  isle 
•f  Arran.     The  voyage  is  certainly  described  with  spirit ;  but 


But  what  have  I  with  love  to  do? 

Far  sterner  cares  my  lot  pursue. 

— Pent  in  this  isle  we  may  not  He,2 

Nor  would  it  long  our  wants  supply. 

Right  opposite,  the  mainland  towers 

Of  my  own  Turnberry  court  our  powers — 

— Might  not  my  father's  beadsman  hoar, 

Cuthbert,  who  dwells  upon  the  shore, 

Kindle  a  signal-flame,  to  show 

The  time  propitious  for  the  blow  ? 

It  shall  be  so — some  friend  shall  bear 

Our  mandate  with  despatch  and  care ; 

— Edward  shall  find  the  messenger. 

That  fortress  ours,  the  island  fleet 

May  on  the  coast  of  Carrick  meet — 

O  Scotland !  shall  it  e'er  be  mine 

To  wreak  thy  wrongs  in  battle-line, 

To  raise  my  victor-head,  and  see 

Thy  hills,  thy  dales,  thy  people  free, — 

That  glance  of  bliss  is  all  I  crave, 

Betwixt  my  labors  and  my  grave  !" 

Then  down  the  hill  he  slowly  went, 

Oft  pausing  on  the  steep  descent, 

And  reach'd  the  spot  where  his  bold  train 

Held  rustic  camp  upon  the  plain.3 


Sllje  Corlr  of  t!jc  Mts. 


CANTO    FIFTH. 


On  fair  Loch-Ranza  stream'd  the  early  day, 
Thin  wreaths  of  cottage-smoke  are  upward  curl'd 
From  the  lone  hamlet,  which  her  inland  bay 
And  circling  mountains  sever  from  the  world. 
And  there  the  fisherman  his  sail  unfurl'd, 
The  goat-herd  drove  his  kids  to  steep  Ben-Ghoil, 
Before  the  hut  the  dame  her  spindle  twirl'd, 
Courting  the  sunbeam  as  she  plied  her  toil, — 
For,  wake  where'er  he  may,  Man  wakes  to  care 
and  toil. 

But  other  duties  call'd  each  convent  maid, 
Roused  by  the  summons  of  the  moss-grown  bell ; 

the  remainder  of  the  canto  is  rather  tedious,  and  might,  with- 
out any  considerable  inconvenience,  have  been  left  a  good 
deal  to  the  reader's  imagination.  Mr.  Scott  ought  to  reserve, 
as  much  as  possible,  the  interlocutory  part  of  his  narrative, 
for  occasions  which  admit  of  high  and  animated  sentiment,  or 
the  display  of  powerful  emotions,  because  this  is  almost  the 
only  poetical  beauty  of  which  speeches  are  susceptible.  But 
to  fill  up  three-fourths  of  a  canto  with  a  lover's  asking  a 
brother  in  a.  quiet  and  friendly  manner  for  permission  to  address 
his  sister  in  marriage,  and  a  brother's  asking  his  sister  whethe.. 
she  has  any  objections,  is,  we  think,  somewhat  injudicious  ' 
—  Quarterly  Review. 


canto  v.                                THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                        Ul 

Sung  were  the  matins,  and  the  mass  was  said, 

"Strange  doubts  are  mine  ! — Mona,  draw  nigh 

And  every  sister  sought  her  separate  cell, 

— Naught  'scapes  old  Mona's  curious  eye — 

Suet  was  the  rule,  her  rosary  to  tell. 

What  strangers,  gentle  mother,  say, 

And  Isabel  has  knelt  in  lonely  prayer 

Have  sought  these  holy  walls  to-day  ?" — 

The  sunbeam,  through  the  narr.ow  lattice,  fell 

"  None,  Lady,  none  of  note  or  name  ; 

Upon  the  snowy  neck  and  long  dark  hair, 

Only  your  brother's  foot-page  came, 

&s  stoop'd  her  gentle  head  in  meek  devotion  there. 

At  peep  of  dawn — I  pray'd  him  pass 

To  chapel  where  they  said  the  mass ; 

II. 

But  like  an  arrow  he  shot  by, 

She  raised  her  eyes,  that  duty  done, 

And  tears  seem'd  bursting  from  his  eye." 

When  glanced  upon  the  pavement-stone, 

Gemm'd  and  enchased,  a  golden  ring, 

IV. 

Bound  to  a  scroll  with  silken  string,1 

The  truth  at  once  on  Isabel, 

With  few  brief  words  inscribed  to  tell, 

As  darted  by  a  sunbeam,  fell. — 

"  This  for  the  Lady  Isabel." 

"  'Tis  Edith's  self  !3 — her  speechless  woe, 

Witliin,  the  writing  farther  bore, — 

Her  form,  her  looks,  the  secret  show ! 

"  'Twas  with  this  ring  his  plight  he  swore. 

— Instant,  good  Mona,  to  the  bay, 

With  this  his  promise  I  restore ; 

And  to  my  royal  brother  say, 

To  her  who  can  the  heart  command, 

I  do  conjure  him  seek  my  cell, 

Well  may  I  yield  the  plighted  hand. 

With  that  mute  page  he  loves  so  well."— 

And  0  !  for  better  fortune  born, 

"  What !  know'st  thou  not  his  warlike  host 

Grudge  not  a  passing  sigh  to  mourn 

At  break  of  day  has  left  our  coast  ?4 

Her  who  was  Edith  once  of  Lorn !" 

My  old  eyes  saw  them  from  the  tower. 

One  single  flash  of  glad  surprise 

At  eve  they  couch'd  in  greenwood  bower, 

Just  glanced  from  Isabel's  dark  eyes, 

At  dawn  a  bugle  signal,  made 

But  vanish'd  in  the  blush  of  shame, 

By  their  bold  Lord,  their  ranks  array'd ; 

That,  as  its  penance,  instant  came. 

Up   sprung   the   spears   through  bush   and 

"  0  thought  unworthy  of  my  race  ! 

tree, 

Selfish,  ungenerous,  mean,  and  base, 

No  time  for  benedicite  ! 

A  moment's  throb  of  joy  to  own,2 

Like  deer,  that,  rousing  from  their  lair, 

That  rose  upon  her  hopes  o'erthrown ! — 

Just  shake  the  dew-drops  from  their  hair, 

Thou  pledge  of  vows  too  well  believed, 

And  toss  their  armed  crests  aloft, 

Of  man  ingrate  and  maid  deceived, 

Such  matins  theirs  !" — "  Good  mother,  soft — 

Think  not  thy  lustre  here  shall  gain 

Where  does  my  brother  bend  his  way  ?" — • 

Another  heart  to  hope  in  vain ! 

"As  I  have  heard,  for  Brodick-Bay,. 

For  thou  shalt  rest,  thou  tempting  gaud, 

Across  the  isle — of  barks  a  score 

Where  worldly  thoughts  are  overawed, 

Lie  there,  'tis  said,  to  waft  them  o'er, 

Aud  worldly  splendors  sink  debased." 

On  sudden  news,  to  Carrick-shore." — 

Then  by  the  cross  the  ring  she  placed. 

"  If  such  their  purpose,  deep  the  need," 

Said  anxious  Isabel,  "  of  speed ! 

III. 

Call  Father  Augustine,  good  dame." 

Next  rose  the  thought, — its  owner  far, 

The  nun  obey'd,  the  Father  came. 

How  came  it  here  through  bolt  and  bar  ?— 

But  the  dim  lattice  is  ajar. — 

V. 

She  looks  abroad,  the  morning  dew 

"Kind  Father,  hie  without  delay, 

A  light  short  step  had  brush'd  anew, 

Across  the  hills  to  Brodick-Bay. 

And  there  were  foot-prints  seen 

TMiis  message  to  the  Bruce  be  given ; 

On  the  carved  buttress  rising  still, 

I  pray  him,  by  his  hopes  of  Heaven, 

Till  on  the  mossy  window-sill 

That,  till  he  speak  with  me,  he  stay  I 

Their  track  effaced  the  green. 

Or,  if  his  haste  brook  no  delay, 

The  ivy  twigs  were  torn  and  fray'd, 

That  he  deliver,  on  my  suit, 

As  if  some  climber's  steps  to  aid. — 

Into  thy  charge  that  stripling  mute. 

But  who  the  hardy  messenger, 

Thus  prays  his  sister  Isabel, 

Whose  venturous  path  these  signs  infer  ? — 

For  causes  more  than  she  may  tell — 

3  MS.—"  'Tis  she  herself." 

MS.                          a  ring  of  gold, 

A  scroll  around  the  jewel  roll'd, 

*  MS. — "  What !  know'st  thou  not  in  sudaen  haste 

Had  few  brief  words,"  &c. 

The  warriors  from  our  woods  have  pass'd  V 

MS. — "  A  single  throb  of  joy  to  own." 

6  MS. — "  Canst  tell  where  they  have  bent  their  way  1 

i48                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  v 

Away,  good  father !  and  take  heed, 

But  as,  on  Carrick-shore, 

That  life  and  death  are  on  thy  speed." 

Dim  seen  in  outline  faintly  blue, 

His  cowl  the  good  old  priest  did  on, 

The  shades  of  evening  closer  drew,' 

Took  his  piked  staff  and  sandall'd  shoon, 

It  kindled  more  and  more. 

And,  like  a  palmer  bent  by  eld, 

The  monk's  slow  steps  now  press  the  sands 

O'er  moss  and  moor  his  journey  held.1 

And  now  amid  a  scene  he  stands, 

Full  strange  to  churchman's  eye ; 

VI 

Warriors,  who,  arming  for  the  fight, 

Heavy  and  dull  the  foot  of  age, 

Rivet  and  clasp  their  harness  light, 

And  rugged  was  the  pilgrimage ; 

And  twinkling  spears,  and  axes  bright, 

Jut  none  was  there  beside,  whose  care 

And  helmets  flashing  high. 

Might  such  important  message  bear. 

Oft,  too,  with  unaccustom'd  ears, 

Through  birchen  copse  he  wander'd  slow, 

A  language  much  unmeet  he  hears,7 

Stunted  and  sapless,  thin  and  low ; 

While,  hastening  all  on  board, 

By  many  a  mountain  stream  he  pass'd, 

As  stormy  as  the  swelling  surge 

From  the  tall  cliffs  in  tumult  cast, 

That  mix'd  its  roar,  the  leaders  urge 

Dashing  to  foam  their  waters  dun, 

Their  followers  to  the  ocean  verge, 

And  sparkling  in  the  summer  sun. 

With  many  a  haughty  word. 

Round  his  gray  head  the  wild  curlew 

In  many  a  fearless  circle  flew. 

VIII. 

O'er  chasms  he  pass'd,  where  fractures  wide 

Through  that  wild  throng  the  Father  pass'd, 

Craved  wary  eye  and  ample  stride  f 

And  reach'd  the  Royal  Bruce  at  last. 

He  cross'd  his  brow  beside  the  stone 

He  leant  against  a  stranded  boat, 

Where  Druids  erst  heard  victims  groan,8 

That  the  approaching  tide  must  float, 

And  at  the  cairns  upon  the  wild, 

And  counted  every  rippling  wave, 

O'er  many  a  heathen  hero  piled,4 

As  higher  yet  her  sides  they  lave, 

He  breathed  a  timid  prayer  for  those 

And  oft  the  distant  fire  he  eyed, 

"Who  died  ere  Shiloh's  sun  arose. 

And  closer  yet  his  hauberk  tied, 

Beside  Macfarlane's  Cross  he  staid, 

And  loosen'd  in  its  sheath  his  brand. 

There  told  his  hours  within  the  shade, 

Edward  and  Lennox  were  at  hand, 

And  at  the  stream  his  thirst  allay'd. 

Douglas  and  Ronald  had  the  care 

Thence  onward  journeying  slowly  still, 

The  soldiers  to  the  barks  to  share. — 

As  evening  closed  he  reach'd  the  hill, 

The  Monk  approach'd  and  homage  paid ; 

Where,  rising  through  the  woodland  green, 

"  And  art  thou  come,"  King  Robert  said, 

Old  Brodick's  gothic  towers  were  seen, 

"  So  far  to  bless  us  ere  we  part  ?" — 

From  Hastings,  late  their  English  lord, 

— "  My  Liege,  and  with  a  loyal  heart ! — 

Douglas  had  won  them  by  the  sword.* 

But  other  charge  I  have  to  tell," — 

The  sun  that  sunk  behind  the  isle, 

And  spoke  the  hest  of  Isabel. 

Now  tinged  them  with  a  parting  smile. 

— "  Now  by  Saint  Giles,"  the  monarch  cried, 

"  This  moves  me  much ! — this  morning  tide, 

VII. 

I  sent  the  stripling  to  Saint  Bride, 

But  though  the  beams  of  light  decay, 

With  my  commandment  there  to  bide." — 

'Twas  bustle  all  in  Brodick-Bay. 

— "  Thither  he  came  the  portress  show'd, 

The  Bruce's  followers  crowd  the  shore, 

But  there,  my  Liege,  made  brief  abode." — 

And  boats  and  barges  some  unmoor, 

Some  raise  the  sail,  some  seize  the  oar  • 

IX. 

Their  eyes  oft  turn'd  where  glimmer'd  far  * 

"  'Twas  I,"  said  Edward,  "  found  employ 

What  might  have  seem'd  an  early  star 

Of  nobler  import  for  the  boy. 

On  heaven's  blue  arch,  save  that  its  light 

Deep  pondering  in  my  anxious  mind, 

Was  all  too  flickering,  fierce,  and  bright. 

A  fitting  messenger  to  find, 

Far  distant  in  the  south,  the  ray 

To  bear  my  written  mandate  o'er 

Shone  pale  amid  retiring  day, 

To  Cuthbert  on  the  Carrick-shore, 

1  MS. — "  And  cross  the  island  took  his  way, 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 

O'er  hill  and  holt,  to  Brodick-Bay." 

6  MS. — "  The  shades  of  even  more  closely  drew, 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  2  W. 

It  brighten'd  more  and  more. 

*  MS. — "  He  cross'd  him  hy  the  Druids'  stone, 

Now  print  his  sandall'd  feet  the  sands, 

That  heard  of  yor»  the  victim's  groan." 

And  now  amid,"  &c. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  X. 

t  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 

canto  v.                                THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                         449 

I  chanced,  at  early  dawn,  to  pass 

That  when  by  Bruce's  side  I  fight, 

The  chapel  gate  to  snatch  a  mass. 

For  Scotland's  crown  and  Freedom's  right 

I  found  the  stripling  on  a  tomb 

The  princess  grace  her  knight  to  bear 

Low-seated,  weeping  for  the  doom 

Some  token  of  her  favoring  care ; 

That  gave  his  youth  to  convent  gloom. 

It  shall  be  shown  where  England's  best 

I  told  my  purpose,  and  his  eyes 

May  shrink  to  see  it  on  my  crest. 

Flash'd  joyful  at  the  glad  surprise. 

And  for  the  boy — since  weightier  care 

He  bounded  to  the  skiff,  the  sail 

For  royal  Bruce  the  times  prepare, 

"Was  spread  before  a  prosperous  gale, 

The  helpless  youth  is  Ronald's  charge, 

And  well  my  charge  he  hath  obey'd ; 

His  couch  my  plaid,  his  fence  my  targe." 

For,  see  !  the  ruddy  signal  made, 

He  ceased ;  for  many  an  eager  hand 

That  Clifford,  with  his  merry -men  all, 

Had  urged  the  barges  from  the  strand. 

Guards  carelessly  our  father's  hall." — * 

Their  number  was  a  score  and  "ten, 
They  bore  thrice  threescore  chosen  men. 

X. 

"With  such  small  force  did  Bruce  at  last 

"  0  wild  of  thought,  and  hard  of  heart  1" 

The  die  for  death  or  empire  cast ! 

Answer'd  the  Monarch,  "  on  a  part 

Of  such  deep  danger  to  employ 

XII. 

A  mute,  an  orphan,  and  a  boy  !a 

Now  on  the  darkening  main  afloat, 

Unfit  for  flight,  unfit  for  strife, 

Ready  and  mann'd  rocks  every  boat ; 

"Without  a  tongue  to  plead  for  life ! 

Beneath  their  oars  the  ocean's  might 

Now,  were  my  right  restored  by  Heaven, 

Was  dash'd  to  sparks  of  glimmering  light. 

Edward,  my  crown  I  would  have  given, 

Faint  and  more  faint,  as  off  they  bore, 

Ere,  thrust  on  such  adventure  wild, 

Their  armor  glanced  against  the  shore, 

I  peril'd  thus  the  helpless  child." — 

And,  mingled  with  the  dashing  tide, 

— Offended  half,  and  half  submiss, 

Their  murmuring  voices  distant  died. — 

"  Brother  and  Liege,  of  blame  like  this," 

"  God  speed  them !"  said  the  Priest,  as  dark 

Edward  replied,  "  I  little  dream'd. 

On  distant  billows  glides  each  bark ; 

A  stranger  messenger,  I  deem'd, 

"  0  Heaven !  when  swords  for  freedom  shine, 

Might  safest  seek  the  beadsman's  cell, 

And  monarch's  right,  the  cause  is  thine  1 

Where  all  thy  squires  are  known  so  welL 

Edge  doubly  every  patriot  blow  ! 

Noteless  his  presence,  sharp  his  sense, 

Beat  down  the  banners  of  the  foe  I 

His  imperfection  his  defence. 

And  be  it  to  the  nations  known, 

If  seen,  none  can  his  errand  guess ; 

That  Victory  is  from  God  alone  !"s 

If  ta'en,  his  words  no  tale  express — 

As  up  the  hill  his  path  he  drew, 

Methinks,  too,  yonder  beacon's  shine 

He  turn'd  his  blessings  to  renew, 

Might  expiate  greater  fault  than  mine." — 

Oft  turn'd,  till  on  the  darken'd  coast 

"  Rash,"  said  King  Robert,  "  was  the  deed — 

All  traces  of  their  course  were  lost ; 

But  it  is  done. — Embark  with  speed ! — 

Then  slowly  bent  to  Brodick  tower, 

Good  Father,  say  to  Isabel 

To  shelter  for  the  evening  hour. 

How  this  unhappy  chance  befell ; 

If  well  we  thrive  on  yonder  shore, 

XIII. 

Soon  shall  my  care  her  page  restore. 

In  night  the  fairy  prospects  sink, 

Our  greeting  to  our  sister  bear, 

Where  Cumray's  isles  with  verdant  link 

And  think  of  us  in  mass  and  prayer." — 

Close  the  fair  entrance  of  the  Clyde ; 
The  woods  of  Bute,  no  more  descried, 

XL 

Are  gone4 — and  on  the  placid  sea 

"  Aye  1"  said  the  Priest,  "  while  this  poor  hand 

The  rowers  ply  their  task  with  glee, 

Can  chalice  raise  or  cross  command, 

While  hands  that  knightly  lances  bore 

"While  my  old  voice  has  accents'  use, 

Impatient  aid  the  laboring  oar. 

Can  Augustine  forget  the  Bruce  !" 

The  half-faced  moon  shone  dim  and  pale, 

Then  to  his  side  Lord  Ronald  press' d, 

And  glanced  against  the  whiteu'd  sail ; 

And  whisper'd,  "Bear  thou  this  request, 

But  on  that  ruddy  beacon-light 

»  The  MS.  reads  :— 

Of  such  deep  peril,  to  employ 

"  Keeps  careless  guard  in  Turn  berry  hall." 

A  mute,  a  stranger,  and  a  bov  '  ** 

See  Appendix,  Note  3  A. 

s  MS. **  is  thine  alone  "' 

3  MS. — "  Said  Robert,  '  to  assign  a  part 

*  MS. — "  Have  sunk  " 

450                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  v. 

Each  steersman  kept  the  helm  aright, 

Or  would  thy  dauntless  heart  endure 

And  oft,  for  such  the  King's  command. 

Once  more  to  make  assurance  sure  ?" — 

That  all  at  once  might  reach  the  strand, 

"  Hush !"  said  the  Bruce,  "  we  soon  shall  know 

From  boat  to  boat  loud  shout  and  hail 

If  this  be  sorcerer's  empty  show,* 

Warn'd  them  to  crowd  or  slacken  sail. 

Or  stratagem  of  southern  foe. 

•South  and  by  west  the  armada  bore, 

The  moon  shines  out — upon  the  sand 

And  near  at  length  the  Carrick-shore. 

Let  every  leader  rank  his  band." 

And  less  and  less  the  distance  grows, 

High  and  more  high  the  beacon  rose ; 

XV. 

The  light,  that  seem'd  a  twinkling  star, 

Faintly  the  moon's  pale  beams  supply 

Now  blazed  portentous,  fierce,  and  far. 

That  ruddy  light's  unnatural  dye ; 

Dark-red  the  heaven  above  it  glow'd, 

The  dubious  cold  reflection  lay 

Dark-red  the  sea  beneath  it  flow'd, 

On  the  wet  sands  and  quiet  bay. 

Red  rose  the  rocks  on  ocean's  brim, 

Beneath  the  rocks  King  Robert  drew 

In  blood-red  light  her  islets  swim ; 

His  scatter'd  files  to  order  due, 

Wild  scream  the  dazzled  sea-fowl  gave, 

Till  shield  compact  and  serried  spear 

Dropp'd  from  their  crags  on  plashing  wave.1 

In  the  cool  light  shone  blue  and  clear. 

The  deer  to  distant  covert  drew, 

Then  down  a  path  that  sought  the  tide, 

The  black-cock  deem'd  it  day,  and  crew. 

That  speechless  page  was  seen  to  glide ; 

Like  some  tall  castle  given  to  flame, 

He  knelt  him  lowly6  on  the  sand, 

O'er  half  the  land  the  lustre  came. 

And  gave  a  scroll  to  Robert's  hand. 

"  Now,  good  my  Liege,  and  brother  sage, 

"  A  torch,"  the  Monarch  cried,  "  What,  ho ! 

What  think  ye  of  mine  elfin  page  ?" — 

Now  shall  we  Cuthbert's  tidings  know." 

"  Row  on !"  the  noble  King  replied, 

But  evil  news  the  letters  bare, 

"  We'll  learn  the  truth  whate'er  betide ; 

The  Clifford's  force  was  strong  and  ware," 

Yet  sure  the  beadsman  and  the  child 

Augmented,  too,  that  very  morn, 

Could  ne'er  have  waked  that  beacon  wild.' 

By  mountaineers  who  came  with  Lorn. 

Long  harrow'd  by  oppressor's  hand, 

XIV. 

Courage  and  faith  had  fled  the  land, 

With  that  the  boats  approach'd  the  land,2 

And  over  Carrick,  dark  and  deep, 

But  Edward's  grounded  on  the  sand ; 

Had  sunk  dejection's  iron  sleep. — 

The  eager  Knight  leap'd  in  the  sea 

Cuthbert  had  seen  that  beacon-flame, 

Waist-deep,  and  first  on  shore  was  he, 

Unwitting  from  what  source  it  came. 

Though  every  barge's  hardy  band 

Doubtful  of  perilous  event, 

Contended  which  should  gain  the  land, 

Edward's  mute  messenger  he  sent, 

When  that  strange  light,  which,  seen  afar, 

If  Bruce  deceived  should  venture  o'er, 

Seem'd  steady  as  the  polar  star, 

To  warn  him  from  the  fatal  shore. 

Now,  like  a  prophet's3  fiery  chair, 

Seem'd  travelling  the  realms  of  air. 

XVI. 

Wide  o'er  the  sky  the  splendor  glows, 

As  round  the  torch  the  leaders  crowd, 

As  that  portentous  meteor  rose  ; 

Bruce  read  these  drilling  news  aloud. 

Helm,  axe,  and  falchion  glitter'd  bright, 

"  What  council,  nobles,  have  we  now ! — 

And  in  the  red  and  dusky  light 

To  ambush  us  in  greenwood  bough, 

His  comrade's  face  each  warrior  saw, 

And  take  the  chance  which  fate  may  send 

Nor  marvell'd  it  was  pale  with  awe. 

To  bring  our  enterprise  to  end, 

Then  high  in  air  the  beams  were  lost, 

Or  shall  we  turn  us  to  the  main 

And  darkness  sunk  upon  the  coast. — 

As  exiles,  and  embark  agam  V — 

Ronald  to  Heaver,  a  prayer  address' d, 

Answer'd  fierce  Edward,  "  Hap  what  may, 

And  Douglas  cross'd  his  dauntless  breast ; 

In  Carrick,  Carrick's  Lord  must  stay. 

"  Saint  James  protect  us !"  Lennox  cried, 

I  would  not  minstrels  told  the  tale, 

But  reckless  Edward  spoke  aside, 

Wildfire  or  meteor7  made  us  quail." — 

"  Deem'st  thou,  Kirkpatrick,  in  that  flame 

Answer'd  the  Douglas,  "  If  my  Liege 

Red  Comyn's  angry  spirit  came, 

May  win  yon  walls  by  storm  or  siege, 

1  MS. — "  And  from  their  crags  plash'd  in  the  wave." 

Said  Bruce,  '  if  this  be  sorcerer's  show.'  " 

"  M^. — "  With  that  the  barges  near'd  the  land." 

6  MS. "  on  the  moisten'd  sand." 

•  MS. — "  A  wizard's." 

6  MS. — "  That  Clifford's  force  in  watch  were  ware." 

MS.—"  '  Gallants  be  hush'd  ;  we  soon  shall  know,' 

f  MS. — "  A  wildfire  meteor,"  &c. 

oak  to  v.                               THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                        451 

Then  were  each  brave  and  patriot  heart 

"  Dost  thou  not  rest  thee  on  my  arm  ? 

Kindled  of  new  for  loyal  part." — ' 

Do  not  my  plaid-folds  hold  thee  warm  ? 

Answer' d  Lord  Ronald,  "  Not  for  shame 

Hath  not  the  wild-bull's  treble  hide 

Would  I  that  aged  Torquil  came, 

This  targe  for  thee  and  me  supplied  ? 

And  found,  for  all  our  empty  boast, 

Is  not  Clan-Colla's  sword  of  steel  ? 

Without  a  blow  we  fled  the  coast. 

And,  trembler,  canst  thou  terror  feel  ? 

I  will  not  credit  that  this  land, 

Cheer  thee,  and  still  that  throbbing  heart; 

Bo  famed  for  warlike  heart  and  hand, 

From  Ronald's  guard  thou  shalt  not  part." 

The  nurse  of  Wallace  and  of  Bruce, 

— 0 !  many  a  shaft  at  random  sent, 

Will  long  with  tyrants  hold  a  truce." — 

Finds  mark  the  archer  little  meant ! 

"  Prove  we  our  fate— the  brunt  we'll  bide  1" 

And  many  a  word,  at  random  spoken, 

So  Boyd  and  Haye  and  Lennox  cried ; 

May  soothe  or  wound  a  heart  that's  bioken  1 

So  said,  so  vow'd,  the  leaders  all ; 

Half  soothed,  half  grieved,  half  terrified, 

So  Bruce  resolved :  "  And  in  my  hall 

Close  drew  the  page  to  Ronald's  side ; 

Since  the  Bold  Southern  make  their  home, 

A  wild  delirious  thrill  of  joy 

The  hour  of  payment  soon  shall  come,2 

Was  in  that  hour  of  agony, 

When  with  a  rough  and  rugged  host 

As  up  the  steepy  pass  he  strove, 

Clifford  may  reckon3  to  his  cost. 

Fear,  toil,  and  sorrow,  lost  in  love  ! 

Meantime,  through  well-known  bosk  and  dell, 

I'll  lead  where  we  may  shelter  well." 

XIX. 

The  barrier  of  that  iron  shore, 

XVII. 

The  rock's  steep  ledge,  is  now  climb'd  o'er , 

Now  ask  you  whence  that  wondrous  light, 

And  from  the  castle's  distant  wall, 

Whose  fairy  glow  beguiled  their  sight  ? — 

From  tower  to  tower  the  warders  call : 

It  ne'er  was  known4 — yet  gray-hair'd  eld 

The  sound  swings  over  land  and  sea,8 

A  superstitious  credence  held, 

And  marks  a  watchful  enemy. — 

That  never  did  a  mortal  hand 

They  gain'd  the  Chase,  a  wide  domain 

Wake  its  broad  glare  on  Carrick  strand ; 

Left  for  the  Castle's  silvan  reign7 

Nay,  and  that  on  the  self-same  night 

(Seek  not  the  scene — the  axe,  the  plough, 

When  Bruce  cross'd  o'er,  still  gleams  the  light. 

The  boor's  dull  fence,  have  marr'd  it  now), 

Yearly  it  gleams  o'er  mount  and  moor, 

But  then,  soft  swept  in  velvet  green 

And  glittering  wave  and  crimson' d  shore- 

The  plain  with  many  a  glade  between, 

But  whether  beam  celestial,  lent 

Whose  tangled  alleys  far  invade 

By  Heaven  to  aid  the  King's  descent, 

Tlje  depth  of  the  brown  forest  shade. 

Or  fire  hell-kindled  from  beneath, 

Here  the  tall  fern  obscured  the  lawn, 

To  lure  him  to  defeat  and  death, 

Fair  shelter  for  the  sportive  fawn ; 

Or  were  it  but  some  meteor  strange, 

There,  tufted  close  with  copsewood  green, 

Of  such  as  oft  through  midnight  range, 

Was  many  a  swelling  hillock  seen ; 

Startling  the  traveller  late  and  lone,6 

And  all  around  was  verdure  meet 

I  know  not — and  it  ne'er  was  known. 

For  pressure  of  the  fairies'  feet. 

The  glossy  holly  loved  the  park, 

XVIII. 

The  yew-tree  lent  its  shadow  dark,8 

Now  up  the  rocky  pass  they  drew, 

And  many  an  old  oak,  worn  and  bare, 

And,  Ronald,  to  his  promise  true, 

With  all  its  shiver'd  boughs,  was  there. 

Still  made  his  arm  the  stripling's  stay. 

Lovely  between,  the  moonbeams  fell 

To  aid  him  on  the  rugged  way. 

On  lawn  and  hillock,  glade  a^id  dell. 

"  Now  cheer  thee,  simple  Amadine ! 

The  gallant  Monarch  sigh'd  to  see 

Why  throbs  that  silly  heart  of  thine  ?" — 

These  glades  so  loved  in  childhood  free, 

— That  name  the  pirates  to  their  slave 

Bethinking  that,  as  outlaw,  now, 

(In  Gaelic  'tis  the  Changeling)  gave — 

He  ranged  beneath  the  forest  bough.9 

*  MS. - "  to  play  their  part." 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C. 

*  MS. — "  Since  Clifford  needs  will  make  his  home, 

x    8  MS. — "  The  dark-green  holly  loved  the  down, 

The  hour  of  reckoning  soon  shall  come." 

The  yew-tree  lent  its  shadow  hrown." 

»  MS.—"  The  Knight  shall  reckon,"  &c. 

9  "  Their  moonlight  muster  on  the  beach,  after  the  sudden 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 

extinction  of  this  portentous  flame,  and  their  midnight  march 

b  MS. — "  Such  as  through  midnight  ether  range, 

through  the  paternal  fields  of  their  royal  leader,  also  display 

Affrightening  oft  the  traveller  lone." 

much  beautiful  painting  (stanzas  15  and  19).     After  the  cas- 

MS.--" Sounds  sadly  over  land  and  sea." 

tle  is  won,  the  same  strain  is  pursued." — Jeffrky. 

452 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  T, 


XX. 

Fast  o'er  the  moonlight  Chase  they  sped. 
Well  knew  the  band  that  measured  tread, 
When,  in  retreat  or  in  advance, 
The  serried  warriors  move  at  once ; 
And  evil  were  the  luck,  if  dawn 
Descried  them  on  the  open  lawn. 
Copses  they  traverse,  brooks  they  cross, 
Strain  up  the  bank  and  o'er  the  moss. 
From  the  exhausted  page's  brow1 
Cold  drops  of  toil  are  streaming  now  ; 
With  effort  faint2  and  lengthen'd  pause, 
His  weary  step  the  stripling  draws. 
"  Nay,  droop  not  yet  !"3  the  warrior  said  ; 
"  Come,  let  me  give  thee  ease  and  aid ! 
Strong  are  mine  arms,  and  little  care 
A  weight  so  slight  as  thine  to  bear. — 
What !  wilt  thou  not  ? — capricious  boy  ! 
Then  thine  own  limbs  and  strength  employ. 
Pass  but  this  night,  and  pass  thy  care, 
I'll  place  thee  with  a  lady  fair, 
Where  thou  shalt  tune  thy  lute  to  tell 
How  Ronald  loves  fair  Isabel !" 
Worn  out,  dishearten'd,  and  dismay'd, 
Here  Amadine  let  go  the  plaid ; 
His  trembling  limbs  their  aid  refuse,4 
He  sunk  among  the  midnight  dews  !s 

XXI. 

What  may  be  done  ? — the  night  is  gone — 

The  Bruce's  band  moves  swiftly  on — 

Eternal  shame,  if  at  the  brunt 

Lord  Ronald  grace  not  battle's  front ! — 

"  See  yonder  oak,  within  whose  trunk 

Decay  a  darken'd  cell  hath  sunk ; 

Enter,  and  rest  thee  there  a  space, 

Wrap  in  my  plaid  thy  limbs,  thy  face.6 

I  will  not  be,  believe  me,  far ; 

But  must  not  quit  the  ranks  of  war. 

Well  will  I  mark  the  bosky  bourne, 

And  soon,  to  guard  thee  hence,  return. — 

Nay,  weep  not  so,  thou  simple  boy  ! 

But  sleep  in  peace,  and  wake  in  joy." 

In  silvan  lodging  close  bestow'd,7 

He  placed  the  page,  and  onward  strode 

With  strength  put  forth,  o'er  moss  and  brook, 

And  soon  the  marching  band  o'ertook. 

1  MS  — "  From  Amadyne's  exhausted  brow." 
a  MS.—"  And  double  toil,"  &c. 

3  MS.—"  Nay  fear  not  yet,"  &c. 

4  MS. "  his  weight  refuse." 

e  "  This  canto  is  not  distinguished  by  many  passages  of  ex- 
traordinary merit ;  as  it  is,  however,  full  of  business,  and  com- 
naratively  free  from  those  long  rhyming  dialogues  which  are  so 
frequent  in  the  poem,  it  is,  upon  the  whole,  spirited  and  pleas- 
.ng.  The  scene  in  which  Ronald  is  described  sheltering  Edith 
under  his  plaid,  for  the  love  which  he  bears  to  Isabel,  is,  we 
think,  more  poetically  conceived  than  any  other  in  the  whole 


XXII. 

Thus  strangely  left,  long  sobb'd  and  wept 

The  page,  till,  wearied  out,  he  slept — 

A  rough  voice  waked  his  dream — "  Nay,  here» 

Here  by  this  thicket,  pass'd  the  deer — 

Beneath  that  oak  old  Ryno  staid — 

What  have  we  here  ? — a  Scottish  plaid, 

And  in  its  folds  a  stripling  laid  ? — 

Come  forth !  thy  name  and  business  tell ! — 

What,  silent  ? — then  I  guess  thee  well 

The  spy  that  sought  old  Cuthbert's  cell, 

Wafted  from  Arran  yester  morn — 

Come,  comrades,  we  will  straight  return. 

Our  Lord  may  choose  the  rack  should  teach 

To  this  young  lurcher  use  of  speech. 

Thy  bow-string,  till  I  bind  him  fast." — 

"  Nay,  but  he  weeps  and  stands  aghast ; 

Unbound  we'll  lead  him,  fear  it  not ; 

'Tis  a  fair  stripling,  though  a  Scot." 

The  hunters  to  the  castle  sped, 

And  there  the  hapless  captive  led. 

XXIII. 

Stout  Clifford  in  the  castle-court 
Prepared  him  for  the  morning  sport ; 
And  noAV  with  Lorn  held  deep  discourse, 
Now  gave  command  for  hound  and  horse.8 
War-steeds  and  palfreys  paw'd  the  ground, 
And  many  a  deer-dog  howl'd  around. 
To  Amadine,  Lorn's  well-known  word 
Replying  to  that  Southern  Lord, 
Mix'd  with  this  clanging  din,  might  seem 
The  phantasm  of  a  fever'd  dream. 
The  tone  upon  his  ringing  ears 
Came  like  the  sounds  which  fancy  hears, 
When  in  rude  waves  or  roaring  winds 
Some  words  of  woe  the  muser  finds, 
Until  more  loudly  and  more  near, 
Their  speech  arrests  the  page's  ear.9 

XXIV. 

"  And  was  she  thus,"  said  Clifford,  "  lost  ? 
The  priest  should  rue  it  to  his  cost  t 
What  says  the  monk !" — "  The  holy  Sire 
Owns,  that  in  masquer's  quaint  attire 
She  sought  his  skiff,  disguised,  unknown 
To  all  except  to  him  alone. 

poem,  and  contains  some  touches  of  great  pathos  and  beauty 
—  Quarterly  Review. 

6  MS. — "  And  mantle  in  my  plaid  thy  face." 

7  MS. — "  In  silvan  castle  warm  bestow'd, 

He  left  the  page." 

8  MS. — "  And  row  with  Lorn  he  spoke  aside, 

And  now  to  squire  and  yeoman  cried. 
War-horse  and  palfrey,"  &c. 

9  MS. "  or  roaring  wind, 

Some  words  of  woe  his  musings  find, 
Till  spoke  more  loudly  and  more  near 
These  words  arrest  the  page's  ea*  " 


p^ntov.                               THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                       453 

But,  says  the  priest,  a  bark  from  Lorn1 

His  nerves  hath  strung — he  will  not  yield  1 

Laid  them  aboard  that  very  morn, 

Since  that  poor  breath,  that  little  word, 

A.nd  pirates  seized  her  for  their  prey. 

May  yield  Lord  Ronald  to  the  sword. — ' 

He  proffer'd  ransom-gold  to  pay, 

Clan-Colla's  dirge  is  pealing  wide, 

And  they  agreed — but  ere  told  o'er, 

The  griesly  headsman's  by  his  side ; 

The  winds  blow  loud,  the  billows  roar ; 

Along  the  greenwood  Chase  they  bend, 

They  sever'd,  and  they  met  no  more. 

And  now  then  march  has  ghastly  end  1 

He  deems — such  tempest  vex'd  the  coast — 

That  old  and  shatter'd  oak  beneath, 

Ship,  crew,  and  fugitive,  were  lost. 

They  destine  for  the  place  of  death.8 

So  let  it  be,  with  the  disgrace 

— What  thoughts  are  his,  while  all  in  vain 

And  scandal  of  her  lofty  race  !2     , 

His  eye  for  aid  explores  the  plain  ? 

Thrice  better  she  had  ne'er  been  born, 

What  thoughts,  while,  with  a  dizzy  ear, 

Than  brought  her  infamy  on  Lorn !" 

He  hears  the  death-prayer  mutter'd  near  i 

And  must  he  die  such  death  accurst, 

XXV. 

Or  will  that  bosom-secret  burst  ? 

Lord  Clifford  now  the  captive  spied ; — 

Cold  on  his  brow  breaks  terror's  dew, 

"  Whom,  Herbert,  hast  thou  there  ?"  he  cried. 

His  trembling  lips  are  livid  blue ; 

"  A  spy  we  seized  within  the  Chase, 

The  agony  of  parting  life 

A  hollow  oak  his  lurking  place." — 3 

Has  naught  to  match  that  moment's  strife  I 

"  What  tidings  can  the  youth  afford  ?" — 

"  He  plays  the  mute." — "  Then  noose  a  cord — 

XXVII. 

Unless  brave  Lorn  reverse  the  doom 

But  other  witnesses  are  nigh, 

For  his  plaid's  sake." — "  Clan-Colla's  loom," 

Who  mock  at  fear,  and  death  defy ! 

Said  Lorn,  whose  careless  glances  trace 

Soon  as  the  dire  lament  was  play'd, 

Rather  the  vesture  than  the  face, 

It  waked  the  lurking  ambuscade. 

"  Clan-Colla's  dames  such  tartans  twine ; 

The  Island  Lord  look'd  forth,  and  spied 

Wearer  nor  plaid  claims  care  of  mine. 

The  cause,  and  loud  in  fury  cried,9 

Give  him,  if  my  advice  you  crave, 

"  By  Heaven,  they  lead  the  page  to  die, 

His  own  scathed  oak  •*  and  let  him  wave 

And  mock  me  in  his  agony ! 

In  air,  unless,  by  terror  wrung, 

They  shall  abye  it !" — On  his  arm 

A  frank  confession  find  his  tongue. — 8 

Bruce  laid  strong  grasp,  "  They  shall  not  harm 

Nor  shall  he  die  without  his  rite  ! 

A  ringlet  of  the  stripling's  hair; 

— Thou,  Angus  Roy,  attend  the  sight, 

But,  till  I  give  the  word,  forbear. 

And  give  Clan-Colla's  dirge  thy  breath, 

— Douglas,  lead  fifty  of  our  force 

As  they  convey  him  to  his  death." — 

Up  yonder  hollow  water-course, 

■  0  brother !  cruel  to  the  last !" 

And  couch  thee  midway  on  the  wold, 

Through  the  poor  captive's  bosom  pass'd 

Between  the  flyers  and  their  hold ; 

The  thought,  but,  to  his  purpose  true, 

A  spear  above  the  copse  display'd, 

He  said  not,  though  he  sigh'd,  "  Adieu  1" 

Be  signal  of  the  ambush  made. 

— Edward,  with  forty  spearmen,  straight 

XXVI. 

Through  yonder  copse  approach  the  gate, 

And  will  he  keep  his  purpose  still, 

And,  when  thou  hear'st  the  battle-din, 

In  sight  of  that  last  closing  ill,' 

Rush  forward,  and  the  passage  win, 

When  one  poor  breath,  one  single  word, 

Secure  the  drawbridge — storm  the  port, 

May  freedom,  safety,  life,  afford  ? 

And  man  and  guard  the  castle-court. — 

Can  he  resist  the  instinctive  call, 

The  rest  move  slowly  forth  with  me, 

For  life  that  bids  us  barter  all  ? 

In  shelter  of  the  forest-tree, 

Love,  strong  as  death,  his  heart  hath  steel'd, 

Till  Douglas  at  his  post  I  see." 

I  MS. —  "  To  all  save  to  himself  alone. 

*  MS. —  "  Yon  scathed  oak." 

Then,  says  he,  that  a  bark  from  Lorn 

6  MS. "  by  terror  wrung 

Laid  him  aboard,"  &c. 

To  speech,  confession  finds  his  tongue." 

'  In  place  of  the  couplet  which  follows,  the  MS.  has  : — 

"  For,  stood  she  there,  and  should  refuse 

i  MS. —  "  Since  that  one  word,  that  little  breath, 

The  choice  my  better  purpose  views, 

May  speak  Lord  Ronald's  doom  of  death.  ' 

I'd  spurn  her  like  a  bond-maid  tame, 

8  MS. —  M  Beneath  that  shatter'd  old  oak-tree, 

Lost  to  |  resentment  and  to          |  shame." 

Design'd  the  slaughter-place  to  be 

(  each  sense  of  pride  and  ) 

9  MS. —  "  Soon  as  the  due  lament  was  play'd 

MS. —  "  A  spy,  whom,  guided  by  our  hound, 

The  Island  Lord  in  fury  said, 

Lurking  conceal'd  this  morn  we  found." 

1  By  Heaven  they  lead  '  "  &c. 

454                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                               canto  v, 

XXVIII. 

And  twice,  that  morn,  surprise  well  near 

Like  war-horse  eager  to  rush  on, 

Betray'd  the  secret  kept  by  fear ; 

Compell'd  to  wait  the  signal  blown,1 

Once,  when,  with  life  returning,  came 

Hid,  and  scarce  hid,  by  greenwood  bough, 

To  the  boy's  lip  Lord  Ronald's  name, 

Trembling  with  rage,  stands  Ronald  now, 

And  hardly  recollection3  drown'd 

And  in  his  grasp  his  sword  gleams  blue, 

The  accents  in  a  murmuring  sound ; 

Soon  to  be  dyed  with  deadlier  hue. — 

And  once,  when  scarce  he  could  resist 

Meanwhile  the  Bruce,  with  steady  eye, 

The  Chieftain's  care  to  loose  the  vest. 

Sees  the  dark2  death-train  moving  by, 

Drawn  tightly  o'er  his  laboring  breast. 

And,  heedful,  measures  oft  the  space 

But  then  the  Bruce's  bugle  blew, 

The  Douglas  and  his  band  must  trace, 

For  martial  work  was  yet  to  do. 

Ere  they  can  reach  their  destined  ground. 

Now  sinks  the  dirge's  wailing  sound, 

XXXI. 

How  cluster  round  the  direful  tree 

A  harder  task  fierce  Edward  waits. 

That  slow  and  solemn  company, 

Ere  signal  given,  the  castle  gates 

While  hymn  mistuned  and  mutter'd  prayer 

His  fury  had  assail'd  ;4 

The  victim  for  his  fate  prepare. — 

Such  was  his  wonted  reckless  mood, 

What  glances  o'er  the  greenwood  shade  ? 

Yet  desperate  valor  oft  made  good, 

The  spear  that  marks  the  ambuscade  ! — 

Even  by  its  daring,  venture  rude, 

"  Now,  noble  Chief !  I  leave  thee  loose ; 

Where  prudence  might  have  fail'd. 

Upon  them,  Ronald  !"  said  the  Bruce. 

Upon  the  bridge  his  strength  he  threw,6 

And  struck  the  iron  chain  in  two, 

XXIX. 

By  which  its  planks  arose  ; 

:  The  Bruce,  the  Bruce !"  to  well-known  cry 

The  warder  next  his  axe's  edge 

His  native  rocks  and  woods  reply. 

Struck  down  upon  the  threshold  ledge, 

"  The  Bruce,  the  Bruce  !"  in  that  dread  word 

'Twixt  door  and  post  a  ghastly  wedge  1* 

The  knell  of  hundred  deaths  was  heard. 

The  gate  they  may  not  close. 

The  astonish'd  Southern  gazed  at  first, 

Well  fought  the  Southern  in  the  fray, 

Where  the  wild  tempest  was  to  burst,    . 

Clifford  and  Lorn  fought  well  that  day, 

That  waked  in  that  presaging  name. 

But  stubborn  Edward  forc'd  Ins  way7 

Before,  behind,  around  it  came  ! 

Against  a  hundred  foes. 

Half-arm'd,  surprised,  on  every  side 

Loud  came  the  cry,  "  The  Bruce,  the  Bruce  P 

Hemm'd  in,  hew'd  down,  they  bled  and  died. 

No  hope  or  in  defence  or  truce, 

Deep  in  the  ring  the  Bruce  engaged, 

Fresh  combatants  pour  in  ; 

And  fierce  Clan-Colla's  broadsword  raged ! 

Mad  with  success,  and  drunk  with  gore, 

Full  soon  the  few  who  fought  were  sped, 

They  drive  the  struggling  foe  before, 

No  better  was  their  lot  who  fled, 

And  ward  on  ward  they  win. 

And  met,  'mid  terror's  wild  career, 

Unsparing  was  the  vengeful  sword, 

The  Douglas's  redoubted  spear ! 

And  limbs  were  lopp'd  and  life-blood  pour'd, 

Two  hundred  yeomen  on  that  morn 

The  cry  of  death  and  conflict  roar'd, 

The  castle  left,  and  none  return. 

And  fearful  was  the  din ! 

The  startling  horses  plunged  and  flung, 

XXX. 

Clamor'd  the  dogs  till  turrets  rung, 

Not  on  their  flight  press'd  Ronald's  brand, 

Nor  sunk  the  fearful  cry, 

A  gentler  duty  claim'd  his  hand. 

Till  not  a  foeman  was  there  found 

He  raised  the  page,  where  on  the  plain 

Alive,  save  those  who  on  the  ground 

His  fear  had  sunk  him  with  the  slain : 

Groan'd  in  their  agony  !8 

i  MS. —  "  Yet  waiting  for  the  trumpet  tone." 

i  MS. —  "  Well  fought  the  English  yeomen  then. 

a  MS.—  "  See  the  slow  death-train." 

And  Lorn  and  Clifford  play'd  the  men, 

8  MS. —  "  And  scarce  his  recollection,"  &c. 

But  Edward  mann'd  the  pass  he  won 

«  MS. —  "  A  harder  task  fierce  Edward  waits, 

Against,"  &c. 

Whose  ire  assail'd  the  castle  gates." 

8  The  concluding  stanza  of  "  The  Siege  of  Corinth"  con 

*  MS.—  "  Where  soher  thought  had  fail'd. 

tains  an  obvious,  though,  no  doubt,  an  unconscious  imitation 

Upon  the  bridge  himself  he  threw." 

of  the  preceding  nine  lines,  magnificently  expanded  through  ai 

MS.—  "  His  axe  was  steel  of  temper'd  edge. 

extent  of  about  thirty  couplets  : — 

That  truth  the  warder  well  might  pledge, 

"  All  the  living  things  that  heard 

He  sunk  upon  the  threshold  ledge  ! 

That  deadly  earth-shock  disappear'd  ; 

The  gate,"  &c. 

The  wild  birds  flew  ;  the  wild  dogs  fled, 

canto  vi.                               THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                      45& 

XXXII. 

The  pledge,  fair  Scotland's  rights  restored  1 

The  valiant  Clifford  is  no  more  f 

And  he  whose  lip  shall  touch  the  wine, 

On  Ronald's  broadsword  stream'd  his  gore. 

Without  a  vow  as  true  as  mine, 

But  better  hap  had  he  of  Lorn, 

To  hold  both  lands  and  life  at  naught, 

Who,  by  the  foemen  backward  borne, 

Until  her  freedom  shall  be  bought, — 

Yet  gain'd  with  slender  train  the  port, 

Be  brand  of  a  disloyal  Scot, 

Where  lay  liis  bark  beneath  the  fort, 

And  lasting  infamy  his  lot  P 

Aiid  cut  the  cable  loose.3 

Sit,  gentle  friends !  our  hour  of  glee 

Short  were  his  shrift  in  that  debate, 

Is  brief,  we'll  spend  it  joyously ! 

That  hour  of  fury  and  of  fate, 

Blithest  of  all  the  sun's  bright  beams, 

If  Lorn  encounter'd  Bruce  !3 

When  betwixt  storm  and  storm  he  gleams. 

Then  long  and  loud  the  victor  shout 

Well  is  our  country's  work  begun, 

From  turret  and  from  tower  rung  out, 

But  more,  far  more,  must  yet  be  done. 

The  rugged  vaults  replied ; 

Speed  messengers  the  country  through 

And  from  the  donjon  tower  on  high, 

Arouse  old  friends,  and  gather  new  ;8 

The  men  of  Carrick  may  descry 

Warn  Lanark's  knights  to  gird  their  mail, 

Saint  Andrew's  cross,  in  blazonry 

Rouse  the  brave  sons  of  Teviotdale, 

Of  silver,  waving  wide ! 

Let  Ettrich's  archers  sharp  their  darts, 

The  fairest  forms,  the  truest  hearts  I 

XXXIIL 

Call  all,  call  all !  from  Reedswair-Path, 

The  Bruce  hath  won  his  father's  hall  I4 

To  the  wild  confines  of  Cape- Wrath  ; 

— "  Welcome,  brave  friends  and  comrades  all 

Wide  let  the  news  through  Scotland  ring, 

Welcome  to  mirth  and  joy ! 

The  Northern  Eagle  claps  his  wing  1" 

The  first,  the  last,  is  welcome  here, 

From  lord  and  chieftain,  prince  and  peer, 

To  this  poor  speechless  boy. 

Great  God !  once  more  my  she's  abode 
Is  mine — behold  the  floor  I  trode 

%  Corir  of  tlje  Mts 

In  tottering  infancy  1 

, 

And  there5  the  vaulted  arch,  whose  sound 
Echoed  my  joyous  shout  and  bound  ' 

CANTO  SIXTH. 

In  boyhood,  and  that  rung  around 

I. 

To  youth's  unthinking  glee ! 

0  who,  that  shared  them,  ever  shall  forget" 

0  first,  to  thee,  all-gracious  Heaven, 

The  emotions  of  the  spirit-rousing  time, 

Then  to  my  friends,  my  thanks  be  given !" — 

When  breathless  in  the  mart  the  couriers  met, 

He  paused  a  space,  his  brow  he  cross' d — 

Early  and  late,  at  evening  and  at  prime ; 

Then  on  the  board  his  sword  he  toss'd, 

When  the  loud  cannon  and  the  merry  chime 

Yet  steaming  hot ;  with  Southern  gore 

Hail'd  news  on  news,  as  field  on  field  was 

From  hilt  to  point  'twas  crimson'd  o'er. 

won,10 

When  Hope,  long  doubtful,  soar'd  at  length 

xxxrv\ 

sublime, 

"  Bring  here,"  he  said,  "  the  mazers  four, 

And  our  glad  eyes,  awake  as  day  begun, 

My  noble  fathers  loved  of  yore.8 

Watch'd  Joy's  broad  banner  rise,  to  meet  the  ris- 

Thrice let  them  circle  round  the  board, 

ing  sun  !u 

And  howling  left  the  unburied  dead  : 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  F. 

The  camels  from  their  keepers  broke ; 
The  distant  steer  forsook  the  yoke — 

»  MS.—44  Hast  thou  forgot  1— No  !  who  can  e'er  forget." 

The  nearer  steed  plunged  o'er  the  plain, 

10  "  Who  can  avoid  conjuring  up  the  idea  of  men  with  h'oa* 

And  burst  his  girth,  and  tore  his  rein,"  &c. 

sheets  of  foolscap  scored  with  victories  rolled  round  their  hats 

'  Ir  point  of  fact,  Clifford  fell  at  Bannockbum. 

and  horns  blowing  loud  defiance  in  each  other's  mouth,  from 

»  MS. — "  And  swiftly  hoisted  sail." 

the  top  to  the  bottom  of  Pail-Mall,  or  the  Haymarket,  when 

'  MS. — "  Short  were  his  shrift,  if  in  that  hour 

he  reads  such  a  passage  ?     We  actually  hear  the  Park  and 

Of  fate,  of  fury,  and  of  power, 

Tower  guns,  and  the  clattering  of  ten  thousand  bells,  as  we 

He  'counter'd  Edward  Bruce  !" 

read,  and  stop  our  ears  from  the  close  and  sudden  intrusion  ot 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  D. 

the  clamors  of  some  hot  and  homfisted  patriot,  blowing  our- 

» MS. — "  And  see  the  vaulted  arch,"  &c. 

selves,  as  well  as  Bonaparte,  to  the  devil !     And  what  has  aW 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  E. 

this  to  do  with  Bannockburn  V — Monthly  Review. 

»  MS.—44  Be  lasting  infamy  his  lot, 

11  MS. — 44  Watch'd  Joy's  broad  banner  rise,  watch'd 

And  brand  of  <i  disloyal  Scot !" 

Triumph's  flashing  gun." 

456                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  vi 

0  these  were  hours,  when  thrilling  joy  repaid 

That  Bruce's  earliest  cares  restore 

A  long,  long   course  of  darkness,  doubts,  and 

The  speechless  page  to  Arran's  shore : 

fears ! 

Nor  think  that  long  the  quaint  disguise 

The  heart-sick  faintness  of  the  hope  delay'd, 

Conceal'd  her  from  a  sister's  eyes ; 

The  waste,  the  woe,   the   bloodshed,  and  the 

And  sister-like  in  love  they  dwell 

tears 

In  that  lone  convent's  silent  cell. 

That  track'd  with  terror  twenty  rolling  years, 

There  Bruce's  slow  assent  allows 

All  was  forgot  in  that  blithe  jubilee  ! 

Fair  Isabel  the  veil  and  vows ; 

Her  downcast  eye  even  pale  Affliction  rears, 

And  there,  her  sex's  dress  regain'd, 

To  sigh  a  thankful  prayer,  amid  the  glee, 

The  lovely  Maid  of  Lorn  remain'd, 

That  hail'd    the   Despot's  fall,   and    peace   and 

Unnamed,  unknown,  while  Scotland  far 

liberty ! 

Resounded  with  the  din  of  war ; 

And  many  a  month,  and  many  a  day, 

Such  news  o'er  Scotland's  hills  triumphant  rode, 

In  calm  seclusion  wore  away. 

When  'gainst  the  invaders  turn'd  the  battle's 

scale, 

IV. 

"When  Bruce's  banner  had  victorious  flow'd 

These  days,  these  months,  to  years  had  worn, 

O'er  Loudoun's  mountain,  and  in  Ury's  vale  -,1 

When  tidings  of  high  weight  were  borne 

When  English  blood  oft  deluged  Douglas-dale,2 

To  that  lone  island's  shore  ; 

And  fiery  Edward  routed  stout  St.  John,3 

Of  all  the  Scottish  conquests  made 

When  Randolph's  war-cry  swell'd  the  southern 

By  the  First  Edward's  ruthless  blade, 

gale,4 

His  son  retain'd  no  more, 

And   many  a  fortress,   town,  and   tower,  was 

Northward  of  Tweed,  but  Stirling's  towers, 

won, 

Beleaguer'd  by  King  Robert's  powers ; 

A.nd   Fame   still   sounded   forth    fresh   deeds   of 

And  they  took  term  of  truce,6 

glory  done. 

If  England's  King  should  not  relieve 

The  siege  ere  John  the  Baptist's  eve, 

II. 

To  yield  them  to  the  Bruce. 

Blithe  tidings  flew  from  baron's  tower, 

England  was  roused — on  every  side 

To  peasant's  cot,  to  forest-bower, 

Courier  and  post  and  herald  hied, 

And  waked  the  solitary  cell, 

To  summon  prince  and  peer, 

Where  lone  Saint  Bride's  recluses  dwell. 

At  Berwick-bounds  to  meet  their  Liege,6 

Princess  no  more,  fair  Isabel, 

Prepared  to  raise  fair  Stirling's  siege, 

A  vot'ress  of  the  order  now, 

With  buckler,  brand,  and  spear. 

Say  did  the  rule  that  bid  thee  wear 

The  term  was  nigh — they  muster'd  fast, 

Dim  veil  and  woollen  scapulaire, 

By  beacon  and  by  bugle-blast 

And  reft  thy  locks  of  dark-brown  hair, 

Forth  marshall'd  for  the  field  ; 

That  stern  and  rigid  vow, 

There  rode  each  knight  of  noble  name, 

Did  it  condemn  the  transport  high, 

There  England's  hardy  archers  came, 

Which  glisten'd  in  thy  watery  eye, 

The  land  they  trode  seem'd  all  on  flame, 

When  minstrel  or  when  palmer  told 

With  banner,  blade,  and  shield  ! 

Each  fresh  exploit  of  Bruce  the  bold  ? — 

And  not  famed  England's  powers  alone, 

And  whose  the  lovely  form,  that  shares 

Renown'd  in  arms,  the  summons  own ; 

Thy  anxious  hopes,  thy  fears,  thy  prayers  ? 

For  Neustria's  knights  obey'd, 

No  sister  she  of  convent  shade ; 

Gascogne  hath  lent  her  horsemen  good,T 

So  say  these  locks  in  lengthen'd  braid, 

And  Cambria,  but  of  late  subdued, 

So  say  the  blushes  and  the  sighs, 

Sent  forth  her  mountain-multitude,* 

The  tremors  that  unbidden  rise, 

And  Connoght  pour'd  from  waste  and  -wood 

When,  mingled  with  the  Bruce's  fame, 

Her  hundred  tribes,  whose  sceptre  rude 

The  brave  Lord  Ronald's  praises  came. 

Dark  Eth  O'Connor  sway'd.9 

III. 

Believe,  his  father's  castle  won, 

V. 

Right  to  devoted  Caledon 

And  his  bold  enterprise  begun, 

The  storm  of  war  rolls  slowV  on,10 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G.                a  Ibid.  Note  3  H. 

7  The  MS.  has  not  this  line. 

B  Ibid.  Note  3  I.                                   4  Ibid.  Note  3  K. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  N.          »  Ibid.  Note  3  O. 

*  Ibid.  Note  3L.                                e  ibid.  Note  3  M. 

i°  MS  — "  The  gathering  storm  of  war  rolls  on.' 

IANTO  VI. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES, 


451 


With  menace  deep  and  dread ; 
So  the  dark  clouds,  with  gathering  power, 
Suspend  awhile  the  threaten'd  shower, 
Till  every  peak  and  summit  lower 

Round  the  pale  pilgrim's  head. 
Not  with  such  pilgrim's  startled  eye 
King  Robert  mark'd  the  tempest  nigh ! 

Resolved  the  brunt  to  bide, 
His  royal  summons  warn'd  the  land, 
That  all  who  own'd  their  King's  command 
Should  instant  take  the  spear  and  brand,1 

To  combat  at  his  side. 
0  who  may  tell  the  sons  of  fame, 
That  at  King  Robert's  bidding  came, 

To  battle  for  the  right ! 
From  Cheviot  to  the  shores  of  Ross, 
From  Solway-Sands  to  Marshal' s-Moss,2 

All  boun'd  them  for  the  fight. 
Such  news  the  royal  courier  tells, 
Who  came  to  rouse  dark  Arran's  dells ; 
But  farther  tidings  must  the  ear 
Of  Isabel  in  secret  hear. 
These  in  her  cloister  walk,  next  morn, 
Thus  shared  she  with  the  Maid  of  Lorn. 

VI. 

■  My  Edith,  can  I  tell  how  dear 
@ur  intercourse  of  hearts  sincere 

Hath  been  to  Isabel  ? — 
Judge  then  the  sorrow  of  my  heart, 
When  I  must  say  the  words,  We  part ! 

The  cheerless  convent-cell 
Was  not,  sweet  maiden,  made  for  thee ; 
Go  thou  where  thy  vocation  free 

On  happier  fortunes  fell. 
Nor,  Edith,  judge  thyself  betray'd, 
Though  Robert  knows  that  Lorn's  high  Maid 
And  his  poor  silent  page  were  one. 
Versed  in  the  fickle  heart  of  man,3 
Earnest  and  anxious  hath  he  look'd 
How  Ronald's  heart  the  message  brook'd 
That  gave  him,  with  her  last  farewell, 
The  charge  of  Sister  Isabel, 
To  think  upon  thy  better  right, 
And  keep  the  faith  his  promise  plight. 
Forgive  him  for  thy  sister's  sake, 
At  first  if  vain  repinings  wake — 4 

Long  since  that  mood  is  gone : 
Now  dwells  he  on  thy  juster  claims, 

i  MS. — "  Should  instant  belt  them  with  the  brand." 

•  MS. — "  From  Solway's  sands  to  wild  Cape-Wrath, 

From  Hay's  Rinns  to  Colbrand's  Path." 
s  MS. — "  And  his  mute  page  were  one. 

For,  versant  in  the  heart  of  man." 

•  MS. — "  If  brief  and  vain  repinings  wake." 
»  MS. — "  Her  lover's  alter'd  mood  to  try." 

•  MS. — "  Her  aged  sire  had  own'd  his  reign." 
"  The  MS.  here  presents,  erased — 

"But  all  was  overruled — a  band 
58 


And  oft  his  breach  of  faith  he  blames — 
Forgive  him  for  thine  own !" — 

VII. 
"  No !  never  to  Lord  Ronald's  bower 

Will  I  again  as  paramour" 

"  Nay,  hush  thee,  too  impatient  maid, 
Until  my  final  tale  be  said ! — 
The  good  King  Robert  would  engage 
Edith  once  more  his  elfin  page, 
3y  her  own  heart,  and  her  own  eye, 
Her  lover's  penitence  to  try — * 
Safe  in  his  royal  charge  and  free, 
Should  such  thy  final  purpose  be, 
Again  unknown  to  seek  the  cell, 
And  live  and  die  with  Isabel." 
Thus  spoke  the  maid — King  Robert's  eye 
Might  have  some  glance  of  policy ; 
Dunstaffnage  had  the  monarch  ta'en, 
And  Lorn  had  own'd  King  Robert's  reign ;' 
Her  brother  had  to  England  fled, 
And  there  in  banishment  was  dead  ; 
Ample,  through  exile,  death,  and  flight, 
O'er  tower  and  land  was  Edith's  right ; 
This  ample  right  o'er  tower  and  land 
Were  safe  in  Ronald's  faithful  hand. 

VIII. 

Embarrass'd  eye  and  blushing  cheek 
Pleasure  and  shame,  and  fear  bespeak  I 
Yet  much  the  reasoning  Edith  made : 
"  Her  sister's  faith  she  must  upbraid, 
Who  gave  such  secret,  dark  and  dear, 
In  council  to  another's  ear. 
Why  should  she  leave  the  peaceful  cell  ? — 
How  should  she  part  with  Isabel  ? — 
How  wear  that  strange  attire  agen  ? 
How  risk  herself  'midst  martial  men  ? — 
And  how  be  guarded  on  the  way  ?— 
At  least  she  might  entreat  delay." 
Kind  Isabel,  with  secret  smile, 
Saw  and  forgave  the  maiden's  wile, 
Reluctant  to  be  thought  to  move 
At  the  first  call  of  truant  love.7 

IX. 

Oh,  blame  her  not !— when  zephyrs  wake. 
The  aspen's  trembling  leaves  must  shake ; 
When  beams  the  sun  tlirough  April's  shower, 
It  needs  must  bloom,  the  violet  flower ; 

From  Arran's  mountains  left  the  land  ; 
Their  chief,  MacLouis,  had  the  care 
The  speechless  Amadine  to  bear 

To  Bruce,  with  j  *°vn"nce  j  as  behooved 
To  page  the  monarch  dearly  loved." 
With  one  verbal  alteration  these  lines  occur  hereafter — the 
poet  having  postponed  them,  in  order  to  apologize  more  at 
length  for  Edith's  acquiescence  in  an  arrangement  not,  «e» 
tainly,  at  first  sight,  over  delicate. 


45.1 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI 


And  Love,  howe'er  the  maiden  strive, 
Must  with  reviving  hope  revive  ! 
A  thousand  soft  excuses  came, 
To  plead  his  cause  'gainst  virgin  shame. 
Pledged  by  their  sires  in  earliest  youth, 
He  had  her  plighted  faith  and  truth — 
Then,  'twas  her  Liege's  strict  command, 
And  she,  beneath  his  royal  hand, 
A  ward  in  person  and  in  land : — 
And,  last,  she  was  resolved  to  stay 
Only  brief  space — one  little  day — 
Close  hidden  in  her  safe  disguise 
From  all,  but  most  from  Ronald's  eyes — 
But  once  to  see  him  more ! — nor  blame 
Her  wish — to  hear  him  name  her  name  !- 
Then,  to  bear  back  to  solitude 
The  thought  he  had  his  falsehood  rued ! 
But  Isabel,  who  long  had  seen 
Her  pallid  cheek  and  pensive  mien, 
And  well  herself  the  cause  might  know, 
Though  innocent,  of  Edith's  woe, 
Joy'd,  generous,  that  revolving  time 
Gave  means  to  expiate  the  crime. 
High  glow'd  her  bosom  as  she  said, 
"  Well  shall  her  sufferings  be  repaid !" 
Now  came  the  parting  hour — a  band 
From  Arran's  mountains  left  the  land ; 
Their  chief,  Fitz-Louis,1  had  the  care 
The  speechless  Amadine  to  bear 
To  Bruce,  with  honor,  as  behooved 
To  page  the  monarch  dearly  loved. 


The  King  had  deem'd  the  maiden  bright 
Should  reach  him  long  before  the  fight, 
But  storms  and  fate  her  course  delay : 
It  was  on  eve  of  battle-day, 
When  o'er  the  Gillie's-hill  she  rode. 
The  landscape  like  a  furnace  glow'd, 
And  far  as  e'er  the  eye  was  borne, 
The  lances  waved  like  autumn-corn. 


i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P. 

2  MS. — "  Nearest  and  plainest  to  the  eye." 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Q,. 

*  MS. — "  One  close  beneath  the  hill  was  laid." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R. 

6  "  As  a  reward  for  the  loyalty  and  distinguished  bravery  of 
the  men  of  Ayr  on  the  occasion  referred  to  in  the  text,  King 
Robert  the  Bruce  granted  them  upwards  of  1300  Scots  acres 
of  land,  part  of  the  bailliery  of  Kyle  Stewart,  his  patrimonial 
inheritance,  lying  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  town  of 
Ayr,  which  grant  King  James  VI.  confirmed  to  their  succes- 
sors by  two  charters  ;  one  to  the  freemen  of  Newton-upon-Ayr, 
the  other  to  the  freemen  of  Prestwick,  both  boroughs  of  barony 
in  the  same  parish,  with  all  the  peculiarities  of  the  original 
constitution. 

"  The  former  charter  contains  forty-eight  freedoms  or  baro- 
nies— as  these  subdivisions  are  called — and  the  latter  thirty- 
six.  The  right  of  succession  to  these  freeholds  is  limited.  A 
son  succeeds  his  father,  nor  can  his  right  of  succession  be  any- 


In  battles  four  beneath  their  eye,2 
The  forces  of  King  Robert  lie." 
And  one  below  the  hill  was  laid,4 
Reserved  for  rescue  and  for  aid ; 
And  three,  advanced,  form'd  vaward-line, 
'Twixt  Bannock's  brook  and  Niniau's  slirine. 
Detach'd  was  each,  yet  each  so  nigh 
As  well  might  mutual  aid  supply. 
Beyond,  the  Southern  host  appears,6 
A  boundless  wilderness  of  spears, 
Whose  verge  or  rear  the  anxious  eye 
Strove  far,  but  strove  in  vain,  to  spy. 
Thick  flashing  in  the  evening  beam, 
Glaives,  lances,  bills,  and  banners  gleam ; 
And  where  the  heaven  join'd  with  the  hill, 
Was  distant  armor  flashing  still, 
So  wide,  so  far  the  boundless  host 
Seem'd  in  the  blue  horizon  lost. 

XL 

Down  from  the  lull  the  maiden  pass'd, 
At  the  wild  show  of  war  aghast ; 
And  traversed  first  the  rearward  host, 
Reserved  for  aid  where  needed  most. 
The  men  of  Carrack  and  of  Ayr, 
Lennox  and  Lanark,  too,  were  there,6 

And  all  the  western  land ; 
With  these  the  valiant  of  the  Isles 
Beneath  their  chieftains  rank'd  their  files, 

In  many  a  plaided  band. 
There,  in  the  centre,  proudly  raised, 
The  Bruce's  royal  standard  blazed, 
And  there  Lord  Ronald's  banner  bore 
A  galley  driven  by  sail  and  oar. 
A  wild,  yet  pleasing  contrast,  made 
Warriors  in  mail  and  plate  array'd, 
With  the  plumed  bonnet  and  the  plaid 

By  these  Hebrideans  worn ; 
But  O !  unseen  for  three  long  years, 
Dear  was  the  garb  of  mountaineers 

To  the  fair  Maid  of  Lorn ! 


wise  affected  by  the  amount  of  his  father's  debts.  A  widow 
having  no  son  may  enjoy  her  husband's  freehold  as  long  as  she 
lives,  but  at  her  death  it  reverts  to  the  community,  the  female 
line  being  excluded  from  the  right  of  succession.  Nor  can  any 
freeman  dispose  of  his  freehold  except  to  the  community,  who 
must,  within  a  certain  time,  dispose  of  it  to  a  neutral  person, 
as  no  freeman  or  baron  can  possess  more  than  one  allotment, 
whereby  the  original  number  of  freemen  is  always  kept  up. 

"  Each  freeholder  has  a  vote  in  the  election  of  the  baillies, 
who  have  a  jurisdiction  over  the  freemen  for  the  recovery  of 
small  debts.  But  though  they  have  the  power  of  committing 
a  freeman  to  prison,  they  cannot,  in  right  of  their  office,  lock 
the  prison  doors  on  him,  but  if  he  leaves  the  prison  without 
the  proper  liberation  of  the  baillies,  he  thereby  forfeits  his 
baronship  or  freedom." — Inquisit.  Special,  pp.  72,  535,  782. — 
Sir  John  Sinclair's  Statistical  Account  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii 
pp.  263,  264,  581.— Chalmers'  Caledonia,  vol.  iii.  pp.  504 
508.— Note  from  Mr.  Joseph  Train  (1840). 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  3  S. 


canto  vi.                               THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                        45b 

For  one  she  look'd — but  he  was  far 

Was  seen  the  glove  of  Argentine  ; 

Busied  amid  the  ranks  of  war — 

Truncheon  or  leading  staff  he  lacks, 

~Y  et  with  affection's  troubled  eye 

Bearing,  instead,  a  battle-axe. 

She  mark'd  his  banner  boldly  fly, 

He  ranged  his  soldiers  for  the  fight, 

Ga\  e  on  the  countless  foe  a  glance, 

Accoutred  thus,  in  open  sight 

And  thought  on  battle's  desperate  chance. 

Of  either  host. — Three  bow-shots  far, 

Paused  the  deep  front  of  England's  war, 

XII. 

And  rested  on  their  arms  awhile, 

To  centre  of  the  vaward-line 

To  close  and  rank  their  warlike  file, 

Fitz-Louis  guided  Amadine.1 

And  hold  high  council,  if  that  night 

Arm'd  all  on  foot,  that  host  appears 

Should  view  the  strife,  or  dawning  fight. 

A  serried  mass  of  glimmering  spears. 

There  stood  the  Marchers'  warlike  band, 

XIV. 

The  warriors  there  of  Lodon's  land ; 

0  gay,  yet  fearful3  to  behold, 

Ettrick  and  Liddell  bent  the  yew, 

Flashing  with  steel  and  rough  with  gold, 

A  band  of  archers  fierce,  though  few ; 

And  bristled  o'er  with  bills  and  spears, 

The  men  of  Nith  and  Annan's  vale, 

With  plumes  and  pennons  waving  fair, 

And  the  bold  Spears  of  Teviotdale  ; — 

Was  that  bright  battle-front !  for  there 

The  dauntless  Douglas  these  obey 

Rode  England's  King  and  peers : 

And  the  young  Stuart's  gentle  sway. 

And  who,  that  saw  that  monarch  ride, 

Northeastward  by  Saint  Ninian's  shrine, 

His  kingdom  battled  by  his  side, 

Beneath  fierce  Randolph's  charge,  combine 

Could  then  his  direful  doom  foretell ! — 

The  warriors  whom  the  hardy  North 

Fair  was  Ms  seat  in  knightly  selle, 

From  Tay  to  Sutherland  sent  forth. 

And  in  his  sprightly  eye  was  set 

The  rest  of  Scotland's  war -array 

Some  spark  of  the  Plantagenet. 

With  Edward  Bruce  to  westward  lay, 

Though  light  and  wandering  was  his  glance, 

Where  Bannock,  with  his  broken  bank 

It  flash'd  at  sight  of  shield  and  lance. 

And  deep  ravine,  protects  their  flank. 

"  Know'st  thou,"  he  said,  "  De  Argentine, 

Behind  them,  screen'd  by  sheltering  wood, 

Yon  knight  who  marshals  thus  their  fine  ?" — • 

The  gallant  Keith,  Lord  Marshal,  stood : 

"  The  tokens  on  his  helmet  tell 

His  men-at-arms  bear  mace  and  lance, 

The  Bruce,  my  Liege :  I  know  him  well." — 

And  plumes  that  wave,  and  helms  that  glance. 

"  And  shall  the  audacious  traitor  brave 

Thus  fair  divided  by  the  King, 

The  presence  where  our  banners  wave  ?" — 

Centre,  and  right,  and  left-ward  wing, 

"  So  please  my  Liege,"  said  Argentine, 

Composed  his  front ;  nor  distant  far 

"  Were  he  but  horsed  on  steed  like  mine, 

Was  strong  reserve  to  aid  the  war. 

To  give  him  fair  and  knightly  chance, 

And  'twas  to  front  of  this  array, 

I  would  adventure  forth  my  lance." — 

Her  guide  and  Edith  made  their  way. 

"  In  battle-day,"  the  King  replied, 

"  Nice  tourney  rules  are  set  aside. 

XIII. 

— Still  must  the  rebel  dare  our  wrath  ? 

Here  must  they  pause  ;  for,  in  advance 

Set  on  him — sweep  him  from  our  path  1" 

As  far  as  one  might  pitch  a  lance, 

And,  at  King  Edward's  signal,  soon 

The  Monarch  rode  along  the  van,2 

Dash'd  from  the  ranks  Sir  Henry  Boune. 

The  foe's  approaching  force  to  scan, 

His  line  to  marshal  and  to  range, 

XV. 

And  ranks  to  square,  and  fronts  to  change. 

Of  Hereford's  high  blood4  he  came, 

Alone  he  rode — from  head  to  heel 

A  race  renown'd  for  knightly  fame. 

Sheathed  in  his  ready  arms  of  steel ; 

He  burn'd  before  his  Monarch's  eye 

Nor  mounted  yet  on  war-horse  wight, 

To  do  some  deed  of  chivalry. 

But,  till  more  near  the  shock  of  fight, 

He  spurr'd  his  steed,  he  couch'd  his  lance, 

Reining  a  palfrey  low  and  light. 

And  darted  on  the  Bruce  at  once. 

A  diadem  of  gold  was  set 

— As  motionless  as  rocks,  that  bide 

Above  his  bright  steel  basinet, 

The  wrath  of  the  advancing  tide, 

And  clasp'd  within  its  glittering  twine 

The  Bruce  stood  fast. — Each  breast  beat  high, 

i  MS.—"  Her  guard  conducted  Amadine." 

3  MS.— "  O  j  ,fair'      I  yet  fearful, ' '  & c. 
(  bright,  ) 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  3  T. 

4  MS.—"  Princely  blood,"  &c 

160 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI. 


And  dazzled  was  each  gazing  eye — 
The  heart  had  hardly  time  to  think, 
The  eyelid  scarce  had  time  to  wink,1 
While  on  the  King,  like  flash  of  flame, 
Spurr'd  to  full  speed  the  war-horse  came ! 
The  partridge  may  the  falcon  mock, 
If  that  slight  palfrey  stand  the  shock — 
But,  swerving  from  the  Knight's  career, 
Just  as  they  met,  Bruce  shunn'd  the  spear. 
Onward  the  baffled  warrior  bore 
His  course — -but  soon  his  course  was  o'er ! — 
High  in  his  stirrups  stood  the  King, 
And  gave  his  battle-axe  the  swing. 
Right  on  De  Boune,  the  whiles  he  pass'd, 
Fell  that  stern  dint — the  first — the  last ! — 
Such  strength  upon  the  blow  was  put, 
The  helmet  crash'd  like  hazel-nut ; 
The  axe-shaft,  with  its  brazen  clasp, 
Y/as  shiver'd  to  the  gauntlet  grasp, 
Springs  from  the  blow  the  startled  horse, 
Drops  to  the  plain  the  lifeless  corse ; 
— First  of  that  fatal  field,  how  soon, 
How  sudden,  fell  the  fierce  De  Boune  ! 

XVI. 

One  pitying  glance  the  Monarch  sped, 

Where  on  the  field  his  foe  lay  dead ; 

Then  gently  turn'd  his  palfrey's  head, 

And,  pacing  back  his  sober  way, 

Slowly  he  gain'd  his  own  array. 

There  round  their  King  the  leaders  crowd 

And  blame  his  recklessness  aloud, 

That  risk'd  'gainst  each  adventurous  spear 

A  life  so  valued  and  so  dear. 

His  broken  weapon's  shaft  survey'd 

The  King,  and  careless  answer  made, — 

"  My  loss  may  pay  my  folly's  tax ; 

Fve  broke  my  trusty  battle-axe." 

Twas  then  Fitz-Louis,  bending  low, 

Did  Isabel's  commission  show  ; 

Edith,  disguised,  at  distance  stands, 

And  hides  her  blushes  with  her  hands. 

The   Monarch's  brow  has   changed   its 

hue, 
Away  the  gory  axe  he  threw, 
While  to  the  seeming  page  he  drew, 

Clearing  war's  terrors  from  his  eye. 
Her  hand  with  gentle  ease  he  took, 
With  such  a  kind  protecting  look, 

As  to  a  weak  and  timid  boy 
Might  speak,  that  elder  brother's  care 
And  elder  brother's  love  were  there. 


I  MS.—"  The  heart  took  hardly  time  to  think, 
The  eyelid  scarce  had  space  to  wink." 

>  MS.—"  Just  as  they  closed  in  full  career, 

Bruce  swerved  the  palfrey  from  the  spear. 
MS. "  her  wonted  pranks,  I  see." 


XVII. 
"  Fear  not,"  he  said,  "  young  Amadine  !" 
Then  whisper'd,  "  Still  that  name  be  thine. 
Fate  plays  her  wonted  fantasy,8 
Kind  Amadine,  with  thee  and  me, 
And  sends  thee  here  in  doubtful  hour. 
But  soon  we  are  beyond  her  power ; 
For  on  this  chosen  battle-plain, 
Victor  or  vanquish'd,  I  remain. 
Do  thou  to  yonder  hill  repair ; 
The  followers  of  our  host  are  there, 
And  all  who  may  not  weapons  bear. — 
Fitz-Louis,  have  him  in  thy  care. — 
Joyful  we  meet,  if  all  go  well ; 
If  not,  in  Arran's  holy  cell 
Thou  must  take  part  with  Isabel ; 
For  brave  Lord  Ronald,  too,  hath  sworn, 
Not  to  regain  the  Maid  of  Lorn 
(The  bliss  on  earth  he  covets  most), 
Would  he  forsake  his  battle-post, 
Or  shun  the  fortune  that  may  fall 
To  Bruce,  to  Scotland,  and  to  all. — 
But,  hark !  some  news  these  trumpets  tell ; 
Forgive  my  haste — farewell ! — farewell !" — 
And  in  a  lower  voice  he  said, 
"  Be  of  good  cheer — farewell,  sweet  maid  1"— 

XVIII. 
"  What  train  of  dust,  with  trumpet-sound 
And  glimmering  spears,  is  wheeling  round 
Our  leftward  flank  ?"4 — the  Monarch  cried, 
To  Moray's  Earl  who  rode  beside. 
"  Lo  !  round  thy  station  pass  the  foes  !6 
Randolph,  thy  wreath  has  lost  a  rose." 
The  Earl  his  visor  closed,  and  said, 
"  My  wreath  shall  bloom,  or  life  shall  fade.— 
Follow,  my  household  !" — And  they  go 
Like  lightning  on  the  advancing  foe. 
"  My  Liege,"  said  noble  Douglas  then, 
"  Earl  Randolph  has  but  one  to  ten  :6 
Let  me  go  forth  his  band  to  aid !" — 
— "  Stir  not.     The  error  he  hath  made, 
Let  him  amend  it  as  he  may ; 
I  will  not  weaken  mine  array." 
Then  loudly  rose  the  conflict-cry, 
And  Douglas's  brave  heart  swell'd  high,— 
"  My  Liege,"  he  said,  "  with  patient  ear 
I  must  not  Moray's  death-knell  hear  !" — 
"  Then  go — but  speed  thee  back  again." — 
Forth  sprung  the  Douglas  with  Ins  train : 
But,  when  they  won  a  rising  hill, 
He  bade  his  followers  hold  them  still  — 


*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U 

6  MS. — "  Lo !  <    ,  ,      thy  post  have  pass'd  the  foes, 

f  through  ) 

6  M   . — "  Earl  Randolph's  strength  is  one  to  ten." 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISjJ&S. 


46. 


"  See,  see  !  the  routed  Southern  fly  1 
The  Earl  hath  won  the  victory. 
Lo !  where  yon  steeds  run  masterless, 
His  banner  towers  above  the  press. 
Rein  up  1  our  presence  would  impair 
The  fame  we  come  too  late  to  share." 
Back  to  the  host  the  Douglas  rode, 
And  soon  glad  tidings  are  abroad,1 
That,  Dayncourt  by  stout  Randolph  slain, 
His  followers  fled  with  loosen'd  rein. — 
That  skirmish  closecjjfche  busy  day, 
And  couch'd  in  battle's  prompt  array, 
Each  army  on  their  weapons  lay. 

XIX. 

It  was  a  night  of  lovely  June, 

High  rode  in  cloudless  blue  the  moon, 

Demayet  smiled  beneath  her  ray ; 
Old  Stirling's  towers  arose  in  light, 
And,  twined  in  links  of  silver  bright, 

Her  winding  river  lay.2 
All,  gentle  planet !  other  sight 
Shall  greet  thee  next  returning  night, 
Of  broken  arms  and  banners  tore, 
And  marshes  dark  with  human  gore, 
And  piles  of  slaughter'd  men  and  horse, 
And  Forth  that  floats  the  frequent  corse, 
And  many  a  wounded  wretch  to  plain 
Beneath  thy  silver  light  in  vain ! 
But  now,  from  England's  host,  the  cry 
Thou  hear'st  of  wassail  revelry, 
While  from  the  Scottish  legions  pass 
The  murmur'd  prayer,  the  early  mass  ! — 
Here,  numbers  had  presumption  given ; 
There,  bands  o'er-match'd  sought  aid  from 
Heaven. 

XX. 

On  Gillie's-hill,  whose  height  commands 
The  battle-field,  fair  Edith  stands, 
With  serf  and  page  unfit  for  war, 
To  eye  the  conflict  from  afar. 
0  !  with  what  doubtful  agony 
She  sees  the  dawning  tint  the  sky ! — 
Now  on  the  Ochils  gleams  the  sun, 
And  glistens  now  Demayet  dun; 
Is  it  the  lark  that  carols  shrill, 
Is  it  the  bittern's  early  hum  ? 


i  MS.—"  Back  to  his  post  the  Douglas  rode, 
And  soon  the  tidings  are  abroad." 
*  The  MS.  here  interposes  the  couplet — 
"  Glancing  by  fits  from  hostile  line, 
Armor  and  lance  return'd  the  shine." 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  3  V. 

«  "  Although  Mr.  Scott  retains  that  necessary  and  charac- 
teristic portion  of  his  peculiar  and  well-known  manner,  he  is 
free,  we  think,  from  any  faulty  self-imitation  ;  and  the  battle 
■f  Pannookburn  will  remain  forever  as  a  monument  of  the 


No ! — distant,  but  increasing  still, 

The  trumpet's  sound  swells  up  the  hill, 

With  the  deep  murmur  of  the  drum 
Responsive  from  the  Scottish  host, 
Pipe-clang  and  bugle  sound  were  toss'd,3 
His  breast  and  brow  each  soldier  cross'd, 

And  started  from  the  ground  ; 
Arm'd  and  array'd  for  instant  fight, 
Rose  archer,  spearman,  squire  and  knight, 
And  in  the  pomp  of  battle  bright 

The  dread  battalia  frown'd.* 

XXI. 

Now  onward,  and  in  open  view, 

The  countless  ranks  of  England  drew,8 

Dark  rolling  like  the  ocean-tide, 

When  the  rough  west  hath  chafed  his  pride. 

And  his  deep  roar  sends  challenge  wide 

To  all  that  bars  his  way ! 
In  front  the  gallant  archers  trode, 
The  men-at-arms  behind  them  rode, 
And  midmost  of  the  phalanx  broad 

The  Monarch  held  his  sway. 
Beside  him  many  a  war-horse  fumes, 
Around  him  waves  a  sea  of  plumes, 
Where  many  a  knight  in  battle  known, 
And  some  who  spurs  had  first  braced  on, 
And  deem'd  that  fight  should  see  them  won 

King  Edward's  hests  obey. 
De  Argentine  attends  his  side, 
With  stout  De  Valence,  Pembroke's  pride, 
Selected  champions  from  the  train, 
To  wait  upon  his  bridle-rein. 
Upon  the  Scottish  foe  he  gazed — 
— At  once,  before  his  sight  amazed, 

Sunk  banner,  spear,  and  shield  ; 
Each  weapon-point  is  downward  sent, 
Each  warrior  to  the  ground  is  bent. 
"  The  rebels,  Argentine,  repent ! 

For  pardon  they  have  kneel'd." — 6 
"  Aye  ! — but  they  bend  to  other  powers, 
And  other  pardon  sue  than  ours ! 
See  where  yon  bare-foot  Abbot  stands, 
And  blesses  them  with  lifted  hands  !7 
Upon  the  spot  where  they  have  kneel'd, 
These  men  will  die,  or  win  the  field." — 
— "  Then  prove  we  if  they  die  or  win ! 
Bid  Gloster's  Earl  the  fight  begin." 


fertile  poetical  powers  of  a  writer,  who  had  before  so  greav.i 
excelled  in  this  species  of  description."— Monthly  Review. 

"  The  battle,  we  think,  is  not  comparable  to  the  battle  ir 
Marmion,  though  nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  scene  of  con- 
trasted repose  and  thoughtful  anxiety  by  which  it  is  in  trod  nan 
(stanzas  xix.  xx.  xxi.)" — Jeffrey. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  W. 

e  MS.—"  De  Argentine  !  the  cowards  repent  I 
For  mercy  they  have  kneel'd." 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 


462 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI, 


XXII. 
Earl  Gilbert  waved  his  truncheon  high, 

Just  as  the  Northern  ranks  arose, 
Signal  for  England's  archery 

To  halt  and  bend  their  bows. 
Then  stepp'd  each  yeoman  forth  a  pace, 
Glanced  at  the  intervening  space, 

And  raised  his  left  hand  high  ; 
To  the  right  ear  the  cords  they  bring — ' 
— At  once  ten  thousand  bow-strings  ring, 

Ten  thousand  arrows  fly  ! 
Nor  paused  on  the  devoted  Scot 
The  ceaseless  fury  of  their  shot ; 

As  fiercely  and  as  fast, 
Forth  whistling  came  the  gray-goose  wing 
As  the  wild  hailstones  pelt  and  ring 

Adown  December's  blast. 
Nor  mountain  targe  of  tough  bull-hide, 
Nor  lowland  mail,  that  storm  may  bide ; 
Woe,  woe  to  Scotland's  banner'd  pride, 

If  the  fell  shower  may  last ! 
Upon  the  right,  behind  the  wood, 
Each  by  his  steed  dismounted,  stood 

The  Scottish  chivalry  ; — 
With  foot  in  stirrup,  hand  on  mane, 
Fierce  Edward  Bruce  can  scarce  restrain 
His  own  keen  heart,  his  eager  tram, 
Until  the  archers  gain'd  the  plain  ; 

Then,  "  Mount,  ye  gallants  free  !" 
He  cried ;  and,  vaulting  from  the  ground, 
His  saddle  every  horseman  found. 
On  high  their  glittering  crests3  they  toss, 
As  springs  the  wild-fire  from  the  moss ; 
The  shield  hangs  down  on  every  breast, 
Each  ready  lance  is  in  the  rest, 

And  loud  shouts  Edward  Bruce, — - 
"  Forth,  Marshal !  on  the  peasant  foe ! 
We'll  tame  the  terrors  of  their  bow, 

And  cut  the  bow-string  loose  !'" 

XXIII. 

Then  spurs  were  dash'd  in  chargers'  flanks, 
They  rush'd  among  the  archer  ranks. 
No  spears  were  there  the  shock  to  let, 
No  stakes  to  turn  the  charge  were  set, 
And  how  shall  yeoman's  armor  slight, 
Stand  the  long  lance  and  mace  of  might  ? 
Or  what  may  their  short  swords  avail, 
'Gainst  barbed  horse  and  shirt  of  mail  ? 
Amid  their  ranks  the  chargers  sprung, 
High  o'er  their  heads  the  weapons  swung, 
And  shriek  and  groan  and  vengeful  shout 
Give  note  of  triumph  and  of  rout ! 

1  MS. — "  Drew  to  his  ear  the  silken  string." 
a  MS.—"  Their  brandish'd  spears." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Y. 

4  Ibid.  Note  3  Z. 

6  MS.—"  An  arm'd  foe." 


Awhile,  with  stubborn  hardihood, 

Their  English  hearts  the  strife  made  good. 

Borne  down  at  length  on  every  side, 

Compell'd  to  flight,  they  scatter  wide. — 

Let  stags  of  Sherwood  leap  for  glee, 

And  bound  the  deer  of  Dallom-Lee  ! 

The  broken  bows  of  Bannock's  shore 

Shall  in  the  greenwood  ring  no  more ! 

Bound  Wakefield's  merry  May-pole  n  )w, 

The  maids  may  twine  the  summer  bough, 

May  northward  look  wiik  longing  glance, 

For  those  that  wont  to  lead  the  dance, 

For  the  blithe  archers  look  in  vain ! 

Broken,  dispersed,  in  flight  o'erta'en, 

Pierced  through,  trode  down,  by  thousands  slain, 

They  cumber  Bamiock's  bloody  plain. 

XXIV. 

The  King  with  scorn  beheld  their  flight. 
"  Are  these,"  he  said,  "  our  yeomen  wight 
Each  braggart  churl  could  boast  before, 
Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldrick  bore  !4 
Fitter  to  plunder  chase  or  park, 
Than  make  a  manly  foe5  their  mark. — 
Forward,  each  gentleman  and  knight ! 
Let  gentle  blood  show  generous  might, 
And  chivalry  redeem  the  fight !" 
To  rightward  of  the  wild  affray 
The  field  show'd  fair  and  level  way ; 

But,  in  mid  space,  the  Bruce's  care 
Had  bored  the  ground  with  many  a  pit. 
With  turf  and  brushwood  hidden  yet,8 

That  form'd  a  ghastly  snare. 
Bushing,  ten  thousand  horsemen  came, 
With  spears  in  rest,  and  hearts  on  flame, 

That  panted  for  the  shock ! 
With  blazing  crests  and  banners  spread, 
And  trumpet-clang  and  clamor  dread, 
The  wide  plain  thunder' d  to  their  tread, 

As  far  as  Stirling  rock. 
Down  !  down  in  headlong  overthrow, 
Horseman  and  horse,  the  foremost  go,7 

Wild  floundering  on  the  field ! 
The  first  are  in  destruction's  gorge, 
Their  followers  wildly  o'er  them  urge  ;— 

The  knightly  helm  and  shield, 
The  mail,  the  acton,  and  the  spear, 
Strong  hand,  high  heart,  are  useless  here  I 
Loud  from  the  mass  confused  the  cry 
Of  dying  warriors  swells  on  high, 
And  steeds  that  shriek  in  agony  !B 
They  came  like  mountain-torrent  red, 
That  thunders  o'er  its  rocky  bed ; 

8  MS. — "  With  many  a  pit  the  ground  to  bore, 

With  turf  and  brushwood  cover'd  o'er, 
Had  form'd,"  &c. 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  4  A. 

8  Ibid.  Note  4  B. 


ejANTO  VI. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


463 


They  broke  like  that  same  torrent's  wave1 
When  swallow' d  by  a  darksome  cave. 
Billows  on  billows  burst  and  boil, 
Maintaining  still  the  stern  turmoil, 
And  to  their  wild  and  tortured  groan 
Each  adds  new  terrors  of  his  own  ! 

XXV. 

Too  strong  in  courage  and  in  might 
Was  England  yet,  to  yield  the  fight. 

Her  noblest  all  are  here ; 
Names  that  to  fear  were  never  known, 
"Bold  Norfolk's  Earl  De  Brotherton, 

And  Oxford's  famed  De  Vere. 
There  Gloster  plied  the  bloody  sword, 
And  Berkley,  Grey,  and  Hereford, 

Bottetourt  and  Sanzavere, 
Ross,  Montague,  and  Mauley,  came,3 
And  Courtenay's  pride,  and  Percy's  fame — 
Names  known  too  well3  in  Scotland's  war, 
At  Falkirk,  Methven,  and  Dunbar, 
Blazed  broader  yet  in  after  years, 
At  Cressy  red  and  fell  Poitiers. 
Pembroke  with  these,  and  Argentine, 
Brought  up  the  rearward  battle-line. 
With  caution  o'er  the  ground  they  tread, 
Slippery  with  blood  and  piled  with  dead, 
Till  hand  to  hand  in  battle  set, 
The  bills  with  spears  and  axes  met, 
And,  closing  dark  on  every  side, 
Raged  the  full  contest  far  and  wide. 
Then  was  the  strength  of  Douglas  tried, 
Then  proved  was  Randolph's  generous  pride 
And  well  did  Stewart's  actions  grace 
The  sire  of  Scotland's  royal  race  ! 

Firmly  they  kept  their  ground  ; 
As  firmly  England  onward  press'd, 
And  down  went  many  a  noble  crest, 

»  The  MS.  has- 

"  When  plunging  down  some  darksome  cave, 
Billow  on  billow  rushing  on, 
Follows  the  path  the  first  had  gone." 

*  is  impossible  not  to  recollect  our  author's  own  lines, — 

As  Bracklinn's  chasm,  so  black  and  steep, 

Receives  her  roaring  linn, 
As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 

Suck  the  wild  whirlpool  in  ; 
So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 
Devour  the  battle's  mingled  mass." 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  Canto  vi.  stanza  18. 

«  MS.—"  Ross,  Tybtot,  Neville,  Mauley,  came." 
8  MS. — "Names  known  of  yore,"  &c. 
4  MS.—"  Unshifting  foot,"  &c. 

6  "  All  these,  life's  rambling  journey  done, 

Have  found  their  home,  the  grave." — Cowper. 

8  "  The  dramatic,  and  even  Shakspearian  spirit  of  much  of 
this  battle,  must,  we  think,  strike  and  delight  the  reader.  We 
pass  over  much  alternate  and  much  stubborn  and  '  unflinch- 
Vig'  contest— 


And  rent  was  many  a  valiant  breast, 
And  Slaughter  revell'd  round. 

XXVI 

Unflinching  foot4  'gainst  foot  was  set, 
Unceasing  blow  by  blow  was  met ; 

The  groans  of  those  who  fell 
Were  drown'd  amid  the  shriller  clang 
That  from  the  blades  and  harness  rang, 

And  in  the  battle-yell. 
Yet  fast  they  fell,  unheard,  forgot, 
Both  Southern  fierce  and  hardy  Scot ; 
And  O !  amid  that  waste  of  life, 
What  various  motives  fired  the  strife  1 
The  aspiring  Noble  bled  for  fame, 
The  Patriot  for  his  country's  claim  ; 
This  knight  his  youthful  strength  to  prova> 
And  that  to  win  his  lady's  love ; 
Some  fought  from  ruffian  thirst  of  blood. 
From  habit  some,  or  hardihood. 
But  ruffian  stern,  and  soldier  good, 

The  noble  and  the  slave, 
From  various  cause  the  same  wild  road, 
On  the  same  bloody  morning,  trode, 

To  that  dark  inn,  the  grave  !8 

XXVII. 

The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins, 
Though  neither  loses  yet  nor  wins.0 
High  rides  the  sun,  thick  rolls  the  dust,7 
And  feebler  speeds  the  blow  and  thrust. 
Douglas  leans  on  his  war-sword  now, 
And  Randolph  wipes  his  bloody  brow ; 
Nor  less  had  toil'd  each  Southern  knight, 
From  morn  till  mid-day  in  the  fight. 
Strong  Egremont  for  air  must  gasp, 
Beauchamp  undoes  his  visor  clasp, 
And  Montague  must  quit  his  spear, 

1  The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins, 
Though  neither  loses  yet  nor  wins ;' 

but  the  description  of  it,  as  we  have  ventured  to  prophesy, 
will  last  forever. 

"  It  will  be  as  unnecessary  for  the  sake  of  our  readers,  as  it 
would  be  useless  for  the  sake  of  the  author,  to  point  out  many 
of  the  obvious  defects  of  these  splendid  passages,  or  of  others 
in  the  poem.     Such  a  line  as 

'  The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins,' 

must  wound  every  ear  that  has  the  least  pretension  to  judge  of 
poetry  ;  and  no  one,  we  should  think,  can  miss  the  ridiculous 
point  of  such  a  couplet  as  the  subjoined, — 

1  Each  heart  had  caught  the  patriot  spark, 
Old  man  and  stripling,  priest  and  clerk.1  " 

Monthly  Review 

7  "  The  adventures  of  the  day  are  versified  rather  too  literal- 
ly from  the  contemporary  chronicles.  The  following  passage, 
however,  is  emphatic  ;  and  exemplifies  what  this  author  has  so 
often  exemplified,  the  power  of  well-chosen  and  well-arranged 
names  to  excite  lofty  emotions,  with  little  aid  either  from  sen- 
timent or  description." — Jeffrey. 


164 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VI 


And  sinks  thy  falchion,  bold  De  Vere ! 
The  blows  of  Berkley  fall  less  fast, 
Aid  gallant  Pembroke's  bugle-blast 

Hath  lost  its  lively  tone ; 
Sinks,  Argentine,  thy  battle-word, 
And  Percy's  shout  was  fainter  heard, 

"  My  merry -men,  fight  on  !" 

XXVIIL 

Bruce,  with  the  pilot's  wary  eye, 
The  slackening1  of  the  storm  could  spy. 
"  One  effort  more,  and  Scotland's  free ! 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  my  trust  in  thee 

Is  firm  as  Ailsa  Rock ; 
Rush  on  with  Highland  sword  and  targe, 
I,  with  my  Carrick  spearmen,  charge  f 

Now,  forward  to  the  shock  !"3 
At  once  the  spears  were  forward  thrown, 
Against  the  sun  the  broadswords  shone  ; 
The  pibroch  lent  its  maddening  tone, 
And  loud   King   Robert's   voice   was 

known — 
"  Carrick,  press  on — they  fail,  they  fail ! 
Press  on,  brave  sons  of  Innisgail, 

The  foe  is  fainting  fast ! 
Each  strike  for  parent,  child,  and  wife, 
For  Scotland,  liberty,  and  life, — 

The  battle  cannot  last !" 

XXIX. 
The  fresh  and  desperate  onset  bore 
The  foes  three  furlongs  back  and  more, 
Leaving  their  noblest  in  their  gore. 

Alone,  De  Argentine 
Yet  bears  on  high  his  red-cross  shield, 
Gathers  the  relics  of  the  field, 
Renews  the  ranks  where  they  have  reel'd, 

And  still  makes  good  the  line. 
Brief  strife,  but  fierce, — his  efforts  raise 
A  bright  but  momentary  blaze. 
Fair  Edith  heard  the  Southron  shout, 
Beheld  them  turning  from  the  rout, 
Heard  the  wild  call  their  trumpets  sent, 
In  notes  'twixt  triumph  and  lament. 
That  rallying  force,  combined  anew, 
Appeard  in  her  distracted  view 

To  hem  the  Islesmen  round  j 
"  0  God  !  the  combat  they  renew, 

And  is  no  rescue  found ! 
And  ye  that  look  thus  tamely  on, 
And  see  your  native  land  o'erthrown, 
O !  are  your  hearts  of  flesh  or  stone  ?"* 


i  MS.—"  The  sinking,"  &c. 

'  See  Appendix,  Note  4  C. 

3  MS.--"  Then  hurry  to  the  shock  !" 

•*  MS. "of  lead  or  stone." 

5  MS. — "  To  us,  as  well  as  them,  belongs." 


XXX. 

The  multitude  that  watch'd  afar, 
Rejected  from  the  ranks  of  war, 
Had  not  unmoved  beheld  the  fight, 
When  strove  the  Bruce  for  Scotland's  right ; 
Each  heart  had  caught  the  patriot  spark, 
Old  man  and  stripling,  priest  and  clerk, 
Bondsman  and  serf;  even  female  hand 
Stretch'd  to  the  hatchet  or  the  brand ; 
But,  when  mute  Amadine  they  heard 
Give  to  their  zeal  his  signal-word, 
A  phrensy  fired  the  throng ; 
"  Portents  and  miracles  impeach 
Our  sloth — the  dumb  our  duties  teach — 
And  he  that  gives  the  mute  his  speech, 
Can  bid  the  weak  be  strong. 
To  us,  as  to  our  lords,  are  given 
A  native  earth,  a  promised  heaven  ; 
To  us,  as  to  our  lords,  belongs5 
The  vengeance  for  our  nation's  wrongs ; 
The  choice,  'twixt  death  or  freedom,  warms 
Our  breasts  as  theirs — To  arms,  to  arms !" 
To  arms  they  flew, — axe,  club,  or  spear, — 
And  mimic  ensigns  high  they  rear," 
And,  like  a  banner'd  host  afar, 
Bear  down  on  England's  wearied  war. 

XXXI. 

Already  scatter'd  o'er  the  plain, 
Reproof,  command,  and  counsel  vain, 
The  rearward  squadrons  fled  amain, 

Or  made  but  doubtful  stay ; — T 
But  when  they  mark'd  the  seeming  show 
Of  fresh  and  fierce  and  marshall'd  foe, 

The  boldest  broke  array. 

0  give  their  hapless  prince  his  due  !8 
In  vain  the  royal  Edward  threw 

His  person  'mid  the  spears, 
Cried,  "  Fight !"  to  terror  and  despair, 
Menaced,  and  wept,  and  tore  his  hair,9 

And  cursed  their  caitiff  fears ; 
Till  Pembroke  turn'd  his  bridle  rein, 
And  forced  him  from  the  fatal  plain. 
With  them  rode  Argentine,  until 
They  gain'd  the  summit  of  the  hill, 

But  quitted  there  the  train : — 
"  In  yonder  field  a  gage  I  left, — 

1  must  not  live  of  fame  bereft ; 

I  needs  must  turn  again. 
Speed  hence,  my  Liege,  for  on  your  trace 
The  fiery  Douglas  takes  the  chase, 

I  know  his  banner  well. 


8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  D. 

7  MS. — "  And  rode  in  bands  away." 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  4  E. 

9  MS. — "  And  bade  them  hope  amid  despair.' 


canto  vi.                               THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.                                         40,-, 

God  send  my  Sovereign  joy  and  bliss, 

Yet,  as  he  saw  the  King  advance, 

And  many  a  happier  field  than  this  ! — 

He  strove  even  then  to  couch  his  lance— 

Once  more,  my  Liege,  farewell." 

The  effort  was  in  vain  ! 

The  spur-stroke  fail'd  to  rouse  the  horse ; 

XXXII. 

Wounded  and  weary,  in  mid  course 

Again  he  faced  the  battle-field, — 

He  stumbled  on  the  plain. 

"Wildly  they  fly,  are  slain,  or  yield.1 

Then  foremost  was  the  generous  Bruce 

"  Now  then,"  he  said,  and  couch'd  his  spear, 

To  raise  Ins  head,  his  helm  to  loose  ; 

"  My  course  is  run,  the  goal  is  near ; 

"  Lord  Earl,  the  day  is  thine  ! 

One  effort  more,  one  brave  career, 

My  Sovereign's  charge,  and  adverse  fate, 

Must  close  this  race  of  mine." 

Have  made  our  meeting  all  too  late  ; 

Then  in  his  stirrups  rising  high, 

Yet  this  may  Argentine, 

He  shouted  loud  his  battle-cry, 

As  boon  from  ancient  comrade,  crave — 

"  Saint  James  for  Argentine !" 

A  Christian's  mass,  a  soldier's  grave." 

And,  of  the  bold  pursuers,  four 

The  gallant  knight  from  saddle  bore ; 

XXXIY. 

But  not  unharm'd — a  lance's  point 

Bruce  press'd  his  dying  hand — its  grasp 

Has  found  his  breastplate's  loosen'd  joint, 

Kindly  replied  ;  but,  in  lus  clasp, 

An  axe  has  razed  his  crest ; 

It  stiffen'd  and  grew  cold — 

Yet  still  on  Colonsay's  fierce  lord, 

"  And,  0  farewell !"  the  victor  cried, 

Who  press'd  the  chase  with  gory  sword, 

"  Of  chivalry  the  flower  and  pride, 

He  rode  with  spear  in  rest, 

The  arm  in  battle  bold, 

And  through  his  bloody  tartans  bored, 

The  courteous  mien,  the  noble  race, 

And  through  his  gallant  breast. 

The  stainless  faith,  the  manly  face  ! — 

Nail'd  to  the  earth,  the  mountaineer 

Bid  Ninian's  convent  light  their  shrine, 

Yet  writhed  him  up  against  the  spear, 

For  late-wake  of  De  Argentine. 

And  swung  his  broadsword  round ! 

O'er  better  knight  on  death-bier  laid, 

— Stirrup,  steel-boot,  and  cuish  gave  way, 

Torch  never  gleam'd  nor  mass  was  said  '" 

Beneath  that  blow's  tremendous  sway, 

The  blood  gush'd  from  the  wound ; 

XXXV. 

And  the  grim  Lord  of  Colonsay 

Nor  for  De  Argentine  alone, 

Hath  turn'd  him  on  the  ground, 

Through  Ninian's  church  these  torches  shone, 

And  laugh'd  in  death-pang,  that  his  blade 

And  rose  the  death-prayer's  awful  tone.8 

The  mortal  thrust  so  well  repaid. 

That  yellow  lustre  glimmer'd  pale, 

On  broken  plate  and  bloodied  mail, 

XXXIII. 

Rent  crest  and  shatter'd  coronet, 

Now  toil'd  the  Bruce,  the  battle  done, 

Of  Baron,  Earl,  and  Banneret ; 

To  use  his  conquest  boldly  won  ;a 

And  the  best  names  that  England  knew, 

And  gave  command  for  horse  and  spear 

Claim'd  in  the  death-prayer  dismal  due  * 

To  press  the  Southron's  scatter'd  rear, 

Yet  mourn  not,  Land  of  Fame  ! 

Nor  let  his  broken  force  combine, 

Though  ne'er  the  leopards  on  thy  shield 

•^-Wlien  the  war-cry  of  Argentine 

Retreated  from  so  sad  a  field, 

Fell  faintly  on  his  ear ; 

Since  Norman  William  came. 

*  Save,  save  his  life,"  he  cried,  "  0  save 

Oft  may  thine  annals  justly  boast 

The  kind,  the  noble,  and  the  brave  1" 

Of  battles  stern  by  Scotland  lost ; 

The  squadrons  round  free  passage  gave, 

Grudge  not  her  victory, 

The  wounded  knight  drew  near ; 

When  for  her  freeborn  rights  she  strove; 

He  raised  his  red-cross  shield  no  more, 

Rights  dear  to  all  who  freedom  love,6 

Helm,  cuish,  and  breastplate  stream'd  with  gore, 

To  none  so  dear  as  thee  !* 

1  The  MS.  has  not  the  seven  lines  which  follow. 

interesting— though  we  think  that  the  author  has  hazarded 

»  MS. — "  Now  toil'd  the  Bruce  as  leaders  ought, 

rather  too  little  embellishment  in  recording  the  adventures  of 

To  use  his  conquest  boldly  bought." 

the  Bruce.     There  are  many  places,  at  least,  in  which  he  has 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  F. 

evidently  given  an  air  of  heaviness  and  flatness  to  his  narration, 

*  MS. — "  And  the  best  names  that  England  owns 

by  adhering  too  closely  to  the  authentic  history  ;  &nd  has  low- 

Swell the  sad  death-prayer's  dismal  tones." 

ered  down  the  tone  of  his  poetry  to  the  tame  level  of  the  rude 

*  MS. — "  When  for  her  rights  her  sword  was  bare, 

chroniclers  by  whom  the   incidents  were  originally  recorded. 

Rights  dear  to  all  who  freedom  share." 

There  is  a  more  serious  and  general  fault,  however,  in  the  con 

•  *  The  fictitious  nart  of  the  story  is,  ou  the  whole,  the  least 
59 

duct  of  all  this  part  of  the  story, — and  that  is,  that  it  is  nol 

466 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


CANTO  VI, 


XXXVI 

Turn  we  to  Bruce,  whose  curious  ear 
Must  from  Fitz-Louis  tidings  hear  ; 
With  him,  a  hundred  voices  tell 
Of  prodigy  and  miracle, 

"  For  the  mute  page  had  spoke." — 
"  Page  !"  said  Fitz-Louis,  "  rather  say, 
An  angel  sent  from  realms  of  day, 

To  burst  the  English  yoke. 
I  saw  his  plume  and  bonnet  drop, 
When  hurrying  from  the  mountain  top ; 
A  lovely  brow,  dark  locks  that  wave, 
To  his  bright  eyes  new  lustre  gave, 
A.  step  as  light  upon  the  green, 
As  if  lus  pinions  waved  unseen  !" 
'*  Spoke   he   with   none  ?"  —  "  With   none — o  le 

word 
Burst  when  he  saw  the  Island  Lord,1 
Returning  from  the  battle-field." — 
"What     answer     made    the     Chief?"  —  "He 

kneel'd, 
Durst  not  look  up,  but  mutter'd  low, 
Some  mingled  sounds  that  none  might  know,8 
And  greeted  him  'twixt  joy  and  fear, 
As  being  of  superior  sphere." 

XXXVII. 

Even  upon  Bannock's  bloody  plain, 
Heap'd  then  with  thousands  of  the  slain, 
'Mid  victor  monarch's  musings  high, 
Mirth  laugh'd  in  good  King  Robert's  eye 
"  And  bore  he  such  angelic  air, 
Such  noble  front,  such  waving  hair  ? 
Hath  Ronald  kneel'd  to  him  ?"  he  said, 
"  Then  must  we  call  the  church  to  aid — 


inffieiently  national — and  breathes  nothing  either  of  that  ani- 
mosity towards  England,  or  that  exultation  over  her  defeat, 
which  must  have  animated  all  Scotland  at  the  period  to  which 
he  refers  ;  and  ought,  consequently,  to  have  been  the  ruling 
passion  of  his  poem.  Mr.  Scott,  however,  not  only  dwells 
fondly  on  the  valor  and  generosity  of  the  invaders,  but  actually 
makes  an  elaborate  apology  to  the  English  for  having  ventured 
to  sclnct  for  his  theme  a  story  which  records  their  disasters. 
We  hope  this  extreme  courtesy  is  not  intended  merely  to  ap- 
pease critics,  and  attract  readers  in  the  southern  part  of  the 
island — and  yet  it  is  difficult  to  see  for  what  other  purposes  it 
could  be  assumed.  Mr.  Scott  certainly  need  not  have  been 
afraid  either  of  exciting  rebellion  among  his  countrymen,  or  of 
onpging  his  own  liberality  and  loyalty  into  question,  although, 
in  speaking  of  tlw  events  of  that  remote  period,  where  an  over- 
bearing conqueror  was  overthrown  in  a  lawless  attempt  tosub- 
dae  an  independent  kingdom,  he  had  given  full  expression  to  the 
hatred  and  exultation  which  must  have  prevailed  amon"  the 
victors,  and  are  indeed  the  only  passions  which  can  be  supposed 
to  be  excited  by  the  story  of  their  exploits.  It  is  not  natural, 
and  we  are  sure  it  is  not  poetical,  to  represent  the  agents  in 
such  tremendous  scenes  as  calm  and  indulgent  judges  of  the 
motives  or  merits  of  their  opponents  ;  and,  by  lending  such  a 
eharacter  to  the  leaders  of  his  host,  the  author  has  actually 
lessened  the  interest  of  the  mighty  fight  of  Bannockburn,  to 
that  which  might  be  supposed  to  belong  to  a  well-regulated 
tournament  among  friendly  rivals." — Jeffrey. 


Our  will  be  to  the  Abbot  known, 
Ere  these  strange  news  are  wider  blown, 
To  Cambuskenneth  straight  ye  pass, 
And  deck  the  church  for  solemn  mass,8 
To  pay  for  high  deliverance  given, 
A  nation's  thanks  to  gracious  Heaven. 
Let  him  array,  besides,  such  state, 
As  should  on  princes'  nuptials  wait. 
Ourself  the  cause,  through  fortune's  spite, 
That  once  broke  short  that  spousal  rite, 
Ourself  will  grace,  with  early  morn, 
The  bridal  of  the  Maid  of  Lora"4 


CONCLUSION. 

Go  forth,  my  Song,  upon  thy  venturous  way ; 
Go  boldly  forth ;  nor  yet  thy  master  blame, 
Who  chose  no  patron  for  his  humble  lay, 
And   graced   thy   numbers    with    no    friendly 

name, 
Whose  partial  zeal  might  smooth  thy  path  to 

fame. 
There  was — and  0  !  how  many  sorrows  crowd 
Into  these  two  brief  words  ! — there  was  a  claim 
By  generous  friendship  given — had  fate  allow'd, 
It  well  had  bid  thee  rank  the  proudest  of  the 

proud ! 

All  angel  now — yet  little  less  than  all, 
While  still  a  pilgrim  in  our  world  below ! 
What  'vails  it  us  that  patience  to  recall, 
Which  hid  its  own  to  soothe  all  other  woe ; 
What  'vails  to  tell,  how  Virtue's  purest  glow 


*  MS.—"  Excepted  to  the  Island  Lord, 

When  turning,"  &c. 

2  MS. — "  Some  mingled  sounds  of  joy  and  woe." 

*  The  MS.  adds  :— 

"  That  priests  and  choir,  with  morning  beams, 
Prepare,  with  reverence  as  beseems, 
To  pay,"  &c. 

*  "  Bruce  issues  orders  for  the  celebration  of  the  nuptials; 
whether  they  were  ever  solemnized,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  As 
critics,  we  should  certainly  have  forbidden  the  banns  ;  be- 
cause, although  it  is  conceivable  that  the  mere  lapse  of  time 
might  not  have  eradicated  the  passion  of  Edith,  yet  how  such 
a  circumstance  aione,  without  even  the  assistance  of  an  in- 
terview, could  have  created  one  in  the  bosom  of  Ronald,  :s 
altogether  inconceivable.  He  must  have  proposed  to  marry 
her  merely  from  compassion,  or  for  the  sake  of  her  lands  ; 
and,  upon  either  supposition,  it  would  have  comported  with 
the  delicacy  of  Edith  to  refuse  his  profFered  hand." — Quai- 
terly  Review. 

"  To  Mr.  James  Ballantyne. — Dear  Sir, — You  have  now 
the  whole  affair,  excepting  two  or  three  concluding  stanzas. 
As  your  taste  for  bride's-cake  may  induce  you  to  desire  to 
know  more  of  the  wedding,  I  will  save  you  some  criticism  by 
saying,  I  have  settled  to  stop  short  as  above. — Witness  my 
hand,  "  W.  S  " 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


407 


SLv/ne  yet  more  lovely  in  a  form  so  fair  :' 
And,  least  of  all,  what  Vails  the  world  should 
Know, 

1  The  reader  is  referred  to  Mr.  Hogg's  "  Pilgrims  of  the 
Sun"  for  some  beautiful  lines,  and  a  highly  interesting  note, 
on  the  death  of  the  Duchess  of  Buceleueh.     See  ante,  p.  412. 

>  The  Edinburgh  Reviewer  (Mr.  Jeffrey)  says,  "  The  story 
of  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  in  so  far  as  it  is  fictitious,  is  palpably 
deficient  both  in  interest  and  probability  ;  and,  in  so  far  as  it  is 
founded  on  historical  truth,  seems  to  us  to  be  objectionable, 
both  for  want  of  incident,  and  want  of  variety  and  connection 
in  the  incidents  that  occur.  There  is  a  romantic  grandeur, 
however,  in  the  scenery,  and  a  sort  of  savage  greatness  and 
rude  antiquity  in  many  of  the  characters  and  events,  which 
relieves  the  insipidity  of  the  narrative,  and  atones  for  many 
defects  in  the  execution." 

After  giving  copious  citations  from  what  he  considers  as 
''the  better  parts  of  the  poem,"  the  critic  says,  "  to  give  a 
complete  and  impartial  idea  of  it,  we  ought  to  subjoin  some 
from  its  more  faulty  passages.  But  this  is  but  an  irksome  task 
at  all  times,  and,  with  such  an  author  as  Mr.  Scott,  is  both  in- 
vidious and  unnecessary.  His  faults  are  nearly  as  notorious  as 
his  beauties  ;  and  we  have  announced  in  the  outset,  that  they 
are  equally  conspicuous  in  this  as  in  his  other  productions. 
There  are  innumerable  harsh  lines  and  uncouth  expressions, — 
passages  of  a  coarse  and  heavy  diction, — and  details  of  unin- 
teresting minuteness  and  oppressive  explanation.  It  is  need- 
less, after  this,  to  quote  such  couplets  as 

'  A  damsel  tired  of  midnight  bark, 
Or  wanderers  of  a  moulding  stark,' — 

1  'Tis  a  kind  youth,  but  fanciful, 
Unfit  against  the  tide  to  pull ;' — 

or  to  recite  the  many  weary  pages  which  contain  the  collo- 
quies of  Isabel  and  Edith,  and  set  forth  the  unintelligible  rea- 
sons of  their  unreasonable  conduct.  The  concerns  of  these 
two  young  ladies,  indeed,  form  the  heaviest  part  of  the  poem. 
The  mawkish  generosity  of  the  one,  and  the  piteous  fidelity 
of  the  other,  are  equally  oppressive  to  the  reader,  and  do  not 
tend  at  all  to  put  him  in  good  humor  with  Lord  Ronald, — 
who,  though  the  beloved  of  both,  and  the  nominal  hero  of  the 
work,  is  certainly  as  far  as  possible  from  an  interesting  person. 
The  lovers  of  poetry  have  a  particular  aversion  to  the  incon- 
stancy of  other  lovers, — and  especially  to  that  sort  of  incon- 
stancy which  is  liable  to  the  suspicion  of  being  partly  inspired 
by  worldly  ambition,  and  partly  abjured  from  considerations 
of  a  still  meaner  selfishness.  We  suspect,  therefore,  that  they 
Kill  have  but  little  indulgence  for  the  fickleness  of  the  Lord  of 
(he  teles,  who  breaks  the  troth  he  had  pledged  to  the  heiress  of 
Lorn,  as  soon  as  w  sees  a  chance  of  succeeding  with  the 
King's  sister,  and  comes  back  to  the  slighted  bride,  when  his 
royal  mistress  takes  the  vows  in  a  convent,  and  the  heiress 
g»»ts  into  possession  of  her  lands,  by  the  forfeiture  of  her  bro- 
ther. These  characters,  and  this  story,  form  the  great  blemish 
of  the  poem  J  but  it  has  rather  less  fire  and  flow  and  facility, 
we  think,  on  the  whoU,  than  some  of  the  author's  other  per- 


The  Monthly  Reviewer  thus  assails  the  title  of  the  poem  : — 
"  The  L<  id  of  the  Isles  himself,  scion  les  regies  of  Mr.  Scott's 
compositions,  being  the  hero,  is  not  the  first  person  in  the 
poem.  The  attendant  here  is  always  in  white  muslin,  and 
Tilburina  herself  in  white  linen.  Still,  among  the  Deutero- 
protoi  (or  second  best)  of  the  author,  Lord  Ronald  holds  a  re- 
spectable rank.  He  is  not  so  mere  a  mngie-lantern  figure, 
once  seen  in  bower  and  once  in  field,  as  Lord  Cranstoun  ;  he 
■'nr  exceeds  that  Name  rabbit  boiled  to  rags  without  onion  or 


That  one  poor  garland,  twined  to  deck  thy  hah 
Is  hung  upon  thy  hearse,  to  droop  and  wither 
there  !3 

other  sauce,  De  Wilton  ;  and  although  he  certainly  falls  in- 
finitely short  of  that  accomplished  swimmer  Malcolm  Graeme, 
yet  he  rises  proportionally  above  the  red-haired  Redmond. 
Lord  Ronald,  indeed,  bating  his  intended  marriage  wiiij  ore 
woman  while  he  loves  another,  is  a  very  noble  fellow  J  a.:. a, 
were  he  not  so  totally  eclipsed  by  '  The  Bruce,'  he  would  have 
served  very  well  to  give  a  title  to  any  octosyllabic  epic,  were  it 
even  as  vigorous  and  poetical  as  the  present.  Nevertheless,  it 
would  have  been  just  as  proper  to  call  Virgil's  divine  poem 
'  The  Jlnchistid,'  as  it  is  to  call  this  '  The  Lord  of  the  Isles.' 
To  all  intents  and  purposes  the  aforesaid  quarto  is,  and  ought 
to  be,  '  The  Bruce.1  " 

The  Monthly  Reviewer  thus  concludes  his  article  : — "  In 
some  detached  passages,  the  present  poem  may  challenge  any 
of  Mr.  Scott's  compositions  ;  and  perhaps  in  the  Abbot's  in 
voluntary  blessing  it  excels  any  single  part  of  any  one  of  them. 
The  battle,  too,  and  many  dispersed  lines  besides,  have  trans- 
cendent merit.  In  point  of  fable,  however,  it  has  not  the  grace 
and  elegance  of  '  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,'  nor  the  general  clear- 
ness and  vivacity  of  its  narrative  ;  nor  the  unexpected  happi- 
ness of  its  catastrophe  ;  and  still  less  does  it  aspire  to  the  praise 
of  the  complicated,  but  very  proper  and  well-managed  story 
of  '  Rokeby.'  It  has  nothing  so  pathetic  as  '  The  Cypress 
Wreath  ;'  nothing  so  sweetly  touching  as  the  last  evening  scene 
at  Rokeby,  before  it  is  broken  by  Bertram  ;  nothing  (with  the 
exception  of  the  Abbot)  so  awfully  melancholy  as  much  of 
Mortham's  history,  or  so  powerful  as  Bertram's  farewell  to 
Edmund.  It  vies,  as  we  have  already  said,  with  '  Marmion,' 
in  the  generally  favorite  part  of  that  poem  ;  but  what  has  it 
(with  the  exception  before  stated)  equal  to  the  immurement  of 
Constance?  On  the  whole,  however,  we  prefer  it  to  'Mar- 
mion ;'  which,  in  spite  of  much  merit,  always  had  a  sort  ot 
noisy  royal-circus  air  with  it  ;  a  clap-trappery,  if  we  may  vea 
ture  on  such  a  word.  '  Marmion,'  in  short,  has  become  quite 
identified  with  Mr.  Braham  in  our  minds  ;  and  we  are  there 
fore  not  perhaps  unbiased  judges  of  its  perfections.  Finally, 
we  do  not  hesitate  to  place  '  The  Lord  of  the  Isles'  below  both 
of  Mr.  Scott's  remaining  longer  works  ;  and  as  to  '  The  Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel,'  for  numerous  commonplaces  and  separate 
beauties,  that  poem,  we  believe,  still  constitutes  one  of  the 
highest  steps,  if  not  the  very  highest,  in  the  ladder  of  the  au- 
thor's reputation.  Tiie  characters  of  the  present  tale  (with 
the  exception  of  '  The  Bruce,'  who  is  vividly  painted  from 
history — and  of  some  minor  sketches)  are  certainly,  in  point  of 
invention,  of  the  most  novel,  that  is,  of  the  most  Minerva-pres* 
description  ;  and,  as  to  the  language  and  versification,  th. 
poem  is  in  its  general  course  as  inferior  to  '  Rokeby'  (by  much 
the  most  correct  and  the  least  justly  appreciated  of  the  author' i 
works)  as  it  is  in  the  construction  and  conduct  of  its  fable 
It  supplies  whole  pages  of  the  most  prosaic  narrative  ;  but,  as 
we  conclude  by  recollecting,  it  displays  also  whole  pages  o 
the  noblest  poetry." 


The  British  Critic  says :  "  No  poem  of  Mr.  Scott  has  ye>. 
appeared  with  fairer  claims  to  the  public  attention.  If  it  have 
less  pathos  than  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  or  less  display  of  char- 
acter than  Marmion,  it  surpasses  them  both  in  grandeur  of 
conception,  and  dignity  of  versification.  It  is  in  every  respec.'. 
decidedly  superior  to  Rokeby  ;  and  though  it  may  not  reach 
the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  in  a  few  splendid  passages,  it  i9 
far  more  perfect  as  a  whole.  The  fame  of  Mr.  Scott,  among 
those  who  are  capable  of  distinguishing  the  rich  ore  of  poetry 
from  the  dross  which  surrounds  it,  will  receive  no  small  advance- 
ment by  this  last  effort  of  his  genius.  We  discover  in  it  a 
brilliancy  in  detached  expressions,  and  a  power  of  language  in 


of  images,  which  has  never  yet  appeared  in 
us  publications. 

Iso  believe  that  as  his  strength  has  increased, 
ts  have  been  diminished.  But  so  imbedded 
;  these  in  the  gems  of  his  excellence,  that  no 
rlook,  no  art  can  divide  or  destroy  their  con- 
nust  bo  tried  together  at  the  ordeal  of  time, 
eparatea  *o  posterity.  Could  Mr.  Scott  but 
Dses  with  words' — could  he  but  decorate  the 
jplendor  of  his  conceptions  with  more  unal- 
expression,  and  more  uniform  strength  and 
3ers,  lie  would  claim  a  place  in  the  highest 
oets  of  natural  feeling  and  natural  imagery. 
h  all  his  faults,  we  love  him  still ;  and  when 
write,  we  shall  find  it  difficult  to  supply  his 


Reviewer,  after  giving  his  outline  of  the  story 
e  Isles,  thus  proceeds  : — "  In  whatever  point 
rded,  whether  with  reference  to  the  incidents 

agents  by  whom  it  is  carried  on,  we  think 
ilated  to  keep  alive  the  interest  and  curiosity 
Id  not  easily  have  been  conceived.  Of  the 
mot  say  much  ;  they  are  not  conceived  with 
of  originality,  nor  delineated  with  any  par- 
jither  are  we  disposed  to  criticise  with  mi- 
lents  of  the  story  ;  but  we  conceive  that  the 
.ideri ng  it  as  a  narrative  poem,  is  projected 
iples. 

bviously  composed  of  two  independent  plots, 
ich  other  merely  by  the  accidental  circum- 
and  place.  The  liberation  of  Scotland  by 
urally  any  more  connection  with  the  loves  of 
Maid  of  Lorn,  than  with  those  of  Dido  and 
ve  able  to  conceive  any  possible  motive  which 
:ed  Mr.  Scott  to  weave  them  as  he  has  done 
ative,  except  the  desire  of  combining  the  ad- 
•oical,  with  what  we  may  call,  for  want  of  an 

an  ethical  subject ;  an  attempt  which  we 
ver  would  have  made,  had  he  duly  weighed 
principles  upon  which  these  dissimilar  sorts 
nded.  Thus,  had  Mr.  Scott  introduced  the 
md  the  Maid  of  Lorn  as  an  episode  of  an 
tie  subject  of  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  its 
>n  with  the  main  action  might  have  been  ex- 
f  its  intrinsic  merit ;  but,  by  a  great  singu- 
,  he  has  introduced  the  battle  of  Bannockburn 
the  loves  of  Ronald  and  the  Maid  of  Lorn, 
f  the  obvious  preposterousness  of  such  a  de- 
'  considered,  the  effect  of  it  has,  we  think, 

destroy  that  interest  which  either  of  them 
have  created  :  or,  if  any  interest  remain  re- 
of  the  ill-requited  Edith,  it  is  because  at  no 
>em  do  we  feel  the  slightest  degree  of  it,  re- 
prise of  Bruce, 
jautiful  passages  which  we  have  extracted 


irom  the  poem,  combined  with  the  brief  remarks  subjoined  to 
each  canto,  will  sufficiently  show,  that  although  the  Lord  ol 
the  Isles  is  not  likely  to  add  very  much  to  the  reputation  of 
Mr.  Scott,  yet  this  must  be  imputed  rather  to  the  greatness  of 
his  previous  reputation,  than  to  the  absolute  inferiority  of  the 
poem  itself.  Unfortunately,  its  merits  are  merely  incidental, 
while  its  defects  are  mixed  up  with  the  very  elements  of  the 
poem.  But  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  Mr.  Scott  to  write  with 
tameness  ;  be  the  subject  what  it  will  (and  he  could  not  easily 
have  chosen  one  more  impracticable),  he  impresses  upon  what- 
ever scenes  he  describes,  so  much  movement  and  activity,— he 
infuses  into  his  narrative  such  a  flow  of  life,  and,  if  we  may 
so  express  ourselves,  of  animal  spirits,  that  without  satisfying 
the  judgment,  or  moving  the  feelings,  or  elevating  the  mind,  or 
even  very  greatly  interesting  the  curiosity,  he  is  able  to  seize 
upon,  and,  as  it  were,  exhilarate  the  imagination  of  his  readers, 
in  a  manner  which  is  often  truly  unaccountable.  This  quality 
Mr.  Scott  possesses  in  an  admirable  degree  ;  and  supposing  that 
he  had  no  other  object  in  view  than  to  convince  the  world  of 
the  great  poetical  powers  with  which  he  is  gifted,  the  poem 
before  us  would  be  quite  sufficient  for  his  purpose.  But  this 
is  of  very  inferior  importance  to  the  public  ;  what  they  want 
is  a  good  poem,  and  as  experience  has  shown,  this  can  only  be 
constructed  upon  a  solid  foundation  of  taste  and  judgment 
and  meditation." 

"  These  passages  [referring  to  the  preceding  extract  from  the 
Quarterly,  and  that  from  the  Edinburgh  Review,  at  the 
commencement  of  the  poem]  appear  to  me  to  condense  the 
result  of  deliberate  and  candid  reflection,  and  I  have  therefore 
quoted  them.  The  most  important  remarks  of  either  Essayist 
on  the  details  of  the  plot  and  execution  are  annexed  to  the  last 
edition  of  the  poem  ;  and  show  such  an  exact  coincidence  of 
judgment  in  two  masters  of  their  calling,  as  had  not  hitherto 
been  exemplified  in  the  professional  criticism  of  his  metrical 
romances.  The  defects  which  both  point  out,  are,  I  presume, 
but  too  completely  explained  by  the  preceding  statement  of 
the  rapidity  with  which  this,  the  last  of  those  great  perfor- 
mances, had  been  thrown  off; — [see  Life,  vol.  v.  pp.  13-15] 
— nor  do  I  see  that  either  Reviewer  has  failed  to  do  sufficient 
justice  to  the  beauties  which  redeem  the  imperfections  of  the 
Lord  of  the  Isles — except  as  regards  the  whole  character  of 
Bruce,  its  real  hero,  and  the  picture  of  the  Battle  of  Bannock- 
burn, which,  now  that  one  can  compare  these  works  from 
something  like  the  same  point  of  view,  does  not  appear  to  me 
in  the  slightest  particular  inferior  to  the  Flodden  of  Marmion. 

"  This  poem  is  now,  I  believe,  about  as  popular  as  Rokeby  ; 
but  it  has  never  reached  the  same  station  in  general  favor  with 
the  Lay,  Marmion,  or  the  Lady  of  the  Lake.  The  first  edition 
of  1800  copies  in  quarto,  was,  however,  rapidly  disposed  of, 
and  the  separate  editions  in  8vo,  which  ensued  before  his  po- 
etical works  were  collected,  amounted  together  to  15*250  copies. 
This,  in  the  case  of  almost  any  other  author,  would  have  been 
splendid  success  ;  but,  as  compared  with  what  he  had  pre- 
viously experienced,  even  in  his  Rokeby,  and  still  more  so  as 
compared  with  the  enormous  circulation  at  once  attained  b» 
Lord  Byron's  early  tales,  which  were  then  following  each  othei 
in  almost  breathless  succession,  the  falling  off  was  decided."— 

LOCKHART,  VOl.  V.  p.  27. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

Thy  rugged  halls,  Artornish!  rung. — P.  415. 

The  ruins  of  the  Castle  of  Artornisli  are  situated  upon  a 
promontory,  on  the  Morven,  or  mainland  side  of  the  Sound  of 
Hall  9  name  given  to  the  deep  arm  of  the  sea,  which  divides 
that  island  from  the  continent.  The  situation  is  wild  and  ro- 
mantic in  the  highest  degree,  having  on  the  one  hand  a  high 
and  precipitous  chain  of  rocks  overhanging  the  sea,  and  on  the 
oilier  the  narrow  entrance  to  the  beautiful  salt-water  lake, 
called  Loch  Alline,  which  is  in  many  places  finely  fringed  with 
copsewood.  The  ruins  of  Artornisli  are  not  now  very  consid- 
erable, and  consist  chiefly  of  the  remains  of  an  old  keep,  or 
tower,  with  fragments  of  outward  defences.  But,  in  former 
days,  it  was  a  place  of  great  consequence,  being  one  of  the 
principal  strongholds,  which  the  Lords  of  the  Isles,  during  the 
period  of  their  stormy  independence,  possessed  upon  the  main- 
land of  Argyleshire.  Here  they  assembled  what  popular  tra- 
dition calls  their  parliaments,  meaning,  I  suppose,  their  cour 
pleniere,  or  assembly  of  feudal  and  patriarchal  vassals  and  de- 
pendents. From  this  Castle  of  Artornish,  upon  the  19th  day 
of  October,  1461,  John  de  Yle,  designing  himself  Earl  of  Ross 
and  Lord  of  the  Isles,  granted,  in  the  style  of  an  independent 
sovereign,  a  commission  to  his  trusty  and  well-beloved  cousins, 
Ronald  of  the  Isles,  and  Duncan,  Arch-Dean  of  the  Isles,  for 
empowering  them  to  enter  into  a  treaty  with  the  most  excellent 
Prince  Edward,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King  of  France  and 
England,  and  Lord  of  Ireland.  Edward  IV.,  on  his  part, 
named  Laurence,  Bishop  of  Durham,  the  Earl  of  Worcester, 
the  Trior  of  St.  John's,  Lord  Wenlock,  and  Mr.  Robert  Stil- 
lington,  keeper  of  the  privy  seal,  his  deputies  and  commission- 
ers, to  confer  with  those  named  by  the  Lord  of  the  Isles.  The 
conference  terminated  in  a  treaty,  by  which  the  Lord  of  the 
Isles  agreed  to  become  a  vassal  to  the  crown  of  England,  and 
to  assist  Edward  IV.  and  James,  Earl  of  Douglas,  then  in  ban- 
iskment,  in  subduing  the  realm  of  Scotland. 

The  first  article  provides,  that  John  de  Isle,  Earl  of  Ross, 
with  his  son  Donald  Balloch,  and  his  grandson  John  de  Isle, 
with  all  their  subjects,  men,  people,  and  inhabitants,  become 
vas-als  and  liegemen  to  Edward  IV.  of  England,  and  assist 
him  in  his  wars  in  Scotland  or  Ireland  ;  and  then  follow  the 
allowances  to  be  made  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  in  recompense 
of  his  military  service,  and  the  provisions  for  dividing  such 
conquests  as  their  united  arms  should  make  upon  the  main- 
land of  Scotland  among  the  confederates.  These  appear  such 
M  i!lu>:rutions  of  the  period,  that  they  are  here  sub- 
joined :  -m 

"  If'  m,  The  seid  John  Erie  of  Rosse  shall,  from  the  seid  fest 
of  Whittesontyde  next  comyng,  yerely,  duryug  his  lyf,  have 
and  take,  for  fees  and  wages  in  tyme  of  peas,  of  the  seid  BKMl 
high  and  ClnUtien  prince  c.  marc  sterlyng  of  Englysh  money  ; 
and  in  tyrre  of  werre,  as  long  as  he  shall  entende  with  his 
myght  and  power  in  the  said  werres,  in  manner  and  founne 
ftbovesaid,  he  sln.!l  have  wages  of  ccc.  lb.  sterlyng  of  English 
-lonev  yearly  ;  and  after  the  rate  of  the  tyme  that  he  shall  be 
occupied  in  the  seid  w< ■:.- 

"  Item.  The  seid  Donald  shall,  from  tb«  seid  feste  of  Whit- 


he  shall  have  and  take,  for  his  wages  year 
Bnglytfa  money  ;  or  for  the  rate  of  the  tym 

"  Item,  The  seid  John,  sonn  and  heire  i 
Donald,  shall  have  and  take,  yerely,  from 
fees  and  wages,  in  the  tyme  of  peas,  x  1.  i 
money  ;  and  for  tyme  of  werre,  and  his  i 
manner  and  founne  aboveseid,  he  shall  hi 
wages,  yearly  xx  1.  sterlynge  of  Englysh  r 
rate  of  the  tyme  that  he  shall  be  occupied 
the  seid  John,  th'  Erie  Donald  and  John, 
shall  have  good  and  sufficiaunt  paiment 
wages,  as  wel  for  tyme  of  peas  as  of  werre 
articules  and  appoyntements.  Item,  It  is  i 
concluded,  and  finally  determined,  that,  it 
after  the  said  reaume  of  Scotlande,  or  the 
be  conquered,  subdued,  and  brought  to  tl 
seid  most  high  and  Christien  prince,  and  1 
soures,  of  the  seid  Lionell,  in  fourme  abov< 
the  assistance,  helpe,  and  aide  of  the  said 
and  Donald,  and  of  James  Erie  of  Don 
fees  and  wages  for  the  tyme  of  peas  cessyin 
Donald  shall  have,  by  the  graunte  of  the 
prince,  all  the  possessions  of  the  said  reauir 
see,  they  to  be  departed  equally  betwix  tl 
his  heires  and  successours,  to  holde  his  pa 
Christien  prince,  his  heires  and  successou 
right  of  his  croune  of  England,  by  homa< 
done  therefore. 

11  Item,  If  so  be  that,  by  th'  aide  and  a 
James  Erie  of  Douglas,  the  said  reaume  c 
quered  and  subdued  as  above,  then  he  shs 
inherite  all  his  own  possessions,  landes,  a 
this  syde  the  Scottishe  see  ;  that  is  to  sa; 
Scottishe  see  and  Englande,  such  he  hath 
of  before  this  ;  there  to  holde  them  c 
and  Christien  prince,  his  heires,  and  succ< 
said,  for  evermore,  in  right  of  the  coroune  ( 
the  said  Erie  of  Douglas,  as  his  heires  I 
homage  and  feaute  to  be  done  therefore."- 
Conventioncs  Liter  a  et  cujuscunque  gr 
fol.  vol.  v.,  1741. 

Such  was  the  treaty  of  Artornish  ;  but 
that  the  allies  ever  made  any  very  active  < 
ambitious  designs.  It  will  serve  to  show 
these  reguli,  and  their  independence  upon 
land. 

only  farther  necessary  to  say  of  the 
that  it  is  almost  opposite  to  the  Bay  of  A 
Mull,  where  there  was  another  castle,  the 
of  the  Lords  of  the  Isles. 


Note  B. 


Rude  Heiskar's  teal  through  su 
Will  long  pursue  the  minstrel's 


470 


SCOITS  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  Dean  of  the  Isles  says  of  Heiskar,  a  small  nninhahited 
rock,  about  twelve  (Scottish)  miles  from  the  isle  of  Uist,  that 
an  infinite  slaughter  of  seals  takes  place  there. 


Note  C. 

a  turret's  a:ry  head 


Slender  and  steep,  and  battled  round, 

0  erlook'd,  dark  Mall  1  thy  mighty  Sound.— Y.  417. 

he  Sound  of  Mull,  whici  divides  that  island  from  the  con- 
tinent of  Scotland,  is  one  of  the  most  striking  scenes  which  the 
Hebrides  afford  to  the  traveller.  Sailing  from  Oban  to  Aros, 
Dr  Tobermory,  through  a  narrow  channel,  yet  deep  enough  to 
'jear  vessels  of  the  largest  burden,  he  has  on  his  left  the  bold 
and  mountainous  shores  of  Mull  ;  on  the  right  those  of  that 
district  of  Argyleshire,  called  Morven,  or  Morvern,  succes- 
sively indented  by  deep  salt-water  lochs,  running  up  many 
miles  inland.  To  the  southeastward  arise  a  prodigious  range 
of  mountains,  among  which  Cruachan-Ben  is  pre-eminent. 
And  to  the  northeast  is  the  no  less  huge  and  picturesque  range 
oi*  the  Ardnamurchan  hills.  Many  ruinous  castles,  situated 
generally  upon  cliffs  overhanging  the  ocean,  add  interest  to  the 
scene.  Those  of  Donolly  and  Dunstaffnage  are  first  passed, 
then  that  of  Duart,  formerly  belonging  to  the  chief  of  the  war- 
like and  powerful  sept  of  Macleans,  and  the  scene  of  Miss 
Baillie's  beautiful  tragedy,  entitled  the  Family  Legend.  Still 
passing  on  to  the  northward,  Artornish  and  Aros  become  vis- 
ible upon  the  opposite  shores  ;  and,  lastly,  Mingarry,  and  other 
ruins  of  less  distinguished  note.  In  fine  weather,  a  grander 
and  more  impressive  scene,  both  from  its  natural  beauties,  and 
associations  with  ancient  history  and  tradition,  can  hardly  be 
imagined.  When  the  weather  is  rough,  the  passage  is  both 
difficult  and  dangerous,  from  the  narrowness  of  the  channel, 
and  in  part  from  the  number  of  inland  lakes,  out  of  which  sally 
forth  a  number  of  conflicting  and  thwarting  tides,  making  the 
navigation  perilous  to  open  boats.  The  sudden  flaws  and 
gusts  of  wind  which  issue  without  a  moment's  warning  from 
the  mountain  glens,  are  equally  formidable.  So  that  in  un- 
settled weather,  a  stranger,  if  not  much  accustomed  to  the 
sea,  may  sometimes  add  to  the  other  sublime  sensations  ex- 
cited by  the  scene,  that  feeling  of  dignity  which  arises  from  a 
sense  of  danger. 


Note  D. 


these  seas  behold, 


Round  twice  a  hundred  islaiids  roll'd, 
From  Hirt,  that  hears  their  northern  roar, 
To  the  green  Hay's  fertile  shore." — P.  417. 
The  number  of  the  western  isles  of  Scotland  exceeds  two 
hundred,  of  which  St.  Kilda  is  the  most  northerly,  anciently 
called  Hirth,  or  Hirt,  probably  from  "earth,"  being  in  fact 
the  whole  globe  to  its  inhabitants.  Hay,  which  now  belongs 
almost  entirely  to  Walter  Campbell,  Esq.,  of  Shawfield,  is  by 
far  the  most  fertile  of  the  Hebrides,  and  has  been  greatly  im- 
proved under  the  spirited  and  sagacious  management  of  the 
present  proprietor.  This  was  in  ancient  times  the  principal 
abode  of  the  Lords  of  the  Isles,  being,  if  not  the  largest,  the 
most  important  island  of  their  archipelago.  In  Martin's  time, 
some  relics  of  their  grandeur  were  yet  extant.  "  Loeh-Fin- 
lagin,  about  three  miles  in  circumference,  affords  salmon, 
Irouts,  and  eels  :  this  lake  lies  in  the  centre  of  the  isle.  The 
[sle  Finlagan,  from  which  this  lake  hath  its  name,  is  in  it.  It's 
famous  for  being  once  the  court  in  which  the  great  Mac-Don- 
ald, King  of  the  Isles,  had  his  residence  ;  his  houses,  chapel, 
&c,  are  now  ruinous.  His  guards  de  corps,  called  Luchttach, 
kept  guard  on  the  lake  side  nearest  to  the  isle  ;  the  walls  of 
their  houses  are  still  to  be  seen  there.     The  high  court  of  judi- 


cature, consisting  of  fourteen,  sat  always  here  ;  and  there  was 
an  appeal  to  them  from  all  the  courts  in  the  isles  :  the  eleventh 
share  of  the  sum  in  debate  was  due  to  the  principal  judge, 
There  was  a  big  stone  of  seven  foot  square,  in  which  there  wa< 
a  deep  impression  made  to  receive  the  feet  of  Mac-Donald  ; 
for  he  was  crowned  King  of  the  Isles  standing  in  this  stone 
and  swore  that  he  would  continue  his  vassals  in  the  possession 
of  their  lands,  and  do  exact  justice  to  all  his  subjects :  and 
then  his  father's  sword  was  put  into  his  hand.  The  Bishop 
of  Argyle  and  seven  priests  anointed  him  king,  in  presence  of 
all  the  heads  of  the  tribes  in  the  isles  and  continent,  and  were 
his  vassals  ;  at  which  time  the  orator  rehearsed  a  catalogue  of 
his  ancestors,"  &c. — Martin's  Account  of  the  We&lern  Isles, 
8vo.  London,  1716,  p.  240,  1. 


Note  E. 

Mingarry  sternly  placed, 

O'erawes  the  woodland  and  the  waste. — P.  417. 

The  Castle  of  Mingarry  is  situated  on  the  sea-coast  of  the 
district  of  Ardnamurchan.  The  ruins,  which  are  tolerably 
entire,  are  surrounded  by  a  very  high  wall,  forming  a  kind  of 
polygon,  for  the  purpose  of  adapting  itself  to  the  projecting 
angles  of  a  precipice  overhanging  the  sea,  on  which  the  castle 
stands.  It  was  anciently  the  residence  of  the  Mac-Ians,  a 
clan  of  Mac-Donalds,  descended  from  Ian,  or  John,  a  grand. 
son  of  Angus  Og,  Lord  of  the  Isles.  The  last  time  that  Min- 
garry was  of  military  importance,  occurs  in  the  celebrated 
Leabhar  dearg,  or  Red-book  of  Clanronald,  a  MS.  renowned 
in  the  Ossianic  controversy.  Allaster  Mac-Donald,  commonly 
called  Colquitto,  who  commanded  the  Irish  auxiliaries,  sent 
over  by  the  Earl  of  Antrim,  during  the  great  civil  war,  to  the 
assistance  of  Montrose,  began  his  enterprise  in.  1644,  by  taking 
the  castles  of  Kinloch-Alline,  and  Mingarry,  the  last  of  which 
made  considerable  resistance,  as  might,  from  the  strength  of 
the  situation,  be  expected.  In  the  mean  while,  Allaster  Mac- 
Donald's  ships,  which  had  brought  him  over,  were  attacked 
in  Loch  Eisord,  in  Skye,  by  an  armament  sent  round  by  ihe 
covenanting  parliament,  and  his  own  vessel  was  taken.  This 
circumstance  is  said  chiefly  to  have  induced  him  to  continue 
in  Scotland,  where  there  seemed  little  prospect  of  raising  an 
army  in  behalf  of  the  King.  He  had  no  sooner  moved  east- 
ward to  join  Montrose,  a  junction  which  he  effected  in  the 
braes  of  Athole,  than  the  Marquis  of  Argyle  besieged  the 
castle  of  Mingarry,  hut  without  success.  Among  other  war- 
riors and  chiefs  whom  Argyle  summoned  to  his  camp  to  assist 
upon  this  occasion,  was  John  of  Moidart,  the  Captain  of  Clan- 
ronald. Clanronald  appeared  ;  but,  far  from  yielding  effec- 
tual assistance  to  Argyle,  he  took  the  opportunity  of  being  in 
arms  to  lay  waste  the  district  of  Sunart,  then  belonging  to  the 
adherents  of  Argyle,  an«  sent  part  of  the  spoil  to  relieve  the 
Castle  of  Mingarry.  Thus  the  castle  was  maintained  until  re- 
lieved by  Allaster  Mac-Donald  (Colquitto),  who  had  been  de- 
tached for  the  purpose  by  Montrose.  These  particulars  xre 
hardly  worth  mentioning,  were  they  not  connected  (nth  .he 
memorable  successes  of  Montrose,  related  by  an  eyewltnesi 
and  hitherto  unknown  to  Scottish  historians. 


Note  F. 

The  heir  of  mighty  Somerled. — P.  417. 

Somerled  was  thane  of  Argyle  and  Lord  of  the  Isles,  about 
the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century.  He  seems  to  have  exer= 
cised  his  authority  in  both  capacities,  independent  of  the 
crown  of  Scotland,  against  which  he  often  stood  in  hostility 
He  made  various  incursions  upon  the  western  lowlands  during 
the  reign  of  Malcolm  IV.,  and  seems  to  have  made  peace  with 
him  upon  the  terms  of  an  independent  prince,  about  tho  yea 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


47. 


1157.  In  1164,  he  resumed  the  war  against  Malcolm,  and  in- 
vaded Scotland  with  a  large,  hut  probably  a  tumultuary  army, 
sollecf.ed  in  tlie  isles,  in  ttie  mainland  of  Argyleshire,  and  in 
the  neighboring  provinces  of  Ireland.  He  was  defeated  and 
slain  in  an  engagement  with  a  very  inferior  force,  near  Ren- 
frew. His  son  Gillicolane  fell  in  the  same  battle.  This  mighty 
chieftain  married  a  daughter  of  Olaus,  King  of  Man.  From 
him  our  genealogists  deduce  two  dynasties,  distinguished  in 
the  stormy  history  of  the  middle  a«es  ;  the  Lords  of  the  Isles 
descended  from  his  elder  son  Ronald, — and  the  Lords  of  Lorn, 
who  took  their  sirname  of  M'Dougal,  as  descended  of  his  sec- 
ond son  Dougal.  That  Somerled's  territories  upon  the  main- 
land, and  upon  the  islands,  should  have  been  thus  divided 
between  his  two  sons,  instead  of  passing  to  the  elder  exclu- 
sively, may  illustrate  the  uncertainty  of  descent  among  the 
great  Highland  families,  which  we  shall  presently  notice. 


Note  G-. 
Lord  of  the  Isles.— V.  417. 

The  representative  of  this  independent  principality,  for  such 
it  seems  to  have  been,  though  acknowledging  occasionally  the 
pre-eminence  of  the  Scottish  crown,  was,  at  the  period  of  the 
poem,  Angus,  called  Angus  Og  ;  but  the  name  has  been,  eu- 
phoni as  gratia,  exchanged  for  that  of  Ronald,  which  frequent- 
ly occurs  in  the  genealogy.  Angus  was  a  protector  of  Robert 
Bruce,  whom  he  received  in  his  castle  of  Dunnaverty,  during 
the  time  of  his  greatest  distress.  As  I  shall  be  equally  liable 
to  censure  for  attempting  to  decide  a  controversy  which  lias 
long  existed  between  three  distinguished  chieftains  of  this  fam- 
ily, who  have  long  disputed  the  representation  of  the  Lord  of 
the  Isles,  or  for  leaving  a  question  of  such  importance  alto- 
gether untouched,  I  choose,  in  the  first  place,  to  give  such  in- 
formation as  I  have  been  able  to  derive  from  Highland  geneal- 
ogists, and  which,  for  those  who  have  patience  to  investigate 
such  subjects,  really  contains  some  curious  information  con- 
cerning the  history  of  the  Isles.  In  the  second  place,  I  shall 
offer  a  few  remarks  upon  the  rules  of  succession  at  that  pe- 
riod, without  pretending  to  decide  their  bearing  upon  the  ques- 
tion at  issue,  which  must  depend  upon  evidence  which  I  have 
had  no  opportunity  to  examine. 

"  Angus  Og,"  says  an  ancient  manuscript  translated  from 
the  Gaelic,  "  son  of  Angus  Mor,  son  of  Donald,  son  of  Ronald, 
son  of  Somerled,  high  chief  and  superior  Lord  of  Innisgall  (or 
the  Isies  of  the  Gael,  the  general  name  given  to  the  Hebrides), 
he  married  a  daughter  of  Cunbui,  namely,  Cathan  ;  she  was 
mother  to  John,  son  of  Angus,  and  with  her  came  an  unusual 
portion  from  Ireland,  viz.  twenty-four  clans,  of  whom  twenty- 
four  families  in  Scotland  are  descended.  Angus  had  another 
son,  namely,  young  John  Fraoch,  whose  descendants  are  called 
Clan-Ean  of  Glencoe,  and  the  M'Donalds  of  Fraoch.  This 
Angus  Og  died  in  Isla,  where  his  body  was  interred.  His  son 
John  succeeded  to  the  inheritance  of  Innisgall.  He  had  good 
de«->>n  lants,  namely,  three  sons  procreate  of  Ann,  daughter  of 
Rodj  )  high  chief  of  Lorn,  and  one  daughter,  Mary,  married 
to  Jot  n  MacLean,  Laird  of  Duart,  and  Lauchlan,  his  brother, 
Lairl  DfColl;  she  was  interred  in  the  church  of  the  Black 
Nuns.     The  eldest  sons  of  John  were  Ronald,  Godfrey,  and 

Angu? He  gave  Ronald  a  great  inheritance. 

These  were  the  lands  which  he  gave  him,  viz.  from  Kilcumin 
in  Abertarf  to  the  river  Seil,  and  from  thence  to  Beilli,  north 
of  Eig  and  Rum,  and  the  two  Uists,  and  from  thence  to  the 
foot  of  the  river  Glaichan,  and  threescore  long  ships.  Jchn 
married  afterwards  Margaret  Stewart,  daughter  to  Rol  ert 
Stewart,  King  of  Scotland,  called  John  Femyear  ;  she  bore 
him  three  good  sons,  Donald  of  the  Isles,  the  heir,  John  the 
Tainister  (*.  e.  Thane),  the  second  son,  and  Alexander  Car- 


\  Western  Isles  and  adjacent  coast. 


2  Innisgal. 


rach.  John  had  another  son  called  Marcus,  of  whom  the  clan 
Macdonald  of  Cnoc,  in  Tirowen,  are  descended.  This  John 
lived  long,  and  made  donations  to  Icolunikiil ;  he  covered  the 
chapel  of  Eorsay-Elan,  the  chapel  of  Finlagam,  and  the 
chapel  of  the  Isle  of  Tsuibhne,  and  gave  the  proper  furniture 
for  the  service  of  God,  upholding  the  clergy  and  monks  ,  he 
built  or  repaired  the  church  of  the  Holy  Cross  immediately 
before  his  death.  He  died  at  his  own  castle  of  Ardtoriuish  '. 
many  priests  and  monks  took  the  sacrament  at  his  funn-xl, 
and  they  embalmed  the  body  of  this  dear  man,  and  bronrin 
it  to  Ieoluinkill ;  the  abbot,  monks,  and  vicar,  came  as  thev 
ought  to  meet  the  King  of  Fiongal,1  and  out  of  great  retpeoi 
to  his  memory  mourned  eight  days  and  nigi»ts  ovei  it,  and 
laid  it  in  the  same  grave  with  his  father,  in  the  church  of  Oran, 
1380. 

"  Ronald,  son  of  John,  was  chief  ruler  of  the  Isles  in  his 
father's  lifetime,  and  was  old  in  the  government  at  his  father's 
death. 

"  He  assembled  the  gentry  of  the  Isles,  brought  the  sceptre 
from  Kiklonan  in  Eig,  and  delivered  it  to  his  brother  Donald, 
who  was  thereupon  called  M'Donald,  and  Donald  Lord  of  the 
Isles,2  contrary  to  the  opinion  of  the  men  of  the  Isles. 

"  Ronald,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  was  a  great  sup 
porter  of  the  church  and  clergy  ;  his  descendants  are  called 
Clanronald.  He  gave  the  lands  of  Tiruma  in  Uist,  to  the 
minister  of  it  forever,  for  the  honor  of  God  and  Columkill  ; 
he  was  proprietor  of  all  the  lands  of  the  north  along  the  coast 
and  the  isles  ;  he  died  in  the  year  of  Christ  1386,  in  his  own 
mansion  of  Castle  Tirim,  leaving  five  children.  Donald  of  the 
Isles,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  the  brother  of  Ronald, 
took  possession  of  Inisgall  by  the  consent  of  his  brother  and 
the  gentry  thereof;  they  were  all  obedient  to  him  :  he  mar- 
ried Mary  Lesley,  daughter  to  the  Earl  of  Ross,  and  by  her 
came  the  earldom  of  Ross  to  the  M'Donalds.  After  his  suc- 
cession to  that  earldom,  he  was  called  i\!  'Donald,  Lord  of  the 
Isles,  and  Earl  of  Ross.  There  are  many  things  written  of  him 
in  other  places, 

"  He  fought  the  battle  of  Garioch  (j.  e.  Harlaw)  against 
Duke  Murdoch,  the  governor;  the  Ear!  of  Mar  commanded  the 
army,  in  support  of  his  claim  to  the  earldom  of  Ross,  which 
was  ceded  to  him  by  King  James  the  First,  after  his  release 
from  the  King  of  England  ;  and  Duke  Murdoch,  his  two  sons 
and  retainers,  were  beheaded  :  he  gave  lands  in  Mull  and  Isla 
to  the  minister  of  Hi,  and  every  privilege  which  the  minister 
of  lonahad  formerly,  besides  vessels  of  gold  and  silver  to  Co- 
lumkill for  the  monastery,  and  became  himself  one  of  the  fra 
ternity.  He  left  issue,  a  lawful  heir  to  Innisgall  and  Ross, 
namely  Alexander,  the  son  of  Donald  :  he  died  in  Isla,  mul 
his  body  was  interred  in  the  south  side  of  the  temple  of  Oran. 
Alexander,  called  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alexander  of  the 
Isles,  son  of  Donald  of  the  Isles.  Angus,  the  third  son  of 
John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  married  the  daughter  of  John,  the  son 
of  Allan,  which  connection  caused  some  disagreement  betwixt 
the  two  families  about  their  marches  and  division  of  lands, 
the  one  party  adhering  to  Angus,  and  the  other  to  John  :  the 
differences  increased  so  much  that  John  obtained  from  Allan 
all  the  lands  betwixt  Abhan  Fahda  (i.  e.  the  long  river)  and 
old  na  sionnach  (i.  e.  the  fox-burn  brook),  in  the  upper  pari 
of  Cantyre.  Allan  went  to  the  king  to  complain  of  his  son 
in-law  ;  in  a  short  time  thereafter,  there  happened  to  be  agru«.t 
meeting  about  this  young  Angus's  lands  to  the  north  of  Inver- 
ness, where  he  was  murdered  by  his  own  harper  Mac-Cairbre, 
by  cutting  his  throat  with  a  long  knife.  He;!  lived  a  year 
thereafter,  and  many  of  those  concerned  were  delivered  up  to 
the  king.  Angus's  wife  was  pregnant  at  the  time  of  his  mur- 
der, and  she  bore  bin  a  son  who  was  named  Donald,  and 
called  Donald  Du.  He  was  kept  in  confinement  until  he  was 
thirty  years  of  age,  when  he  was  released  by  the  men  of  Glen- 
co,  by  the  strcng  hand.  After  this  enlargement,  he  came  to 
the  Isles,  and  convened  the  gentry  thereof.     There  happened 


3  The  murderer,  I  presume,  not  I 


who  was  murdered 


472 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(mat  feuds  betwixt  these  families  while  Donald  Du  was  in 
confinement,  insomuch  that  Mac-Cean  of  Ardnamurchan  de- 
stroyed the  greatest  part  of  the  posterity  of  John  Mor  of  the 
Isles  and  Cantyre.  For  John  Cathanach,  son  of  John,  son  of 
Donald  Balloeh,  son  of  John  Mor,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus 
Og  (the  chief  of  the  descendants  of  John  Mor),  and  John  Mor, 
Bon  of  John  Cathanach,  and  young  John,  son  of  John  Catha- 
nach, and  young  Donald  Balloeh,  son  of  John  Cathanach,  were 
treacherously  taken  by  Mac-Cean  in  the  island  of  Finlagan,  in 
Ffela,  and  carried  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  got  them  hanged  at 
the  Burrow-muir,  and  their  bodies  were  buried  in  the  Church 
of  St.  Anthony,  called  the  New  Church.  There  were  none 
left  alive  at  that  time  of  the  children  of  John  Cathanach,  ex- 
cept Alexander,  the  son  of  John  Cathanach,  and  Agnes  Flach, 
who  concealed  themselves  in  the  glens  of  Ireland.  Mac-Cean, 
hearing  of  their  hiding-places,  went  to  cut  down  the  woods  of 
these  glens,  in  order  to  destroy  Alexander,  and  extirpate  the 
whole  race.  At  length  Mac-Cean  and  Alexander  met,  were 
reconciled,  and  a  marriage-alliance  took  place ;  Alexander 
married  Mac-Cean's  daughter,  and  she  brought  him  good  chil- 
dren. The  Mac-Donalds  of  the  North  had  also  descendants  ; 
for,  after  the  death  of  John,  Lord  of  the  Isles,  Earl  of  Ross, 
and  the  murder  of  Angus,  Alexander,  the  son  of  Archibald, 
the  son  of  Alexander  of  the  Isles,  took  possession,  and  John 
was  in  possession  of  the  earldom  of  Ross,  and  the  north  bor- 
dering country  ;  he  married  a  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Moray, 
of  whom  some  of  the  men  of  the  north  had  descended.  The 
Mac-Kenzies  rose  against  Alexander,  and  fought  the  uaitle 
called  Btar  na  Pairc.  Alexander  had  only  a  few  of  the  men 
of  Ross  at  the  battle.  He  went  after  that  battle  to  take  pos- 
session of  the  Isles,  and  sailed  in  a  ship  to  the  srjuth  to  see  if  he 
could  find  any  of  the  posterity  of  John  Mor  alive,  to  rise  along 
with  him  ;  but  Mac-Cean  of  Ardnamurchan  watched  him  as 
ne  sailed  past,  followed  him  to  Oransay  and  Colonsay,  went 
to  the  house  where  he  was,  and  he  and  Alexander,  son  of 
John  Cathanach,  murdered  him  there. 

"  A  good  while  after  these  things  fell  out,  Donald  Galda, 
son  of  Alexander,  son  of  Archibald,  became  major;  he,  with 
the  advice  and  direction  of  the  Earl  of  Moray,  came  to  the 
Isles,  and  Mac-Leod  of  the  Lewis,  and  many  of  the  gentry  of 
the  Isles,  rose  with  him  :  they  went  by  the  promontory  of 
Ardnamurchan,  where  they  met  Alexander,  the  son  of  John 
Cathanach,  were  reconciled  to  him,  he  joined  his  men  with 
theirs  against  Mac-Cean  of  Ardnamurchan,  came  upon  him  at 
a  place  called  the  Silver  Craig,  where  he  and  his  three  sons, 
and  a  great  number  of  his  people,  were  killed,  and  Donald 
Galda  was  immediately  declared  Mac-Donald  :  And,  after  the 
affair  of  Ardnamurchan,  all  the  men  of  the  Isles  yielded  to 
him,  but  he  did  not  live  above  seven  or  eight  weeks  after  it ; 
he  died  at  Caruaborg,  in  Mull,  without  issue.  He  had  three 
Bisters'  daughters  of  Alexander,  son  of  Archibald,  who  were 
portioned  in  the  north  upon  the  continent,  but  the  earldom  of 
Ro^s  was  kept  for  them.  Alexander,  the  son  of  Archibald, 
had  a  natural  son,  called  John  Cam,  of  whom  is  descended 
Achnacoichan,  in  Ramoeh,  and  Donald  Gorm,  son  of  Ronald, 
son  of  Alexander  Duson,  of  John  Cam.  Donald  Du,  son  of 
Angus,  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alexander  of  the  Isles. 
sou  of  Donald  of  the  Isles,  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  An- 
gus Og,  namely,  the  true  heir  of  the  Isles  and  Ross,  came 
after  his  release  from  captivity  to  the  Isles,  and  convened  the 
men  thereof,  and  he  and  the  Earl  of  Lennox  agreed  to  raise  a 
great  army  for  the  purpose  of  taking  possession,  and  a  ship 
camp  tr>m  England  with  a  supply  of  money  to  carry  on  the 
wai,  which  landed  at  Mull,  and  the  money  was  given  to  Mac- 
Leai»  of  Duart  to  be  distributed  among  the  commanders  of  the 
armj ,  which  they  not  receiving  in  proportion  as  it  should  have 
been  distributed  among  them,  caused  the  army  to  disperse, 
which,  when  the  Earl  of  Lennox  heard,  he  disbanded  his  own 
men,  and  made  it  up  with  the  king.  Mac-Donald  went  to 
Ireland  to  raise  men,  but  he  died  on  his  way  to  Dublin,  at 
Drogheda,  of  a  fever,  without  issue  of  either  sons  or  daugh- 
ters." 


In  this  history  may  be  traced,  though  the  Bard,  or  Sear 
nachie,  touches  such  a  delicate  discussion  with  a  gentle  hand, 
the  point  of  difference  between  the  three  principal  septs  de- 
scended from  the  Lords  of  the  Isles.  The  first  questitn,  and 
one  of  no  easy  solution,  where  so  little  evidence  is  produced; 
respects  the  nature  of  the  connection  of  John  called  by  the 
Archdean  of  the  Isles  "  the  Good  John  of  Ila,"  and  "  the  last 
Lord  of  the  Isles,"  with  Anne,  daughter  of  Roderick  Mae- 
dougal,  high-chief  of  Lorn.  In  the  absence  if  positive  e\i- 
dence,  presumptive  must  be  resorted  to,  and  I  own  it  appears 
to  render  it  in  the  highest  degree  improbable  that  this  conneo 
tion  was  otherwise  than  legitimate.  In  the  wars  between  Da- 
vid II.  and  Edward  Baliol,  John  of  the  Isles  espoused  the 
Baliol  interest,  to  which  he  was  probably  determined  by  his 
alliance  with  Roderick  of  Lorn,  who  was,  from  every  family 
predilection,  friendly  to  Baliol,  and  hostile  to  Bruce.  It  seems 
absurd  to  suppose,  that  between  two  chiefs  of  the  same  de- 
scent, and  nearly  equal  power  and  rank  (though  the  Mac- 
Dougals  had  been  much  crushed  by  Robert  Bruce),  such  a 
connection  should  have  been  that  of  concubinage  ;  and  it  ap- 
pears more  likely  that  the  tempting  offer  of  an  alliance  with 
the  Bruce  family,  when  they  had  obtained  the  decided  supe- 
riority in  Scotland,  induced  "the  Good  John  of  Ila"  to  dis- 
inherit, to  a  certain  extent,  his  eldest  son  Ronald,  who  came 
of  a  stock  so  unpopular  as  the  Mac-Dougals,  and  to  call  to 
his  succession  his  younger  family,  born  of  Margaret  Ptuart 
daughter  of  Robert,  afterwards  King  of  Scotland.  The  set- 
ting aside  of  this  elder  branch  of  his  family  was  most  probably 
a  condition  of  his  new  alliance,  and  his  being  received  into 
favor  with  the  dynasty  he  had  always  opposed.  Nor  were  the 
laws  of  succession  at  this  early  period  so  clearly  understood  as 
to  bar  such  transactions.  The  numerous  and  strange  claims 
set  up  to  the  crown  of  Scotland,  when  vacant  by  the  death  of 
Alexander  III.,  make  it  manifest  how  very  little  the  indefeasi- 
ble hereditary  right  of  primogeniture  was  valued  at  that  period. 
In  fact,  the  title  of  the  Bruces  themselves  to  the  crown,  though 
justly  the  most  popular,  when  assumed  with  the  determination 
of  asserting  the  independence  of  Scotland,  was,  upon  pure 
principle,  greatly  inferior  to  that  of  Baliol.  For  Bruce,  the 
competitor,  claimed  as  son  of  Isabella,  second  daughter  of  Da- 
vid, Earl  of  Huntingdon  ;  and  John  Baliol,  as  grandson  of 
Margaret,  the  elder  daughter  of  that  same  earl.  So  that  the 
plea  of  Bruce  was  founded  upon  the  very  loose  idea,  that  as 
the  great-grandson  of  David  I.,  King  of  Scotland,  and  the 
nearest,  collateral  relation  of  Alexander  III.,  he  was  entitled  to 
succeed  in  exclusion  of  the  great-great-grandson  of  the  same 
David,  though  by  an  elder  daughter.  This  maxim  savored  ot 
the  ancient  practice  of  Scotland,  which  often  called  a  brother 
to  succeed  to  the  crown  as  nearer  in  blood  than  a  grand-child, 
or  even  a  son  of  a  deceased  monarch.  But,  in  truth,  the  max- 
ims of  inheritance  in  Scotland  were  sometimes  departed  from 
at  periods  when  they  were  much  more  distinctly  understood. 
Such  a  transposition  took  place  in  the  family  of  Hamilton,  in 
1513,  when  t.'ie  descendants  of  James,  third  Lord,  by  Lady 
Janet  Home,  were  set  aside,  with  an  appanage  of  great  value 
indeed,  in  order  to  call  to  the  succession  those  which  he  *iad 
by  a  subsequent  marriage  with  Janet  Beatoun.  In  short, 
many  other  examples  might  be  quoted  to  show  that  the  ques- 
tion of  legitimacy  is  not  always  determined  by  the  fact  of  suc- 
cession ;  and  there  seems  reason  to  believe,  that  Ronald,  de- 
scendant of  "  John  of  Ila,  '  by  Anne  of  Lorn,  was  legitimate, 
and  therefore  Lord  of  the     sles  dc  jure,   though  de  facto  his 


younger 


-brother  Donald,  son  of  his  father's  second  mar- 


riage with  the  Princess  of  Scotland,  superseded  him  in  his 
right,  and  apparently  by  his  own  consent.  From  this  Donald 
so  preferred  is  descended  the  family  of  Sleat,  now  Lords  Mao- 
Donald.  On  the  other  hand,  from  Ronald,  the  excluded  heir, 
upon  whom  a  very  large  appanage  was  settled,  descended  'he 
chiefs  of  Glengary  and  Clanronald,  each  of  whom  had  large 
possessions  and  a  numerous  vassalage,  and  boasted  a  long  de- 
scent of  warlike  ancestry.  Their  common  ancestor  Ronald 
was  murdered  by  the  Earl  of  Ross,  at  the  Monastery  nf  Eicho, 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


473 


A..  i».  1346.  I  believe  it  has  been  subject  of  fierce  dispute, 
whether  Donald,  who  carried  on  the  line  of  Glengary,  or  Al- 
lan of  Moidart,  the  ancestor  of  the  captains  of  Clanronald,  was 
the  eldest  son  of  Ronald,  the  son  of  John  of  Isla.  An  humble 
Lowlander  may  be  permitted  to  waive  the  discussion,  since  a 
Sennacliie  of  no  small  note,  who  wrote  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, expresses  himself  upon  this  delicate  topic  in  the  following 
words  : — 

"  I  have  now  given  you  an  account  of  every  thing  you  can 
expect  of  the  descendants  of  the  clan  Colla  (*.  e.  the  Mac- 
Donalds),  to  the  deatii  of  Donald  Du  at  Drogheda,  namely, 
the  true  line  of  those  who  possessed  the  Isles,  Ross,  and  the 
mountainous  countries  of  Scotland.  It  was  Donald,  the  son 
of  Angus,  that  was  killed  at  InVerness  (by  his  own  harper 
Mac-i'Cairbre),  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alexander, 
ton  of  Donald,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og.  And  I  know 
not  which  of  his  kindred  or  relations  is  the  true  heir,  except 
these  five  sons  of  John,  the  son  of  Angus  Og,  whom  I  here  set 
down  for  you,  namely,  Konald  and  Godfrey,  the  two  sons  of 
the  daughter  of  Mac-Donald  of  Lorn,  and  Donald  and  John 
Mor,  and  Alexander  Carrach,  the  three  sons  of  Margaret 
Stewart,  daughter  of  Robert  Stewart,  King'  of  Scotland." — 
Leabhar  Dcurg. 


Note  H. 


The  House  of  Lorn.—?.  418. 

The  House  of  Lorn,  as  we  observed  in  a  former  note,  was, 
.ike  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  descended  from  a  son  of  Somerled, 
slain  at  Renfrew,  in  1164.  This  son  obtained  the  succession 
»f  his  mainland  territories,  comprehending  the  greater  part  of 
the  three  districts  of  Lorn,  in  Argyleshire,  and  of  course  might 
rather  be  considered  as  petty  princes  than  feudal  barons. 
They  assumed  the  patronymic  appellation  of  Mac-Dougal,  by 
which  they  are  distinguished  in  the  history  of  the  middle  ages. 
The  Lord  of  Lorn,  who  flourished  during  the  wars  of  Bruce, 
was  Allaster  (or  Alexander)  Mac-Dougal,  called  Allaster  of 
Argyle.  He  had  married  the  third  daughter  of  John,  called 
>he  Red  Comyn,1  who  was  slain  by  Bruce  in  the  Dominican 
Church  at  Dumfries,  and  hence  he  was  a  mortal  enemy  of 
vhat  prince,  and  more  than  once  reduced  him  to  great  straits 
during  the  early  and  distressed  period  of  his  reign,  as  we  shall 
have  repeated  occasion  to  notice.  Bruce,  when  he  began  to 
obtain  an  ascendency  in  Scotland,  took  the  first  opportunity 
in  his  ppwer  to  requite  these  injuries.  He  marched  into 
Argyleslfire  to  lay  waste  the  country.  John  of  Lorn,  son  of 
the  chieftain,  was  posted  with  his  followers  in  the  formidable 
pass  between  Dalmally  and  Bunawe.  It  is  a  narrow  path 
along  the  verge  of  the  huge  and  precipitous  mountain,  called 
Cruachan-Ben,  and  guarded  on  the  other  side  by  a  precipice 
overhanging  Loch  Awe.  The  pass  seems  to  the  eye  of  a  sol- 
dier as  strong,  as  it  is  wild  and  romantic  to  that  of  an  ordinary 
traveller.  But  the  skill  of  Bruce  had  anticipated  this  diffi- 
culty. While  his  main  body,  engaged  in  a  skirmish  with  the 
men  of  Lorn,  detained  their  attention  to  the  front  of  their 
position,  James  of  Douglas,  with  Sir  Alexander  Fraser,  Sir 
William  Wiseman,  and  irir  Andrew  Gray,  ascended  the  moun- 
tain with  a  select  body  of  archery,  and  obtained  possession  of 
the  heights  which  commanded  the  pass.  A  volley  of  arrows 
descending  upon  them  directly  warned  the  Argyleshire  men 
of  their  perilous  situation,  and  their  resistance,  which  had 
nitherto  been  bold  and  manly,  was  changed  into  a  precipitate 
flight.  The  deep  and  rapid  river  of  Awe  was  then  (we  learn 
\he  fact  from  Barbour  with  some  surprise)  crossed  by  a  bridge. 


\  The  aunt,  according  to  Lord  Hailes.    But  the  genealogy  is  distinctly 
•van  by  Wyntoun  : — 

"  The  thryd  douchtyr  of  Red  Cwmyn, 
Alysawndyr  of  Argayle  syne 


This  bridge  the  mountaineers  attempted  to  demolish,  but 
Bruce's  followers  were  too  close  upon  their  rear ;  they  were, 
therefore,  without  refuge  and  defence,  and  were  dispersed 
with  great  slaughter.  John  of  Lorn,  suspicious  of  the  event, 
had  early  betaken  himself  to  the  galleys  which  he  had  upon 
the  lake  ;  but  the  feelings  which  Barbour  assigns  to  him, 
while  witnessing  the  rout  and  slaughter  of  his  follower,  ex 
culpate  him  from  the  charge  of  cowardice. 

"  To  Jhone  off  Lome  it  suld  displese 
I  trow,  quhen  he  iiis  men  mycht  se, 
Owte  off  his  schippis  fra  the  se, 
Be  slayne  and  chassyt  in  the  hill, 
That  he  mycht  set  na  help  thar  till. 
Bot  it  angrys  als  gretumly, 
To  gud  hartis  that  ar  worthi, 
To  se  thar  fayis  fulfill  thair  will 
As  to  thaim  selff  to  thole  the  ill." — B.  vii.,  v.  3Sfl». 

After  this  decisive  engagement,  Bruce  laid  waste  Argyleshire, 
and  besieged  Dunstatfnage  Castle,  on  the  western  shore  of 
Lorn,  compelled  h  to  surrender,  and  placed  in  that  principal 
stronghold  of  the  IV'ac-Dougals  a  garrison  and  governor  of  his 
own.  The  elder  Mac-Dougal,  now  wearied  with  the  contest, 
submitted  to  the  victor  ;  but  his  son,  "  rebellious,"  says  Bar- 
bour, "  as  he  wont  to  be,"  fled  to  England  by  sea.  When  the 
wars  between  the  Bruce  and  3aliol  factions  again  broke  out 
in  the  reign  of  David  II.,  the  Lords  of  Lorn  were  again  found 
upon  the  losing  side,  owing  to  their  hereditary  enmity  to  the 
house  of  Bruce.  Accordingly,  upon  the  issue  of  that  contest, 
they  were  deprived  by  David  II.  and  his  successor  of  by  far 
the  greater  part  of  their  extensive  territories,  which  were  con 
ferred  upon  Stewart,  called  the  Knight  of  Lorn.  The  house 
of  Mac-Dougal  continued,  however,  to  survive  the  loss  of 
power,  and  affords  a  very  rare,  if  not  a  unique,  instance  of  & 
family  of  such  unlimited  power,  and  so  distinguished  during 
the  middle  ages,  surviving  the  decay  of  their  grandeur,  and 
flourishing  in  a  private  station.  The  Castle  of  Dunolly,  near 
Oban,  with  its  dependencies,  was  the  principal  part  of  what 
remained  to  them,  with  their  right  of  chieftainship  over  the 
families  of  their  name  and  blood.  These  they  continued  to 
enjoy  until  the  year  1715,  when  the  representative  incurred 
the  penalty  of  forfeiture,  for  his  accession  to  the  insurrection 
of  that  period  ;  thus  losing  the  remains  of  his  inheritance,  to 
replace  upon  the  throne  the  descendants  of  those  princes, 
whose  accession  his  ancestors  had  opposed  at  the  expense  of 
their  feudal  grandeur.  The  estate  was,  however,  restored 
about  1745,  to  the  father  of  the  present  proprietor,  whom 
family  experience  had  taught  the  hazard  of  interfering  with 
the  established  government,  and  who  remained  quiet  upon 
that  occasion.  He  therefore  regained  his  property  when  many 
Highland  chiefs  lost  theirs. 

Nothing  can  be  more  wildly  beautiful  than  the  situation  of 
Dunolly.  The  ruins  are  situated  upon  a  bold  and  precipitous 
promontory,  overhanging  Loch  Etive,  and  distant  about  a 
mile  from  the  village  and  port  of  Oban.  The  principal  part 
which  remains  is  the  donjon  or  keep  ;  but  fragments  of  other 
buildings,  overgrown  with  ivy,  attest  that  it  had  been  once  a 
place  of  importance,  as  large  apparently  as  Artornish  or  Dun- 
staftnage.  These  fragments  enclose  a  courtyard,  of  which  the 
keep  probably  formed  one  side  ;  the  entrance  being  by  a  steep 
ascent  from  the  neck  of  the  isthmus,  formerly  cut  across  by  a 
moat,  and  defended  doubtless  by  outworks  and  a  drawbridge 
Beneath  the  castle  stands  the  present  mansion  of  the  family, 
having  on  the  one  hand  Loch  Etive,  with  its  islands  and 
mountains,  on  the  other  two  romantic  eminences  tufted  with 


Tuk,  and  weddyt  til  hya  wyf, 
And  on  hyr  he  gat  in-til  hys  lyfe 
Jhon  of  Lome,  the  quhilk  gat 
Ewyn  of  Lome  eftyr  that." 
Wyntoun's  Chronicle,  Book  viii.  Chap. 


174 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


copsewood  There  are  other  accompaniments  suited  to  the 
rcene  ;  in  particular,  a  huge  Upright  pillar,  or  detached  frag- 
ment of  that  sort  of  rock  called  plum-pudding  stone,  upon  the 
shore,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  castle.  It  is  called 
Clach-na-cau,  or  the  Dog's  Pillar,  because  Fingal  is  said  to 
have  used  it  as  a  stake  to  which  he  bound  his  celebrated  dog 
Bran  Others  say;  that  when  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  came  upon 
a  visit  *o  the  Lord  of  Lorn,  the  dogs  brought  for  his  sport  were 
kept  beside  t*is  pillar.  Upon  the  whole,  a  more  delightful 
and  romantic  spot  can  scarce  be  conceived  ;  and  it  receives  a 
moral  inte.  >st  from  the  considerations  attached  to  the  residence 
of  a  family  once  powerful  enough  to  confront  and  defeat  Rob- 
ert Bruce,  and  now  sunk  into  the  shade  of  private  life.  It  is 
at  present  possessed  by  Patrick  Mae-Dougal,  Esq.,  the  lineal 
and  undisputed  representative  of  the  ancient  Lords  of  Lorn. 
The  heir  of  Dunolly  fell  lately  in  Spain,  fighting  under  the 
Duke  of  Wellington, — a  death  well  becoming  his  ancestry. 


Note  I. 

Awaked  before  the  rushing  prow, 
The  mimic  fires  of  ocean  glow, 

Those  lightnings  of  the  wave  — P.  419. 

The  phenomenon  called  by  sailors  Sea-fire,  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  and  interesting  which  is  witnessed  in  the  He- 
brides. At  times  the  ocean  appean  entirely  illuminated 
around  the  vessel,  and  a  long  train  of  lambent  coruscations 
are  perpetually  bursting  upon  the  sides  of  the  vessel,  or  pur- 
suing her  wake  through  the  darkness.  These  phosphoric  ap- 
pearances, concerning  the  origin  of  which  naturalists  are  not 
agreed  in  opinion,  seem  to  be  called  into  actio!)  by  the  rapid 
motion  of  the  ship  through  the  water,  and  are  probably  owing 
to  the  water  being  saturated  with  fish-spawn,  or  other  animal 
substances.  They  remind  one  strongly  of  the  description  of 
the  sea-snakes  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  wild,  but  highly  poetical 
ballad  of  the  Ancient  Mariner : — 

"  Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship 
I  watch'd  the  water-snakes, 
They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white, 
And  when  they  rear'd,  the  elvish  light 
Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes." 


Note  K. 

The  dark  fortress.— V.  420. 

The  fortress  of  a  Hebridean  chief  was  almost  always  on  the 
sea-shore,  for  the  facility  of  communication  which  the  ocean 
afforded.  Nothing  can  be  more  wild  than  the  situations  which 
they  chose,  and  the  devices  by  which  the  architects  endeavored 
to  defend  them.  Narrow  stairs  and  arched  vaults  were  the 
usual  mode  of  access;  and  the  drawbridge  appears  at  Dun- 
staflnage,  and  elsewhere,  to  have  faller  from  the  gate  of  the 
building  to  the  top  of  such  a  staircase  ;  so  that  any  one  ad- 
vancing with  hostile  purpose,  found  himself  in  a  state  of 
exposed  and  precarious  elevation,  with  a  gulf  between  him 
and  the  object  of  his  attack. 

These  fortresses  were  guarded  with  equal  care.  The  duty 
of  the  watch  devolved  chiefly  upon  an  officer  called  the  Cock- 
man,  who  had  the  charge  of  challenging  all  who  approached 
the  castle.  The  very  ancient  family  of  Mac-Niel  of  Barra 
kept  this  attendant  at  their  castle  about  a  hundred  years  ago. 
Martjn  gives  the  following  account  of  the  difficulty  which 
attended  his  procuring  entrance  there  :— "  The  little  island  Kis- 


mul  lies  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  south  of  this  isle 
(Barra)  ;  it  is  the  seat  of  Mackneil  of  Barra  ;  there  is  a  stone 
wall  round  it  two  stories  high,  reaching  the  sea;  and  within 
the  wall  there  is  an  old  tower  and  an  hall,  with  other  houses 
about  it.  There  is  a  little  magazine  in  the  tower,  to  which 
no  stranger  has  access.  I  saw  the  officer  called  the  Cock  man, 
and  an  old  cock  he  is  ;  when  I  bid  him  ferry  me  over  the  wa- 
ter to  the  island,  he  told  me  that  he  was  but  an  inferior  offi- 
cer, his  business  being  to  attend  in  the  tower  ;  but  if  (says  he) 
the  constable,  who  then  stood  on  the  wall,  will  give  yon 
access,  I'll  ferry  you  over.  I  desired  him  to  procure  me  the 
constable's  permission,  and  I  would  reward  him  ;  but  having 
waited  some  hours  for  the  constable's  answer,  and  not  receiving 
any,  I  was  obliged  to  return  without  seeing  tins  famous  fort. 
Mackneil  and  his  lady  being  absent,  was  the  cause  of  this 
difficulty,  and  of  my  not  seeing  the  place.  I  was  told  some 
weeks  after,  that  the  constable  was  very  apprehensive  of  some 
design  I  might  have  in  viewing  the  fort,  and  thereby  to  expose 
it  to  the  conquest  of  a  foreign  power ;  of  which  I  supposed 
there  was  no  great  cause  of  fear." 


Note  L. 

That  keen  knight,  T)e  Argentine. — P.  422. 

Sir  Egidius,  or  Giles  de  Argentine,  was  one  of  the  most 
accomplished  knights  of  the  period.  He  had  served  in  the 
wars  of  Henry  of  Luxemburg  with  such  high  reputation,  that 
lie  was,  in  popular  estimation,  the  third  worthy  of  the  age. 
Those  to  whom  fame  assigned  precedence  over  him  were, 
Henry  of  Luxemburg  himself,  and  Robert  Bruce.  Argentine 
had  warred  in  Palestine,  encountered  thrice  with  the  Saracens, 
and  had  slain  two  antagonists  in  each  engagement : — an  easy 
matter,  he  said,  for  one  Christian  knight  to  slay  two  Pagan 
dogs.  His  death  corresponded  with  his  high  character.  With 
Aster  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  he  was  appointed  to 
attend  immediately  upon  the  person  of  Edward  II.  at  Ban- 
nockburn.  When  the  day  was  utterly  lost  they  forced  the 
king  from  the  field.  De  Argentine  saw  the  king  safe  from 
immediate  danger,  and  then  took  his  leave  of  him  ;  "  God  be 
with  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  my  wont  to  fly."  So  say- 
ing, he  turned  his  horse,  cried  his  war-cry,  plunged  into  the 
midst  of  the  combatants,  and  was  slain.  Baston,  a  rhyming 
monk  who  had  been  brought  by  Edward  to  c  .lebrate  his  ex- 
pected triumph,  and  who  was  compelled  by  th*  victors  to  com- 
pose a  poem  on  his  defeat,  mentions  with  syme  feeling  the 
death  of  Sir  Giles  de  Argentine  : 

Nobilis  Argenten,  pugil  inclyte,  dulcis  Egidi, 
Vix  scieram  mentem  cum  te  succumbere  vidi. 

"  The  first  line  mentions  the  three  chief  requisites  of  a  true 
knight,  noble  birth,  valor,  and  courteousness.  Few  Leonine 
couplets  can  be  produced  that  have  so  much  sentiment.  I 
wish  that  1  could  have  collected  more  ample  memorials  con- 
cerning a  character  altogether  different  from  modern  manners. 
Sir  Giles  d' Argentine  was  a  hero  of  romance  in  real  life."  So 
obser  es'the  excellent  Lord  Hailes. 


Note  M. 


"  Fill  me.  the  mighty  cup  /"  he  said, 

"  Erst  own'd  by  royal  Sonicrled." — P.  422. 

A  Hebridean  drinking  cup,  of  the  most  ancient  and  curious 
workmanship,  has  been  long  preserved  in  the  castle  of  Dun- 
vegan,  in  Skye,  the  romantic  seat  of  Mac-Leod  of  Mac-Leod. 
the  chief  of  that   ancient   and    powerful  clan.     The  horn  of 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LOUD  OE  THE  ISLES. 


47; 


Ror'e  More,  preserved  in  the  same  family,  and  recorded  by 
Dr.  Johnson,  is  not  to  be  compared  with  this  piece  of  anti- 
quity, which  is  one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  in  Scotland.  The 
following  is  a  pretty  accurate  description  of  its  shape  and  di- 
mensions, but  cannot,  I  f-:.ur,  be  perfectly  understood  without 
a  drawing. 

This  very  curious  piece  x  antiquity  is  nine  inched  and  three- 
quarters  in  inside  depth,  and  ten  and  a  half  in  height  on  the 
outside,  the  extreme  measure  over  the  lips  being  tour  inches 
and  a  half.  The  cup  is  divided  into  two  parts  by  a  wrought 
ledge,  beautifully  ornamented,  about  three-fourths  of  an  inch 
in  breadth.  Beneath  this  ledge  the  shape  of  the  cup  is  rounded 
oif,  and  terminates  in  a  flat  circle,  like  that  of  a  teacup  ;  four 
short  feet  support  the  whole.  Above  the  projecting  ledge  the 
shape  of  the  cup  is  nearly  square,  projecting  outward  at  the 
brim.  The  cup  is  made  of  wood  (oak  to  all  appearance),  but 
most  curiously  wrought  and  embossed  with  silver  work,  which 
projects  from  the  vessel.  There  are  a  number  of  regular  pro- 
jecting sockets,  which  appear  to  have  been  set  with  stones  ; 
two  or  three  of  them  still  hold  pieces  of  coral,  the  rest  are 
empty.  At  the  four  corners  of  the  projecting  ledge,  or  cornice, 
are  four  sockets,  much  larger,  probably  for  pebbles  or  precious 
stones.  The  workmanship  of  the  silver  is  extremely  elegant, 
and  appears  to  have  been  highly  gilded.  The  ledge,  brirn,  and 
legs  of  the  cup,  are  of  silver.  The  family  tradition  bears  that 
it  was  the  property  of  Neil  Ghlune-dhu,  or  Black-knee.  But 
who  this  Neil  was,  no  one  pretends  to  say.  Around  the  edge 
of  the  cup  is  a  legend,  perfectly  legible,  in  the  Saxon  black- 
letter,  which  seems  co  run  thus  : 


mto  :  Soft's  \  Mitff :  ||  J&fiit  :  IDncfpfs  ?  ©e  :|| 
5^r  :  i-ttanae  :  Vh\)  x  \\  Ufa&fa  :  Ittflrjncfhl 
2St :  Spat :  ©o :  3Hw :  30a:  ||  St.Ua  :  SUtJta  Spa:  J 
jfectt :  Slno  :  IBt :  Jr  :  93o  ©nflf :  ©t'mC :  || 

The  inscription  may  run  thus  at  length  :  Vfo  Johanis  Mich 
Migni  Principis  de  Hr  Manae  Vich  lAahia  Magryneil  et 
sperat  Domino  Ihesu  dari  clementiam  illoram  opera.  Fecit 
Jlnno  Domini  993  Oniii  Oimi.  Which  may  run  in  English  : 
Ufo,  the  son  of  John,  the  son  of  Magnus,  Prince  of  Man,  the 
grandson  of  Liahia  Macgryneil,  trusts  in  the  Lord  Jesus  that 
their  works  (i.  e.  his  own  and  those  of  his  ancestors)  will  ob- 
tain mercy.  Oneil  Oimi  made  this  in  the  year  of  God  nine 
hundred  and  ninety-three. 

But  this  version  does  not  include  the  puzzling  letters  hr  be- 
fore the  word  Manae.  Within  the  mouth  of  the  cup  the  letters 
jfr\)U.  (Jesus)  are  repeated  four  times.  From  this  and  other 
circumstances  it  would  seem  to  have  been  a  chalice.  This  cir- 
cumstance may  perhaps  account  for  the  use  of  the  two  Arabic 
numerals  93.  These  figures  were  introduced  by  Pope  Sylves- 
ter, a.  D.  991,  and  might  be  used  in  a  vessel  formed  for 
church  service  so  early  as  993.  The  workmanship  of  the  whole 
cup  is  extremely  elegant,  and  resembles,  I  am  told,  antiques  of 
the  same  nature  preserved  in  Ireland. 

The  cups,  thus  elegantly  formed,  and  highly  valued,  were 
by  no  means  utensils  of  mere  show.  Martin  gives  the  follow- 
ing account  of  the  festivals  of  his  time,  and  I  have  heard  simi- 
lar instances  of  brutality  in  the  Lowlands  at  no  very  distant 
period. 

"  The  manner  of  drinking  used  by  the  chief  men  of  the  Isles 
is  called  in  their  language  Streah,  i.  e.  a  Round  ;  for  the  com- 
pany sat  in  a  circle,  the  cup-bearer  filled  the  drink  rouud  to 
them,  and  all  was  drank  out,  whatever  i,."  liquor  was,  whether 
Btrong  or  weak  ;  they  continued  drinking  sometimes  twe".*v- 
four,  sometimes  forty-eight  hours  :  It  was  reckoned  a  piece  of 
manhood  to  drink  until  they  became  drunk,  and  there  were  two 
men  with  a  barrow  attending  punctually  on  such  occasions. 
They  stood  at  the  door  until  some  became  drunk,  and  they 
carry'd  them  upon  the  barrow  to  bed,  and  returned  again  to 
their  uost  as  long  as  any  continued  fresh,  arid  so  carried  off  the 


whole  company,  one  by  one,  as  they  became  drunk.  Severa. 
of  my  acquaintance  have  been  witnesses  to  this  custom  ol 
drinking,  but  it  is  now  abolished." 

Tiiis  savage  custom  was  not  entirely  done  away  within  thij 
last  generation.  I  Have  heard  of  a  gentleman  who  happened 
to  be  a  water-drinker,  and  was  permitted  to  abstain  from  the 
strong  potations  of  the  company.  The  bearers  carried  et,  iy 
one  man  after  another,  till  no  one  was  left  but  this  Scottish 
Mirglip.  They  then  came  to  do  him  the  same  good  office, 
which,  however,  he  declined  as  unnecessary,  and  proposed  t8 
walk  to  his  bedroom.  It  was  a  permission  he  could  not  obtain. 
Never  such  a  thing  had  happened,  they  said,  in  the  castle  \ 
that  it  was  impossible  but  he  must  require  their  assistance,  at 
any  rate  he  must  submit  to  receive  it ;  and  carried  him  off  in 
the  barrow  accordingly.  A  classical  penalty  was  sometimes 
imposed  on  those  who  balked  the  rules  of  good  fellowship 
by  evading  their  share  of  the  banquet.  The  same  author  con- 
tinues : — 

"  Among  persons  of  distinction  it  was  reckoned  an  affront 
put  upon  any  company  to  broach  a  piece  of  wine,  ale,  or  aqua- 
vits, and  not  to  see  it  all  drank  out  at  one  meeting.  If  any 
man  chance  to  go  out  from  the  company,  though  but  for  a  few 
minutes,  he  is  obliged,  upon  his  return,  and  before  be  take  his 
seat,  to  make  an  apology  for  his  absence  in  rhyme  ;  which  if 
he  cannot  perform,  he  is  liable  to  such  a  share  of  the  reck- 
oning as  the  company  thinks  fit  to  impose  :  which  custom  ob- 
tains in  many  places  still,  and  is  called  Bianchiz  Bard,  which, 
in  their  language,  signifies  the  poet's  congratulating  the  com- 
pany." 

Few  cups  were  better,  at  least  more  actively,  employed  in 
the  rude  hospitality  of  the  period,  than  those  of  Dunvegan 
one  of  which  we  have  just  described.  There  is  in  the  Leabhai 
Dearg,  a  song,  intimating  the  overflowing  gratitude  of  a  bard 
of  Clan-Ronald,  after  the  exuberance  of  a  Hebridean  festival 
at  the  patriarchal  fortress  of  Mac-Leod.  The  translation  being 
obviously  very  literal,  has  greatly  flattened,  as  I  am  informed, 
the  enthusiastic  gratitude  of  the  ancient  bard  ;  and  it  must  be 
owned  that  the  works  of  Homer  or  Virgil,  to  say  nothing  of 
Mac-Vuirich,  might  have  suffered  by  their  transfusion  through 
such  a  medium.  It  is  pretty  plain,  that  when  the  tribute  of 
poetical  praise  was  bestowed,  the  horn  of  Rorie  More  had  not 
been  inactive. 

Upon  Sir  Roderic  Mor  Macleod,  by  JViall  Mor 
MacVuiHch. 

"■  The  six  nights  I  remained  in  the  Dunvegan,  it  was  not  a 
show  of  hospitality  I  met  with  there,  but  a  plentiful  feast  in 
thy  fair  hall  among  thy  numerous  host  of  heroes. 

"The  family  placed  all  around  under  the  protection  of  their 
great  chief,  raised  by  his  prosperity  and  respect  for  his  warlike 
feats,  now  enjoying  the  company  of  his  friends  at  the  feast,— 
Amidst  the  sound  of  harps,  overflowing  cups,  and  happy  youth 
unaccustomed  to  guile,  or  feud,  partaking  of  the  generous  fare 
by  a  flaming  fire. 

"  Mighty  Chief,  liberal  to  all  in  your  princely  mansion,  filled 
with  your  numerous  warlike  host,  whose  generous  wine  would 
overcome  the  hardiest  heroes,  yet  we  continued  to  enjoy  the 
feast,  so  happy  our  host,  so  generous  our  fare." — Translated 
by  D.  Macintosh. 


.  It  would  be  unpardonable  in  a  modern  bard,  who  has  expe- 
rienced the  hospitality  of  Dunvegan  Casth  in  the  present  day, 
to  omit  paying  his  own  tribute  of  gratitude  for  a  reception 
more  elegant  indeed,  but  not  less  kindly  sincere,  than  Sir  Rod- 
erick More  himself  could  have  afforded.  But  Johnson  has 
already  described  a  similar  scene  in  the  same  ancient  patriarchal 
residence  of  the  Lords  of  Mac-Leod  : — "  Whatever  is  imaged 
in  the  wildest  tales,  if  giants,  dragons,  and  enchantment  be  ex- 
cepted, would  be  felt  by  him,  who,  wandering  in  the  moun- 
tains without  a  guide,  or  upon  the  sea  without  a  pilot,  should 
be  carried,  amidst  his  terror  and  uncertainty,  to  the  hospitalitv 
and  elegance  of  Raasay  or  Dunvegan." 


ila 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  N. 

With  solemn  step  and  silver  wand, 
The  Seneschal  the  presence  scann'd 
Of  these  strange  guests. — P.  423. 

T.ie  Sewer,  to  whom,  rather  than  the  Seneschal,  the  office 
af  arranging  the  guests  of  an  island  chief  appertained,  was  an 
officer  of  importance  in  the  family  of  a  Hebridean  chief. — 
"  Every  family  had  commonly  two  stewards,  which,  in  their 
language,  were  called  Marischal  Tach  :  the  first  of  these  served 
always  at  home,  and  was  obliged  to  be  versed  in  the  pedigree 
of  all  the  tribes  in  the  isles,  and  in  the  highlands  of  Scotland  ; 
for  it  was  his  province  to  assign  every  man  at  table  his  seat  ac- 
cording to  his  quality  ;  and  this  was  done  without  one  word 
speaking,  only  by  drawing  a  score  with  a  white  rod,  which 
this  Marischal  had  in  his  hand,  before  the  person  who  was 
bid  by  him  to  sit  down  :  and  this  was  necessary  to  prevent 
disorder  and  contention  ;  and  though  the  Marischal  might 
sometimes  be  mistaken,  the  master  of  the  family  incurred  no 
censure  by  such  an  escape ;  but  this  custom  has  been  laid 
aside  of  late.  They  had  also  cup-bearers,  who  always  filled 
and  carried  the  cup  round  the  company,  and  he  himself  always 
drank  off  the  first  draught.  They  had  likewise  purse-masters, 
who  kept  their  money.  Both  these  officers  had  an  hereditary 
right  to  their  office  in  writing,  and  each  of  them  had  a  town 
and  land  for  his  service  :  some  of  those  rights  I  have  seen  fairly 
written  on  good  parchment." — Martin's  Western  Isles. 


Note  0. 


the  rebellious  Scottish  crew, 

Who  to  Rath-Erin1  s  shelter  dreio 
With  Carriers  outlawed  Chief?- P.  424. 

It  must  be  remembered  by  all  who  have  read  the  Scottish 
history,  that  after  he  had  slain  Corny n  at  Dumfries,  and  assert- 
ed his  right  to  the  Scottish  crown,  Robert  Bruce  was  reduced 
to  the  greatest  extremity  by  the  English  and  their  adherents. 
He  was  crowned  at  Scone  by  the  general  consent  of  the  Scot- 
tish barons,  but  his  authority  endured  but  a  short  time.  Ac- 
cording to  the  phrase  said  to  have  been  used  by  his  wife,  he 
was  for  that  year  "  a  summer  king,  but  not  a  winter  one." 
On  the  29th  March,  1306,  he  was  crowned  king  at  Scone. 
Upon  the  19th  June,  in  the  same  year,  he  was  totally  defeated 
at  Methven,  near  Perth  ;  and  his  most  important  adherents, 
with  few  exceptions,  were  either  executed,  or  compelled  to 
embrace  the  English  interest,  for  safety  of  their  lives  and  for- 
tunes. After  this  disaster,  his  life  was  that  of  an  outlaw, 
rather  than  a  candidate  for  monarchy.  He  separated  himself 
from  the  females  of  his  retinue,  whom  he  sent  for  safety  to  the 
Castle  of  Kildrummie,  in  Aberdeenshire,  where  they  afterwards 
became  captives  to  England.  From  Aberdeenshire,  Bruce 
retreated  to  the  mountainous  parts  of  Breadalbane,  and  ap- 
proached the  borders  of  Argyleshire.  There,  as  mentioned  in 
the  Appendix,  Note  H,  and  more  fully  in  Note  P,  he  was  de- 
feated by  the  Lord  of  Lorn,  who  had  assumed  arms  against 
him  in  revenge  of  the  death  of  his  relative,  John  the  Red  Co- 
myn.  Escaped  from  this  peril,  Bruce,  with  his  few  attendants, 
subsisted  by  hunting  and  fishing,  until  the  weather  compelled 
them  to  seek  better  sustenance  and  shelter  than  the  Highland 
mountains  afforded.  With  great  difficulty  they  crossed,  fiom 
Rowardennan  probably,  to  the  western  banks  of  Lochlomond, 
partly  in  a  miserable  boat,  and  partly  by  swimming.  The 
valiant  and  loyal  Earl  of  Lennox,  to  whose  territories  they  had 
now  found  their  way,  welcomed  them  with  tears,  but  was  un- 
ible  to  assist  them  to  make  an  effectual  head.  The  Lord  of 
Ihe  Isles,  then  in  possession  of  great  part  of  Cantyre,  received 
'is  fugitive  monarch  and  future  restorer  of  his  country's  inde- 


pendence, in  his  castle  of  Dunnaverty,  in  that  district.  Bu 
treason,  says  Barbour,  was  so  general,  that  the  King  durst  no! 
abide  there.  Accordingly,  with  the  remnant  of  his  followers, 
Bruce  embarked  for  Rath-Erin,  or  Rachrine,  the  Reeina  of 
Ptolemy,  a  small  island  lying  almost  opposite  to  the  shores  ot 
Ballycastle,  on  the  coast  of  Ireland.  The  islanders  at  first  fled 
from  their  new  and  armed  guests,  but  upon  some  explanation 
submitted  themselves  to  Bruce's  sovereignty.  He  resided 
among  them  until  the  approach  of  spring  [1306],  when  he 
again  returned  to  Scotland,  with  the  desperate  resolution  to  re- 
conquer his  kingdom,  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  The  progress 
of  his  success,  from  its  commencement  to  its  completion,  forms 
the  brightest  period  in  Scottish  history. 


Note  P. 


The  Brooch  of  Lorn.— P.  424. 

It  has  been  generally  mentioned  in  the  preceding  notes,  that 
Bobert  Bruce,  after  his  defeat  at  Methven,  being  hard  pressed 
by  the  English,  endeavored,  with  the  dispirited  remnant  of 
his  followers,  to  escape  from  Breadalbane  and  the  mountains 
of  Perthshire  into  the  Argyleshire  Highlands.  But  he  was  en- 
countered and  repulsed,  after  a  very  severe  engagement,  by 
the  Lord  of  Lorn.  Bruce's  personal  strength  and  courage 
were  never  displayed  to  greater  advantage  than  in  this  con- 
flict. There  is  a  tradition  in  the  family  of  the  Mac-Dougals  of 
Lorn,  that  their  chieftain  engaged  in  personal  battle  with 
Bruce  himself,  while  the  latter  was  employed  in  protecting 
the  retreat  of  his  men  ;  that  Mac-Dougal  was  struck  down  by 
the  king,  whose  strength  of  body  was  equal  to  his  vigor  of 
mind,  and  would  have  been  slain  on  the  spot,  had  not  two  of 
Lorn's  vassals,  a  father  and  son,  whom  tradition  terms  Mac- 
Keoch,  rescued  him,  by  seizing  the  mantle  of  the  monarch,  and 
dragging  him  from  above  his  adversary.  Bruce  rid  himself  of 
these  foes  by  two  blows  of  his  redoubted  battle-axe,  but  was 
so  closely  pressed  by  the  other  followers  of  Lorn,  that  he  was 
forced  to  abandon  the  mantle,  and  brooch  which  fastened  it, 
clasped  in  the  dying  grasp  of  the  Mac-Keochs.  A  studded 
brooch,  said  to  have  been  that  which  King  Robert  lost  upon 
this  occasion,  was  long  preserved  in  the  family  of  Mac-Dougal, 
and  was  lost  in  a  fire  which  consumed  their  temporary  resi 
dence. 

The  metrical  history  of  Barbour  throws  an  air  of  credibility 
upon  the  tradition,  although  it  does  not  entirely  coincide  either 
in  the  names  or  number  of  the  vassals  by  whom  Bruce  was 
assailed,  and  makes  no  mention  of  the  personal  danger  of  Lorn, 
or  of  the  loss  of  Bruce's  mantle.  The  last  circumstance,  in- 
deed, might  be  warrantably  omitted. 

According  to  Barbour,  the  King,  with  his  handful  of  fol- 
lowers, not  amounting  probably  to  three  hundred  men,  en- 
countered Lorn  with  about  a  thousand  Argyleshire  men,  in 
Glen-Douchart,  at  the  head  of  Breadalbane,  near  Teyndrum. 
The  place  of  action  is  still  called  Dairy,  or  the  King's  Field. 
The  field  of  battle  was  unfavoiible  to  Bruce's  adherents, 
who  were  chiefly  men-at-arms.  Many  of  the  horses  were  slain 
by  the  long  pole-axes,  of  which  the  Argyleshire  Scottish  had 
learned  the  use  from  the  Norwegians.  At  length  Bruce  com- 
manded a  retreat  up  a  narrow  and  difficult  nass.he  himself  bring- 
ing up  the  rear,  and  repeated'y  turning  and  driving  back  the 
more  venturous  assai'^nts.  Lorn,  observwig  the  skill  and  val- 
or used  by  his  enemy  in  protecting  the  retreat  of  his  follow- 
ers, "  Methinks,  Murthokson,"  said  lie,  addressing  one  of  his 
followers,  "he  resembles  Gol  Mak-morn,  protecting  his  fol- 
lowers from  Fingal." — "  A  most  unworthy  comparison,"  ob 
serves  the  Archdeacon  of  Aberdeen,  unsuspicious  of  the  future 
fame  of  th'.se  names;  "he  might  with  more  propriety  have 
compared  the  King  to  Sir  Gaudefer  de  Layrs,  protecting  tno 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


47'i 


foragers  of  Gadyrs  against  the  attacks  of  Alexander."!  Two 
brothers,  the  strongest  among  Lorn's  followers,  whose  names 
Barbour  calls  Maukyn-Drosser  (interpreted  Durward,  or  Por- 
terson),  resolved  to  rid  their  chief  of  this  formidable  foe.  A 
third  person  (perhaps  the  Mac-Keoch  of  the  family  tradition) 
associated  himself  with  them  for  this  purpose.  They  watched 
their  opportunity  until  Bruce's  party  had  entered  a  pass  be- 
tween a  lake  (Loch  Dochart  probably)  and  a  precipice,  where 
the  King,  who  was  the  last  of  the  party,  had  scarce  room  to 
manage  his  steed.  Here  his  three  foes  sprung  upon  him  at 
once.  One  seized  his  bridle,  but  received  a  wound  which 
hewed  off  his  arm  ;  a  second  grasped  Bruce  by  the  stirrup  and 
leg,  and  endeavored  to  dismount  him,  hut  the  King,  putting 
spurs  to  his  horse,  threw  him  down,  still  holding  by  the  stirrup. 
The  third,  taking  advantage  of  an  acclivity,  sprung  up  be- 
hind him  upon  his  horse.  Bruce,  however,  whose  personal 
strength  is  uniformly  mentioned  as  exceeding  that  of  most 
men,  extricated  himself  from  his  grasp,  threw  him  to  the 
ground,  and  cleft  his  skull  with  his  sword.  By  similar  ex- 
ertion he  drew  the  stirrup  from  his  grasp  whom  he  had 
overthrown,  and  killed  him  also  with  his  sword  as  he 
lay  among  the  horse's  feet.  The  story  seems  romantic,  but 
this  was  the  age  of  romantic  exploit ;  and  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  Bruce  was  armed  cap-a-pie,  and  the  assailants  were 
half-clad  mountaineers.  Barbour  adds  the  following  circum- 
stance, highly  characteristic  of  the  sentiments  of  chivalry 
Mac-Naughton,  a  Baron  of  Cowal,  pointed  out  to  the  Lord  of 
Lorn  the  deeds  of  valor  which  Bruce  performed  in  this  mem- 
orable retreat,  with  the  highest  expressions  of  admiration. 
"It  seems  to  give  thee  pleasure,"  said  Lorn,  "that  he 
makes  such  havoc  among  our  friends." — "Not  so,  by  my 
faith,"  replied  Mac-Naughton  ;  "  but  be  he  friend  or  foe  who 
achieves  high  deeds  of  chivalry,  men  should  bear  faithful  wit- 
ness to  his  valor ;  and  never  have  I  heard  01  one,  who,  by  his 
knightly  feats,  has  extricated  himself  from  such  dangers  as 
have  this  day  surrounded  Bruce." 


Note  Q. 

Wrought  and  chased  with  fair  device, 
Studded  fair  with  gems  of  price. — P.  424. 

Great  art  and  expense  was  bestowed  upon  the  fibula,  or 
1>rooch,  which  secured  the  plaid,  when  the  wearer  was  a  per- 
son of  importance.  Martin  mentions  having  seen  a  silver 
brooch  of  a  hundred  marks  value.  "  It  was  broad  as  any  or- 
dinary pewter  plate,  the  whole  curiously  engraven  with  various 
animals,  &c.  There  was  a  lesser  buckle,  which  was  wore  in 
the  middle  of  the  larger,  and  above  two  ounces  weight ;  it  had 
in  the  centre  a  large  piece  of  crystal,  or  some  finer  stone,  and 
this  was  set  all  round  with  several  finer  stones  of  a  lesser  size." 
—  Western  Islands.  Pennant  has  given  an  engraving  of  such 
a  brooch  as  Martin  describes,  and  the  workmanship  of  which 
is  very  elegant.  It  is  said  to  have  belonged  to  the  family  of 
Lochbuy. — See  Pennant's  Tour,  vol.  iii.  p.  14. 


Note  R. 


Vain  was  then  the  Douglas  brand — 

Vain  the  Campbell's  vaunted  hand.— P.  424. 

The  gallant  Sir  James,  called  the  Good  Lord  Douglas,  the 
most  faithful  and  valiant  of  Bruce's  adherents,  was  wounded 
at  the  battle  of  Dairy.     Sir  Nigel,  or  Niel  Campbell,  was  also 

1 "  This  is  a  very  curious  passage,  and  has  been  often  quoted  in 
the  Ossianic  controversy.  That  it  refers  to  ancient  Celtic  tradition,  there 
cac  be  no  doubt,  and  as  little  that  it  refers  to  no  incident  in  the  poem* 
tn  bluhtd  bj  Mr.  Macpherson  as  from  the  Gaelic.     The  hero  of  romance. 


in  that  unfortunate  skirmish.  He  married  Marjcrie,  sister  to 
Robert  Bruce,  and  was  among  nis  most  faitnful  followers.  In 
a  manuscript  account  of  the  house  of  Argyle,  supplied,  it 
would  seem,  as  materials  for  Archbishop  Spottiswoode's  His- 
tory of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  I  find  the  following  passage 
concerning  Sir  Niel  Campbell : — "  Moreover,  when  all  the  no- 
bles in  Scotland  had  left  King  Robert  after  his  hard  success, 
yet  this  noble  knight  was  most  faithful,  and  shrinked  not,  as 
it  is  to  be  seen  in  an  indenture  bearing  the.ie  words  ■.--Memo- 
randum quod  cum  ab  incarnatione  Domini  1308  csmffKiitm 
fiuit  et  concordatum  inter  nobiles  viros  Dominum  Alexan 
drum  de  Seatoun  miiitem  et  Dominum  Oilbertuni  de  Hayt 
miiitem  et  Dominum  Nigellum  Campbell  miiitem  apud  mo- 
nastcrium  de  Cambuskenneth  9°  Septembris  qui  tacta  sancta 
eucharista,  magnoque  juramento  facto,  jar  arunt  se  debere 
libertatem  regniet  Robcrtum  nuper  regem  coronatum  contra 
onirics  mor tales  Francos  Anglos  Scotos  defendere  usque  ad 
ultimum  terminum  vita;  ipsorum.  Their  sealles  are  appended 
to  the  indenture  in  greene  wax,  togithir  with  the  seal  of  Gul- 
frid,  Abbot  of  Cambuskenneth." 


Note  S. 

When  Comyn  fell  beneath  the  knife 
Of  that  fell  homicide  The  Bruce. — P.  421 
Vain  Kirkpatrick1  s  bloody  dirk, 
Making  sure  of  murder'' s  work. — P.  424. 

Every  reader  must  recollect  that  the  proximate  cause  o 
Bruce's  asserting  his  right  to  the  crown  of  Scotland,  was  the 
death  of  John,  called  the  Red  Comyn.  The  causes  of  this 
act  of  violence,  equally  extraordinary  from  the  high  rank  both 
of  the  perpetrator  and  sufferer,  and  from  the  place  where  the 
slaughter  was  committed,  are  variously  related  by  the  Scottish 
and  English  historians,  and  cannot  now  be  ascertained.  The 
fact  that  they  met  at  the  high  altar  of  the  Minorites,  or  Grey, 
friar's  Church  in  Dumfries,  that  their  difference  broke  out  into 
high  and  insulting  language,  and  that  Bruce  drew  his  dagger 
and  stabbed  Comyn,  is  certain.  Rushing  to  the  door  of  the 
church,  Bruce  met  two  powerful  barons,  Kirkpatrick  of  Close- 
burn,  and  James  de  Lindsay,  who  eagerly  asked  him  what 
tidings  ?  "  Bad  tidings,"  answered  Bruce  ;  "  I  doubt  I  have 
slain  Comyn." — "  Doubtest  thou?"  said  Kirkpatrick  ;  "I 
make  sicker"  (i.  e.  sure).  With  these  words,  he  and  Lindsay 
rushed  into  the  church,  and  despatched  the  wounded  Comyn. 
The  Kirkpatricks  of  Closeburn  assumed,  in  memory  of  this 
deed,  a  hand  holding  a  dagger,  with  the  memorable  words,  "  1 
make  sicker."  Some  doubt  having  been  started  by  the  late 
Lord  Hailes  as  to  the  identity  of  the  Kirkpatrick  who  com- 
pleted this  day's  work  with  tir  Roger  then  representative  oi 
the  ancient  family  of  Closeburn,  my  kind  and  ingenious  friend, 
Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatricke  Sharpe,  lias  furnished  me  with  the 
following  memorandum,  which  appears  to  fix  the  deed  with 
his  ancestor : — 

"  Tiie  circumstances  of  the  Regent  Cummin's  murder,  from 
which  the  family  of  Kirkpatrick,  in  Nithsdale,  is  said  to  have 
derived  its  crest  and  motto,  are  well  known  to  all  conversant 
with  Scottish  history  ;  but  Lord  Hailes  has  started  a  doubt  as 
to  the  authenticity  of  this  tradition,  when  recording  the  tuur- 
der  of  Roger  Kirkpatrick,  in  his  own  Castle  of  Caerlaverock, 
by  Sir  James  Lindsay.  '  Fordun,'  says  his  lordship,  '  remarks 
that  Lindsay  and  Kirkpatrick  were  the  heirs  of  the  two  men 
who  accompanied  Robert  Brus  at  the  fatal  conference  with 
Comyn.  If  Fordun  was  rightly  informed  as  to  this  particu- 
lar, an  argument  arises,  in  support  of  a  notion  which  I  have 

whom  Barbour  thinks  a  mere  proper  prototype  for  the  Bruce,  occurs  in  the 
romance  of  Alexander,  of  which  there  is  a  unique  translation  into  Scottish 
verse,  in  the  library  of  the  Honourable  Mr.  Maule,  now  Earl  of  P««- 
mure."— See  Wbbkr's  Romances,  vol.  i.  Appendix  to  Introduction,  p.  7*. 


478 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


0~,g  entertained,  that  the  person  who  struck  his  dagger  in  Co- 
myn's  heart,  was  not  the  representative  of  the  honourable 
family  of  Kirkpatrick  in  Nithsdale.  Roger  de  K.  was  made 
prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Durham,  in  1316.  Roger  de  Kirkpat- 
rick was  alive  on  the  6th  of  August,  1357  ;  for,  on  that  day, 
Humphry,  the  son  and  heir  of  Roger  de  K.,  is  proposed  as  one 
of  the  young  gentlemen  who  were  to  be  hortages  for  David 
Bruce.  Roger  de  K.  Miles  was  present  at  the  parliament  held 
ir.  Edinburgh,  25th  September,  1357,  and  he  is  mentioned  as 
alive  3d  October,  1357  (Fadera)  ;  it  follows,  of  necessary  con- 
tseq  lence,  that  Roger  de  K.,  murdered  in  June,  1357,  must  have 
Leen  a  different  person.' — Anna's  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  242. 
"  To  this  it  may  be  answered,  that  at,  the  period  of  the  re- 
gent's murder,  there  were  only  two  families  of  the  name  of 
Kirkpcilriek  (nearly  allied  to  each  other)  in  existence — Stephen 
Kirkpatrick,  styled  in  the  Chartulary  of  Kelso  (1278)  Domi- 
nus  villa:  de  Closeburn,  Filius  et  hares  Domini  Jide  de  Kirk- 
patrick, Miiitis  (whose  father,  Ivone  de  Kirkpatrick,  wit- 
nesses a  charter  of  Robert  Brus,  Lord  of  Annandale,  before 
the  year  1141),  had  two  sons,  Sir  Roger,  who  carried  on  the 
line  of  Closeburn,  and  Duncan,  who  married  Isobel,  daughter 
and  heiress  of  Sir  David  Torthorwald  of  that  Ilk  ;  they  had  a 
charter  of  the  lands  of  Torthorwald  from  King  Robert  Brus, 
dated  10th  August,  the  year  being  omitted — Umphray,  the 
son  of  Duncan  and  Isobel,  got  a  charter  of  Torthorwold  from 
ths  king,  16th  July,  1322— his  son,  Roger  of  Torthorwold,  got 
a  charter  from  John  the  Grahame,  son  of  Fir  John  Grahame, 
of  Moskessen,  of  an  annual  rent  of  40  shillings,  out  of  the 
lands  of  Overdryft,  1355 — his  son,  William  Kirkpatrick,  grants 
a  charter  to  John  of  Garroch,  of  the  tvva  merk  land  of  Glengip 
and  Garvellgill,  within  the  tenement  of  Wamphray,  22(1 
April,  1372.  From  this,  it  appears  that  the  Torthorwald 
branch  was  not  concerned  in  the  affair  of  Comyn's  murder, 
and  the  inflictions  of  Providence  which  ensued  :  Duncan 
Kirkpatrick,  if  we  are  to  believe  the  Blind  Minstrel,  was  the 
firm  friend  of  Wallace,  to  whom  he  was  related  : — 

'  Ane  Kyrk  Patrick,  that  cruel  was  and  keyne, 
In  Esdail  wod  that  half  yer  he  had  beyne  ; 
With  Ingliss  men  he  couth  nocht  weyll  accord, 
Oft'  Tort borow aid  he  Barron  was  and  Lord, 
Off  kyn  he  was,  and  Wallace  modyr  ner  ;' — &c. 
B.  v.,  v.  920. 

But  .his  baron  seems  to  have  had  no  share  in  the  adventures 
of  King  Robert ;  the  crest  of  his  family,  as  it  still  remains  on  a 
carved  stone  built  into  a  cottage  wall,  in  the  village  of  Tor- 
thorwald, bears  some  resemblance,  says  Grose,  to  arose. 

"Universal  tradition,  and  all  our  later  historians,  have  at- 
tributed the  regent's  death-blow  to  Sir  i'ogcr  K.,  of  Close-burn. 
The  author  of  the  MS.  History  of  the  !  resbytery  of  Penpont, 
in  the  Advocates'  Library,  affirms,  that  the  crest  and  motto 
were  given  by  the  King  on  that  occasion  :  and  proceeds  to  re- 
late some  circumstances  respecting  a  grant  to  a  cottager  and 
his  wile  in  the  vicinity  of  Closeburn  Castle,  which  are  cer- 
tainly authentic,  and  strongly  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  other 
report.  'The  steep  hill,'  says  he,  'called  the  Dune  of  Tyn- 
ron,  of  a  considerable  height,  upon  the  top  of  which  there 
hath  been  some  habitation  or  fort.  There  have  been  in  an- 
cient times,  on  all  hands  of  it,  very  thick  woods,  and  great 
about  that  place,  which  made  it  the  more  inaccessible,  into 
which  K.  Ro.  Bruce  is  said  to  have  been  conducted  by  Roger 
Kirkpatrick,  of  Closeburn,  after  they  had  killed  the  Cumin  at 
Dumfriess,  which  is  nine  miles  from  this  place,  whereabout  it 
is  probable  that  he  did  abide  for  some  time  thereafter;  and  it 
js  reported,  that  during  his  abode  there,  he  did  often  divert  to 
a.  poor  man's  cottage,  named  Brownrig,  situate  in  a  small  par- 
cel of  stony  ground,  encompassed  with  thick  woods,  where  he 
was  content  sometimes  with  such  mean  accommodation  as  the 
tilace  could  afford.  The  poor  man's  wife  being  advised  to  pe- 
•4ior  the  King  for  somewh'U,  was  so  modest  in  her  desires, 


that  she  sought  no  Uiorr  out  secnt'  for  '.he  .rof*  in  r>3r  h»;» 
band's  posser-sion,  anr*  a  'loert-^  o".  pasturage  for  a  verv  few 
cattle  of  different  r'.nd.'  jn  t!.e  h',1,  -and  the  rest  of  the  bounds 
Of  which  privilege  that  anc' .nt  family,  by  the  injury  of  time, 
hath  a  long  time  been,  and  is,  deprived  :  but  the  croft  contin 
ues  in  the  possession  of  the  heirs  and  successours  lineally  de- 
scended of  this  Brownrig  and  his  wife  :  so  that  this  family, 
being  more  ancient  than  rich,  doth  yet  continue  in  the  name, 
and,  as  they  say,  retains  the  old  charter." — MS.  History  of 
the  Presbytery  of  Penpont,  in  the  Advocates'  Library  of 
Edinburgh. 


Note  T. 

Barendown  fled  fast  away, 

Fled  the  fiery  De  la  Haye.— P.  424. 

These  knights  are  enumerated  by  Barbour  among  the  small 
n  .mber  of  Bruce's  adherents,  who  remained  in  arms  witii  him 
after  the  battle  of  Methven. 

"  With  him  was  a  bold  baron, 
Schyr  William  the  Baroundoun, 

Schyr  Gilbert  de  la  Haye  alsua." 

There  were  more  than  one  of  the  noble  family  of  Hay  engaged 
in  Bruce's  cause ;  but  the  principal  was  Gilbert  de  la  Haye, 
Lord  of  Errol,  a  stanch  adherent  to  King  Robert's  interest, 
and  whom  he  rewarded  by  creating  him  hereditary  Lord  High 
Constable  of  Scotland,  a  title  which  he  used  16th  March,  1308, 
where,  in  a  letter  from  the  peers  of  Scotland  to  Philip  the 
Fair  of  France,  he  is  designed  Oilbertus  de  Hay  Constabw 
Inrius  Scotia;.  He  was  slain  at  the  battle  of  Halidoun-hill. 
Hugh  de  la  Haye,  his  brother,  was  made  prisoner  at  the  battle 
of  Methven. 


Note  U. 


Well  hast  thou  framed,  Old  Man,  thy  strains, 
To  praise  the  hand  that  pays  thy  pains. — P.  425. 

The  character  of  the  Highland  bards,  however  high  in  an 
earlier  period  of  society,  seems  soon  to  have  degenerated. 
The  Irish  affirm,  that  in  their  kindred  tribes  severe  laws  be- 
came necessary  to  restrain  their  avarice.  In  the  Highlands 
they  seem  gradually  to  have  sunk  into  contempt,  as  well  as 
the  orators,  or  men  of  speech,  with  whose  office  that  of  family 
poet  was  often  united. — "  The  orators,  m  their  language  called 
Isdane,  were  in  high  esteem  both  in  them  islands  and  the  con- 
tinent ;  until  within  these  forty  years,  they  sat  always  among 
the  nobles  and  chiefs  of  families  in  the  streah,  or  circle. 
Their  houses  anil  little  villages  were  sanctuaries,  as  well  as 
churches,  and  they  took  place  before  dot  tors  of  physick. 
The  orators,  after  the  Druids  were  extinct,  were  brought  in 
to  preserve  the  genealogy  of  families,  and  to  repeat  the  same 
at  every  succession  of  chiefs;  and  upon  the  occasion  of  mar- 
riages and  births,  they  made  epithalamiums  and  pauegyrtcks, 
which  the  poet  or  bard  pronounced.  The  orators,  by  the  force 
of  their  eloquence,  had  a  powerful  ascendant  over  the  greatest 
men  in  their  time  ;  for  if  any  orator  did  but  ask  the  habit, 
arms,  horse,  or  any  other  thing  belonging  to  the  greatest  man 
in  these  islands,  it  was  readily  granted  them,  sometimes  out 
of  respect,  and  sometimes  for  fear  of  being  exclaimed  against 
by  a  satyre,  which,  in  those  days,  was  reckoned  a  great  dis- 
honour. But  these  gentlemen  becoming  insolent,  lost,  ever 
since  both  the  profit  and  esteem  which  was  formerly  due  to 
their  character ;  for  neither  their  panegyrieks  nor  satyres  are 
regarded  to  what  they  have  been,  and  they  ire  now  allowed 
but  a  small  salary.     I  must  not  omit  to  relate  their  way  ol 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


479 


tudv.  which  is  very  singular:  They  shut  their  doors  and 
windows  for  a  day's  time,  and  lie  on  their  hacks,  with  a  stone 
npon  their  belly,  and  plada  about  their  heads,  and  their  eyes 
jeing  covered,  they  pump  their  brains  for  rhetorical  encomium 
»r  panegyriek  ;  and  indeed  they  furnish  such  a  style  from  this 
dark  cell  as  is  understood  by  very  few  ;  and  if  they  purchase  a 
couple  of  horses  as  the  reward  of  their  meditation,  they  think 
ihey  have  done  a  great  matter.  The  poet,  or  bard,  had  a  title 
Jo  the  br'degiocm's  upper  garb,  that  is,  the  plad  and  bonnet; 
but  now  he  is  satisfied  with  what  the  bridegroom  pleases  to 
T,.ve  him  on  such  occasions." — Martin's  Western  Isles. 


Note  V. 

Was't  not  enough  to  Ronald'' s  bower 
I  brought  thee,  like  a  paramour. — P.  427. 

It  was  anciently  customary  in  the  Highlands  to  bring  the 
bride  to  the  house  of  the  husband.  Nay,  in  some  cases  the 
complaisance  was  stretched  so  far,  that  she  remained  there 
upon  trial  for  a  twelvemonth  ;  and  the  bridegroom,  even  after 
this  period  of  cohabitation,  retained  an  option  of  refusing  to 
fulfil  his  engagement.  It  is  said  that  a  desperate  feud  ensued 
between  the  clans  of  Mac-Donald  of  Sleate  and  Mac-Leod, 
owing  to  the  former  chief  having  availed  himself  of  this  license 
to  send  back  to  Dunvegan  a  sister,  or  daughter  of  the  latter. 
Mac-Leod,  resenting  the  indignity,  observed,  that  since  there 
was  no  wedding  bonfire,  there  should  be  one  to  solemnize  the 
divorce.  Accordingly,  he  burned  and  laid  waste  the  territories 
of  Mac-Donald,  who  retaliated,  and  a  deadly  feud,  with  all  its 
Accompaniments,  took  place  in  form. 


Note  "W". 


unnce  matchless  Wallace  first  had  been 

In  mockery  crown' d  with  wreaths  of  green. — P.  427. 

Stow  gives  the  following  curious  account  of  the  trial  and 
execution  of  this  celebrated  patriot : — "  William  Wallace, 
who  had  oft-times  set  Scotland  in  great  trouble,  was  taken  and 
brought  to  London,  with  great  numbers  of  men  and  women 
wondering  upon  him.  He  was  lodged  in  the  house  of  William 
Delect,  a  citizen  of  London,  in  Fenchurch-street.  On  the 
morrow,  being  the  eve  of  St.  Bartholomew,  he  was  brought  on 
horseback  to  Westminster.  John  Legrave  and  Geffrey,  knights, 
the  mayor,  sheriffs,  and  aldermen  of  London,  and  many  others, 
both  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  accompanying  him  ;  and  in 
the  great  hall  at  Westminster,  he  being  placed  on  the  south 
bench,  crowned  with  laurel,  for  that  he  had  said  in  times  past 
that  he  ought  to  bear  a  crown  in  that  hall,  as  it  was  commonly 
reported  ;  and  being  appeached  for  a  traitor  by  Sir  Peter  Malo- 
rie,  the  king's  justice,  he  answered,  that  he  was  never  traitor 
to  the  King  of  England  ;  but  for  other  things  whereof  he  was 
accused,  he  confessed  them  ;  and  was  after  headed  and  quar- 
tered,"— Stow,  Chr.  p.  209.  There  is  something  singularly 
C  oubtful  about  the  mode  in  which  Wallace  was  taken.  That 
se  was  betrayed  to  the  English  is  indubitable  ;  and  popular 
fame  charges  Sir  John  Menteith  with  the  indelible  infamy. 
'•  Accursed,"  says  Arnold  Blair,  "  be  the  day  of  nativity  of 
John  de  Menteith,  and  may  his  name  be  struck  out  of  the  book 
of  life."  But  John  de  Menteith  was  all  along  a  zealous  favorer 
of  the  English  interest,  and  was  governor  of  Dumbarton  Castle 
by  commission  from  Edward  the  First ;  and  therefore,  as  the 
accurate  Lord  Hailes  has  observed,  could  not  be  the  friend  and 
pnfidant  of  Wallace,  as  tradition  states  him  to  be.  The  truth 
Hum  to  be,  that  Menteith,  thoroughly  engaged  in  the  English 
interest,  pursued  Wallace  closely,  and  made  him  prisoner 
through  the  treachery  of  «"  attendant,  whom  Peter  Langtoft 
calls  Jacl  Short 


"  William  Waleis  is  nomen  that  master  was  of  theves, 
Tiding  to  the  king  is  comen  that  robbery  mischeives, 
Sir  John  of  Menetest  sued  William  so  nigh, 
He  tok  him  when  he  ween'd  least,  on  night,  his  lemau 

him  by, 
That  was  through  treason  of  Jack  Short  his  man,'    ' 
He  was  the  encheson  that  Sir  John  so  him  ran, 
Jack's  brother  had  he  slain,  the  Walleis  that  is  said, 
The  more  Jack  was  fain  to  do  William  that  r  laid." 

From  this  it  would  appear  that  the  infamy  of  seizing  WalVdce 
must  rest  between  a  degenerate  Scottish  nobleman,  the  vassal  of 
England,  and  a  domestic,  the  obscure  agent  of  his  treachery  ; 
between  Sir  John  Menteith,  son  of  Walter,  Earl  of  Menteith, 
and  the  traitor  Jack  Short. 


Note  X. 


Where's  Nigel  Bruce  ?  and  De  la  Haye, 
And  valiant  Seton — where  are  they  ? 
Where  Somerville,  the  kind  and  free  ? 
And  Fraser,  flower  of  chivalry  1 — P.  427. 

WHen  these  lines  were  written,  the  author  was  remote  from 
the  means  of  correcting  his  indistinct  recollection  concerning 
the  individual  fate  of  Bruce's  followers,  after  the  battle  of 
Methven.  Hugh  de  la  Haye,  and  Thomas  Somerville  of  Lin 
toun  and  Covvdaily,  ancestor  of  Lord  Somerville,  were  both 
made  prisoners  at  that  defeat,  but  neither  was  executed. 

Sir  Nigel  Bruce  was  the  younger  brother  of  Robert,  to  whr  m 
he  committed  the  charge  of  his  wife  and  daughter,  Marjorie, 
and  the  defence  of  his  strong  castle  of  Kildruinmie,  near  the 
head  of  the  Don,  in  Aberdeenshire.  Kildrummie  long  resisted 
the  arms  of  the  Earls  of  Lancaster  and  Hereford,  until  the 
magazine  was  treacherously  burnt.  The  garrison  was  then 
compelled  to  surrender  at  discretion,  and  Nigel  Bruce,  a  youth 
remarkable  for  personal  beauty,  as  well  as  for  gallantry,  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  unrelenting  Edward.  He  was  tried  by  a 
special  commission  at  Berwick,  was  condemned,  and  executed. 

Christopher  Seatoun  shared  the  same  unfortunate  fate.  He 
also  was  distinguished  by  personal  valor,  and  signalized  him- 
self in  the  fatal  battle  of  Methven.  Robert  Bruce  adventured 
his  person  in  that  battle  like  a  knight  of  romance.  He  dis- 
mounted Aymer  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  but  was  in  his 
turn  dismounted  by  Sir  Philip  Mowbray.  In  this  emergence 
Seatoun  came  to  his  aid,  and  remounted  him.  Langtoft  men- 
tions, that  in  this  battle  the  Scottish  wore  white  surplices,  or 
shirts,  over  their  armor,  that  those  of  rank  might  not  be  knowr 
In  this  manner  both  Bruce  and  Seatoun  escaped.  But  the 
latter  was  afterwards  betrayed  to  the  English,  through  means 
according  to  Barbour,  of  one  MacNab,  M  a  disciple  of  Judas  ' 
in  whom  the  unfortunate  knight  reposed  entire  confidence. 
There  was  some  peculiarity  respecting  his  punishment ;  be- 
cause, according  to  Matthew  of  Westminster,  he  was  consid- 
ered not  as  a  Scottish  subject,  but  an  Englishman.  He  was 
therefore  taken  to  Dumfries,  where  he  was  tried,  condemned, 
and  executed,  for  the  murder  of  a  soldier  slain  by  him.  His 
brother,  John  de  Seton,  had  the  sime  fate  at  Newcastle  ;  both 
were  considered  as  accomplices  in  the  slaughter  of  Comyn,  but 
in  what  manner  they  were  particularly  accessory  to  that  deed 
does  not  appear. 

The  fate  of  Sir  Simon  Frazer,  or  Frizel,  ancestor  of  the 
family  of  Lovat,  is  dwelt  upon  at  great  length,  and  with  savage 
exultation,  by  the  English  historians.  This  knight,  who  was 
renowned  for  personal  gallantry,  and  high  deeds  of  chivalry, 
was  also  made  prisoner,  after  a  gallant  defence,  in  the  battle 
of  Methven.  Some  stanzas  of  a  ballad  of  the  times,  which, 
for  the  sake  of  rendering  it  intelligible,  I  have  translated  out 
of  its  rude  orthography,  give  minute  particulars  of  his  fate. 
It  was  written  immediately  at  the  period,  for  it  mentions  the 
Earl  of  Athole  as  not  yet  in  custody.     It  was  first  published 


480 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


by  the  indefatigable  Mr.  Ritson,  but  with  so  many  contrac- 
tions and  peculiarities  of  character,  as  to  render  it  illegible, 
excepting  by  antiquaries. 

"  This  was  before  Saint  Bartholomew's  mass, 
That  Frizel  was  y-taken,  were  it  more  otherless, 
To  Sir  Thomas  of  Multon,  gentil  baron  and  free, 
And  to  Sir  Johan  Jose  be-take  tho  was  he 
To  hand 
He  was  y-fettered  wele 
Both  with  iron  and  with  steel 

To  brirgen  of  Scotland. 

•  Soon  tnereafter  the  tiding  to  the  kinj>  come, 

He  sent  him  to  London,  with  mony  armed  groom, 
He  came  in  at  Newgate,  1  tell  you  it  on  a-plight, 
A  garland  of  leaves  on  his  head  y-dight 

Of  green, 
For  he  should  be  y-know, 
Both  of  high  and  low, 

For  traitour  I  ween. 

'  Y-fettered  were  his  legs  under  his  horse's  wombe, 
Both  with  iron  and  with  steel  mancled  were  his  bond, 
A  garland  of  pervynk1  set  upon  his  heved,2 
Much  was  the  power  that  him  was  bereved, 
In  land. 
So  God  me  amend, 
Little  be  ween'd 

So  to  be  brought  in  hand. 

•  This  was  upon  our  lady's  even,  forsooth  I  understand, 
The  justices  sate  for  the  knights  of  Scotland, 
Sir  Thomas  of  Mukon,  an  kinde  knvgbt  and  wise, 
And  Sir  Ralph  of  Sandwich  that  mickle  is  told  in  price 
And  Sir  Johan  Abel, 
Moe  I  might  tell  by  tale 
Both  of  great  and  of  small 

Ye  know  sooth  well. 

•  Then  said  the  justice,  that  gentil  is  and  free, 
Sir  Simon  Frizel  the  king's  traiter  hast  thou  be  ; 
In  water  and  in  land  that  mony  mighten  see, 
What  sayst  thou  thereto,  how  will  thou  quite  thee, 

Do  say. 
So  foul  he  him  wist, 
Nede  war  on  trust 

For  to  say  nay. 

•  With  fetters  and  with  gives3  y-hot  be  was  to-draw 
From  the  Tower  of  London  that  many  men  might  know, 
In  a  kirtle  of  burel,  a  selcoutb  wise, 

And  a  garland  on  his  head  of  the  new  guise. 

Through  Cheape 
Many  men  of  England 
For  to  see  Symond 

Thitherward  can  leap. 

M  Though  he  cam  to  the  gallows  first  he  was  on  hung, 
All  quick  beheaded  that  him  thought  long  ; 
Then  he  was  y-opened,  his  bowels  y-brend,4 
The  heved  to  London-bridge  was  send 

To  shende. 
So  evermore  mote  I  the, 
Some  while  weened  he 

Thus  little  to  stand.* 

He  rideth  through  the  city,  as  I  tell  may, 

With  gamen  and  with  solace  that  was  their  play, 


1  Periwinckle.  — •  Head. — 3  He  was  condemned  t~>  be  drawn. — 
•8  Meaning,  at   cn<j  time  he  little  thought  to  stund  thus. — 6 


Burned, 
iz.  Saith 


To  London-bridge  he  took  the  way, 
Mony  was  the  wives  child  that  thereon  lacketh  a  day,' 
And  said,  alas ! 
That  he  was  y-born 
And  so  vilely  forelorn, 

So  fair  man  he  was.7 

"  Now  standeth  the  heved  above  the  tu-brigge, 
Fast  by  Wallace  sooth  for  to  segge  ; 
After  succour  of  Scotland  long  may  he  pry, 
And  after  help  of  France  what  halt  it  to  liq^ 
I  ween, 
Better  him  were  in  Scotland, 
With  his  axe  in  his  hand, 

To  play  on  the  green,"  &c 

The  preceding  stanzas  contain  probably  as  minute  an  account 
as  can  be  found  of  the  trial  and  execution  of  state  criminals  ut 
the  period.  Superstition  mingled  its  horrors  with  those  of  a  fe- 
rocious state  policy,  as  appears  from  the  following  singular  nai- 
rative. 

M  The  Friday  next,  before  the  assumption  of  Our  Lady, 
King  Edward  met  Robert  the  Bruce  at  Saint  Johnstoune,  in 
Scotland,  and  with  his  company,  of  which  company  King  Ed- 
ward quelde  seven  thousand.  When  Robert  the  Bruce  saw 
this  mischief,  and  gan  to  flee,  and  hov'd  him  that  men  might 
not  him  find ;  but  S.  Simond  Frisell  pursued  was  so  sore,  so 
that  he  turned  again  and  abode  bataille,  for  he  was  a  worthy 
knight  and  a  bolde  of  bodye,  and  the  Englishmen  pursuede 
him  sore  on  every  side,  and  quelde  the  steed  that  Sir  Simon 
Frisell  rode  upon,  and  then  toke  him  and  led  him  to  the  host. 
And  S.  Symond  began  for  to  flatter  and  speke  fair,  and  saide, 
Lordys,  I  shall  give  you  four  thousand  markes  of  silver,  and 
myne  horse  and  harness,  and  all  my  armoure  and  income. 
Tho'  answered  Thobaude  of  Pevenes,  that  was  the  kinges 
archer,  Now,  God  me  so  helpe,  it  is  for  naught  that  thou  speak- 
est,  for  all  the  gold  of  England  I  would  not  let  thee  go  with- 
out commandment  of  King  Edward.  And  tho'  he  was  led  to 
the  King,  and  the  King  would  not  see  him,  but  commanded  to 
lead  him  away  to  his  doom  in  London,  on  Our  Lady's  even 
nativity.  And  he  was  hung  and  drawn,  and  his  head  smitten 
off,  and  hanged  again  with  chains  of  iron  upon  the  gallows, 
and  his  head  was  set  at  London-bridge  upon  a  spear,  and 
against  Christmas  the  body  was  burnt,  for  encheson  (reason) 
that  the  men  that  keeped  the  body  saw  many  devils  ramping 
with  iron  crooks,  running  upon  the  gallows,  and  horribly  tor- 
menting the  body.  And  many  that  them  saw,  anon  thereafter 
died  for  dread,  or  waxen  mad,  or  sore  sickness  they  had."— 
JHS.  Chronicle  in  the  British  Museum,  quoted  by  Ritson. 


Note  Y. 


Was  not  the  life  of  Mhole  shed, 

To  soothe  the  tyrant's  sickened  bed  ? — P.  428. 

John  de  Strathbogie,  Earl  of  Athole,  had  attempted  to  es- 
cape out  of  the  kingdom,  but  a  storm  cast  him  upon  the  coast, 
when  he  was  taken,  sent  to  London,  and  executed,  with  cir- 
cumstances of  great  barbarity,  being  first  half  strangled,  then 
let  down  from  the  gallows  while  yet  alive,  barbarously  dismem- 
bered, and  his  body  burnt.  It  may  surprise  the  reader  to  learn, 
that  this  was  a  mitigated  punishment ;  for  in  respect  that  hia 
mother  was  a  grand-daughter  of  King  John,  by  his  natural  son 
Richard,  he  was  not  drawn  on  a  sledge  to  execution,  "  thai 
point  was  forgiven,"  and  he  made  the  passage  on  horseback. 
Matthew  of  Westminster  tells  us  that  King  Edward,  then  ex- 
tremely ill,  received  great  ease  from  the  news  that  his  relative 
was  apprehended.     "  Quo  audito,  Rex  Jlnglia,  etsi  gravis- 

Laek-a-day.— 1  The  gallant  knight,  like  others  in  the  same  situation,  wai 
pitied  by  the  female  spectator*  as  "  a  proper  young  man." 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


481 


tint)  morbo  tunc  langueret,  levius  tamen  tulit  dolorem. 
this  singular  expression  the  text  alludes. 


To 


Note  Z. 


-P.  428. 


And  must  his  word,  till  dying  day, 
Be  naught  but  quarter,  hang,  and  slay, 

This  alludes  to  a  passage  in  Barbour,  singularly  expressive  of 
(he  vindictive  spirit  of  Edward  I.  The  prisoners  taken  at  the 
castle  of  Kildrummie  had  surrendered  upon  condition  that  they 
should  be  at  King  Edward's  disposal.  "  But  his  will,"  says 
Barbour.  "  was  alwaysevil  towards  Scottish  men."  The  news 
of  the  surrender  of  Kildrummie  arrived  when  he  was  in  his 
mortal  sickness  at  Burgh-upon-Sands. 

"  And  when  he  to  the  death  was  near, 
The  folk  that  at  Kyldromy  wer 
Come  with  prisoners  that  they  had  tane, 
And  syne  to  the  king  are  gane. 
And  for  to  comfort  him  they  tauld 
How  they  the  castell  to  them  yauld  ; 
And  how  they  till  his  will  were  brought, 
To  do  off  that  whatever  he  thought ; 
And  ask'd  what  men  should  off  them  do. 
Then  look'd  he  angryly  them  to, 
He  said,  grinning,  '  hangs  and  draws.' 
That  was  wonder  of  sic  saws. 
That  he,  that  to  the  death  was  near, 
Should  answer  upon  sic  rrtaner, 
Forouten  moaning  and  mercy  ; 
How  might  he  trust  on  him  to  cry, 
That  sooth-fastly  dooms  all  thing 
To  have  mercy  for  his  crying, 
Off  him  that,  throw  his  felony, 
Into  sic  point  had  no  mercy  ?" 

There  was  much  truth  in  the  Leonine  couplet,  with  which 
Matthew  of  Westminster  concludes  his  encomium  on  the  first 
Edward  :— 

"  Scotos  Edwardus,  dum  vixit,  suppeditavit, 
Tenuit,  afflixit,  depressit,  dilaniavit." 


Note  2  A. 


While  I  the  blessed  cross  advance, 
And  expiate  this  unhappy  chance, 
In  Palestine,  with  sword  and  lance. — P.  428. 

Bruce  uniformly  professed,  and  probably  felt,  compunction 
for  having  violated  the  sanctuary  of  the  church  by  the  slaugh- 
ter of  Comyn  ;  and  finally,  in  his  last  hours,  in  testimony  of  his 
faith,  penitence,  and  zeal,  he  requested  James  Lord  Douglas 
to  e&iry  y.i  hetrt  to  Jerusalem,  to  be  there  deposited  in  the 
Hoiy  Sepuicnre. 


Note  2  B. 


De  Bruce!  I  rose  with  purpose  dread 
To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head. — P.  429. 
So  soon  as  the  notice  of  Comyn's  slaughter  reached  Rome, 
Bruce  and  his  adherents  were  excommunicated.     It  was  pub- 
lished first  by  the  Archbishop  of  York,  and  renewed  at  differ- 
ent times,  particularly  by  Lambyrton,  Bishop  of  St.  Andrews, 
in  1308  ;  but  it  does  not  appear  to  have  answered  the  purpose 
which  the  English  monarch  expected.      Indeed,   for   reasons 
vhich  it  may  be  diffici  It  to  trace,  the  thunders  of  Rome  de- 
61 


scended  upon  the  Scottish  mountains  with  less  effect  than  in 
more  fertile  countries.  Probably  the  comparative  poverty  of 
the  benefices  occasioned  that  fewer  foreign  clergy  settled  in 
Scotland  ;  and  the  interest  of  the  native  churchmen  were 
linked  with  that  of  their  country.  Many  of  the  Scottish  pre- 
lates, Lambyrton  the  primate  particularly,  declared  for  Bruce, 
while  he  was  yet  under  the  ban  of  the  church,  although  h«» 
afterwards  again  changed  sides. 


Note  2  C. 


I  feel  within  mine  aged  breast 

A  power  that  icill  not  be  repressed. — P.  429. 

Bruce,  like  other  heroes,  observed  omens,  and  one  is  recorded 
by  tradition.  After  he  had  retreated  to  one  of  the  miserable 
places  of  shelter,  in  which  he  could  venture  to  take  some  re- 
pose after  his  disasters,  he  lay  stretched  upon  a  handful  of 
straw,  and  abandoned  himself  to  his  melancholy  meditations. 
He  had  now  been  defeated  four  times,  and  was  upon  the  point 
of  resolving  to  abandon  all  hopes  of  further  opposition  to  his 
fate,  and  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land.  It  chanced,  his  eye,  while 
he  was  thus  pondering,  was  attracted  by  the  exertions  of  a  spi- 
der, who,  in  order  to  fix  his  web,  endeavored  to  swing  himself 
from  one  beam  to  another  above  his  head.  Involuntarily  he 
became  interested  in  the  pertinacity  with  which  the  insect  re- 
newed his  exertions,  after  failing  six  times  ;  and  it  occurred  to 
him  that  he  would  decide  his  own  course  according  to  the  suc- 
cess or  failure  of  the  spider.  At  the  seventh  effort  the  insect 
gained  his  object ;  and  Bruce,  in  like  manner,  persevered  and 
carried  his  own.  Hence  it  has  been  held  unlucky  or  ungrate- 
ful, or  both,  in  one  of  the  name  of  Bruce  to  kill  a  spider. 

The  Archdeacon  of  Aberdeen,  instead  of  the  abbot  of  this 
tale,  introduces  an  Irish  Pythoness,  who  not  only  predicted  his 
good  fortune  as  he  left  the  island  of  Rachrin,  but  sent  her  two 
sons  along  with  him,  to  insure  her  own  family  a  share  in  it 

"  Then  in  schort  time  men  mycht  thaim  se 
Schute  all  thair  galayis  to  the  se, 
And  ber  to  se  baith  ayr  and  ster, 
And  othyr  thingis  that  mystir1  wer. 
And  as  the  king  apon  the  sand 
Wes  gangand  wp  and  doun,  bidand2 
Till  that  his  menye  redy  war, 
His  ost  come  rycht  till  him  thar. 
And  quhen  that  scho  him  halyst  had, 
And  priwe  spek  till  him  scho  made  ; 
And  said,  '  Takis  gud  kep  till  my  saw  :    , 
For  or  ye  pass  I  sail  you  schaw, 
Off  your  fortoun  a  gret  party. 
Bot  our  all  speceally 
A  wyttring  her  I  sail  yow  ma, 
Q,uhat  end  that  your  purposs  sail  ta. 
For  in  this  land  is  nane  trewly 
Wate  thingis  to  cum  sa  weill  as  I. 
Ye  pass  now  furth  on  your  wiage, 
To  wenge  the  harme,  and  the  owtrag, 
That  Ingliss  men  has  to  yow  done  ; 
Bot  ye  wat  nocht  quhatkyne  forton 
Ye  mon  drey  in  your  werraying. 
Bot  wyt  ye  weill,  with  outyn  lesing, 
That  fra  ye  now  haiff  takyn  land, 
Nane  sa  mychty,  na  sa  strenth  thi  of  hand. 
Sail  ger  yow  pass  owt  of  your  countre 
Till  all  to  yow  abandownyt  be. 
With  in  schort  tyme  ye  sail  be  king, 
And  haiff  the  land  at  your  liking, 
And  ourcum  your  fayis  all. 
Bot  fele  anoyis  thole  ye  sail, 

1  Need.— 2  Abidin 


482 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOKKb. 


Or  that  your  purposs  end  haifftane : 
Bot  ye  sail  thaim  ourdryve  ilkane. 
And,  tliat  ye  trow  this  sekerly, 
My  twa  sonnys  with  yow  sail  I 
Send  to  tak  part  of  your  trawaill ; 
For  1  wate  weill  thai  sail  nocht  faill 
To  be  rewardyt  weill  at  rycht, 
Ouhen  ye  ar  heyit  to  yowr  mycht.'  " 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  iii.,  v.  856. 


Note  2  D. 


Jl  hunted  wanderer  on  the  wild, 

On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled. — P.  429. 

This  is  not  metaphorical.     The  echoes  of  Scotland  did  ac- 
tually 


"ring 

With  the  bloodhounds  that  bayed  for  her  fugitive  king." 

A  very  curious  and  romantic  tale  is  told  by  Barbour  upon  this 
subject,  which  may  be  abridged  as  follows : — 

When  Bruce  had  again  got  footing  in  Scotland  in  the  spring 
of  1306,  he  continued  to  be  in  a  very  weak  and  precarious  con- 
dition, gaining,  indeed,  occasional  advantages,  but  obliged  to 
fly  before  his  enemies  whenever  they  assembled  in  force.  Upon 
one  occasion,  while  he  was  lying  with  a  small  party  in  the 
wilds  of  Cumnock,  in  Ayrshire,  Aymer  de  Valence,  Earl  of 
Pembroke,  with  his  inveterate  foe  John  of  Lorn,  came  against 
him  suddenly  with  eight  hundred  Highlanders,  besides  a  large 
body  of  men-at-arms.  They  brought  with  them  a  slough-dog, 
or  bloodhound,  which,  some  say,  had  been  once  a  favorite 
with  the  Bruce  himself,  and  therefore  was  least  likely  to  lose 
the  trace. 

Bruce,  whose  force  was  under  four  hundred  men,  continued 
to  make  head  against  the  cavalry,  till  the  men  of  Lorn  had 
nearly  cut  off  his  retreat.  Perceiving  the  danger  of  his  situa- 
tion, he  acted  as  the  celebrated  and  ill-requited  Mina  is  said 
to  have  done  in  similar  circumstances.  He  divided  his  force 
into  three  parts,  appointed  a  place  of  rendezvous,  and  com- 
manded them  to  retreat  by  different  routes.  But  when  John 
of  Lorn  arrived  at  the  spot  where  they  divided,  he  caused  the 
hound  to  be  put  upon  the  trace,  which  immediately  directed 
him  to  the  pursuit  of  that  party  which  Bruce  headed.  This, 
therefore,  Lorn  pursued  with  his  whole  force,  paying  no  at- 
tention to  the  others.  The  king  again  subdivided  his  small 
body  into  three  parts,  and  with  the  same  result,  for  the  pur- 
suers attached  themselves  exclusively  to  that  which  he  led  in 
person.  He  then  caused  his  followers  to  disperse,  and  retained 
only  his  foster-brother  in  his  company.  The  slough-dog  fol- 
lowed the  trace,  and,  neglecting  the  others,  attached  himself 
and  his  attendai.ts  to  the  pursuit  of  the  king.  Lorn  became 
convinced  that  his  enemy  was  nearly  in  his  power,  and  de- 
tached five  of  his  most  active  attendants  to  follow  him,  and 
interrup:  his  flight  They  did  so  with  all  the  agility  of  moun- 
taineers "Wha,  aid  wilt  thou  make  ?  '  said  Bruce  to  his 
ric-cle  attendant,  when  he  saw  the  five  men  gain  ground  on 
rim  "  The  best  I  can,"  replied  his  foster-brother.  "Then," 
ai  Bruce,  "  here  I  make  my  stand."  The  five  pursuers 
came  up  fast.  The  king  took  three  to  himself,  leaving  the 
other  two  to  his  foster-brother.  He  slew  the  first  who  en- 
countered him  ;  but  observing  his  foster-brother  hard  pressed, 
he  sprung  to  his  assistance,  and  dispatched  one  of  his  assail- 
ants. Leaving  him  to  deal  with  the  survivor,  he  returned 
upon  the  other  two,  both  of  whom  he  slew  before  his  foster- 
oxttber  had  dispatched  his  single  antagonist.  When  this  hard 
encounter  was  over,  with  a  courtesy,  which  in  the  whole  work 
marks  Bruce's  character,  he  thanked  his  foster-brother  for  his 
lid.  "  It  likes  you  to  say  so,"  answered  his  follower  ;  "  but 
fou  yourself  slew  four  of  the  five." — "  True,"  said  the  king, 

but  onl j  because  I  had  better  opportunity  than  you.     They 


were  not  apprehensive  of  me  when  they  saw  me  encountei 
three,  so  I  had  a  moment's  time  to  spring  to  thy  aid,  and  ti 
return  equally  unexpectedly  upon  my  own  opponents." 

In  the  mean  while  Lorn's  party  approached  rapidly,  and  the 
king  and  his  foster-brother  betook  themselves  to  a  neighboring 
wood.  Here  they  sat  down,  for  Bruce  was  exhausted  by , 
fatigue,  until  the  cry  of  the  slough-hound  came  so  near,  that 
his  foster-brother  entreated  Bruce  to  provide  for  his  safety  by 
retreating  further.  "  I  have  heard,"  answered  the  king,  "  that 
whosoever  will  wade  a  bow-shot  length  down  a  running  stream, 
shall  make  the  slough-hound  lose  scent. — Let  us  try  the  exper- 
iment, for  were  yon  devilish  hound  silenced,  I  should  care 
little  for  the  rest." 

Lorn  in  the  mean  while  advanced,  and  found  the  bodies  oi 
his  slain  vassals,  over  whom  he  made  his  moan,  and  threat- 
ened the  most  deadly  vengeance.  Then  he  followed  the  hound 
to  the  side  of  the  brook,  down  which  the  king  had  waded  a 
great  way.  Here  the  hound  was  at  fault,  and  John  of  Lorn, 
after  long  attempting  in  vain  to  recover  Bruce's  trace,  relin- 
quished the  pursuit. 

"Others,"  says  Barbour,  "  affirm,  that  upon  this  occasion 
the  king's  life  was  saved  by  an  excellent  archer  who  accompa- 
nied him,  and  who  perceiving  they  would  be  finally  taken  by 
means  of  the  blood-hound,  hid  himself  in  a  thicket,  and  shot 
him  with  an  arrow.  In  which  way,"  adds  the  metrical  biog- 
rapher, "  this  escape  happened  I  am  uncertain,  but  at  that 
brook  the  king  escaped  from  his  pursuers." 

"  duhen  the  chasseris  relyt  war, 
And  Jhon  of  Lorn  had  met  thaim  thar, 
He  tauld  Schyr  Aymer  all  the  cass 
How  that  the  king  eschapyt  wass  ; 
And  how  that  he  his  five  men  slew, 
And  syne  to  the  wode  him  drew, 
duhen  Schyr  Aymer  herd  this,  in  hy 
He  sanyt  him  for  the  ferly  : 
And  said  ;  '  He  is  gretly  to  pryss  ; 
For  1  knaw  nane  that  liffand  is, 
That  at  myscheyff  gan  help  him  swa. 
I  trow  he  suld  be  hard  to  sla, 
And  he  war  bodyn1  ewynly.' 
On  this  wiss  spak  Fchyr  Aymery." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  v.,  v.  391. 

The  English  historians  agree  with  Barbour  as  to  the  mode 
in  which  the  English  pursued  Bruce  and  his  followers,  and 
the  dexterity  with  which  he  evaded  them.  The  following  ia 
the  testimony  of  Harding,  a  great  enemy  to  the  Scottish  na 
tion  : — 

"  The  King  Edward  with  hoost  hym  sought  full  sore, 
But  ay  he  fled  into  woodes  and  strayte  forest, 
And  slewe  his  men  at  staytes  and  daungers  thore, 
And  at  marreys  and  mires  was  ay  full  prest 
Englyshmen  to  kyll  withoutyn  any  rest ; 
In  the  mountaynes  and  cragges  he  slew  ay  where, 
And  in  the  nyght  his  foes  he  frayed  full  sere  : 

"  The  King  Edward  with  homes  and  houndes  him  sogh% 
With  menne  on  fote,  through  morris ,  mosse,  and  myre, 
Through  wodes  also,  and  mountens  (wher  thei  fought), 
And  euer  the  Kyng  Edward  bight  men  greate  hyre. 
Hym  for  to  take  and  by  myght  conquere  ; 
But  thei  might  hym  not  gette  by  force  ne  by  train, 
He  satte  by  the  fyre  when  thei  went  in  the  rain." 

Hardynq's  Chronicle,  pp.  303-4. 

Peter  Langtoft  has  also  a  passage  concerning  the  extremitiet 
to  which  King  Robert  was  reduced,  which  he  entitles 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD   Ub    iHE  lfeLEIS. 


48c 


De  Roberto  Brus  ex  fuga  circum  circa  fit. 
Aiid  wele  I  understode  that  the  Kyng  Robyn 
Has  drunken  of  that  ulode  the  drink  of  Dan  Waryn. 
Dan  Waryn  he  les  tounes  that  he  held, 
Witn  wrong  he  mad  a  res,  and  misberyng  of  scheld, 
Sithen  into  the  forest  he  yede  naked  and  wode, 
Als  a  wild  beast,  ete  of  the  gras  that  stode, 
Thus  of  Dan  Waryn  in  his  boke  men  rede, 
God  gyf  the  King  Robyn,  that  alle  his  kynde  so  spede, 
Sir  Robynet  the  Brus  he  durst  noure  abide, 
That  thei  mad  him  restus,  both  in  more  and  wod-side, 
To  while  he  mad  this  train,  and  did  umwhile  outrage,"  &c. 
Peter  Langtoft's  Chronicle,  vol.  ii.  p.  335, 
*vo.  London,  1810. 


Note  2  E. 


For,  glad  of  each  pretext  for  spoil, 
A  pirate  sworn  was  Cormac  Doil. — P.  430. 
A  sort  of  persons  common  in  the  isles,  as  may  be  easily  be- 
lieved, until  the  introduction  of  civil  polity.  Witness  the 
Dean  of  the  Isles'  account  of  Ronay.  "  At  the  north  end  of 
Raarsay,  be  half  myle  of  sea  frae  it,  layes  ane  ile  callit  Ronay, 
maire  then  a  myle  in  lengthe,  full  of  wood  and  heddir,  with 
ane  havein  for  heiland  galeys  in  the  middis  of  it,  and  the  same 
havein  is  guid  for  fostering  of  theives,  ruggairs,  and  reivairs, 
till  a  nail,  upon  the  peilling  and  spulzeing  of  poor  pepill.  This 
ile  perteins  to  M'Gillychallan  of  Raarsay  by  force,  and  to  the 
bishope  of  the  iles  be  heritage." — Sir  Donald  Monro's 
Description  of  the  Western  Islands  of  Scotland,  Edinburgh, 
t805,  p.  22. 


Note  2  F. 


•  Mas !  dear  youth,  the  unhappy  time,'''' 
Answer' d  the  Bruce,  "  must  bear  the  crime, 

Since,  guiltier  far  than  you, 
.Even  J" — he  paused  ;  for  Falkirk's  woes 
Upon  his  conscious  soul  arose. — P.  431. 

i  have  followed  the  vulgar  and  inaccurate  tradition,  that 
Bruce  fought  against  Wal!acevand  the  array  of  Scotland,  at 
the  fatal  battle  of  Falkirk.  The  story,  which  seems  to  have 
no  better  authority  than  that  of  Blind  Harry,  bears,  that  hav- 
ing made  much  slaughter  during  the  engagement,  he  sat  down 
to  dine  with  the  conquerors  without  washing  the  filthy  witness 
from  his  hands. 

"  Fasting  he  was,  and  had  been  in  great  need, 
Blooded  were  all  his  weapons  and  his  weed  ; 
Southeron  lords  scorn'd  him  in  terms  rude, 
And  said,  Behold  yon  Scot  eats  his  own  blood. 

"  Then  rued  he  sore,  for  reason  bad  be  known, 
That  blood  and  land  alike  should  be  his  own  ; 
With  them  he  long  was,  ere  he  got  away, 
But  contrair  Scots  he  fought  not  from  that  day." 

The  account  given  by  most  of  our  historians,  of  the  conversa- 
tion between  Bruce  and  Wallace  over  the  Carron  river,  is 
equa-j  apocryphal.  There  is  full  evidence  that  Bruce  was 
not  at.  that  time  on  the  English  side,  nor  present  at  the  battle 
of  Falkirk;  nay,  that  he  acted  as  a  guardian  of  Scotland, 
along  with  John  Comyn,  in  the  name  of  Baliol,  and  in  oppo- 
lition  to  the  English.  He  was  the  grandson  of  the  competitor, 
with  whom  he  has  been  sometimes  confounded.  Lord  Hailes 
has  well  described,  and  in  some  degree  apologized  for,  the  ear- 
lier part  of  his  life. — "  His  grandfather,  the  competitor,  had 
oatiently  acqv'esced  in  the  award  of  Edward.      His  father, 


yielding  to  the  times,  had  served  under  the  English  banners. 
But  young  Bruce  had  more  ambition,  and  a  more  restless  spirit 
In  his  earlier  years  he  acted  upon  no  regular  plan.  By  turns 
the  partisan  of  Edward,  and  the  vicegerent  of  Baliol,  he  seems 
to  have  forgotten  or  stifled  his  pretensions  to  the  crown*.  But 
his  character  developed  itself  by  degrees,  and  in  maturer  age 
became  firm  and  consistent." — ftnnals  of  Scotland,  p.  290 
4to.  London,  1776. 


Note  2  G-. 

These  are  the  savage  wilds  that  lie 

North  of  Strathnardill  and  Dun-skye. — P.  432. 

The  extraordinary  piece  of  scenery  which  I  have  here  at- 
tempted to  describe,  is,  I  think,  unparalleled  in  any  part  of 
Scotland,  at  least  in  any  which  I  have  happened  to  visit.  It 
lies  just  upon  the  frontier  of  the  Laird  of  Mac-Leod's  country 
which  is  thereabouts  divided  from  the  estate  of  Mr.  Macalistf 
of  Strath-Aird,  called  Strathnardill  by  the  Dean  of  the  Isle. . 
The  following  account  of  it  is  extracted  from  a  journal*  kept 
during  a  tour  through  the  Scottish  Islands  : — 

"  The  western  coast  of  Sky  is  highly  romantic,  and  at  the 
same  time  displays  a  richness  of  vegetation  in  the  lower  grounds 
to  which  we  have  hitherto  been  strangers.  We  passed  three 
salt-water  lochs,  or  deep  embayrnents,  called  Loch  Bracadale, 

Loch  Einort,  and  Loch ,  and  about  eleven  o'clock  opened 

Loch  Slavig.  We  were  now  under  the  western  termination 
of  the  high  ridge  of  mountains  called  Cuillen,  or  Quillin,  or 
Coolin,  whose  weather-beaten  and  serrated  peaks  we  had  ad 
mired  at  a  distance  from  Dunvegan.  They  sunk  here  upon 
the  sea,  but  with  the  same  bold  and  peremptory  aspect  which 
their  distant  appearance  indicated.  They  appeared  to  consist 
of  precipitous  sheets  of  naked  rock,  down  which  the  torrents 
were  leaping  in  a  hundred  lines  of  foam.  The  tops  of  the 
ridge,  apparently  inaccessible  to  human  foot,  were  rent  and 
split  into  the  most  tremendous  pinnacles.  Towards  the  base 
of  these  bare  and  precipitous  crags,  the  ground,  enriched  by 
the  soil  washed  down  from  them,  is  comparatively  verdant  and 
productive.  Where  we  passed  within  the  small  isle  of  Soa, 
we  entered  Loch  Slavig,  under  the  shoulder  of  one  of  these 
grisly  mountains,  and  observed  that  the  opposite  side  of  the 
loch  was  of  a  milder  character,  the  mountains  being  softened 
down  into  steep  green  declivities.  From  the  bottom  of  the 
bay  advanced  a  headland  of  high  rocks,  which  divided  its 
depth  into  two  recesses,  from  each  of  which  a  brook  issued. 
Here  it  had  been  intimated  to  us  we  would  find  some  roman- 
tic scenery  ;  but  we  were  uncertain  up  which  inlet  we  should 
proceed  in  search  of  it.  We  chose,  against  our  better  judg- 
ment, the  southerly  dip  of  the  bay,  where  we  saw  a  house 
which  might  afford  us  information.  We  found,  upon  inquiry, 
that  there  is  a  lake  adjoining  to  each  branch  of  the  bay  ;  and 
walked  a  couple  of  miles  to  see  that  near  the  farm-house, 
merely  because  the  honest  Highlander  seemed  jealous  of  the 
honor  of  his  own  loch,  though  we  were  speedily  convinced  it 
was  not  that  which  we  were  recommended  to  examine.  It 
had  no  particular  merit,  excepting  from  its  neighborhood  to  a 
very  high  cliff,  or  precipitous  mountain  ;  otherwise  the  sheet  or 
water  had  nothing  differing  from  any  ordinary  low-country 
lake.  We  returned  and  re-embarked  in  our  boat,  for  our  guide 
shook  his  head  at  our  proposal  to  climb  over  the  peninsula,  oi 
rocky  headland  which  divided  the  two  lakes.  In  rowing  round 
the  headland,  we  were  surprised  at  the  infinite  number  of  sea- 
fowl,  then  busy  apparently  with  a  shoal  offish. 

"  Arrived  at  the  depth  of  the  bay,  we  found  that  the  dis- 
charge from  this  second  lake  forms  a  sort  of  waterfall,  or  rather 
a  rapid  stream,  which  rushes  down  to  the  sea  with  great  fury 
and  precipitation.  Round  this  place  were  assembled  hundreda 
of  trouts  and  salmon,  struggling  to  get  up  into  the  fresh  water  i 

1  This  is  from  the  Poet's  own  journal.— Ki> 


484 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


with  a  net  we  might  have  had  twenty  salmon  at  a  haul ;  and 
a  sailor,  with  no  better  hook  than  a  crooked  pin,  caught  a  dish 
of  trouts  during  our  absence.  Advancing  up  this  huddling 
and  riotous  brook,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  most  extraordinary 
scene ;  we  lost  sight  of  the  sea  almost  immediately  after  we 
had  climbed  over  a  low  ridge  of  crags,  and  were  surrounded  by 
mountains  of  naked  rock,  of  the  boldest  and  most  precipitous 
character.  The  ground  on  which  we  walked  was  the  margin 
of  a  lake,  which  seemed  to  have  sustained  the  constant  ravage 
of  torrents  from  these  rude  neighbors.  The  snores  consisted  of 
huge  strata  of  naked  granite,  here  and  there  intermixed  with 
bogs,  and  heaps  of  gravel  and  sand  piled  in  the  empty  water- 
courses. Vegetation  there  was,  little  or  none  ;  and  the  moun- 
tains rose  so  perpendicularly  from  the  water  edge,  that  Bor- 
rowdale,  or  even  Glencoe,  is  a  jest  to  them.  We  proceeded  a 
mile  and  a  half  up  this  deep.,  dark,  and  solitary  lake,  which 
was  about  two  miles  long,  half  a  mile  broad,  and  is,  as  we 
learned,  of  extreme  depth.  The  murky  vapors  which  envel- 
oped the  mountain  ridges,  obliged  us  by  assuming  a  thousand 
varied  shapes,  changing  their  drapery  into  all  sorts  of  forms, 
and  sometimes  clearing  off  all  together.  It  is  true,  the  mist  made 
us  pay  the  penalty  by  some  heavy  and  downright  showers, 
from  the  frequency  of  which  a  Highland  boy,  whom  we 
brought  from  the  farm,  told  us  the  lake  was  popularly  called 
the  Water-kettle.  The  proper  name  is  Loch  Corriskin,  from 
the  deep  corrie,  or  hollow,  in  the  mountains  of  Cuilin,  which 
affords  the  basin  for  this  wonderful  sheet  of  water.  It  is  as 
exquisite  a  savage  scene  as  Loch  Katrine  is  a  scene  of  romantic 
beauty.  After  having  penetrated  so  far  as  distinctly  to  ob- 
serve the  termination  of  the  lake  under  an  immense  precipice, 
which  rises  abruptly  from  the  water,  we  returned,  and  often 
stopped  to  admire  the  ravages  which  storms  must  have  made 
in  these  recesses,  where  all  human  witnesses  were  driven  to 
places  of  more  shelter  and  security.  Stones,  or  rather  large 
masses  and  fragments  of  rocks  of  a  composite  kind,  perfectly 
different  from  the  strata  of  the  lake,  were  scattered  upon  the 
bare  rocky  beach,  in  the  strangest  and  most  precarious  situa- 
tions, as  if  abandoned  by  the  torrents  which  had  borne  them 
down  from  above.  Fome  lay  loose  and  tottering  upon  the 
ledges  of  the  natural  rock,  with  so  little  security,  that  the 
slightest  push  moved  them,  though  their  weight  might  exceed 
many  tons.  These  detached  rocks,  or  stones,  were  chiefly  what 
is  called  plum-pudding  stones.  The  bare  rocks,  which  formed 
the  shore  of  the  lakes,  were  a  species  of  granite.  The  opposite 
side  of  the  lake  seemed  quite  pathless  and  inaccessible,  as  a 
huge  mountain,  one  of  the  detached  ridges  of  the  Cuilin  hills, 
sinks  in  a  profound  and  perpendicular  precipice  down  to  the 
water.  On  the  left-hand  side,  which  we  traversed,  rose  a 
higher  and  equally  inaccessible  mountain,  the  top  of  which 
strongly  resembled  the  shivered  crater  of  an  exhausted  volcano. 
I  never  saw  a  spot  in  which  there  was  less  appearance  of  vege- 
tation of  any  kind.  The  eye  rested  on  nothing  but  barren  and 
naked  crags,  and  the  rocks  on  which  we  walked  by  the  side  of 
the  loch,  were  as  bare  as  the  pavement^of  Cheapside.  There 
are  one  or  two  small  islets  in  the  loch,  which  seem  to  bear 
juniper,  or  some  such  low  bushy  shrub.  Upon  the  whole, 
though  I  have  seen  many  scenes  of  more  extensive  desolation, 
I  never  witnessed  any  in  which  it  pressed  more  deeply  upon 
the  eye  and  the  heart  than  at  Loch  Corriskin  ;  at  the  same  time 
that  its  grandeur  elevated  and  redeemed  it  from  the  wild  and 
dreary  character  of  utter  barrenness." 


Note  2  H. 


Men  were  they  all  of  evil  mien, 
Down-looked,  unwilling  to  be  seen. 


-P.  434. 


The  story  of  Bruce's  meeting  the  banditti  is  copied,  with 
such  alterations  as  the  fictitious  narrative  rendered  necessary, 
from  a  striking  incident  in  the  monarch's  history,  told  by  Bar- 


bour, and  which  I  shall  give  in  the  words  of  the  hero's  biog 
rapher.  It  is  the  sequel  to  the  adventure  of  the  bloodhound 
narrated  in  Note  2  D.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the  narra 
tive  broke  off,  leaving  the  Bruce  escaped  fj;om  his  pursuers 
but  worn  out  with  fatigue,  and  having  no  other  attendant  but 
his  f  jster-brother. 

"  And  the  gude  king  held  forth  his  way, 
Betuix  him  and  his  man,  quhill  thai 
Passyt  owt  throw  the  forest  war  ; 
Syne  in  the  more  thai  entryt  thar. 
It  wes  bathe  hey,  and  lang,  and  braid  ; 
And  or  thai  halff  it  passyt  had, 
Thai  saw  on  syd  thre  men  command, 
Lik  to  lycht  men  and  wauerand. 
Swerdis  thai  had,  and  axys  als ; 
And  ane  off  thaim,  apon  hip  hals,1 
A  mekill  boundyn  wethir  bar. 
Thai  met  the  king,  and  hailst2  him  thar: 
And  the  king  thaim  thar  hailsing  yauld  ;3 
And  a^kyt  thaim  quethir  thai  wauld. 
Thai  said,  Robert  the  Bruyss  thai  soucht; 
For  mete  with  him  giff  that  thai  moucht, 
Thar  duelling  with  him  wauld  thai  ma.* 
The  king  said,  '  Giff  that  ye  will  swa, 
Haldys  furth  your  way  with  me, 
And  I  shall  ger  yow  sone  him  se.' 

"  Thai  persawyt,  be  his  speking, 
That  he  wes  the  selwyn  Robert  king. 
And  chaungyt  contenance  and  late  ;s 
And  held  nocht  in  the  fyrst  state. 
For  thai  war  fayis  to  the  king  ; — 
And  thoucht  to  cum  in  to  sculking, 
And  duell  with  him,  quhill  that  thai  saw 
Thar  poynt,  and  bryng  him  than  off  daw. 
Thai  grantyt  till  his  spek  forthi.T 
Bot  the  king,  that  wes  witty, 
Persawyt  weill,  by  thar  hawing, 
That  thai  luffyt  him  na  thing  : 
And  said,  '  Falowis,  ye  mon,  all  thre, 
Forthir  aqwent  till  that  we  be, 
All  be  your  selwyn  furth  ga  ; 
And,  on  the  samyn  wyss,  we  twa 
Sail  folow  behind  weill  ner.' 
duoth  thai,  '  Selryr,  it  is  na  mystei* 
To  trow  in  ws  ony  ill.'  — 
•  Nane  do  I,'  said  he  ;  '  bot  I  will, 
That  yhe  ga  fourth  thus,  quhill  we 
Better  with  othyr  knawin  be.' — 
'  We  grant,'  thai  said,  '  sen  ye  will  swa :' 
And  furth  apon  thair  gate  gan  ga. 

"  Thus  yeid  thai  till  the  nycht  wes  net. 
And  than  the  formast  cummyn  wer 
Till  a  waist  housband  houss  ;9  and  thar 
Thai  slew  the  wethir  that  thai  bar : 
And  slew  fyr  for  to  rost  thar  mete  ; 
And  askyt  the  king  giff  he  wald  ete, 
And  rest  him  till  the  mete  war  dycht. 
The  king,  that  hungry  was,  Ik  hycht, 
Assentyt  till  thair  spek  in  hy. 
Bot  he  said,  he  wald  anerlyio 
At  a  fyr ;  and  thai  all  thre 
On  na  wyss  with  thaim  till  gyddre  be. 
In  the  end  off  the  houss  thai  suld  ma 
Ane  othyr  fyr ;  and  thai  did  swa. 
Thai  drew  thaim  in  the  houss  end, 
And  halff  the  wethir  till  him  send. 
And  thai  rostyt  in  hy  thair  mete  : 


Neck.— 2  Saluted.— 3  Returned  their  stuute. — 4  Makt  *  <S««tur«  or 
manner.— 6  Kill  him.— 7  Therefore.— 8  There  is  no  need.— 9  i\wu«ta>»/n»n'f 
house,  cottage. — 10  Alone. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OP  THE  ISLES. 


48c 


And  fell  rycht  freschly  for  till  ete. 
For  the  king  weill  lang  fastyt  had ; 
And  had  rycht  mekill  trawaill  mad  :      , 
Tharfor  he  eyt  full  egrely. 
And  quhen  he  had  etyn  hastily, 
He  had  to  slep  sa  mekill  will, 
That  he  moucht  set  na  let  thar  till. 
For  qnhen  the  wanys1  fillyt  ar, 
Men  worthys2  hewy  euirmar ; 
And  to  slepe  drawys  hewynes. 
The  king,  that  all  fortrawaillyt3  wes, 
Saw  that  him  worthyt  slep  nedwayis. 
Till  his  fostyr-brodyr  lie  sayis  ; 
'May  I  traist  in  the,  me  to  waik, 
Till  Ik  a  little  sleping  tak  V— 
4  Ya,  Schyr,'  he  said,  '  till  I  may  drey.'4 
The  king  then  wynkyt  a  li till  wey  ; 
And  slepyt  nocht  full  encrely ; 
Bot  gliffnyt  wp  oft  sodanly. 
For  he  had  dreid  off  thai  thre  men, 
That  at  the  tothyr  fyr  war  then. 
That  thai  his  fais  war  he  wyst ; 
Tharfor  he  slepyt  as  foule  on  twyst.5 
"  The  king  slepyt  bot  a  litill  than ; 
Quhen  sic  slep  fell  on  his  man, 
That  he  mycht  nocht  hald  wp  his  ey, 
Bot  fell  in  slep,  and  rowtyt  hey. 
Now  is  the  king  in  gret  perile  : 
For  slep  he  swa  a  litill  quhile, 
He  sail  be  ded,  for  owtyn  dreid. 
For  the  thre  tratours  tuk  gud  heid, 
That  he  on  slep  wes,  and  his  man. 
In  full  gret  hy  thai  raiss  wp  than, 
And  drew  the  suerdis  hastily  ; 
And  went  towart  the  king  in  hy, 
duhen  that  thai  saw  him  sleip  swa, 
And  slepand  thoucht  thei  wald  him  sla. 
The  king  wp  blenkit  hastily, 
And  saw  his  man  slepand  him  by  ; 
And  saw  cummand  the  tothyr  thre. 
Deliuerly  on  fute  gat  he ; 
And  drew  his  suerd  owt,  and  thaim  mete. 
And,  as  he  yude,  his  fute  he  set 
Apon  his  man,  weill  hewyly 
He  waknyt,  and  raiss  disily : 
For  the  slep  maistryt  hym  sway, 
That  or  he  gat  wp,  ane  off  thai, 
That  come  for  to  sla  the  king, 
Gaiff  hym  a  strak  in  his  rysing, 
Swa  that  he  mycht  help  him  no  mar. 
The  king  sa  straitly  stad'  wes  thar, 
That  he  wes  neuir  yeyt  sa  stad. 
Ne  war  the  armyng7  that  he  had, 
He  had  been  dede,  for  owtyn  wer. 
But  nocht  for  thi*  on  sic  maner 
He  helpyt  him,  in  that  bargayne,9 
That  thai  thre  tratowris  he  has  slan, 
Throw  Goddis  grace,  and  his  manheid. 
His  fostyr-brothyr  thar  was  dede. 
Then  wes  he  wondre  will  of  wayn,l<> 
duhen  he  saw  him  left  allane. 
His  fostyr-brodyr  menyt  he  ; 
And  waryiU1  all  the  tothyr  thre. 
And  syne  hys  way  tuk  him  allane, 
And  rycht  towart  his  tryst12  is  gane." 

The  Bruce,  Book  v.  p.  405. 


1  BePies.— 2  Becomes.— 3  Fatigued. — 4  Endure.— 5  Bird  on  bough.- 
t  So  dangerously  situated.— 1  Had  it  not  been  for  the  armor  he  wore.- 
8  Nevertheless.— 9  Fray,  or  dispute.— 10  Much  afflicted.— 11  Cursed.- 
»8  The  place  of  rendezvous  appointed  for  his  soldiers. 


Note  2  L 

And  mermaid'' s  alabaster  grot, 
Who  bathes  her  limbs  in  sunless  well 
Deep  in  Strathaird's  enchanted  cell. — P.  436. 

Imagination  can  hardly  conceive  any  thing  more  beautiful 
than  the  extraordinary  grotto  discovered  not  many  years  since 
upon  the  estate  of  Alexander  Mac-AIIister,  Esq.,  of  Strath- 
aird. It  has  since  been  much  and  deservedly/celebrated,  and 
a  full  account  of  its  beauties  has  been  published  by  Dr.  Mac- 
Leay  of  Oban.  The  general  impression  may  perhaps  be 
gathered  from  the  following  extract  from  a  journal,  which, 
written  under  the  feelings  of  the  moment,  is  likely  to  be  mow 
accurate  than  any  attempt  to  recollect  the  impressions  then 
received. — "  The  first  entrance.to  this  celebrated  cave  is  rude 
and  unpromising ;  but  the  light  of  the  torches,  with  which 
we  were  provided,  was  soon  reflected  from  the  roof,  floor,  and 
walls,  which  seem  as  if  they  were  sheeted  with  marble,  partly 
smooth,  partly  rough  with  frost-work  and  rustic  ornaments, 
and  partly  seeming  to  be  wrought  into  statuary.  The  floor 
forms  a  steep  and  difficult  ascent,  and  might  be  fancifully 
compared  to  a  sheet  of  water,  which,  while  it  rushed  whiten- 
ing and  foaming  down  a  declivity,  had  been  suddenly  arrested 
and  consolidated  by  the  spell  of  an  enchanter.  Upon  attain- 
ing the  summit  of  this  ascent,  the  cave  opens  into  a  splendid 
gallery,  adorned  with  the  most  dazzling  crystalizations,  and 
finally  descends  with  rapidity  to  the  brink  of  a  pool,  of  the 
most  limpid  water,  about  four  or  five  yards  broad.  There 
opens  beyond  this  pool  a  portal  arch,  formed  by  two  columns 
of  white  spar,  with  beautiful  chasing  upon  the  sides,  which 
promises  a  continuation  of  the  cave.  One  of  our  sailors  swam 
across,  for  there  is  no  other  mode  of  passing,  and  informed  us 
(as  indeed  we  partly  saw  by  the  light  he  carried)  that  the  en- 
chantment of  Maccalister's  cave  twminates  with  this  portal, 
a  little  beyond  which  there  was  only  a  rude  cavern,  speedily 
choked  with  stones  and  earth.  But  the  pool,  on  the  brink  of 
which  we  stood,  surrounded  by  the  most  fanciful  mouldings, 
in  a  substance  resembling  white  marble,  and  distinguished 
by  the  depth  and  purity  of  its  waters,  might  have  been  the 
bathing  grotto  of  a  naiad.  The  groups  of  combined  figures 
projecting,  or  embossed,  by  which  the  pool  is  surrounded,  are 
exquisitely  elegant  and  fanciful.  A  statuary  might  catch 
beautiful  hints  from  the  singular  and  romantic  disposition  of 
those  stalactites.  There  is  scarce  a  form,  or  group,  on  which 
active  fancy  may  not  trace  figures  or  grotesque  ornaments, 
which  have  been  gradually  moulded  in  this  cavern  by  the 
dropping  of  the  calcareous  water  hardening  into  petrifactions. 
Many  of  those  fine  groups  have  been  injured  by  the  senseless 
rage  of  appropriation  of  recent  tourists  ;  and  the  grotto  has 
lost  (I  am  informed),  through  the  smoke  of  torches,  some- 
thing of  that  vivid  silver  tint  whic,h  was  originally  one  of  its 
chief  distinctions.  But  enough  of  beauty  remains  to  compen- 
sate for  all  that  may  be  lost." — Mr.  Mac-Allister  of  Strath- 
aird has,  with  great  propriety,  built  up  the  exterior  entrance 
to  this  cave,  in  order  that  strangers  may  enter  properly  at- 
tended by  a  guide,  to  prevent  any  repetition  of  the  wanton 
and  selfish  injury  which  this  singular  scene  has  already  bus 
tained. 


Note  2  K. 


Yet  to  no  sense  of  selfish  wrongs, 
Bear  witness  with  me,  Heaven,  belongs 
My  joy  o'er  Edward's  bier. — P.  438. 

The  generosity  which  does  justice  to  the  character  of  an 
enemy,  often  marks  Bruce's  sentiments,  as  recorded  by  the 
faithful  Barbour.  He  seldom  mentions  a  fallen  enemy  with 
out  praising  such  good  qualities  as  he  might  possess.     I  shall 


4:86 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


only  take  one  instance.  Shortly  after  Bruce  landed  in  Car- 
rick,  in  1306,  Fir  Ingram  Bell,  the  English  governor  of  Ayr, 
engaged  a  wealthy  yeoman,  who  had  hitherto  been  a  follower 
of  Bruce,  to  undertake  the  task  of  assassinating  him.  The 
King  learned  this  treachery,  as  he  is  said  to  have  done  other 
secrets  of  the  enemy,  by  means  of  a  female  with  whom  he  had 
an  intrigue.  Shortly  after  he  was  possessed  of  this  informa- 
tion, Bruce,  resorting  to  a  small  thicket  at  a  distance  from  his 
men,  with  only  a  single  page  to  attend  him,  met  the  traitor, 
accompanied  by  two  of  his  sons.  They  approached  him  with 
their  wonted  familiarity,  but  Bruce,  taking  his  pagers  bow  and 
arrow,  commanded  them  to  keep  at  a  distance.  As  they  still 
pressed  forward  with  professions  of  zeal  for  his  person  and 
service,  he,  after  a  second  warning,  shot  the  father  with  the 
arrow  ;  and  being  assaulted  successively  by  the  two  sons,  dis- 
patched first  one,  who  was  armed  with  an  axe,  then  as  the 
other  charged  him  with  a  spear,  avoided  the  thrust,  struck  the 
head  from  the  spear,  and  cleft  the  skull  of  the  assassin  with  a 
blow  of  his  two-handed  sword. 

"  He  rushed  down  of  blood  all  red, 
And  when  the  king  saw  they  were  dead, 
All  three  lying,  he  wiped  his  brand. 
With  that  his  boy  came  fast  running, 
And  said,  '  Our  lord  might  lowyt1  be, 
That  granted  you  might  and  poweste? 
To  fell  the  felony  and  the  pride, 
Of  three  in  so  little  tide.' 
The  king  said,  '  So  our  lord  me  see, 
They  have  been  worthy  men  all  three, 
Had  they  not  been  full  of  treason  : 
But  that  made  their  confusion.'  " 

Barbour's  Bruce,  B.  v.  p.  152. 


Note  2  L. 


Such  hate  was  his  on  Solway's  strand, 
When  vengeance  clenched  his  palsied  hand, 
That  pointed  yet  to  Scotland's  land. — P.  439. 

To  establish  his  dominion  in  Scotland  had  been  a  favorite 
object  of  Edward's  ambition,  and  nothing  could  exceed  the 
pertinacity  with  which  he  pursued  it,  unless  his  inveterate 
resentment  against  the  insurgents,  who  so  frequently  broke 
the  English  yoke  when  he  deemed  it  most  firmly  riveted. 
After  the  battles  of  Falkirk  and  Methven,  and  the  dreadful 
examples  which  he  had  made  of  Wallace  and  other  cham- 
pions of  national  independence,  he  probably  concluded  every 
chance  of  insurrection  was  completely  annihilated.  This  was 
in  1306,  when  Bruce,  as  we  have  seen,  was  utterly  expelled 
from  Scotland  :  yet,  in  the  conclusion  of  the  same  year,  Bruce 
was  again  in  arms  and  formidable ;  and  in  1307,  Edward, 
though  exhausted  by  a  long  and  wasting  malady,  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  the  army  destined  to  destroy  him  utterly.  This 
was,  perhaps,  partly  in  consequence  of  a  vow  which  he  had 
taken  upon  him,  with  all  the  pomp  of  chivalry,  upon  the  day 
in  which  he  dubbed  his  son  a  knight,  for  which  see  a  subse- 
quent note.  But  even  his  spirit  of  vengeance  was  unable  to 
restore  his  exhausted  strength.  He  reached  Burgh-npon-Sands, 
a  petty  village  of  Cumberland,  on  the  shores  of  the  Solway 
Firth,  and  there,  6th  July,  1307,  expired  in  sight  of  the  de- 
tested and  devoted  country  of  Scotland.  His  dying  injunc- 
tions to  his  son  required  him  to  continue  the  Scottish  war,  and 
never  to  recall  Gaveston.  Edward  II.  disobeyed  both  charges. 
Yet,  more  to  mark  his  animosity,  the  dying  monarch  ordered 
his  bones  to  be  carried  with  the  invading  army.  Froissart,  who 
probably  Hd  the  authority  of  eye-witnesses,  has  given  us  the 
follow  ing  account  of  this  remarkable  charge  :— 


Lauded. 


2  Power. 


"In  the  said  forest,  the  old  King  Robert  of  Scotland  dyd 
kepe  hymselfe,  whan  King  Edward  the  Fyrst  conquered  nygh 
all  Scotland  ;  for  he  was  so  often  chased,  that  none  durst  loge 
him  in  castell,  nor  fortresse,  for  feare  of  the  said  Kyng. 

"  And  ever  whan  the  King  was  returned  into  Ingland,  than 
he  would  gather  together  agayn  his  people,  and  conquere 
townes,  castells,  and  fortresses,  iuste  to  Berwick,  some  by  bat 
tie,  and  some  by  fair  speech  and  love  :  and  when  the  said 
King  Edward  heard  thereof,  than  would  he  assemble  his  pow- 
er, and  wyn  the  realme  of  Scotland  again  ;  thus  the  chance 
went  between  these  two  foresaid  Kings.  It  was  shewed  me, 
how  that  this  King  Robert  wan  and  lost  his  realme  v.  times. 
So  this  continued  till  the  said  King  Edward  died  at  Berwick : 
and  when  he  saw  that  he  should  die,  he  called  before  him  his 
eldest  son,  who  was  King  after  him,  and  there,  before  all  the 
barones,  he  caused  him  to  swear,  that  as  soon  as  he  were  dead, 
that  he  should  take  his  body,  and  boyle  it  in  a  cauldron,  till 
the  flesh  departed  clean  from  the  bones,  and  than  to  bury  the 
flesh,  and  keep  still  the  bones  ;  and  that  as  often  as  the  Fcotts 
should  rebell  against  him,  he  should  assemble  the  people 
against  them,  and  carry  with  him  the  bones  of  his  father  ;  for 
he  believed  verily,  that  if  they  had  his  bones  with  them,  that 
the  Scotts  should  never  attain  any  victory  against  them.  The 
which  thing  was  not  accomplished,  for  when  the  King  died 
his  son  carried  him  to  London." — Berners'  Froissart's 
Chronicle,  London,  1812,  pp.  39,  40. 

Edward's  commands  were  not  obeyed,  for  he  was  interred 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  with  the  appropriate  inscription, — 

"  Edwardus  Primus  Scotorum  malleus  hic  est. 
Pactum  Skrva." 

Yet  some  steps  seem  to  have  been  taken  towards  rendering 
his  body  capable  of  occasional  transportation,  for  it  was  exqui- 
sitely embalmed,  as  was  ascertained  when  his  tomb  was  opened 
some  years  ago.  Edward  II.  judged  wisely  in  not  carrying 
the  dead  body  of  his  father  into  Scotland,  since  he  would  not 
obey  his  living  counsels. 

It  ought  to  be  observed,  that  though  the  order  of  the  inci- 
dents is  reversed  in  the  poem,  yet,  in  point  of  historical  accu- 
racy, Bruce  had  landed  in  Scotland,  and  obtained  some  suc- 
of  consequence,  before  the  death  of  Edward  I. 


Note  2  M. 

-inna's  tower,  that,  steep  and  gray, 

Like  falcon-nest  overhangs  the  bay. — P.  440. 

The  little  island  of  Carina,  or  Cannay,  adjoins  to  those  of 
Rum  and  Muick,  with  which  it  forms  one  parish.  In  a  pretty 
bay  opening  towards  the  east,  there  is  a  lofty  and  slender  rock 
detached  from  the  shore.  Upon  the  summit  are  the  ruins  of  a 
very  small  tower,  scarcely  accessible  by  a  steep  and  precipitous 
path.  Here,  it  is  said,  one  of  the  kings,  or  Lords  of  the  Isles, 
confined  a  beautiful  lady,  of  whom  he  was  jealous.  The 
ruins  are  of  course  haunted  by  her  restless  spirit,  and  many  ro- 
mantic stories  are  told  by  the  aged  people  of  the  island  con- 
cerning her  fate  in  life,  and  ner  appearances  after  death. 


Note  2  N". 

And  Ronins 's  mountains  dark  have  sent 
Their  hunters  to  the  shore. — P.  440. 

Ronin  (popularly  called  Rum,  a  name  which  a  poet  may 
be  pardoned  for  avoiding  if  possible)  is  a  very  rough  and  moun- 
tainous island,  adjacent  to  those  of  Eigg  and  Cannay.  There 
is  almost  no  arable  ground  upon  it,  so  that,  except  in  the 
plenty  of  the  deer,  which  of  course  are  now  nearly  extirpated, 
it  still  deserves  the  description  bestowed  by  tlr   archdeacev  o' 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


48? 


the  Isles.  "  Ronin,  sixteen  my'e  north-wast 'from  the  ile  of 
Coll,  lyes  ane  ile  callit  Renin  I'e,  of  sixteen  myle  long,  and  six 
in  bredthein  the  narrowest,  ane  forest  of  heigh  mountains,  and 
abundance  of  little  deir  in  it,  quhilk  deir  will  never  be  slane 
dounewith,  but  tne  principal  saittis  man  be  in  the  height  of  the 
hill,  because  the  deir  will  be  callit  upwart  ay  be  the  tainchell, 
or  without  tynchell  they  will  pass  upwart  perforce.  In  this 
ite  will  be  gotten  about  Britane  als  many  wild  nests  upon  the 
plane  mure  as  men  pleasis  to  gadder,  and  yet  by  resson  the 
fowls  hes  few  to  start  them  except  deir.  This  ile  lyes  from  the 
west  to  the  eist  in  lenth,  and  pertains  to  M'Kenabrey  of  Colla. 
Many  solan  geese  are  in  this  ile." — Monro's  Description  of 
the  Western  Isles,  p.  18. 


Note  2  0. 


On  Scooreigg  next  a  warning  light 

Summon' d  her  warriors  to  the  fight  ; 

A  numerous  race,  ere  stern  Macleod 

O'er  their  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode. — P.  440. 

These,  and  the  following  lines  of  the  stanza,  refer  to  a 
dreadful  tale  of  feudal  vengeance,  of  which  unfortunately 
there  are  relics  that  still  attest  the  truth.  Scoor-Eigg  is  a  high 
peak  in  the  centre  of  the  small  Isle  of  Eigg,  or  Egg.  It  is  well 
known  to  mineralogists,  as  affording  many  interesting  speci- 
mens, and  to  others  whom  chance  or  curiosity  may  lead  to  the 
Island,  for  the  astonishing  view  of  the  mainland  and  neighbor- 
ing isles  which  it  commands.  I  shall  again  avail  myself  of  the 
journal  I  have  quoted. i 

il  26th  August,  1814. — At  seven  this  morning  we  were  in 
the  Sound  which  divides  the  Isle  of  Rum  from  that  of  Eigg. 
The  latter,  although  hilly  and  rocky,  and  traversed  by  a  re- 
markably high  and  barren  ridge,  called  Scoor-Rigg,  has,  in 
point  of  soil,  a  much  more  promising  appearance.  Southward 
of  both  lies  the  Isle  of  Muich,  or  Muck,  a  low  and  fertile 
island,  and  though  the  least,  yet  probably  the  most  valuable 
of  the  three.  We  manned  the  boat,  and  rowed  along  the 
shore  of  Egg  in  quest  of  a  cavern,  which  had  been  the  memo- 
rable scene  of  a  horrid  feudal  vengeance.  We  had  rounded 
more  than  half  the  island,  admiring  the  entrance  of  many  a 
bold  natural  cave,  which  its  rocks  exhibited,  without  finding 
that  which  we  sought,  until  we  procured  a  guide.  Nor,  in- 
deed, was  it  surprising  that  it  should  have  escaped  the  search 
of  strangers,  as  there  are  no  outward  indications  more  than 
might  distinguish  the  entrance  of  a  fox-earth.  This  noted 
cave  has  a  very  narrow  opening,  through  which  one  can  hardly 
creep  on  his  knees  and  hands.  It  rises  steep  and  lofty  within, 
and  runs  into  the  bowels  of  the  rock  to  the  depth  of  255  mea- 
sured feet ;  the  height  at  the  entrance  may  be  about  three  feet, 
but  rises  within  to  eighteen  or  twenty,  and  the  breadth  may 
vary  in  the  same  proportion.  The  rude  and  stony  bottom  of 
this  cave  is  strewed  with  the  bones  of  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, the  sad  relics  of  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  the  island,  200 
in  number,  who  were  slain  on  the  following  occasion  : — The 
Mac-Donalds  of  the  Isle  of  Egg,  a  people  dependent  on  Clan- 
Ranald,  had  done  some  injury  to  the  Laird  of  Mac-Leod.  The 
tradition  of  the  isle  says,  that  it  was  by  a  personal  attack  on 
the  chieftain,  in  which  his  back  was  broken.  But  that  of  the 
other  isles  bears,  more  probably,  that  the  injury  was  offered  to 
two  or  three  of  the  Mac-Leods,  who,  landing  upon  Eigg,  and 
using  some  freedom  with  the  young  women,  were  seized  by 
the  islanders,  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  turned  adrift  in  a  boat, 
which  the  winds  and  waves  safely  conducted  to  Skye.  To 
avenge  the  offence  given,  Mac-Leod  sailed  with  such  a  body 
of  men,  as  rendered  resistance  hopeless.  The  natives,  fearing 
his  vengeance,  concealed  themselves  in  this  cavern,  and,  after 
a  strict  search,  the  Mac-Leods  went  on  board  their  galleys, 
ifter  doing  what  mischief  they  could,  concluding  the  inhabit- 

1  See  note  2  G,  pk  488,  antt. 


ants  had  left  the  isle,  and  betaken  themselves  to  the  Long  Isl- 
and, or  some  of  Clan-Ranald's  other  possessions.  But  next 
morning  they  espied  from  the  vessels  a  man  upon  the  island, 
and  immediately  landing  again,  they  traced  his  retreat  by  the 
marks  of  his  footsteps,  a  light  snow  being  unhappily  on  the 
ground.  Mac-Leod  then  surrounded  the  cavern,  summoned 
the  subterranean  garrison,  and  demanded  that  the  individuals 
who  had  offended  him  should  be  delivered  up  to  him.  This 
was  peremptorily  refused.  The  chieftain  then  caused  his  peo- 
ple to  divert  the  course  of  a  rill  of  water,  which,  falling  o*gt 
the  entrance  of  the  cave,  would  have  prevented  his  purposed 
vengeance.  He  then  kindled  at  the  entrance  of  the  cavern  » 
huge  fire,  composed  of  turf  and  fern,  and  maintained  it  witt 
unrelenting  assiduity,  until  all  within  were  destroyed  by  suffo- 
cation. The  date  of  this  dreadful  deed  must  have  been  re- 
cent, if  one  may  judge  from  the  fresh  appearance  of  those  rel- 
ics. I  brought  off,  in  spite  of  the  prejudice  of  our  sailors,  a 
skull  from  among  the  numerous  specimens  of  mortality  which 
the  cavern  afforded.  Before  re-embarking  we  visited  another 
cave,  opening  to  the  sea,  but  of  a  character  entirely  different, 
being  a  large  open  vault,  as  high  as  that  of  a  cathedral,  and 
running  back  a  great  way  into  the  rock  at  the  same  height. 
The  height  and  width  of  the  opening  gives  ample  light  to  the 
whole.  Here,  after  1745,  when  the  Catholic  priests  were 
scarcely  tolerated,  the  priest  of  Eigg  used  to  perform  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  service,  most  of  the  islanders-  being  of  that  per- 
suasion. A  huge  ledge  of  rocks  rising  about  half-way  up 
one  side  of  the  vault,  served  for  altar  and  pulpit  ;  and  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  priest  and  Highland  congregation  in  such  an  ex 
traordinary  place  of  worship,  might  have  engaged  the  pencil  of 
Salvator." 


Note  2  P. 


-that  wondrous  dome, 


Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  deck'd 

By  skill  of  earthly  architect, 

Nature  herself,  it  seem'd,  would  raise 

A  Minster  to  her  Maker's  praise. — P.  441. 

It  would  be  unpardonable  to  detain  the  reader  upon  a  won- 
der so  often  described,  and  yet  so  incapable  of  being  under- 
stood by  description.  This  palace  of  Neptune  is  even  grander 
upon  a  second  than  the  first  view.  The  stupendous  columns 
which  form  the  sides  of  the  cave,  the  depth  and  strength  of 
the  tide  which  rolls  its  deep  and  heavy  swell  up  to  the  extre- 
mity of  the  vault — the  variety  of  the  tints  formed  by  white, 
crimson,  and  yellow  stalactites,  or  petrifactions,  which  occupy 
the  vacancies,  between  the  base  of  the  broken  pillars  which 
form  the  roof,  and  intersect  them  with  a  rich,  curious,  and  va- 
riegated chasing,  occupying  each  interstice — the  corresponding 
variety  below  water,  where  the  ocean  rolls  over  a  dark-red  or 
violet-colored  rock,  from  which,  as  from  a  base,  the  basaltic 
columns  arise — the  tremendous  noise  of  the  swelling  tide,  min 
gling  with  the  deep-toned  echoes  of  the  vault, — are  circum- 
stances elsewhere  unparalleled. 

Nothing  can  be  more  interesting  than  the  varied  appearance 
of  the  little  archipelago  of  islets,  of  which  Staffa  is  the  most 
remarkable.  This  group,  called  in  Gaelic  Tresharnish.  affords 
a  thousand  varied  views  to  the  voyager,  as  they  appear  in  dif- 
ferent positions  with  reference  to  his  course.  The  variety  of 
their  shape  contributes  much  to  the  beauty  of  these  effects. 


Note  2  Q. 
Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more. — P.  441. 
The  ballad,  entitled  "  Macphail  of  Colonsay,  and  the  Mer- 
maid   of  Corrievrekin"    [see  Border  Minstrelsy,   vol.    iv.    «» 


188 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


285],  was  composed  by  John  Leyden,  from  a  tradition  which 
he  found  while  making  a  tour  through  the  Hebrides  about 
J  HOI,  soon  before  his  fatal  departure  for  India,  where,  after 
having  made  farther  progress  in  Oriental  literature  than  any 
man  of  letters  who  had  embraced  those  studies,  he  died  a 
martyr  to  his  zeal  for  knowledge,  in  the  island  of  Java,  im- 
mediately after  the  landing  of  our  forces  near  Batavia,  in  Au- 
eust,  1811. 


]STOTE  2  R. 


Up  TarbaVs  western  lake  they  bore, 

Then  dragg'd  their  bark  the  isthmus  o'er. — P.  441. 

The  peninsula  of  Cantire  is  joined  to  South  Knapdale  by  a 
very  narrow  isthmus,  formed  by  the  western  and  eastern  Loch 
of  Tarbat.  These  two  salt-water  lakes,  or  bays,  encroach  so 
%r  upon  the  land,  and  the  extremities  come  so  near  to  each 
other,  that  there  is  not  above  a  mile  of  land  to  divide  them. 

"  It  is  not  long,"  says  Pennant,  "  since  vessels  of  nine  or  ten 
tons  were  drawn  by  horses  out  of  the  west  loch  into  that  of  the 
east,  to  avoid  the  dangers  of  the  Mull  of  Cantyre,  so  dreaded 
and  so  little  known  was  the  navigation  round  that  promontory. 
It  is  the  opinion  of  many,  that  these  little  isthmuses,  so  fre- 
quently styled  Tarbat  in  North  Britain,  took  their  name  from 
the  above  circumstance;  Tarruing,  signifying  to  draw,  and 
Bata,  a  boat.  This  too  might  be  called,  by  way  of  pre-emi- 
nence, the  Tarbat,  from  a  very  singular  circumstance  related 
by  Torfa.'us.  When  Magnus,  the  barefooted  King  of  Norway, 
obtained  from  Donald-bane  of  Scotland  the  cession  of  the 
Western  Isles,  or  all  those  places  that  could  be  surrounded  in 
a  boat,  he  added  to  them  the  peninsula  of  Cantyre  by  this 
fraud  :  he  placed  himself  in  the  stern  of  a  boat,  held  the  rud- 
der, was  drawn  over  this  narrow  track,  and  by  this  species  of 
navigation  wrested  the  country  from  his  brother  monarch." — 
Pennant's  Scotland,  London,  1790,  p.  190. 

But  that  Bruce  also  made  this  passage,  although  at  a  period 
two  or  three  years  later  than  in  the  poem,  appears  from  the 
svidenee  of  Barbour,  who  mentions  also  the  effect  produced 
npon  the  minds  of  the  Highlanders,  from  the  prophecies  cur- 
rent amongst  them  : — 

"  Bot  to  King  Robert  will  we  gang, 
That  we  haft'  left  wnspokyn  of  lang. 
Q.uhen  he  had  conwoyit  to  the  se 
His  brodyr  Eduuard,  and  his  menye, 
And  othyr  men  oft'gret  noblay. 
To  Tarbart  thai  held  thair  way, 
In  galayis  ordanyt  for  thair  far. 
Bot  thaim  worthyt1  draw  thair  schippis  thar  : 
And  a  myle  wes  betuix  the  seys  ; 
Bot  that  wes  lompnyt2  all  with  treis. 
The  King  his  schippis  thar  gert3  draw. 
And  for  the  wynd  couth4  stoutly  blaw 
Apon  thair  bak,  as  thai  wald  ga, 
He  gert  men  rapys  and  mastis  ta, 
And  set  thaim  in  the  schippis  hey, 
And  sayllis  to  the  toppis  tey  ; 
And  gert  men  gang  thar  by  drawand. 
The  wynd  thaim  helpyt,  that  was  blawand  ; 
Swa  that,  in  a  litill  space, 
Thair  flote  all  our  drawin  was. 

*  And  quhen  thai,  that  in  the  His  war, 
Hard  tell  how  the  gud  King  had  thar 
Gert  hys  schippis  with  saillis  ga 
Owt  our  betuix  [the]  Tarbart  [is]  twa, 
Thai  war  abaysit5  sa  wtrely. 
For  thai  wyst,  throw  auld  prophecy, 

Were  obliged  to.— 2  Laid  with  trees.— 3  Caused. — <1  Could. 


That  he  suld  ger°  schippis  sua 

Betuix  thai  seis  with  saillis  ga, 

Suld  wyne  the  His  sua  till  hand, 

That  nane  with  strenth  suld  him  withstand. 

Tharfor  they  come  all  to  the  King. 

Wes  nane  withstud  his  bidding, 

Owtakyn7  Jhone  of  Lome  allayne. 

Bot  weill  sone  eftre  wes  he  tayne  ; 

And  present  rycht  to  the  King. 

And  thai  that  war  of  his  leding, 

That  till  the  King  had  brokyn  fay ,3 

War  all  dede,  and  destroyit  away." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  x.  v. 


Note  2  S. 


The  sun,  ere  yet  he  sunk  behind 
Ben-Ohoil,  "the  Mountain  of  the  fVind," 
Oave  his  grim  peaks  a  greeting  kind, 
And  bade  Loch  Ranza  smile. — P.  441. 

Loch  Ranza  is  a  beautiful  bay,  on  the  northern  extremity  ol 
Arran,  opening  towards  East  Tarbat  Loch.  It  is  well  described 
by  Pennant : — "  The  approach  was  magnificent ;  a  fine  bay  in 
front,  about  a  mile  deep,  having  a  ruined  castle  near  the  lowei 
end,  on  a  low  far  projecting  neck  of  land,  that  forms  another 
harbor,  with  a  narrow  passage  ;  but  within  has  three  fathom 
of  water,  even  at  the  lowest  ebb.  Beyond  is  a  little  plain  wa- 
tered by  a  stream,  and  inhabited  by  the  people  of  a  small  vil- 
lage. The  whole  is  environed  with  a  theatre  of  mountains  ; 
and  in  the  background  the  serrated  crags  of  Grianan-Athol  soar 
above."— Pennant's  Tour  to  the  Western  Isles,  p.  191-2. 
Ben-Ghaoil,  "  the  mountain  of  the  winds,"  is  generally  known 
by  its  English,  and  less  poetical  name,  of  Goatfield. 


Note  2  T. 


Each  to  Loch  Rama's  margin  spring  ; 
That  blast  was/winded  by  the  King  /—P.  443. 

The  passage  in  Barbour,  describing  the  landing  of  Bruce, 
and  his  being  recognized  by  Douglas  and  those  of  his  followers 
who  had  preceded  him,  by  the  sound  of  his  horn,  is  in  the 
original  singularly  simple  and  affecting. — The  king  arrived  in 
Arran  with  thirty-three  small  row-boats.  He  interrogated  a 
female  if  there  had  arrived  any  warlike  men  of  late  in  that 
country.  "  Surely,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  I  can  tell  you  of  many 
who  lately  came  hither,  discomfited  the  English  governor,  and 
blockaded  his  castle  of  Brodick.  They  maintain  themselves  in 
a  wood  at  no  great  distance."  The  king,  truly  conceiving  that 
this  must  be  Douglas  and  his  followers,  who  had  latelyet  forth 
to  try  their  fortune  in  Arran,  desired  the  woman  to  condtct 
him  to  tne  wood.     She  obeyed. 

"  The  king  then  blew  his  horn  on  high, 
And  gert  his  men  that  were  him  by, 
Hold  them  still,  and  all  privy  ; 
And  syne  again  his  home  blew  he. 
James  of  Dowglas  heard  him  blow, 
And  at  the  last  alone  gan  know, 
And  said,  '  Soothly  yon  is  the  king; 
I  know  long  while  since  his  blowing.' 
The  third  time  therewithall  he  blew, 
And  then  Sir  Robert  Boid  it  knaw  ; 
And  said,  '  Yon  is  the  king,  but  dread, 
Go  we  forth  till  him,  better  speed.' 
Then  went  they  till  the  king  in  hye, 
And  him  inclined  courteously. 

5  Confounded.— 6  Make.— 1  Excepting.— 8  Faith. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


48» 


And  blithly  welcomed  them  the  king, 
And  was  joyful  of  their  meeting, 
And  kissed  them  ;  and  speared1  syne 
How  they  had  fared  in  hunting  ? 
And  they  him  told  all,  but  lesing  :2 
Syne  laud  they  God  of  their  meeting. 
Syne  with  the  king  till  his  harbourye 
Went  both  joyfu'  and  jolly." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  v.  pp.  115,  116. 


Note  2  U. 


- .    his  brother  blamed, 

But  shared  the  weakness,  while  ashamed, 
With  haughty  laugh  his  head  he  turned, 
And  dash'd  away  the  tear  he  scorn1  d. — P.  443. 

The  kind,  and  yet  fiery  .character  of  Edward  Bruce,  is  well 
painted  by  Barbour,  in  the  account  of  his  behavior  after  the 
battle  of  Bannockburn.  Sir  Walter  Ross,  one  of  the  very  few 
Scottish  nobles  who  fell  in  that  battle,  was  so  dearly  beloved 
by  Edward,  that  he  wished  the  victory  had  been  lost,  so  Ross 
nad  lived. 

"  Out-taken  him,  men  has  not  seen 
Where  he  for  any  men  made  moaning." 

And  here  the  venerable  Archdeacon  intimates  a  piece  of  scan- 
dal. £ir  Edward  Bruce,  it  seems,  loved  Ross's  sister,  par 
amours,  to  the  neglect  of  his  own  lady,  sister  to  David  de 
Strathbogie,  Earl  of  Atliole.  This  criminal  passion  had  evil 
consequences  ;  for,  in  resentment  to  the  affront  done  to  his 
sister,  Athole  attacked  the  guard  which  Bruce  had  left  at 
Cambuskenneth,  during  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  to  protect 
his  magazine  of  provisions,  and  slew  Sir  William  Keith,  the 
commander.     For  which  treason  he  was  forfeited. 

In  like  manner,  when  in  a  sally  from  Carrickfergus,  Neil 
Fleming,  and  tfce  guards  whom  he  commanded,  had  fallen, 
after  the  protracted  resistance  which  saved  the  rest  of  Edward 
Bruce's  army,  he  made  such  moan  as  surprised  his  followers  : 

"  Sic  moan  he  made  men  had  ferly,3 
For  he  was  not  customably 
Wont  for  to  moan  men  any  thing, 
Nor  would  not  hear  men  make  moaning." 

Such  are  the  nice  traits  of  character  so  often  lost  in  general 
history. 


Note  2  V. 


rhou  heird'st  a  wretched  female  plain 

In  agony  of  travel-pain, 

Ind  thou  didst  bid  thy  little  band 

Upon  the  instant  turn  and  stand, 

And  dare  the  worst  the  foe  might  do, 

Rather  than,  like  a  knight  untrue, 

Leave  to  pursuers  merciless 

A  woman  in  her  last  distress. — P.  445. 

TWs  incident,  which  illustrates  so  happily  the  chivalrous 
generosity  of  Bruce's  character,  is  one  of  the  many  simple  and 
natural  traits  recorded  by  Barbour.  It  occurred  during  the 
expedition  which  Bruce  made  to  Ireland,  to  support  the  pre- 
tensions of  his  brother  Edward  to  the  throne  of  that  kingdom. 
Bruce  was  about  to  retreat,  and  his  host  was  arrayed  for 
moving. 

"  The  king  has  heard  a  woman  cry, 
He  asked  what  that  was  in  hy.4 
•  It  is  the  layndar,o  sir,'  sai  ane, 


1  Asked.— 2  Without  lying.— 3  Wonder.- 
Child-bed. 


Haste.  —  5  Laundress.— 


'  That  her  child-ills  right  now  has  ta'en : 
And  must  leave  now  behind  us  here. 
Therefore  she  makes  an  evil  cheer.'7 
The  king  said,  '  Certes,*  it  were  pity 
That  she  in  that  point  left  should  be, 
For  certes  I  trow  there  is  no  man 
That  he  no  will  rue9  a  woman  than.' 
His  hosts  all  there  arested  he, 
And  gert10  a  tent  soon  stinted"  be, 
And  gert  her  gang  in  hastily, 
And  other  women  to  be  her  by. 
While  she  was  delivered  he  bade  : 
And  syne  forth  on  his  ways  rade. 
And  how  she  forth  should  carried  be, 
Or  he  forth  fure,12  ordained  he. 
This  was  a  full  great  courtesy, 
That  swilk  a  king  and  so  mighty, 
Gert  his  men  dwell  on  this  manner, 
But  for  a  poor  lavender." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  xvi.  pp.  39,  40 


Note  2  W. 
O'er  chasms  he  pass'd,  where  fractures  wide 
Craved  wary  eye  and  ample  stride. — P.  448. 

The  interior  of  the  island  of  Arran  abounds  with  beautifnl 
Highland  scenery.  The  hills,  being  very  rocky  and  precipi- 
tous, afford  some  cataracts  of  great  height,  though  of  incon- 
siderable breadth.  There  is  one  pass  over  the  river  Machrai, 
renowned  for  the  dilemma  of  a  poor  woman,  who,  being 
tempted  by  the  narrowness  of  the  ravine  to  step  across,  suc- 
ceeded in  making  the  first  movement,  but  took  fright  when  it 
became  necessary  to  move  the  other  foot,  and  remained  in  a 
posture  equally  ludicrous  and  dangerous,  until  some  chance 
passenger  assisted  her  to  extricate  herself.  It  is  said  she  re- 
mained there  some  hours. 


Note  2  X. 


He  crossed  his  brow  beside  the  stone 
Where  Druids  erst  heard  victims  groan  ; 
And  at  the  cairns  upon  the  wild, 
O'er  many  a  heathen  hero  piled. — P.  448. 

The  isle  of  Arran,  like  those  of  Man  and  Anglesea,  abounds 
with  many  relics  of  heathen,  and  probably  Druidical,  super- 
stition. There  are  high  erect  columns  of  unhewn  stone,  the 
most  early  of  all  monuments,  the  circles  of  rude  stones,  com- 
monly entitled  Druidical,  and  the  cairns,  or  sepulchral  piles, 
within  which  are  usually  found  urns  enclosing  ashes.  Much 
doubt  necessarily  rests  upon  the  history  of  such  monuments, 
nor  is  it  possible  to  consider  them  as  exclusively  Celtic  or 
Druidical.  By  much  the  finest  circles  of  standing  stones,  ex- 
cepting Stonehege,  are  those  of  Stenhouse,  at  Stennis,  in  the 
island  of  Pomona,  the  principal  isle  of  the  Orcades.  These, 
of  course,  are  neither  Celtic  nor  Druidical ;  and  we  are  pssured 
that  many  circles  of  the  kind  occur  both  in  Sweden  and  Nor- 
way. 


Note  2  Y. 
Old  Brodick's  gothic  towers  were  seen ; 
From  Hastings,  late  their  English  Ijord, 
Douglas  had  won  them  by  the  sword. — P.  448. 

Brodick  or  Brathwick  Castle,  in  the  Isle  of  Arran,  is  an  an- 
cient fortress,  near  an  open   roadstead   called   Brodick-Bav, 

1  Stop.— 8  Certainly.-9  Pity.— 10  Caused.— 11  Pitched.— 12  Moved. 


490 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


and  not  far  distant  from  a  tolerable  harbor,  closed  in  by  the 
Island  of  Lamlash.  This  important  place  had  been  assailed  a 
short  time  before  Bruce's  arrival  in  the  island.  James  Lord 
Douglas,  who  accompanied  Bruce  to  his  retreat  in  Rachrine, 
seems,  in  the  spring  of  130(3,  to  have  tired  of  his  abode  there, 
and  set  out  accordingly,  in  the  phrase  of  the  times,  to  see  what 
adventure  God  would  send  him.  Sir  Robert  Boyd  accom- 
panied him  ;  and  his  knowledge  of  the  localities  of  Arran 
appears  to  iiave  directed  his  course  thither.  They  landed  in 
the  island  privately,  and  appear  to  have  laid  an  ambush  for 
Sir  John  Hastings,  the  English  governor  of  Brodwick,  and 
surprised  a  considerable  supply  of  arms  and  provisions,  and 
nearly  took  the  castle  itself.  Indeed,  that  they  actually  did 
so,  has  been  generally  averred  by  historians,  although  it  does 
not  appear  from  the  narrative  of  Barbour.  On  the  contrary, 
it  would  seem  that  they  took  shelter  within  a  fortification  of 
the  ancient  inhabitants,  a  rampart  called  Tor  an  Schian. 
When  they  were  joined  by  Bruce,  it  seems  probable  that  they 
had  gained  Brodick  Castle.  At  least  tradition  says,  that  from 
the  battlements  of  the  tower  he  saw  the  supposed  signal-fire 
on  Turnberry-nook.  .  .  .  The  castle  is  now  much  modernized, 
but  has  a  dignified  appearance,  being  surrounded  by  flourish- 
ing plantations. 


Note  2  Z. 


Oft,  too,  with  unaccustom'd  ears, 

A  language  much  unmeet  he  hears. — P.  448. 

Barbour,  with  great  simplicity,  gives  an  anecdote,  from 
which  it  would  seem  that  the  vice  of  profane  swearing,  after- 
wards too  general  among  the  Scottish  nation,  was,  at  this 
time,  confined  to  military  men.  As  Douglas,  after  Bruce's 
return  to  Scotland,  was  roving  about  the  mountainous  coun- 
try of  Tweeddale,  near  the  water  of  Line,  he  chanced  to  hear 
some  persons  in  a  ^arm-house  say  "the  devil."  Concluding, 
from  this  hardy  expression,  that  the  house  contained  warlike 
guests,  he  immediately  assailed  it,  and  had  the  good  fortune 
to  make  prisoners  Thomas  Randolph,  afterwards  the  famous 
Earl  of  Murray,  and  Alexander  Stuart,  Lord  Bonkle.  Both 
were  then  in  the  English  interest,  and  had  come  into  that 
country  with  the  purpose  of  driving  out  Douglas.  They  after- 
wards ranked  among  Bruce's  most  zealous  adherents. 


ISTote  3  A. 


For,  see. !  the  ruddy  signal  made, 
That  Clifford,  with  his  merry-men  all, 
Guards  carelessly  our  father's  hall. — P.  449. 

The  remarkable  circumstances  by  which  Bruce  was  induced 
to  enter  Scotland,  under  the  false  idoa  that  a  signal-fire  was 
lighted  upon  the  shore  near  his  maternal  castle  of  Turnberry 
— the  disappointment  which  he  met  with,  and  the  train  of 
Buccess  which  arose  out  of  that  very  disappointment,  are  too 
curious  to  be  passec  over  unnoticed.  The  following  is  the 
narrative  of  Barboui.  The  introduction  is  a  favorable  speci- 
men of  his  style,  which  seems  to  be  in  some  degree  the  model 
for  that  of  Gawain  Douglas  :  — 

"  This  wes  in  ver:  quhen  wynter  tid, 
With  his  blastis  hidwyss  to  bid, 
Was  our  drywyn  :  and  byrdis  smale, 
As  turturis  and  the  nychtyngale, 
Begouth^  rycht  sarielys  to  syng  ; 
And  for  to  mak  in  thair  singyng 
Swete  notis,  and  sownys  ser,4 


t  Scrirx.— 2  Began.— 3  Loftily.— 4  Several — 5  Make.- 
erin?. 


Buds.— 7  Cov- 


And  melodys  plesand  to  her. 
And  the  treis  begouth  to  ma5 
Burgeans,c  and  brycht  blomys  alsua, 
To  wyn  the  helyng7  ofF  thair  hewid, 
That  wykkyt  wyntir  had  thaim  rewid.8 
And  all  gressys  beguth  to  spryng. 
In  to  that  tyme  the  nobill  king, 
With  his  rlote,  and  a  few  menye,9 
Thre  hundyr  I  trow  thai  mycht  be, 
Is  to  the  se,  owte  off"  Arane 
A  litill  forouth,10  ewyn  gane. 

"  Thai  rowit  fast,  with  all  thair  mycht, 
Till  that  apon  thaim  fell  the  nycht, 
That  woux  myrk11  apon  gret  nianer, 
Swa  that  thai  wyst  nocht  quhar  thai  wer. 
For  thai  na  nedill  had,  na  stane  ; 
Bot  rowit  alwayis  in  till  ane, 
Sterand  all  tyme  apon  the  fyr. 
That  thai  saw  brynnand  lycht  and  schyr.1* 
It  wes  bot  auentur13  thaim  led  : 
And  they  in  schort  tyme  sa  thaim  sped, 
That  at  the  fyr  arywyt  thai  ; 
And  went  to  land  bot  mar  delay. 
And  Cuthbert,  that  has  sene  the  fyr, 
Was  full  ofTangyr,  and  ofFire: 
For  he  durst  nocht  do  it  away  ; 
And  wes  alsua  dowtand  ay 
That  his  lord  suld  pass  to  se. 
Tharfor  thair  cummyn  waytit  he; 
And  met  them  at  thair  arywing. 
He  wes  wele  sone  broucht  to  the  King, 
That  speryt  at  him  how  he  had  done. 
And  he  with  sar  hart  tauld  him  sone, 
How  that  he  fand  nane  weill  luffand  ; 
Bot  all  war  fay  is,  that  he  fand  ; 
And  that  the  lord  the  Persy,  * 

With  ner  thre  hundre  in  cumpany, 
Was  in  the  castell  thar  besid, 
Fulltillyt  ofFdispyt  and  prid. 
Bot  ma  than  twa  partis  off  his  rowt 
War  berbery t  in  the  toune  without ; 
'  And  dyspytyt  yow  mar,  Schir  King, 
Than  men  may  dispyt  ony  thing.' 
Than  said  the  King,  in  full  gret  ire  ; 
'  Tratour,  quhy  maid  thow  than  the  fyr?'— 
'  A  !  Schyr,'  said  he,  '  sa  God  me  se  f 
The  fyr  wes  newyr  maid  for  me. 
Na,  or  the  nycht,  I  wyst  it  nocht ; 
Bot  fra  I  wyst  it,  Weill  I  thocht 
That  ye,  and  haly  your  menye 
In  hy14  suld  put  yow  to  the  se. 
For  thi  I  cum  to  mete  yow  her, 
To  tell  perellys  that  may  aper.' 

"  The  King  wes  off  bis  spek  angry, 
And  askyt  his  prywe  men,  in  by, 
duhat  at  thaim  thoucht  wes  best  to  do. 
Schyr  Edward  fryst  ansvvert  thar  to, 
Hys  brodyr  that  wes  sv»a  hardy, 
And  said  :  '  I  saw  yow  .jekyrly 
Thar  sail  na  perell,  that  may  be, 
Dryve  me  eflsonysis  to  the  se. 
Myne  auentur  her  tak  will  I, 
duliethir  it  be  esfull  or  angry.'  — 
'  Brothyr,'  he  said    '  sen  thou  will  sua, 
It  is  gude  that  we  samyn  ta 
Dissese  or  ese,  or  payne  or  play, 
Eftyr  as  God  will  ws  purway.18 

8  Bereaved.— 9  Men.— 10  Before.— 11  Dark.— 12  Clear.— /3  Aa-rentnw 
14  Haste.— 15  Soon  after.— 16  Trepare. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


401 


And  sen  men  sayis  that  the  Persy       * 

Myn  heretage  will  occupy  ; 

And  his  menye  sa  ner  ws  lyis, 

That  ws  dispytis  mony  wyss  ; 

Ga  we  and  wenge1  sum  off  the  dispyte 

And  that  may  we  haiff  done  alss  tite  ;a 

For  thai  ly  traistly,;i  but  dreding 

Off  ws,  or  off  our  her  cummyng. 

And  thoucht  we  slepand  slew  thaim  all, 

Reprufftharof  na  man  sail. 

For  wprrayour  na  forss  suld  ma, 

Ciuhethir  he  mycht  oureom  his  fa 

Throw  strenth,  or  throw  sutelte  ; 

Bot  that  gud  faith  ay  haldyn  be.'  " 

Barbocr'^  Bruce,  Book  iv.  v.  1. 


Note  3  B. 


JV«a>  ask  you  whence  that  wondrous  light, 
Whose  fairy  glow  beguiled  their  sight  ? 
It  ne'er  was  known. — P.  451. 

The  following  are  the  words  of  an  ingenious  correspondent, 
lo  whorr.  I  am  obliged  for  much  information  respecting  Turn- 
berry  and  its  neighborhood.  "  The  only  tradition  now  re- 
membered of  the  landing  of  Robert  the  Bruce  in  Carrick,  re- 
lates to  the  fire  seen  by  him  from  the  Isle  of  Arran.  It  is  still 
generally  reported,  and  religiously  believed  by  many,  that 
this  fire  was  really  the  work  of  supernatural  power,  unassisted 
by  the  hand  of  any  mortal  being ;  and  it  is  said,  that,  for  sev- 
eral centuries,  the  flame  rose  yearly  on  the  same  hour  of  the 
game  night  of  the  year,  on  which  the  king  first  saw  it  from  the 
turrets  of  Brodick  Castle  ;  and  some  go  so  far  as  to  say,  that 
if  the  exact  time  were  known,  it  would  be  still  seen.  That 
this  superstitious  notion  is  very  ancient,  is  evident  from  the 
place  where  the  fire  is  said  to  have  appeared,  being  called  the 
Bogles'  Brae,  beyond  the  remembrance  of  man.  In  support 
of  this  curious  belief,  it  is  said  that  the  practice  of  burning 
heath  for  the  improvement  of  land  was  then  unknown  ;  that 
a  spunkie  (Jack  o'lanthorn)  could  not  have  been  seen  across 
the  breadth  of  the  Forth  of  Clyde,  between  Ayrshire  and 
Arran;  and  that  the  courier  of  Bruce  was  his  kinsman,  and 
never  suspected  of  treachery." — Letter  from  Mr.  Joseph  Train, 
of  Newton  Ftnart,  author  of  an  ingenious  Collection  of  Poems, 
illustrative  of  many  ancient  Traditions  in  Galloway  and  Ayr- 
shire, Edinburgh,  1814.  [Mr.  Train  made  a  journey  into  Ayr- 
shire at  Sir  Walter  Scott's  request,  on  purpose  to  collect 
accurate  information  for  the  Notes  to  this  poem  ;  and  the 
reader  will  find  more  of  the  fruits  of  his  labors  in  Note  3  D. 
This  is  the  same  gentleman  whose  friendly  assistance  is  so 
often  acknowledged  in  the  Notes  and  Introductions  of  the 
Waverley  Novels.] 


Note  3  C. 


They  gain'd  the  Chase,  a  wide  domain 
Left  for  the  Castle's  silvan  reign. — P.  451. 

The  Castle  of  Turnberry,  on  the  coast  of  Ayrshire,  was  the 
property  of  Robert  Bruce,  in  right  of  his  mother.  Lord  Hailes 
mentions  the  following  remarkable  circumstance  concerning 
the  mode  in  which  he  became  proprietor  of  it : — "  Martha, 
Countess  of  Carrick  in  her  own  right,  the  wife  of  Robert 
Bruce,  Lord  of  Annandale,  bare  him  a  son,  afterwards  Robert 
I.  (11th  July,  1274).  The  circumstances  of  her  marriage  were 
angular:  happening  to  meet  Robert  Bruce  in  her  domains, 
»he  became  enamored  of  him,  and  with  some  violence  led  him 

1  Avenge.— 2  Quickly— 3  Confidently. 
Sir  Walter   Scott   has  misread   Mr.  Traiu's  MS.,  which  gave  not 


to  her  castle  of  Turnberry.  A  few  days  after  she  married  him, 
without  the  knowledge  of  the  relations  of  either  partv.  and 
without  the  requisite  consent  of  the  king.  The  king  instantly 
seized  her  castle  and  whole  estates  :'  She  afterwards  atoned 
by  a  fine  for  her  feudal  delinquency.  Little  did  Alexander 
foresee,  that,  from  this  union,  the  restorer  of  the  Scottish 
monarchy  was  to  arise." — Jlnnals  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  180. 
The  same  obliging  correspondent,  whom  I  have  quoted  in  the 
preceding  note,  gives  me  the  following  account  of  the  presenl 
state  of  the  ruins  of  Turnberry  : — "  Turnberry  Point  is  a  rock 
projecting  into  the  sea;  the  top  of  it  is  about  eighteen  feet 
above  high-water  mark.  Upon  this  rock  was  built  the  caslle. 
There  is  about  twenty-five  feet  high  of  the  wall  next  to  the 
sea  yet  standing.  Upon  the  land  side  the  wall  is  only  aboul 
four  feet  high  ;  the  length  has  been  sixty  feet,  and  the  breadth 
forty-five :  It  was  surrounded  by  a  ditch,  but  that  is  now  near- 
ly filled  up.  The  top  of  the  ruin,  rising  between  forty  and 
fifty  feet  above  the  water,  has  a  majestic  appearance  from  the 
sea.  There  is  not  much  local  tradition  in  the  vicinity  con 
nected  with  Bruce  or  his  history.  In  front,  however,  of  the 
rock,  upon  which  stands  Culzean  Castle,  is  the  mouth  of  a 
romantic  cavern,  called  the  Cove  of  Colean,  in  which  it  is 
said  Bruce  and  his  followers  concealed  themselves  immediately 
after  landing,  till  they  arranged  matters  for  their  farther  en- 
terprises. Burns  mentions  it  in  the  poem  of  Hallowe'en.  The 
only  place  to  the  south  of  Turnberry  worth  mentioning,  with 
reference  to  Bruce's  history,  is  the  Weary  Nuik,  a  little  ro- 
mantic green  hill,  where  he  and  his  party  are  said  to  hav» 
rested,  after  assaulting  the  castle." 

Around  the  Castle  of  Turnberry  was  a  level  plain  of  about 
two  miles  in  extent,  forming  the  castle  park.  There  could  be 
nothing,  I  am  informed,  more  beautiful  than  the  copsewood 
and  verdure  of  this  extensive  meadow,  before  it  was  invaded 
by  the  ploughshare. 


Note  3  D. 
The  Bruce  hath  won  his  father's  hall  I — P.  455. 

I  have  followed  the  flattering  and  pleasing  tradition,  that  the 
Bruce,  after  his  descent  upon  the  coast  of  Ayrshire,  actually 
gained  possession  of  his  maternal  castle.  But  the  tradition  is 
not  accurate.  The  fact  is,  that  he  was  only  strong  enough  to 
alarm  and  drive  in  the  outposts  of  the  English  garrison,  then 
commanded,  not  by  Clifford,  as  assumed  in  the  text,  but  by 
Percy.  Neither  was  Clifford  slain  upon  this  occasion,  though 
he  had  several  skirmishes  with  Bruce.  He  fell  afterwards  in 
the  battle  of  Bannockburn.  Bruce,  after  alarming  the  castle 
of  Turnberry,  and  surprising  some  part  of  the  garrison,  who 
were  quartered  without  the  walls  of  the  fortress,  retreated  into 
the  mountainous  part  of  Carrick,  and  there  made  himself  so 
strong,  that  the  English  were  obliged  to  evacuate  Turnberry, 
and  at  length  the  Castle  of  Ayr.  Many  of  his  benefactions  and 
royal  gifts  attest  his  attachment  to  the  hereditary  followers  of 
his  house,  in  this  part  of  the  country. 

It  is  generally  known  that  Bruce,  in  consequence  of  his  dis- 
tresses  after  the  battle  of  Methven,  was  affected  by  a  scorbutic 
disorder,  which  was  then  tolled  a  leprosy.  It  is  said  he  expt 
rienced  benefit  from  the  use  ol  a  medicinal  spring,  about  a 
mile  north  of  the  town  of  Ayr,  called  from  that  circumstance 
King's  Ease.4  The  following  is  the  tradition  of  the  countiy, 
collected  by  Mr.  Train  : — "  After  Robert  ascended  the  throne, 
he  founded  the  priory  of  Dominican  monks,  every  one  of  whom 
was  under  the  obligation  of  putting  up  to  Heaven  a  prayer 
once  every  week-day,  and  twice  in  holydays,  for  the  recoverj 
of  the  king  ;  and,  after  his  death,  these  masses  were  continues 
for  the  saving  of  his  soul.  The  ruins  of  this  old  monastery  aM 
now  nearly  level  with  the  ground.     Robert  likewise  caused 

King's  Ease,  but  King's  Cote,  i.  e.  Casa  Regis,  the  name  of  the  rovai 
foundation  described  below.  Mr.  Train's  kindnesr  enables  the  Editoi  10 
muke  this  correction.-- 1833. 


492 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


houses  to  be  built  round  the  well  >  Sing's  Case,  for  eight 
Jepers,  and  allowed  eight  bolls  of  oatmeal,  and  £28  Scotch 
money,  per  annum,  to  each  person.  These  donations  were  laid 
upon  the  lands  of  Fullarton,  and  are  now  payable  by  the  Duke 
of  Portland.  The  farm  of  Shiels,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ayr, 
lias  to  give,  if  required,  a  certain  quantity  of  straw  for  the 
lepers'  beds,  and  so  much  to  thatch  their  houses  annually. 
Eact.  leprous  person  had  a  drinking-horn  provided  him  by  the 
king,  which  continued  to  be  hereditary  in  the  house  to  which 
it  was  first  granted.  One  of  those  identical  horns,  of  very 
curious  workmanship,  was  in  the  possession  of  the  late  Colonel 
Fullarton  of  that  Ilk." 

My  correspondent  proceeds  to  mention  some  curious  rem- 
rants  of  antiquity  inspecting  this  foundation.  "  In  compli- 
ment to  Sir  William  Wallace,  the  great  deliverer  of  his  coun- 
try, King  Robert  Rruce  invested  the  descendants  of  that  hero 
with  the  right  of  placing  all  the  lepers  upon  the  establishment 
of  King's  Case.  This  patronage  continued  in  the  family  of 
Craigie,  till  it  was  sold  along  with  the  lands  of  the  late  Sir 
""nomas  Wallace.  The  Burgh  of  Ayr  then  purchased  the  right 
jf  applying  the  donations  of  King's  Case  to  the  support  of  the 
poor-house  of  Ayr.  The  lepers'  charter-stone  was  a  basaltic 
block,  exactly  the  shape  of  a  sheep's  kidney,  and  weighing 
an  Ayrshire  boll  of  meal.  The  surface  of  this  stone  being 
as  smooth  as  glass,  there  was  not  any  other  way  of  lifting  it 
than  by  turning  the  hollow  to  the  ground,  there  extending  the 
arms  along  each  side  of  the  stone,  and  clasping  the  hands  in 
the  cavity.  Young  lads  were  always  considered  as  deserving 
to  be  ranked  among  men,  when  they  could  lift  the  blue  stone 
of  King's  Case.  It  always  lay  beside  the  well,  till  a  few  years 
ago,  when  some  English  dragoons  encamped  at  that  place 
wantonly  broke  it,  since  which  the  fragments  have  been  kept 
by  the  freemen  of  Prestwick  in  a  place  of  security.  There  is 
one  of  these  charter-stones  at  the  village  of  Old  Daily,  in 
Carrick,  which  has  become  more  celebrated  by  the  following 
event,  which  happened  only  a  few  years  ago : — The  village 
of  New  Daily  being  now  larger  than  the  old  place  of  the  same 
name,  the  inhabitants  insisted  that  the  charter-stone  should  be 
removed  from  the  old  town  to  the  new,  but  the  people  of  Old 
Daily  were  unwilling  to  part  with  their  ancient  right.  De- 
mands and  remonstrances  were  made  on  each  side  without 
effect,  till  at  last  man,  woman,  and  child,  of  both  villages, 
marched  out  and  by  one  desperate  engagement  put  an  end  to  a 
war,  the  commencement  of  which  uo  person  then  living  re- 
membered. Justice  and  victory,  in  this  instance,  being  of  the 
same  party,  the  villagers  of  the  old  town  of  Daily  now  enjoy 
the  pleasure  of  keeping  the  blue-stane  unmolested.  Ideal 
privileges  are  often  attached  to  some  of  these  stones.  In  Gir- 
Van,  if  a  man  can  set  his  back  against  one  of  the  above  de- 
scription, he  is  supposed  not  liable  to  be  arrested  for  debt,  nor 
can  cattle,  it  is  imagined,  be  poinded  as  long  as  they  are  fas- 
tened to  the  same  stone.  That  stones  were  often  used  as  sym- 
bols to  denote  the  right  of  possessing  land,  before  the  use  of 
written  documents  became  general  in  Scotland,  is,  I  think, 
exceedingly  probable.  The  charter-stone  of  Inverness  is  still 
kept  with  great  care,  set  in  a  frame,  and  hooped  with  iron,  at 
the  market-place  of  that  town.  It  is  called  by  the  inhabitants 
of  that  district  Clack  na  Couddin^  I  think  it  is  very  likely 
that  Carey  has  mentioned  this  stone  in  his  poem  of  Craig  Pha- 
oerick.  This  is  only  a  conjecture,  as  I  have  never  seen  that 
work.  While  the  famous  marble  chair  was  allowed  to  remain 
%t  Scoon,  it  was  considered  as  the  charter-stone  of  the  kingdom 
i»f  Scotland." 


.Note  3  E. 

"  Bring  here,"  he  said,  "  the  mazers  four, 
My  noble  fathers  loved  of  yore."— P.  455. 
These  mazers  were  large  drinking-cups,  or  goblets.    Mention 
•tf  them  occurs  in  a  curious  inventory  of  the  treasure  and  jew- 


els of  King  James  III.,  which  will  be  published,  with  othei 
curious  documents  of  antiquity,  by  my  friend,  Mr.  Thomai 
Thomson,  D.  Register  of  Scotland,  under  the  title  of  "  A  Col- 
lection of  Inventories,  and  other  Records  of  the  Royal  Ward- 
robe, Jewel-House, "  &c.  I  copy  the  passage  in  which  mention 
is  made  of  the  mazers,  and  also  of  a  habiliment,  called  "  King 
Robert  Bruce's  serk,"  i.  e.  shirt,  meaning,  perhaps,  his  shirt 
of  mail;  although  no  other  arms  are  mentioned  in  the  inven- 
tory. It  might  have  been  a  relic  of  more  sazictified  description, 
a  penance  shirt  perhaps. 

Extract  from  "  Jnventare  of  ane  Parte  of  the  Gold  and 
Silver  conyeit  and  unconyeit,  Joweliis,  and  uther  Stuff 
pertcining  to  Umquhile  oure  Soveiane  Lords  Fader,  that 
he  had  in  Depois  the  Tyme  of  his  Deceis,  and  that 
come  to  the  Handis  of  oure  Soverane  Lord  that  now  is, 

M.CCCC.LXXXVIH." 

"  Memorandum  fundin  in  a  bandit  kist  like  a  gardeviant,* 
in  the  fyrst  the  grete  chenyea  of  gold,  contenand  sevin  score 
sex  linkis. 

Item,  thre  platis  of  silver. 

Item,  tuelf  salfatis.s 

Item,  l'yftene  discheis'i  ouregilt. 

Item,  a  grete  gilt  plate. 

Item,  twa  grete  bassingis5  ouregilt. 

Item,  four  Masaris,  called  King  Robert  the  Brocis, 

with  a  cover. 
Item,  a  grete  cok  maid  of  silver. 

Item,  the  hede  of  silver  of  ane  of  the  coveris  of  masar. 
Item,  a  fare  dialled 
Item,  twa  kasis  of  knyffis.7 
Item,  a  pare  of  auld  kniffis. 
Item,  takin  be  the  smyth  that  opinnit  the  lokkis,  in  gold  fourty 

demyis. 
Item,  in  Inglys  grotis* xxiiii.  li.  and  the  said  silvei 

given  again  to  the  takaris  of  hym. 
Item,  ressavit  in  the  clossat  of  Davidis  tour,  ane  haly  water-fat 

of  silver,  twa  boxis,  a  cageat  tume,  a  glas  with  rois-water 

a  dosoune  of  torchis,  King  Robert  Brucis  Serk." 

The  real  use  of  the  antiquarian's  studies  is  to  bring  the 
minute  information  which  he  collects  to  bear  upon  points  of 
history.  For  example,  in  the  inventory  I  have  just  quoted, 
there  is  given  the  contents  of  the  black  kist,  or  chest,  belong- 
ing to  James  III.,  which  was  his  strong  box,  and  contained  a 
quantity  of  treasure,  in  money  and  jewels,  surpassing  what 
might  have  been  at  the  period  expected  of  "  poor  Scotland's 
gear."  This  illustrates  and  authenticates  a  striking  passage 
in  the  history  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  by  Hume  of  Godscroft. 
The  last  Earl  of  Douglas  (of  the  elder  branch)  had  been  re- 
duced to  monastic  seclusion  in  the  Abbey  of  Lindores,  by  James 
II.  James  III.,  in  his  distresses,  would  willingly  have  recalled 
him  to  public  life,  and  made  him  his  lieutenant.  "  But  he," 
says  Godscroft,  "  laden  with  years  and  old  age,  and  weary  of 
troubles,  refused,  saying,  Sir,  you  have  keept  mee,  and  your 
black  coffer  in  Sterling,  too  long,  neither  of  us  can  doe  you 
any  good  :  I,  because  my  friends  have  forsaken  me,  and  my 
followers  and  dependers  are  fallen  from  me,  betaking  them- 
selves to  other  masters  ;  and  your  black  trunk  is  too  farre  from 
you,  and  your  enemies  are  between  you  and  it :  or  (as  others 
say)  because  there  was  in  it  a  sort  of  black  coyne,  that  the 
king  had  caused  to  be  coyned  by  the  advice  of  his  courtiers ; 
which  moneyes  (saith  he)  sir,  if  you  had  put  out  at  the  first, 
the  people  would  have  taken  it ;  and  if  you  had  employed 
mee  in  due  time,  I  might  have  done  you  service.  But  now 
there  is  none  that  will  take  notice  of  me,  nor  meddle  with 


1  Gard-vin,  or  wine-cooler.— 2  Chain.— 3  Salt-cellars,  anciently  the  object 
of  much  curious  workmanship. — I  Dishes. — 5  Basins. — 6  Dial.— 7  Cases  of 
knives. — 3  English  groats. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


495 


four  money." — Hume's  History  of  the  House  of  Douglas, 
fol.  Ediu.  1644,  p.  206. 


Note  3  F. 


Arouse  old  friends,  and  gather  new. — P.  455. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  in  Kyle,  says  ancient  tradition, 
that  Robert  Bruce  had  landed  in  Carrick,  with  the  intention 
of  recovering  the  crown  of  Scotland,  the  Laird  of  Craigie,  and 
forty-eight  men  in  his  immediate  neighborhood,  declared  in 
favor  of  their  legitimate  prince.  Bruce  granted  them  a  tract 
of  land,  still  retained  by  the  freemen  of  Newton  to  this  day. 
The  original  charter  was  lost  when  the  pestilence  was  raging 
at  Ayr  ;  but  it  was  renewed  by  one  of  the  Jameses,  and  is  dated 
at  Faulkland.  The  freemen  of  Newton  were  formerly  officers 
by  rotation.  The  Provost  of  Ayr  at  one  time  was  a  freeman 
of  Newton,  and  it  happened  to  be  his  turn,  while  provost  in 
Ayr,  to  be  officer  in  Newton,  both  of  which  offices  he  dis- 
charged at  the  same  time. 

The  forest  of  Selkirk,  or  Ettrick,  at  this  period,  occupied  all 
the  district  which  retains  that  denomination,  and  embraced 
the  neighboring  dales  of  Tweeddale,  and  at  least  the  Upper 
Ward  of  Clydesdale.  All  that  tract  was  probably  as  waste  as 
it  is  mountainous,  and  covered  with  the  remains  of  the  ancient 
Caledonian  Forest,  which  is  supposed  to  have  stretched  from 
Cheviot  Hills  as  far  as  Hamilton,  and  to  have  comprehended 
even  a  part  of  \yrshire.  At  the  fatal  battle  of  Falkirk,  Sir 
John  Stewart  of  Bonkill,  brother  to  the  Steward  of  Scotland, 
commanded  the  archers  of  Selkirk  Forest,  who  fell  around 
the  d^ad  body  of  their  leader.  The  English  historians  have 
commemorated  the  tall  and  stately  persons,  as  well  as  the 
unswerving  faith,  of  these  foresters.  Nor  has  their  interesting 
fall  escaped  the  notice  of  an  elegant,  modern  poetess,  whose 
lubject  led  her  to  treat  of  that  calamitous  engagement. 

"  The  glance  of  the  morn  had  sparkled  bright 
On  their  plumage  green  and  their  actons  light ; 
The  bugle  was  strung  at  each  hunter's  side, 
As  they  had  been  bound  to  the  chase  to  ride  ; 
But  the  bugle  is  mute,  and  the  shafts  are  spent, 
The  arm  unnerved  and  the  bow  unbent, 
And  the  tired  forester  is  laid 
Far,  far  from  the  clustering  greenwood  shade  ! 
Sore  have  they  toil'd — they  are  fallen  asleep, 
And  their  slumber  is  heavy,  and  dull,  and  deep  ! 
When  over  their  bones  the  grass  shall  wave, 
When  the  wild  winds  over  their  tombs  shall  rave, 
Memory  shall  lean  on  their  graves,  and  tell 
How  Selkirk's  hunters  bold  around  old  Stewart  fell !" 

Wallace,  or  the  Fight  of  Falkirk  [by  Miss 
Holford],  Lond.  4to.  1809,  pp.  170-1. 


Note  3  G-. 

When  Brute's  banner  had  victorious  flow' d, 

O'er  Loudoun's  mountain,  and  in  Ury's  vale. — P.  456. 

The  first  important  advantage  gained  by  Bruce  after  land- 
ing at  Turnberry,  was  over  Ayiner  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke, the  same  by  whom  he  had  been  defeated  near  Meth- 
ven.  They  met,  as  has  been  said,  by  appointment,  at  Lou- 
donhill,  in  the  west  of  Scotland.  Pembroke  sustained  a 
defeat;  and  from  that  time  Bruce  was  at  the  head  of  a  con- 
siderable flying  army.  Yet  he  was  subsequently  obliged  to 
retreat  into  Aberdeenshire,  and  was  there  assailed  by  Comyn, 
Earl  of  Buchan,  desirous  to  avenge  the  death  of  his  relative, 
ine  Reel  Comyn,  and  supported  by  a  body  of  English  troops 
under  Philip  de  Moubray.  Bruce  was  ill  at  the  time  of  a  scrof- 
nlous  disorder,  but  took  horse  to  meet  his  enemies,  although 


obliged  to  be  supported  on  either  side.     He  was  victorious,  and 
it  is  said  that  the  agitation  of  his  spirits  restored  his  health. 


Note  3  H. 


When  English  blood  oft  deluged  Douglas-dale. — P.  456. 

The  "good  Lord  James  of  Douglas,"  during  these  commo- 
tions, often  took  from  the  English  his  own  castle  of  Douglas, 
but  being  unable  to  garrison  it,  contented  himself  with  destroy 
ing  the  fortifications,  and  retiring  into  the  mountains.  As  & 
reward  to  his  patriotism,  it  is  said  to  have  been  prophesied, 
that  how  often  soever  Douglas  Castle  should  be  destroyed,  it 
should  always  again  rise  more  magnificent  from  its  ruins. 
Upon  one  of  these  occasions  he  used  fearful  cruelty,  causing 
all  the  store  of  provisions,  which  the  English  had  laid  up  in 
his  castle  to  be  heaped  together,  bursting  the  wine  and  beer 
casks  among  the  wheat  and  flour,  slaughtering  the  cattle  upon 
the  same  spot,  and  upon  the  top  of  the  whole  cutting  the  throats 
of  the  English  prisoners.  This  pleasantry  of  the  "  good  Lord 
James"  is  commemorated  under  the  name  of  the  Douglas's 
Larder.  A  more  pleasing  tale  of  chivalry  is  recorded  by  Gods- 
croft. — "  By  tills  means,  and  such  other  exploits,  he  so  affright- 
ed the  enemy,  that,  it  was  counted  a  matter  of  great  jeopardie 
to  keep  this  castle,  which  began  to  be  called  the  adventurous 
(or  hazardous)  Castle  of  Douglas  ;  whereupon  Sir  John  Wal- 
ton being  in  suit  of  an  English  lady,  she  wrote  to  him,  that 
when  he  had  kept  the  adventurous  Castle  of  Douglas  seven 
years,  then  he  might  think  himself  worthy  to  be  a  suitor  to  her 
Upon  this  occasion  Walton  took  upon  him  the  keeping  of  it, 
and  succeeded  to  Thruswall,  but  he  ran  the  same  fortune  with 
the  rest  that  were  before  him.  For  Sir  James,  having  first 
dressed  an  ambuscado  near  unto  the  place,  he  made  fourteen 
of  his  men  take  so  many  sacks,  and  fill  them  with  grass,  as 
though  it  had  been  corn,  which  they  carried  in  the  way  to 
Lanark,  the  chief  market  town  in  that  county  :  so  hoping  to 
draw  forth  the  captain  by  that  bait,  and  either  to  take  him  or 
the  castle,  or  both.  Neither  was  this  expectation  frustrated, 
for  the  captoin  did  bite,  and  came  forth  to  have  taken  this  vic- 
tual (as  he  supposed).  But  ere  he  could  reach  these  carriers, 
Sir  James,  with  his  company',  had  gotten  between  the  castle 
and  him  ;  and  these  disguised  carriers,  seeing  the  captain  fol 
lowing  after  them,  did  quickly  cast  off  their  sacks,  mounted 
themselves  on  horseback,  and  met  ..he  captain  with  a  sharp 
encounter,  being  so  much  the  more  amazed,  as  it  was  un- 
looked  for :  wherefore,  when  he  saw  these  carriers  metamor- 
phosed into  warriors,  and  ready  to  assault  him,  fearing  that 
which  was,  that  there  was  some  train  laid  for  them,  he  turned 
about  to  have  retired  to  his  castle,  but  there  he  also  met  with 
his  enemies  ;  between  which  two  companies  he  and  his  whole 
followers  were  slain,  so  that  none  escaped  ;  the  captain  after- 
wards being  searched,  they  found  (as  is  reported)  his  mis- 
tress's letter  about  him." — Hume's  History  of  the  House  oj 
Douglas,  fol.  pp.  29,  30.1 


Note  3  I. 

And  fiery  Edward  routed  stout  St.  John. — P.  456. 

"  John  de  St.  John,  with  15,000  horsemen,  had  advanced 
to  oppose  the  inroad  of  the  Scots.  By  a  forced  march  he  en- 
deavored to  surprise  them,  but  intelligence  of  his  moli-ns  was 
timeously  received.  The  courage  of  Edward  Bruce,  apj  reach- 
ing to  temerity,  frequently  enabled  him  to  achieve  what  men 
of  more  judicious  valor  would  never  have  attempted.  He  or- 
dered the  infantry,  and  the  meaner  sort  of  his  army,  to  intrench 
themselves  in  strong  narrow  ground.  He  himself,  with  fifty 
horsemen  well  harnessed,  issued  forth  under  cover  of  a  thick 

1  This  is  the  foundation  of  the  Author's  last  romance,  Castle  Dang** 
ous. — Ed. 


494 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


mist,  surprised  the  English  on  their  march,  attacked  and  dis- 
persed them." — Dalrymple's  Annals  of  Scotland,  quarto, 
Edinburgh,  1779,  p.  25. 


Note  3  K. 


If  her  Randolph's  war-cry  swell' d  the  southern  gale. — P.  456. 

Thomas  Randolph,  Bruce's  sister's  son,  a  renowned  Scottish 
chief,  was  in  the  early  part  of  his  life  not  more  remarkable  for 
vonsistency  than  Bruce  himself.  He  espoused  his  uncle's 
party  when  Bruce  first  assumed  the  crown,  and  was  made 
prisoner  at  the  fata,  battle  of  Methven,  in  which  his  relative's 
lopes  appeared  to  be  ruined.  Randolph  accordingly  not  only 
submitted  to  the  English,  but  took  an  active  part  against 
Bruce  ;  appeared  in  arms  ^against  him  ;  and,  in  the  skirmish 
where  he  was  so  closely  pursued  by  the  bloodhound,  it  is  said 
his  nephew  took  his  standard  with  his  own  hand.  But  Ran- 
dolph was  afterwards  made  prisoner  by  Douglas  in  Tweeddale, 
and  brought  before  King  Robert.  Some  harsh  language  was 
exchanged  between  the  uncle  and  nephew,  and  the  latter  was 
committed  for  a  time  to  close  custody.  Afterwards,  however, 
they  were  reconciled,  and  Randolph  was  created  Earl  of  Mo- 
ray about  1312.  After  this  period  he  eminently  distinguished 
himself,  first  by  the  surprise  of  Edinburgh  Castle,  and  after- 
wards by  many  similar  enterprises,  conducted  with  equal 
courage  and  ability. 


Note  3  L. 


Stirling's  towers, 

Beleaguer'1  d  by  King  Robert's  powers  ; 

And  they  took  term  of  truce. — P.  456. 

When  a  long  train  of  success,  actively  improved  by  Robert 
Bruce,  had  made  him  master  of  almost  all  Scotland,  Stirling 
Castle  cunt i lined  to  hold  out.  The  care  of  the  blockade  was 
committed  by  the  king  to  his  brother  Edward,  \y^io  concluded 
a  treaty  with  Sir  Philip  Mowbray,  the  governor,  that  he  should 
surrender  the  fortress,  if  it  were  not  succored  by  the  King  of 
England  before  St.  John  the  Baptist's  day.  The  King  se- 
verely blamed  his  brother  for  the  impolicy  of  a  treaty,  which 
gave  time  to  the  King  of  England  to  advance  to  the  relief  of 
the  castle  with  all  his  assembled  forces,  and  obliged  himself 
either  to  meet  them  in  battle  with  an  inferior  force,  or  to  re- 
treat with  dishonor.  "  Let  all  England  come,"  answered 
the  reckless  Edward  ;  "  we  will  fight  them  were  they  more." 
The  consequence  was,  of  course,  that  each  kingdom  mustered 
its  strength  for  the  expected  battle  ;  and  as  the  space  agreed 
upon  reached  from  Lent  to  Midsummer,  full  time  was  allowed 
for  that  purpose. 


Note  3  M. 


To  summon  prince  and  peer, 
At  Berwick-bounds  to  meet  their  IAcge. — P.  456. 

There  is  printed  in  Rymer's  Foedera  the  summons  issued 
upon  this  occasion  to  the  sheriff  of  York  ;  and  he  mentions 
eighteen  other  persons  to  whom  similar  ordinances  were  issued. 
It  seems  to  respect  the  infantry  alone,  for  it  is  entitled,  De 
peditilnis  ad  recussum  Castri  de  Stryvelin  a  Scotis  obsessi, 
properare  facicndis.  This  circumstance  is  also  clear  from  the 
reasoning  of  the  writ,  which  states  :  "  We  have  understood 
that  our  Scottish  enemies  and  rebels  are  endeavoring  to  collect 
M  strong  a  force  as  possible  of  infantry,  in  strong  and  marshy 
grounds,  where  the  approach  of  cavalry  would  be  difficult, 
between  us  and  the  castle  of  Stirling."  It  then  sets  forth 
Mowbrav's  agreement  to  surrender  the  castle,  if  not  relieved 


before  St.  John  the  Baptist's  day,  and  the  king's  determine 
tion,  with  divine  grace,  to  raise  the  siege.  "  Therefore,"  the 
summons  further  bears,  "  to  remove  oursaid  enemies  and  reb- 
els from  such  places  as  above  mentioned,  it  is  necessary  for 
us  to  have  a  strong  force  of  infantry  fit  for  arms."  And  ac- 
cordingly the  sheriff"  of  York  is  commanded  to  equip  and 
send  forth  a  body  of  tour  thousand  infantry,  to  be  assembled 
at  Werk,  upon  the  tenth  day  of  June  first,  under  pain  »f  '.lie 
royal  displeasure,  &c. 


Note  3  N. 


And  Cambria,  but  of  late  subdued, 

Sent  forth  her  mountain-multitude. — P.  456. 

Edward  the  First,  witli  the  usual  policy  of  a  conqueror, 
employed  the  Welsh,  whom  he  had  subdued,  to  assist  him  in 
his  Scottish  wars,  for  which  their  habits,  as  mountaineers, 
particularly  fitted  them.  But  this  policy  was  not  without  its 
risks.  Previous  to  the  battle  of  Falkirk,  the  Welsh  quarrelled 
with  the  English  men-at-arms,  and  after  bloodshed  on  both 
parts,  separated  themselves  from  his  army,  and  Ihe  feud  be- 
tween them,  at  so  dangerous  and  critical  a  juncture,  was  rec- 
onciled with  difficulty.,  Edward  II.  followed  his  father's  ex- 
ample in  this  particular,  and  with  no  better  success.  They 
could  not  be  brought  to  exert  themselves  in  the  cause  of  their 
conquerors.  But  they  had  an  indifferent  reward  for  their  for- 
bearance. Without  arms,  and  clad  only  in  scanty  dresses  of 
linen  cloth,  they  appeared  naked  in  the  eyes  even  of  the  Scot- 
tish peasantry ;  and  after  the  rout  of  Bannockburn,  were 
massacred  by  them  in  great  numbers,  as  they  retired  in  con- 
fusion towards  their  own  country.  They  were  uno%r  com- 
mand of  Sir  Maurice  de  Berkeley. 


Note  3  0. 


And  Connoght  pour'd  from  waste  and  wood 
Her  hundred  tribes,  whose  sceptre  rude 
Dark  Eth  O'Connor  sway'd. — P.  456. 

There  is  in  the  Ftudera  an  invitation  to  Eth  O'Connor,  chief 
of  the  Irish  of  Connaughi,  setting  forth  that  the  king  was 
about  to  move  against  his  Scottish  rebels,  and  therefore  re- 
questing the  attendance  of  all  the  force  he  could  muster,  either 
commanded  by  himself  in  person,  or  by  some  nobleman  of  his 
race.  These  auxiliaries  were  to  be  commanded  by  Richard 
de  Burgh,  Earl  of  Ulster.  Similar  mandates  were  issued  tc 
the  following  Irish  chiefs,  whose  names  may  astonish  the  un- 
learned, and  amuse  the  antiquary. 

"  Eth  O  Donnuld,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tyconil  ; 
Demod  O  Kalian,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Fernetrew  ; 
Doneval  O  Neel,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tryuwyn  ; 
Neel  Macbreen,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Kynallewan; 
Eth  Offyn,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Turtery  ; 
Admely  Mac  Anegus,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Onehagh ; 
Neel  O  Hanlan,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Erthere  ; 
Bjien  Mac  Mahun,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Uriel ; 
Lauereagh  Mac  Wyr,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Lougherin  , 
Gillys  O  Rax.y,  Duci  Hibernicoium  de  Bresfeny  ; 
Geffrey  O  Fergy,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Montiragwil ; 
Felyn  O  Honughur,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Connach  ; 
Donethuth  O  Bien,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tothmund  ; 
Dermod  Mac  Arthy,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Dessemound  i 
Denenol  Carbragh  ; 
Maur.  Kenenagh  Vac  Murgh  ; 
Murghugh  O  Bryn  ; 
David  O  Tothvill ; 
Dermod  O  Tonoghur,  Doftaly  ; 
Fyn  O  Dymsy  ; 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LOUD  OP  THE  ISLES. 


495 


Souethuth  Mac  (iillephatrick  ; 

Lyssagh  O  Morth  ; 

Gilbertus  Ekelly,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Omany  ; 

Mac  Ethelau  ; 

Omalan  Helyn,  Duci  Hibernicorum  Midie." 

Rymer's  Fiedcra,  vol.  iii.  pp.  476,  477. 


Note  3  P. 


Their  chief,  Fin- Louis.— P.  458. 

Fitz-Louis,  or  Mac-Louis,  otherwise  called  Fullarton,  is  a 
family  of  ancient  descent  in  the  Isle  of  Arran.  They  are  said 
to  be  of  French  origin,  as  the  name  intimates.  They  attached 
themselves  to  Bruce  upon  his  first  landing  ;  and  Fergus  Mac- 
Louis,  or  Fullarton,  received  from  the  grateful  monarch  a 
charter,  dated  26th  November,  in  the  second  year  of  his  reign 
(1307),  for  the  lands  of  Kilrnichel,  and  others,  which  still  re- 
main in  this  very  ancient  and  respectable  family. 


Note  3  Q. 

In  battles  four  beneath  their  eye, 

The  forces  of  King  Robert  lie. — P.  458. 

The  arrangements  adopted  by  King  Robert  for  the  decisive 
battle  of  Bannockburn,  are  given  very  distinctly  by  Barbour, 
sud  form  an  edifying  lesson  to  tacticians.  Yet,  till  commented 
upon  by  Lord  Hailes,  this  important  passage  of  history  has 
been  generally  and  strangely  misunderstood  by  historians.  I 
will  here  endeavor  to  detail  it  fully. 

Two  days  before  the  battle,  Bruce  selected  the  field  of  action, 
and  took  post  there  with  his  army,  consisting  of  about  30,000 
disciplined  men,  and  about  half  the  number  of  disorderly  attend- 
ants upon  the  camp.  The  ground  was  called  the  New  Park  of 
Stirling  ;  it  was  partly  open,  and  partly  broken  by  copses  of 
wood  and  marshy  ground.  He  divided  his  regular  forces  into 
four  divisions.  Three  of  these  occupied  a  front  line,  separated 
from  each  other,  yet  sufficiently  near  for  the  purpose  of  com- 
munication. The  fourth  division  formed  a  reserve.  The  line 
v  jttended  in  a  north-easterly  direction  from  the  brook  of  Ban- 
nock, which  was  so  rugged  and  broken  as  to  cover  the  right 
flank  effectually,  to  the  village  of  Saint  Ninians,  probably  in 
the  line  of  the  present  road  from  Stirling  to  Kilsyth.  Edward 
Bruce  commanded  the  right  wing,  which  was  strengthened  by 
a  strong  body  of  cavalry  under  Keith,  the  Mareschal  of  Scot- 
land, to  whom  was  committed  the  important  charge  of  attack- 
ing the  English  archers  ;  Douglas,  and  the  young  Steward  of 
Scotland,  led  the  central  wing  ;  and  Thomas  Randolph,  Earl 
of  Moray,  the  left  v/ing.  The  King  himself  commanded  the 
fourth  division,  which  lay  in  reserve  behind  the  others.  The 
royal  standard  was  pitched,  according  to  tradition,  in  a  stone, 
having  a  round  hole  for  its  reception,  and  thence  called  the 
Bore-stone.  It  is  still  shown  on  the  top  of  a  small  eminence, 
called  Brock's-brae,  to  the  southwest  of  Saint  Ninians.  His 
main  body  thus  disposed,  King  Robert  sent  the  followers  of  the 
camp,  fifteen  thousand  and  upwards  in  number,  to  the  emi- 
nence in  rear  of  his  army,  called  from  that  circumstance  the 
Gillies'1  (i.  e.  the  servants')  Hill. 

The  military  advantages  of  this  position  were  obvious.  The 
Scottish  left  flank,  protected  by  the  brook  of  Bannock,  could 
not  be  turned  ;  or,  if  that  attempt  were  made,  a  movement  by 
the  reserve  might  have  covered  it.  Again,  the  English  could 
not  pass  the  Scottish  army,  and  move  towards  Stirling,  without 
exposing  their  flank  to  be  attacked  while  in  march. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Scottish  line  had  been  drawn  up 
sast  and  west,  and  facing  to  the  southward,  as  affirmed  by 

1  An  assistan  '.e  which  (by  the  way)  could  not  have  been  rendered,  had 
not  the  English  approached  from  the  southeast ;  since,  had  their  march 


Buchanan,  and  adopted  by  Mr.  Nimmo,  the  author  of  the 
History  of  Stirlingshire,  there  appears  nothing  to  have  pre 
vented  the  English  approaching  upon  the  carse,  or  level  ground 
from  Falkirk,  either  from  turning  the  Scottish  left  flank,  o» 
from  passing  their  position,  if  they  preferred  it,  without  coming 
to  an  action,  and  moving  on  to  the  relief  of  Stirling  And  the 
Gillies'  Hill,  if  this  less  probable  hypothesis  bo  adopted,  would 
be  situated,  not  in  the  rear,  as  allowed  by  all  the  historians, 
but  upon  the  left  flank  of  Bruce's  army.  The  only  objection 
to  the  hypothesis  above  laid  down,  is,  that  the  left  flank  of 
Bruce's  army  was  thereby  exposed  to  a  sally  from  the  garrison 
of  Stirling.  But,  1st,  the  garrison  were  bound  to  neutrality  by 
terms  of  Mowbray's  treaty;  and  Barbour  even  seems  to  cen- 
sure, as  a  breach  of  faith,  some  secret  assistance  which  they 
rendered  their  countrymen  upon  the  eve  of  battle,  in  placing 
temporary  bridges  of  doors  and  spars  over  the  pools  of  water  in 
the  carse,  to  enable  them  to  advance  to  the  charge.1  2dly,  Had 
this  not  been  the  case,  the  strength  of  the  garrison  was  proba- 
bly not  sufficient  to  excite  apprehension.  3dly,  The  adverse 
hypothesis  leaves  the  rear  of  the  Scottish  army  as  much  ex- 
posed to  the  Stirling  garrison,  as  the  left  flank  would  be  in  the 
case  supposed. 

It  only  remains  to  notice  the  nature  of  the  ground  in  front  of 
Bruce's  line  of  battle.  Being  part  of  a  park,  or  chase,  it  was 
considerably  interrupted  with  trees;  and  an  extensive  marsh, 
still  visible,  in  some  places  rendered  it  inaccessible,  and  in  all 
of  difficult  approach.  More  to  the  northward,  where  the  natu- 
ral impediments  were  fewer,  Bruce  fortified  his  position  against 
cavalry,  by  digging  a  number  of  pits  so  close  together,  says 
Barbour,  as  to  resemble  the  cells  in  a  honey-comb.  They 
were  a  foot  in  breadth,  and  between  two  and  three  feet  deep, 
many  rows  of  them  being  placed  one  behind  the  other.  They 
were  slightly  covered  with  brushwood  and  green  sods,  so  as  not 
to  be  obvious  to  an  impetuous  enemy. 

All  the  Scottish  army  were  on  foot,  excepting  a  select  body 
of  cavalry  stationed  with  Edward  Bruce  on  the  right  wing, 
under  the  immediate  command  of  Sir  Robert  Keith,  the  Mar- 
shal of  Scotland,  who  were  destined  for  the  important  service 
of  charging  and  dispersing  the  English  archers.  • 

Thus  judiciously  posted,  in  a  situaticn  fortified  both  by  art 
and  nature,  Bruce  awaited  the  attack  of  the  English. 


Note  3  R. 

Beyond,  the  Southern  host  appears. — P.  458. 

Upon  the  23d  June,  1314,  the  alarm  reached  the  Scottish 
army  of  the  approach  of  the  enemy.  Doughs  and  the  Marshal 
were  sent  to  reconnoitre  with  a  body  of  cavalry  : 

"  And  soon  the  great  host  have  they  seen, 
Where  shields  shining  were  so  sheen, 
And  basinets  burnished  bright, 
That  gave  against  the  sun  great  light. 
They  saw  so  fele2  brawdyi.e3  baners, 
Standards  and  pennons  and  spears, 
And  so  fele  knights  upon  steeds, 
All  flaming  in  their  weeds, 
And  so  fele  bataills,  an  1  so  broad. 
And  too  so  great  room  as  they  rode, 
That  the  maist  host,  and  the  stoutest 
Of  Christendom  and  the  greatest, 
Should  be  abaysit  for  to  see 
Their  foes  into  such  quantity." 

The  Bruce,  vol.  ii.  p.  111. 

The  two  Scottish  commanders  were  cautious  in  the  accoun* 
which  they  brought  back  to  their  camp.     To  the  king  in  pri 

been  due  north,  the  whole  Scottish  army  must  have  been  Detween  thi  nt 
and  the  garrison.  1  Many.  3  Displayed. 


496 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


▼ate  they  told  the  formidable  state  of  the  enemy  ;  but  in  public 
reported  that  the  English  were  indeed  a  numerous  host,  but  ill 
commanded,  and  worse  disciplined. 


Note  3  S. 


With  these  the  valiant  of  the  Isles 

Beneath  their  chieftains  ranked  their  files. — P.  458. 

The  men  of  Argyle,  the  islanders,  and  the  Highlanders  in 
general,  were  ranked  in  the  rear.  They  must  have  been  nu- 
merous, for  Bruce  had  reconciled  himself  with  almost  all  their 
chieftains,  excepting  the  obnoxious  MacDougals  of  Lorn. 
The  following  deed,  containing  the  submission  of  the  potent 
Ear!  of  Ross  to  the  King,  was  never  before  published.  It  is 
dated  in  the  third  year  of  Robert's  reign,  that  is,  1309. 

"Obligacio  Comitis  Rossensis  per  Homagium  Fideli- 

TATEM  KT  ScRIPTUM. 

"  Universis  christi  fidelibus  ad  quorum  noticiam  preserves 
litere  peruenerint  Willielmus  Comes  de  Ross  salutem  in  domi- 
no sempiternani.  Quia  magnifieus  princeps  Dominus  Robertus 
dei  gracia  Rex  Scottorum  Dominus  meus  ex  innata  sibi  boni- 
tate,  inspirataque  clemencia,  et  gracia  speciali  remisit  michi 
pure  rancorem  animi  sui,  et  relaxauit  ac  condonauit  michi  om- 
nimodas  transgressiones  seu  offensas  contra  ipsum  et  suos  per 
me  et  meos  vsque  ad  confeccionem  literarum  presencium  per- 
petratas  :  Et  terras  meas  et  tenementa  mea  omnia  graciose  con- 
cessit. Et  me  nichilominus  de  terra  de  Dingwal  et  ferncroskry 
infra  comitatum  de  Suthyrland  de  benigna  liberalitate  sua  heri- 
ditarie  infeodare  carauit.  Ego  tantam  principis  beneuolenciam 
efficaciter  attendens,  et  pro  tot  graciis  michi  factis,  vicem  sibi 

gratitudinis  meis  pro  viribus  de  cetero  digne 

vite  cupiens  exhibere,  subicio  et  obligo  me  et  heredes  meos  et 
homines  meos  vniuersos  dicto  Domino  meo  Regi  per  omnia 

. erga  Suam  regiam  dignitatem,  quod  eri- 

mus  de  cetero  fideles  sibi  et  heredibus  suis  et  fidele  sibi  seruicium 
auxilium  et  concilium contra  omnes  homi- 
nes et  feminas  qui  vivere  poterint  aut  mori,  et  super  h Ego 

Willielmus  pro  me hominibus  meis  vni- 

nersis  dicto  domino  meo  Regi manibus  homagium 

sponte  feci  et  super  dei  ewangelia  sacramentum  prestiti 

-- --In  quorum  omnium  testimonium  sigillum  meum, 

et  sigilla  Hugonis  filii  et  heredis  et  Johannis  filii  mei  vna  cum 
sigillis  venerabilium  patrum  Dominorum  Dauid  et  Thome  Mo- 
raviensis  et  Rossensis  dei  gracia  episcoporum  presentibus  Uteris 
Bunt  appensa.  Acta  scripta  et  data  apud  Aldern  in  Morauia 
vltimo  die  mensis  Octobris,  Anno  Regni  dicti  domini  nostri 
Regis  Roberti  Tertio.  Testibus  venerabilibus  patribus  supra- 
dietis,  Domino  Bernardo  Cancellario  Regis,  Dominis  Williel- 
mo  de  Haya,  Johanne  de  Striuelyn,  Willielmo  Wysman,  Jo- 
hanne  de  Ffenton,  Dauid  de  Berkeley,  et  Waltero  de  Berke- 
ley militibus,  magistro  Waltero  Heroc,  Decano  ecclesie  Mora- 
uie,  magistro  Willielmo  de  Creswel  eiusdem  ecclesie  precentore 
et  multis  aliis  nobilibus  clericis  et  laicis  dictis  die  et  loco  con- 
gregate." 

The  copy  of  this  curious  document  was  supplied  by  my 
friend,  Mr.  Thomson,  Deputy  Register  of  Scotland,  whose  re- 
searches into  our  ancient  records  are  daily  throwing  new  and 
important  light  upon  the  history  of  the  country. 


Note  3  T. 
The  Monarch  rode  along  the  van.— P.  459. 
The  English  vanguard,  commanded  by  the  Earls  of  Glouces- 
tt  and  Hereford,  came  in  sight  of  the  Scottish  army  upon  the 

1  Comrades.— 2  Haste— 3  Without  shrinking.- -4  Spurred.— 5  Line. 


evening  of  the  23d  of  June.  Bruce  wa»  then  riding  upon  a 
little  palfrey,  in  front  of  his  foremost  line,  putting  bis  host  in 
order.  It  was  then  that  the  personal  encounter  took  place  be- 
twixt him  and  Sir  Henry  de  Bohun,  a  gallant  English  kifight, 
the  issue  of  which  had  a  great  effect  upon  the  spirits  of  both 
armies.     It  is  thus  recorded  by  Barbour  : — 

"  And  quhen  Glosyster  and  Herfurd  war 
With  thair  bataill,  approchand  ner, 
Before  thaim  all  thar  come  rydand, 
With  helm  on  heid,  and  sper  in  hand 
Schyr  Henry  the  Boune,  the  worthi, 
That  wes  a  wycht  knycht,  and  a  hardy  ; 
And  to  the  Erie  oft'  Herfurd  cusyne : 
Armyt  in  armys  gud  and  fyne  ; 
Come  on  a  sted,  a  bow  schote  ner, 
Befor  all  othyr  that  thar  wer : 
And  knew  the  King,  for  that  he  saw 
Him  swa  rang  his  men  on  raw  ; 
And  by  the  croune.  that  wes  set 
Alsua  apon  his  bassynet. 
And  towart  him  he  went  in  hy. 
And  [quhen]  the  King  sua  apertly 
Saw  him  cum,  forouth  all  his  feris,1 
In  hya  till  him  the  hors  he  steris. 
And  quhen  Schyr  Henry  saw  the  King 
Cum  on,  for  owtyn  abaysing,3 
Till  him  he  raid  in  full  gret  hy 
He  thoucht  that  he  suld  weill  lychtly 
Wyn  him,  and  haf  him  at  his  will, 
Sen  he  him  horsyt  saw  sa  ill. 
Sprent4  thai  samyn  in  till  a  ling.s 
Schyr  Henry  myssit  the  noble  King. 
And  he,  that  in  his  sterapys  stud, 
With  the  ax  that  wes  hard  and  gud, 
With  sa  gret  maynec  racht  him  a  dynt, 
That  nothyr  hat,  na  helm,  mycht  stynt 
The  hewy7  dusche"  that  he  him  gave, 
That  ner  the  heid  till  the  harynys  clave. 
The  hand  ax  schaft  fruschit"  in  twa ; 
And  he  doune  to  the  erd  gan  ga 
All  flatlynys,i«  for  him  faillyt  mycht. 
This  wes  the  fryst  strak  oft*  the  fycht." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  viii.  v.  684. 

The  Scottish  leaders  remonstrated  with  the  King  upon  his 
temerity.  He  only  answered,  "  I  have  broken  my  good  battle- 
axe." — The  English  vanguard  retreated  after  witnessing  this 
single  combat.  Probably  their  generals  did  not  think  it  advisa- 
ble to  hazard  an  attack  while  its  unfavorable  issue  remained 
upon  their  minds. 


Note  3  U. 


What  train  of  dust,  with  trumpet  sound, 
And  glimmering  spears,  is  wheeling  round 
Our  leftward  flank  ? — 460. 

While  the  van  of  the  English  army  advanced,  a  detached 
body  attempted  to  relieve  Stirling.  Lord  Hailes  gives  the  fol 
lowing  account  of  this  manoeuvre  and  the  result,  which  is  ac- 
companied by  circumstances  highly  characteristic  of  the  chiv- 
alrous manners  of  the  age,  and  displays  tl:at  generosity  which 
reconciles  us  even  to  their  ferocity  upon  other  occasions. 

Bruce  had  enjoined  Randolph,  who  comma. -ded  the  left 
wing  of  his  army,  to  be  vigilant  in  preventinj  *  ny  advanced 
parties  of  the  English  from  throwing  succors  int'»  ihe  castle  of 
Stirling. 

"  Eight  hundred  horsemen,  commanded  by  Sir  Robert  Clif* 

6  Strength,  or  force.— 7  Heavy.— 8  Clash.— 9  Broke.— 10  Flat. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


497 


ford,  were  detached  from  the  English  army  ;  they  made  a  cir- 
cuit by  the  low  grounds  to  the  east,  and  approached  the  castle. 
The  King  perceived  their  motions,  and,  coming  up  to  Ran- 
dolph, angrily  exclaimed,  'Thoughtless  man  !  you  have  suf- 
fered the  enemy  to  pass.'  Randolph  hasted  to  repair  his 
fault,  or  perish.  As  he  advanced,  the  English  cavalry  wheeled 
to  attack  him.  Randolph  drew  up  his  troops  in  a  circular 
form,  with  their  spears  resting  on  the  ground,  and  protended 
on  every  side.  At  the  first  onset,  Sir  William  Daynecourt,  an 
English  commander  of  distinguished  note,  was  slain.  The 
enemy,  far  superior  in  nttmbers  to  Randolph,  environed  him, 
and  pressed  hard  on  his  little  band.  Douglas  saw  his  jeopardy, 
and  requested  the  King's  permission  to  go  and  succor  him. 
'  You  shall  not  move  from  your  ground,'  cried  the  King ;  '  let 
Randolph  extricate  himself  as  he  best  may.  I  will  not  alter 
my  order  of  battle,  and  lose  the  advantage  of  my  position.' — 
'In  truth,'  replied  Douglas,  '  I  cannot  stand  by  and  see  Ran- 
dolph perish  ;  and,  therefore,  with  your  leave,  I  must  aid 
him.'  The  King  unwillingly  consented,  and  Douglas  flew  to 
the  assistance  of  his  friend.  While  approaching,  he  perceived 
that  the  English  were  falling  into  disorder,  and  that  the  perse- 
verance of  Randolph  had  prevailed  over  their  impetuous  cour- 
age. '  Halt,'  cried  Douglas,  '  those  brave  men  have  repulsed 
the  enemy  ;  let  us  not  diminish  their  glory  by  sharing  it.'  " — 
Dalrymple's  Annals  of  Scotland,  4to.  Edinburgh,  1779, 
pp.  44,  45. 

Two  large  stones  erected  at  the  north  end  of  the  village  of 
Newhouse,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  south  part  of 
Stirling,  ascertain  the  place  of  this  memorable  skirmish.  Tne 
circumstance  tends,  were  confirmation  necessary,  to  support 
the  opinion  of  Lord  Hailes,  that  the  Scottish  line  had  Stirling 
on  its  left  flank.  It  will  be  remembered,  that  Randolph  com- 
manded infantry,  Daynecourt  cavalry.  Supposing,  therefore, 
according  to  the  vulgar  hypothesis,  that  the  Scottish  line  was 
drawn  up,  facing  to  the  south,  in  the  line  of  the  brook  of  Ban- 
nock, and  consequently  that  Randolph  was  stationed  with  his 
left  flank  resting  upon  Milntown  bog,  it  is  morally  impossible 
that  his  infantry,  moving  from  that  position,  with  whatever 
celerity,  could  cut  off"  from  Stirling  a  body  of  cavalry  who  had 
already  passed  St.  Ninians, i  or,  in  other  words,  were  already 
between  them  and  the  town.  Whereas,  supposing  Randolph's 
left  to  have  approached  St.  Ninians,  the  short  movement  to 
Newhouse  could  easily  be  executed,  so  as  to  intercept  the  Eng- 
lish in  the  manner  described. 


Note  3  V. 

Responsive  from  the  Scottish  host, 

Pipe-clang  and  bugle-sound  were  toss'd. — P.  461. 

There  is  an  old  tradition,  that  the  well-known  Scottish  tune 
of  "  Hay,  tutti  taitti,"  was  Brnce's  march  at  the  battle  of 
Bannockburn.  The  late  Mr.  Ritson,  no  granter  of  proposi- 
tions, doubts  whether  the  Scots  had  any  martial  music,  quotes 
Froissart's  account  of  each  soldier  in  the  host  bearing  a  little 
horn,  on  which,  at  the  onset,  they  would  make  such  a  horrible 
noise,  as  if  all  the  devils  of  hell  had  been  among  them.  He 
observes,  that  these  horns  are  the  only  music  mentioned  by 
Barbour,  and  concludes,  that  it  must  remain  a  moot  point 
whether  Bruce's  army  were  cheered  by  the  sound  even  of  a 
solitary  bagpipe.— Historical  Essay  prefixed  to  Ritson's 
Scottish  Songs. — It  may  be  observed  in  passing,  that  the 

1  Barbour  says  expressly,  they  avoided  the  New  Park  (where  Bruce'* 
army  lay),  and  held  "  well  neath  the  Kirk,"  which  can  only  mean  St. 
Ninians. 

2  Together. 

3  SchUtrum.—  This  word  hag  been  variously  limited  or  extended  in  its 
signification.  In  sreneral,  it  seems  to  imply  a  large  body  of  men  drawn  up 
very  closely  together.  But  it  has  been  limited  to  imply  a  round  or  circular 
body  of  men  so  drawn  up.  I  cannot  understand  it  with  this  limitation  in 
the  present  ca*s.     The  schiltrum  of  the  Scottish  army  at  Falkirk  was  un- 

63 


Scottish  of  this  period  certainly  observed  some  musical  ca- 
dence, even  in  winding  their  horns,  since  Bruce  was  at  one* 
recognized  by  his  followers  from  his  mode  of  blowing.  Sen 
Note  2  T.  on  canto  iv.  But  the  tradition,  true  or  false,  has 
been  the  means  of  securing  to  Scotland  one  of  the  finest  lyrics  in 
the  language,  the  celebrated  war-song  of  Burns, — "  Scots,  wha 
hae  wi'  Wallace  bled." 


Note  3  W. 


Now  onward,  and  in  open  view, 

The  countless  ranks  of  England  drew. — P.  461. 

Upon  the  24th  of  June,  the  English  army  advanced  to  the 
attack.  The  narrowness  of  the  Scottish  front,  and  the  nature 
of  the  ground,  did  not  permit  them  to  have  the  full  advantage 
of  their  numbers,  nor  is  it  very  easy  to  find  out  what  was  their 
proposed  order  of  battle.  The  vanguard,  however,  appeared 
a  distinct  body,  consisting  of  archers  and  spearmen  on  foot, 
and  commanded,  as  already  said,  by  the  Earls  of  Gloucester 
and  Hereford.  Barbour,  in  one  place,  mentions  that  they 
formed  nine  battles  or  divisions ;  but  from  the  following 
passage,  it  appears  that  there  was  no  room  or  space  for  them 
to  extend  themselves,  so  that,  except  the  vanguard,  the  whola 
army  appeared  to  form  one  solid  and  compact  body  '.  - 

"  The  English  men,  on  either  party, 
That  as  angels  shone  brightly, 
Were  not  array'd  on  such  manner  : 
For  all  their  battles  samyn2  were 
In  a  schiltrum .3     But  whether  it  wa» 
Through  the  great  straitness  of  the  place 
That  they  were  in,  to  bide  fighting  ; 
Or  that  it  was  for  abaysing  ;* 
I  wete  not.     But  in  a  schiltrum 
It  seemed  they  were  all  and  some ; 
Out  ta'en  the  vaward  anerly,6 
That  right  with  a  great  company, 
Be  them  selwyn,  arrayed  were. 
Who  had  been  by,  might  have  seen  there 
That  folk  ourtake  a  mekill  feild 
On  breadth,  where  many  a  shining  shield, 
And  many  a  burnished  bright  armour, 
And  many  a  man  of  great  valour, 
Might  in  that  great  schiltrum  be  seen : 
And  many  a  bright  banner  and  sheen." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  vol.  u.  p.  l«>  . 


Note  3  X. 


See  where  yon  barefoot  Abbot  stands, 

And  blesses  them  with  lifted  hands. — P.  461. 

"  Maurice,  abbot  of  Inchaffray,  placing  himself  on  an  eml 
nence,  celebrated  mass  in  sight  of  the  Scottish  army.  He  then 
passed  along' the  front  barefooted,  and  bearing  a  crucifix  in  hit 
hands,  and  exhorting  the  Scots,  in  a  few  and  forcible  words, 
to  combat  for  their  rights  and  their  'iberty.  The  Scots  kneeled 
down.  '  They  yield,'  cried  Edward  ;  '  see,  they  implore  mer 
cy.' — '  They  do,'  answered  Ingelram  de  Umfraville,  '  but  nol 
ours.  On  that  field  they  will  be  victorious,  or  die.'  " — Annals 
of  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  47. 

doubtedly  of  a  circular  form,  in  order  to  resist  the  attacks  of  the  English 
cavalry,  on  whatever  quarter  they  might  be  charged.  But  it  does  not  ap- 
pear how,  or  why,  the  English,  advancing  to  the  attack  at  Bannockburn, 
should  have  arrayed  themselves  in  a  circular  form.  It  seems  more  proba- 
ble, that,  by  Schiltrum  in  the  present  case,  Barbour  means  to  express  an 
irregular  mass  into  which  the  English  army  was  compressed  by  the  un- 
wieldiness  of  its  numbers,  and  the  carelessness  or  ignorance  o(  its  leader*. 

4  Frightening. 

5  Alone. 


498 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOlikS. 


Note  3  Y. 

Forth,  Marshal,  on  the  peasant  foe! 
We'll  tame  the  terrors  of  their  bow, 

And  cut  the  bow-string  loose ! — P.  462. 

The  English  archers  commenced  the  attack  with  theii  usual 
Dravery  and  dexterity.  But  against  a  force,  whose  importance 
he  had  learned  by  fatal  experience,  Bruce  was  provided.  A 
small  but  select  body  of  cavalry  were  detached  from  the  right, 
under  command  of  Sir  Robert  Keith.  They  rounded,  as  I 
conceive,  the  marsh  called  Milntown  bog,  and,  keeping  the 
firm  ground,  charged  the  left  flank  and  rear  of  the  English 
arcliers.  As  the  bowmen  had  no  spears  nor  long  weapons  fit 
to  defend  themselves  against  horse,  they  were  instantly  thrown 
into  disorder,  and  spread  through  the  whole  English  army  a 
confusion  from  which  they  never  fairly  recovered. 

"  The  Inglis  archeris  schot  sa  fast, 
That  mycht  thair  schot  haff  ony  last 
It  had  bene  hard  to  Scottis  men. 
Bot  King  Robert,  that  wele  gan  ken1 
That  thair  archeris  war  peralouss, 
And  thair  schot  rycht  hard  and  grewouss, 
Ordanyt,  forouth2  the  assemble, 
Hys  marschell  with  a  gret  menye, 
Fyve  hundre  armyt  in  to  stele, 
That  on  lycht  horss  war  horsyt  welle, 
I£or  to  pryk3  amang  the  archeris  ; 
And  swa  assaile  thaim  with  thair  speris, 
That  thai  na  layser  haifFto  schute. 
This  marschell  that  Ik  of  mute,* 
That  Schyr  Robert  of  Keyth  was  cauld, 
As  Ik  befor  her  has  yow  tauld, 
duhen  he  saw  the  bataillis  sua 
Assembill,  and  to  gidder  ga, 
And  saw  the  archeris  schoyt  stoutly  ; 
With  all  thaim  off  his  cumpany, 
In  hy  apon  thaim  gan  he  rid  ; 
And  our  tuk  thaim  at  a  sid  : 
And  ruschyt  amang  thaim  sa  rudly, 
Stekand  thaim  sa  riispitously, 
And  in  sic  fusoun6  berand  doun, 
And  slayand  thaim,  for  owtyn  ransoun  ;7 
That  thai  thaim  scalyt8  euirilkane.9 
And  fra  that  tyme  furth  thar  wes  nane 
That  assemblyt  schot  to  ma.3" 
Quhen  Scottis  archeris  saw  that  thai  sua 
War  rebutyt,n  thai  woux  hardy, 
And  with  all  thair  mycht  schot  egrely 
Amang  the  horss  men,  that  thar  raid  ; 
And  woundis  wid  to  thaim  thai  maid  ; 
And  slew  of  thaim  a  full  gret  dele." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  ix.  v.  228. 

Although  the  success  of  this  manoeuvre  was  evident,  it  is 
very  remarkable  that  the  Scottish  generals  do  not  appear  to 
have  profited  by  the  lesson.  Almost  every  subsequent  battle 
which  they  lost  against  England,  was  decided  by  the  archers, 
to  whom  the  close  and  compact  array  of  the  Scottish  phalanx 
afforded  an  exposed  and  unresisting  mark.  The  bloody  battle 
of  Halidoun-hill,  fought  scarce  twenty  years  afterwards,  was 
so  completely  gained  by  the  archers,  that  the  English  are  said 
to  have  lost  only  one  knight,  one  esquire,  and  a  few  foot-sol- 
diers. At  the  battle  of  Neville's  Cross,  in  1346,  where  David 
II.  was  defeated  and  made  prisoner,  John  de  Graham,  observ- 
ing the  loss  which  the  Scots  sustained  from  the  English  bow- 
men, offered  to  charge  and  disperse  them,  if  a  hundred  men-at- 
arms  were  put  under  his  command.  "  But,  to  confess  the 
truth,"  says  Fordun,  "  he  could  not  procure  a  single  horseman 

1  Know.— 2  Disjoined  from  the  main  body.— 3  Spur.— 4  That  I  speak 
rf.— 6  Set  upon  their  flank.- -6   Numbers.— 1  Ransom. —8  Dispersed.— 
Every  one.— 10  Make.— 11  Driven  back. 


for  the  service  proposed."     Of  such  little  use  is  experience  'n 
war,  where  its  results  are  opposed  by  habit  or  prejudice. 


Note  3  Z. 


Each  braggart  churl  could  boast  before, 
Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldric  bore! — P.  462. 

Roger  Ascham  quotes  a  similar  Scottish  proverb,  "  whereby 
they  give  the  whole  praise  of  shootiljg honestly  to  Englishmen, 
saying  thus,  '  that  every  Engli.-li  archer  beareth  under  his  gir 
die  twenty-four  Scottes.'  Indeed  Toxophilus  says  before,  and 
truly  of  the  Scottish  nation,  '  The  Scottes  surely  be  good  men 
of  warre  in  theyre  owne  feates  as  can  be  ;  but  as  for  shoot- 
inge.  they  can  neither  use  it  to  any  profite,  nor  yet  challenge  it 
for  any  praise." — Works  of  Ascham,  edited  by  Bennet,  4to. 
p.  110. 

It  is  said,  I  trust  incorrectly,  by  an  ancient  English  historian, 
that  the  "good  Lord  James  of  Douglas"  dreaded  the  superi- 
ority of  the  English  arcliers  so  much,  that  when  he  made  any 
of  them  prisoner,  he  gave  him  the  option  of  losing  the  forefin- 
ger of  his  right  hand,  or  his  right  eye,  either  species  of  mutila- 
tion rendering  him  incapable  to  use  the  bow.  I  have  mislaid 
the  reference  to  this  singular  passage. 


Note  4  A. 


Down !  down !  in  headlong  overthrow, 
Horseman  and,  horse,  the  foremost  go. — P.  462. 

It  is  generally  alleged  by  historians,  that  the  English  men-at- 
arms  fell  into  the  hidden  snare  which  Bruce  had  prepared  for 
them.  Barbour  does  not  mention  the  circumstance.  Accord- 
ing to  his  account,  Randolph,  seeing  the  slaughter  made  by 
the  cavalry  on  the  right  wing  among  the  archers,  advanced 
courageously  against  the  main  body  of  the  English,  and  en- 
tered into  close  combat  with  them.  Douglas  and  Stuart,  who 
commanded  the  Scottish  centre,  led  their  division  also  to  the 
charge,  and  the  battle  becoming  general  along  the  whole  line, 
was  obstinately  maintained  on  both  sides  for  a  long  space  of 
time  ;  the  Scottish  archers  doing  great  execution  among  the 
English  men-at-arms,  after  the  bowmen  of  England  were  dis- 


Note  4  B. 


And  steeds  that  shriek  in  agony. — P.  462. 

I  have  been  told  that  this  line  requires  an  explanatory  note  , 
and,  indeed,  those  who  witness  the  silent  patience  with  which 
horses  submit  to  the  most  cruel  usage,  may  be  permitted  to 
doubt,  that,  in  moments  of  sudden  and  intolerable  anguish, 
they  utter  a  most  melancholy  cry.  Lord  Erskine,  in  a  speech 
made  in  the  House  of  Lords,  upon  a  bill  for  enforcing  huma- 
nity towards  animals,  noticed  this  remarl  able  fact,  in  language 
which  I  will  not  mutilate  by  attempting  to  repeat  it.  It  was 
my  fortune,  upon  one  occasion,  to  hear  a  horse,  in  a  moment 
of  agony,  utter  a  thrilling  scream,  which  I  still  consider  the 
most  melancholy  sound  I  ever  heard. 


Note  4  C. 


Lord  of  the  Isles,  my  trust  in  thee 

Is  firm  as  Ailsa  Rock  : 
Rush  on  with  Highland  sword  and  targe, 
I,  with  my  Carrick  spearmen  charge. — P.  464. 

When  the  engagement  between  the  main  bodies  had  lasted 
some  time,  Bruce  made  a  decisive  movement,  by  bringing  up 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OP  THE  ISLES. 


495 


me  Scottish  reserve.  It  is  traditionally  said,  that  at  this  cri- 
sis, he  addressed  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  in  a  phrase  used  as  a 
motto  by  some  of  his  descendants,  "  My  trust  is  constant  in 
»hee."  Barbour  intimates,  that  the  reserve  "assembled  on 
one  field,"  that  is,  on  the  same  line  with  the  Scottish  forces 
already  engaged  ;  which  leads  Lord  Hailes  to  conjecture  that 
the  Scottisli  ranks  must  have  been  much  thinned  by  slaughter, 
since,  in  that  circumscribed  ground,  there  was  room  for  the 
reserve  to  fall  into  the  line.  But  the  advance  of  the  Scottish 
cavalry  must  have  contributed  a  good  deal  to  form  the  va- 
mncy  occupied  by  the  reserve. 


Note  4  D. 


To  arms  they  flew, — axe,  club,  or  spear, — 
And  mimic  ensigns  high  they  rear. — P.  464. 

The  followers  of  the  Scottish  camp  observed,  from  the  Gil- 
lies' Hill  in  the  rear,  the  impression  produced  upon  the  English 
army  by  the  bringing  up  of  the  Scottish  reserve,  and,  prompted 
by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  or  the  desire  of  plunder, 
assumed,  in  a  tumultuary  manner,  such  arms  as  they  found 
nearest,  fastened  sheets  to  tent-poles  and  lances,  and  showed 
themselves  like  a  new  army  advancing  to  battle. 

"  Yomen,  and  swanys,i  and  pitaill,* 
That  in  the  Park  yemyt  wictaill,3 
War  left ;  quhen  thai  wyst  but  lesing,4 
That  thair  lordis,  with  fell  fechtyng, 
On  thair  fayis  assemblyt  wer ; 
Ane  offthaim  selwyn5  that  war  thar 
Capitane  of  thaim  all  thai  maid. 
And  schetis,  that  war  sumedele8  brad, 
Thai  festnyt  in  steid  ofi'  baneris, 
Apon  lang  treys  and  speris  : 
And  said  that  thai  wald  se  the  fycht ; 
And  help  thair  lordis  at  thair  mycht. 
Q,uhen  her  till  all  assentyt  wer, 
In  a  rout  assemblit  er  ;7 
Fyftene  thowsand  thai  war,  or  ma. 
And  than  in  gret  hy  gan  thai  ga, 
With  thair  baneris,  all  in  a  rout, 
As  thai  had  men  bene  styth8  and  stout. 
Thai  come,  with  all  that  assemble, 
Rycht  quhill  thai  mycht  the  bataill  se : 
Than  all  at  anys  thai  gave  a  cry, 
•  Sla  !  sla!  Apon  thaim  hastily  !' " 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  ix.  v.  410. 

The  unexpected  apparition,  of  what  seemed  a  new  army, 
completed  the  confusion  which  already  prevailed  among  the 
English,  who  fled  in  every  direction,  and  were  pursued  with 
immense  slaughter.  The  brook  of  Bannock,  according  to 
Barbour,  was  so  choked  with  the  bodies  of  men  and  horses, 
that  it  might  have  been  passed  dry-shod.  The  followers  of 
the  Scottish  camp  fell  upon  the  disheartened  fugitives,  and 
added  to  the  confusion  and  slaughter.  Many  were  driven 
into  the  Foith,  and  perished  there,  which,  by  the  way,  could 
hardly  have  happened,  had  the  armies  been  drawn  up  east 
and  west ;  since,  in  that  case,  to  get  at  the  rivet,  the  English 
fugitives  must  have  fled  through  the  victorious  army.  About 
a  short  mile  from  the  field  of  battle  is  a  place  called  the 
Bloody  Folds.  Here  the  Earl  of  Gloucester  is  said  to  have 
made  a  stand,  and  died  gallantly  at  the  head  of  his  own  mili- 
tary tenants  and  vassals.  He  was  much  regretted  by  both 
rides  ;  and  it  is  said  the  Scottish  would  gladly  have  saved  his 
jfe,  but,  neglecting  to  wear  his  surcoat  with  armorial  bear- 


1  Swain*. — 2  Rabble. — 3  Kept  the  provisions. — i  Lying. — 5  Selves.- 
Sonwwhat.—  1  Are.— 8  Stiff. 


ings  over  his  armor,  he  fell  unknown,  after  his  horse  had  been 
stabbed  with  spears. 

Sir  Marmaduke  Twenge,  an  English  knight,  contrived  to 
conceal  himself  during  the  fury  of  the  pursuit,  and  when  it 
was  somewhat  slackened,  approached  King  Robert.  "  Whose 
prisoner  are  you,  Sir  Marmaduke  ?"  said  Bruce,  to  whom  he 
was  personally  known.  "  Yours,  sir,"  answered  the  knight. 
"I  receive  you,"  answered  the  king,  and,  treating  him  with 
the  utmost  courtesy,  loaded  him  with  gifts,  and  dismissed  him 
without  ransom.  The  other  prisoners  were  all  well  treated. 
There  might  be  policy  in  this,  as  Bruce  would  naturally  wish 
to  acquire  the  good  opinion  of  the  English  barons,  who  were 
at  this  time  at  great  variance  with  their  king.  But  it  also  well 
accords  with  his  high  chivalrous  character. 


Note  4  E. 


O !  give  their  hapless  prince  his  due. — P.  464. 

Edward  II.,  according  to  the  best  authorities,  showed,  in 
the  fatal  field  of  Bannockburn,  personal  gallantry  not  un- 
worthy of  his  great  sire  and  greater  son.  He  remained  on  the 
field  till  forced  away  by  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  when  all  wa3 
lost.  He  then  rode  to  the  Castle  of  Stirling,  and  demanded 
admittance  ;  but  the  governor,  remonstrating  upon  the  impru- 
dence of  shutting  himself  up  in  that  fortress,  which  must  so 
soon  surrender,  he  assembled  around  his  person  five  hundred 
men-at-arms,  and,  avoiding  the  field  of  battle  and  the  victo- 
rious army,  fled  towards  Linlithgow,  pursued  by  Douglas  with 
about  sixty  horse.  They  were  augmented  by  Sir  Lawrence 
Abernethy  with  twenty  more,  whom  Douglas  met  in  the  Tor- 
wood  upon  their  way  to  join  the  English  army,  and  whom  he 
easily  persuaded  to  desert  the  defeated  monarch,  and  to  assist 
in  the  pursuit.  They  hung  upon  Edward's  flight  as  far  as 
Dunbar,  too  few  in  number  to  assail  him  with  effect,  but  enough 
to  harass  his  retreat  so  constantly,  that  whoever  fell  an  instant 
behind,  was  instantly  slain  or  made  prisoner.  Edward's  igno- 
minious flight  terminated  at  Dunbar,  where  the  Earl  of  March, 
who  still  professed  allegiance  to  him,  "received  him  full 
gently."  From  thence,  the  monarch  of  so  great  an  empire, 
and  the  late  commander  of  so  gallant  and  numerous  an  army, 
escaped  to  Bamborough  in  a  fishing  vessel. 

Bruce,  as  will  appear  from  the  following  document,  lost  no 
time  in  directing  the  thunders  of  Parliamentary  censure  against 
such  part  of  his  subjects  as  did  not  return  to  their  natural  alle- 
giance after  the  battle  of  Bannockburn. 

Apud  Monasterium  dk  Cambuskenneth, 

vi  die  novembris,  m,ccc,xiv. 

Judicium  Reditum  apud  Kambuskinet  contra  omnes  illos  qui 
tunc  fuerunt  contra  fidem  et  pacem  Domini  Regis. 

Anno  gracie  millesimo  tricentisimo  quarto  decimo  sexto  die 
Novembris  tenente  parliamentum  suum  Excellentissimo  prin- 
cipe  Domino  Roberto  Dei  gracia  Reje  Scottorum  Illustri  in 
monasterio  de  Cambuskyneth  concordatnm  fuit  finaliter  Ju- 
dicatum  [ac  super]  hoc  statutum  de  Concilio  et  Assensu  Epis- 
coporum  et  ceterorum  Prelatorum  Comitum  Baronum  et  alio- 
rum  nobilium  regni  Scocie  nee  non  et  tocius  communitatis 
regni  predicti  quod  omnes  qui  contra  fidem  et  pacem  dicti 
domini  regis  in  bello  seu  alibi  mortui  sunt  [vel  qui  die]  to  die 
ad  pacem  ejus  et^  fidem  non  venerant  licet  sepius  vocati  et  le- 
gitime expectati  fuissent  de  terris  et  tenementis  et  omni  alio 
statu  infra  regnum  Scocie  perpetuo  sint  exheredati  et  habean- 
tur  de  cetero  tanquam  inimici  Regis  et  Regni  ab  omni  vendi- 
cacione  juris  hereditarii  vel  juris  alterius  cujuscunque  in  pos- 
terum  pro  se  et  heredibus  suis  in  perpetuum  privati  Ad  per- 
petuam  igitur  rei  memoriam  et  evidentem  probacionem  hujui 


500 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Judicii  et  Statuti  sigilla  Episcopornm  et  aliorum  Prelatorum 
nee  non  et  comitum  Baronum  ac  ceterorum  nobilium  dicti 
Regni  presenti  ordinacioni  Judicio  et  statuto  sunt  appensa. 

Sigillum  Domini  Regis 

Sigillum  Willelmi  Episcopi  Sancti  Andree 

Sigillum  Roberti  Episcopi  Glascuensis 

Sigillum  Willelmi  Episcopi  Dunkeldensi« 

.    .    .    Episcop.         

.    .    .    Episcopi 

.    .    .    Episcopi 

Sigillum  Alani  Episcopi  Sodorensis 

Sigillum  Johannis  Episcopi  Brechynensis 

Sigillum  Andree  Episcopi  Ergadiensis 

Sigillum  Frechardi  Episcopi  Cathanensis 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Scona 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Calco 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Abirbrothok 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Sancta  Cruce 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Londoris 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Newbotill 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Cupro 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Paslet 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Dunfermelyn 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Lincluden 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Insula  Missarum 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Sancto  Columba 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Deer 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Dulce  Corde 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Coldinghame 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Rostynot 
Sigillum  Prioris  Sancte  Andree 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Pittinwem 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Insula  de  Lochlevin 
Sigillum  Senescalli  Scocie 
Sigillum  Willelmi  Comitis  de  Ros 


Sigillum  Gilberti  de  la  Haya  Constabularii  Scocie 

Sigillum  RoDerti  de  Keth  Mariscalli  Scocie 

Sigillum  Hugonis  de  Ros 

Sigillum  Jacobi  de  Duglas 

Sigillum  Jobannis  de  Sancto  Claro 

Sigillum  Thome  de  Ros 

Sigillum  Alexandri  de  Settone 

Sigillum  Walteri  Haliburtone 

Sigillum  Davidis  de  Balfour 

Sigillum  Duncani  de  Wallays 

Sigillum  Thome  de  Dischingtone 

Sigillum  Andree  de  Moravia 

Sigillum  Archibaldi  de  Betuu 

Sigillum  Ranulphi  de  Lyill 

Sigillum  Malcomi  de  Balfour 

Sigillum  Normanni  de  Lesley 

Sigillum  Nigelli  de  Campo  bello 

Sigillum  Morni  de  Musco  Campc 


Note  4  F. 


Nor  for  2>e  Argentine  alone, 

Through  Mnian's  church  these  torches  shone, 

And  rose  the  death-prayer's  awful  tone.—?.  465. 

The  remarkable  circumstances  attending  the  death  of  De 
Argentine  have  been  already  noticed  (Note  L).    Besides  this 

1  Together.  ,  Redi  or  gilded_ 

8  'The  extract,  from  Barbour  in  this  edition  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  poems 


renowned  warrior,  there  fell  many  representatives  of  the 
noblest  houses  in  England,  which  never  sustained  a  more 
bloody  and  disastrous  defeat.  Barbour  says  that  two  hundred 
pairs  of  gilded  spurs  were  taken  from  the  field  of  battle  ;  and 
that  some  were  left  the  author  can  bear  witness,  who  has  in 
his  possession  a  curious  antique  spur,  dug  up  in  the  morass, 
not  long  since. 

"  It  wes  forsuth  a  gret  ferly, 
To  se  samyn1  sa  fele  dede  lie. 
Twa  hundre  payr  of  spuris  reid,^ 
War  tane  of  knichtis  that  war  deid." 

I  am  now  to  take  my  leave  of  Barbour,  not  without  a  sincere 
wish  that  the  public  may  encourage  the  undertaking  of  my 
friend  Dr.  Jamieson,  who  has  issued  proposals  for  publishing 
an  accurate  edition  of  his  poem,  and  of  blind  Harry's  Wal- 
lace^ The  only  good  edition  of  The  Bruce  was  published  by 
Mr.  Pinkerton,  in  3  vols.,  in  1790  ;  and,  the  learned  editor 
having  had  no  personal  access  to  consult  the  manuscript,  it  is 
not  without  errors  ;  and  it  has  besides  become  scarce.  Of 
Wallace  there  is  no  tolerable  edition  ;  yet  these  two  poems  do 
no  small  honor  to  the  early  state  of  Scottish  poetry,  and  The 
Bruce  3  justly  regarded  as  containing  authentic  historical 
facts. 

The  following  list  of  the  slain  at  Bannockburn,  extracted 
from  the  continuator  of  Rivet's  Annals,  will  show  the  extent 
of  the  national  calamity. 

List  of  the  Slain. 


Knights  and  Knights  Ban- 
nerets. 
Gilbert  de  Clare,  Earl  of  Glou- 
cester, 
Robert  de  Clifford, 
Payan  Tybetot, 
William  Le  Mareschal, 
John  Comyn, 
William  de  Vescey, 
John  de  Montfort, 
Nicolas  de  Hasteleigh, 
William  Dayncourt, 
iEgidius  de  Argenteyne, 
Edmond  Comyn, 
John  Lovel  (the  rich), 
Edmund  de  Hastynge, 
Milo  de  Stapleton, 


Simon  Ward, 
Robert  de  Felton, 
Michael  Poyning, 
Edmund  Maulley. 

Knights. 
Henry  de  Boun, 
Thomas  de  Ufford, 
John  de  Elsingfelde, 
John  de  Harcourt, 
Walter  de  Hakelut, 
Philip  de  Courtenay, 
Hugo  de  Scales, 
Radulph  de  Beauchamp 
John  de  Penbrigge, 
With  33  others  of  (he  same 
rank,  not  named. 


Prisoners. 


Barons  and  Baronets. 
Henry  de  Boun,  Earl  of  Here- 
ford, 
Lord  John  Giffard, 
William  de  Latimer, 
Maurice  de  Berkeley, 
Ingelram  de  Umfraville, 
Marmaduke  de  Twenge, 
John  de  Wyletone, 
Robert  de  Maulee, 
Henry  Fitz-Hugh, 
Thomas  de  Gray, 
Walter  de  Beauchamp, 
Richard  de  Charon, 
John  de  Wevelmton 
Robert  de  Nevil, 
John  de  Segrave, 
Gilbert  Peeche, 
John  de  Wavering, 


Antony  de  Lucy, 
Radulph  de  Camys, 
John  de  Evere, 
Andrew.de  Abremhyn. 

Knights. 
Thomas  de  Berkeley, 
The  son  of  Roger  Tyrrel, 
Anselm  de  Mareschal, 
Giles  de  Beauchamp, 
John  de  Cyfrewast, 
John  Bluwet, 
Roger  Corbet, 
Gilbert  de  Boun, 
Bartholomew  de  Enefeld, 
Thomas  de  Ferrers,  [tort 

Radulph  and  Thomas  Botte- 
John  and  Nicholas  de  King 
stone  (brothers), 


have  been  uniformly  corrected  by  the  text  of  Dr.  Jamieson 'g  Bruce,  pub 
lished,  along  with  Blind  Harry's  Wallace,  Edin.  1 820, 2  vols.  4+o.— Ed.] 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


501 


William  Lovel, 
Henry  de  Wileton, 
Baldwin  de  Frevill, 
John  de  Clivedon,! 
Adomar  la  Zouche, 
John  de  Merewode, 
John  Maufe.a 


Thomas  and  Odo  Lele  Erce- 

dekene, 
Robert  Beaupel  (the  son), 
John  Mautravers  (the  son), 
William  and  William  Giffard, 
and   34  other   knights,  not 
named  by  the  historian. 


And  in  sum  there  were  slain,  along  with  the  Earl  of  Glouces- 
ter, forty-two  barons  and  bannerets.  The  number  of  earls, 
barons,  and  bannerets  made  captive,  was  twenty-two,  and 
sixty-eight  knights.  Many  clerks  and  esquires  were  also  there 
■lain  or  takan.     Roger  de  Northburge,  keeper  of  the  kin?' 

I  Supposed  Clinton. 


signet  (Custos  Targice  Domini  Regis),  was  made  prisoner 
with  his  two  clerks,  Roger  de  Wakenfelde  and  Thomas  de 
Switon,  upon  which  the  king  caused  a  seal  to  be  made,  and 
entitled  it  his  privy  seal,  to  distinguish  the  same  from  the  signet 
so  lost.  The  Earl  of  Hereford  was  exchanged  against  Bruce's 
queen,  who  had  been  detained  in  captivity  ever  since  the  year 
1306.  The  Targia,  or  signet,  was  restored  to  England  through 
the  intercession  of  Ralph  de  Monthermer,  ancestor  of  Lord 
Moira,  who  is  said  to  have  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  Scot- 
tish king.— Continuation  of  Trivet's  Annals,  HaWs  edit 
Oxford,  1712,  vol.  ii.  p.  14. 

Such  were  the  immediate  consequences  of  the  Field  of  Ban- 
nockburn.  Its  more  remote  effects,  in  completely  establishing 
the  national  independence  of  Scotland,  afford  a  boundless  fieW 
for  speculation. 


©I)*  jFidft  of  toaUrloo 


A   POEM.1 


4  Though  Valois  braved  young  Edward's  gentle  hand, 
And  Albert  rush'd  on  Henry's  way-worn  band, 
With  Europe's  chosen  sons,  in  arms  renown'd, 
Yet  not  on  Vere's  bold  archers  long  they  look'd, 
Nor  Audley's  squires  nor  Mowbray's  yeomen  brook'd, — 
They  saw  their  standard  fall,  and  left  their  monarch  bound.'* 

Akknsidb. 


HER     GRACE 

THK 

DUCHESS    OF    WELLINGTON, 
PUJiTCESS  OF  WATERLOO, 

&c.  &c.  &c. 

T«E    FOLLOWING   VERSES 

ARE   MOST   RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED 

BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

It  may  be  some  apology  for  the  imperfections  of  this  poem,  that  it  was  composed  hastily,  and  during  a 
thort  tour  upon  the  Continent,  when  the  Author's  labors  were  liable  to  frequent  interruption ;  but  its 
best  apology  is,  that  it  was  written  for  the  purpose  of  assisting  the  Waterloo  Subscription. 
Abbotsford,  1815. 


«|)e  Iklir  of  tDaterloo. 


Fair  Brussels,  thou  art  far  behind, 
Though,  lingering  on  the  morning  wind, 

We  yet  may  hear  the  hour 
Peal'd  over  orchard  and  canal, 
With  voice  prolong'd  and  measured  fall, 

From  proud  St.  Michael's  tower ; 
Thy  wood,  dark  Soignies,  holds  us  now,8 
Where  the  tall  beeches'  glossy  bough 

*  Published  by  Constable  &  Co.  in  October,  1815.   8vo.   5s. 

9  "  The  wood  of  Soignies  is  supposed  to  be  a  remnant  of  the 

orest  }f  Ardennes  famous  in  Boiardo's  Orlando,  and  immor- 


For  many  a  league  around, 
With  birch  and  darksome  oak  between, 
Spreads  deep  and  far  a  pathless  screen, 

Of  tangled  forest  ground. 
Stems  planted  close  by  stems  defy 
The  adventurous  foot — the  curious  eyo 

For  access  seeks  in  vain  ; 
And  the  brown  tapestry  of  leaves, 
Strew'd  on  the  blighted  ground,  receives 

Nor  sun,  nor  air,  nor  rain. 
No  opening  glade  dawns  on  our  way, 
No  streamlet,  glancing  to  the  ray, 

tal  in  Shakspeare's  '  As  you  Like  it.'  It  is  also  celebrated  in 
Tacitus  as  being  the  spot  of  successful  defence  by  the  Germans 
against  the  Roman  encroachments." — Byron. 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO.                                      503 

Our  woodland  path  has  cross'd ; 

Yet  one  mile  on,  yon  shatter'd  hedge 

And  the  straight  causeway  which  we  tread, 

Crests  the  soft  hill  whose  long  smooth  ridge 

Prolongs  a  line  of  dull  arcade, 

Looks  on  the  field  below, 

Unvarying  through  the  unvaried  shade 

And  sinks  so  gently  on  the  dale, 

Until  in  distance  lost. 

That  not  the  folds  of  Beauty's  veil 

In  easier  curves  can  flow. 

II. 

Brief  space  from  thence,  the  ground  again 

A  brighter,  livelier  scene  succeeds  ;l 

Ascending  slowly  from  the  plain, 

In  groups  the  scattering  wood  recedes, 

Forms  an  opposing  screen, 

Hedge-rows,  and  huts,  and  sunny  meads, 

Which,  with  its  crest  of  upland  ground, 

And  corn-fields,  glance  between ; 

Shuts  the  horizon  all  around. 

The  peasant,  at  his  labor  blithe, 

The  soften'd  vale  between 

Plies  the  hook'd  staff  and  shorten'd  scythe  :* — 

Slopes  smooth  and  fair  for  courser's  tread ; 

But  when  these  ears  were  green, 

Not  the  most  timid  maid  need  dread 

Placed  close  within  destruction's  scope, 

To  give  her  snow-white  palfrey  head 

Full  little  was  that  rustic's  hope 

On  that  wide  stubble-ground  ;8 

Their  ripening  to  have  seen ! 

Nor  wood,  nor  tree,  nor  bush,  are  there, 

And,  lo,  a  hamlet  and  its  fane : — 

Her  course  to  intercept  or  scare, 

Let  not  the  gazer  with  disdain 

Nor  fosse  nor  fence  are  found, 

Their  architecture  view ; 

Save  where,  from  out  her  shatter'd  bowers, 

For  yonder  rude  ungraceful  shrine, 

Bise  Hougomont's  dismantled  towers7 

And  disproportion'd  spire  are  thine,3 

Tmmortal  Waterloo  !* 

IV. 

Now,  see'st  thou  aught  in  this  lone  scene 

III. 

Can  tell  of  that  which  late  hath  been  ? — 

Fear  not  the  heat,  though  full  and  high 

A  stranger  might  reply, 

The  sun  has  scorch'd  the  autumn  sky, 

"  The  bare  extent  of  stubble-plain 

And  scarce  a  forest  straggler  now 

Seems  lately  lighten'd  of  its  grain ; 

To  shade  us  spreads  a  greenwood  bough ; 

And  yonder  sable  tracks  remain 

These  fields  have  seen  a  hotter  day 

Marks  of  the  peasant's  ponderous  wain, 

Than  e'er  was  fired  by  sunny  ray.6 

When  harvest-home  was  nigh.8 

'  "  Southward  from  Brussels  lies  the  field  of  oiooa, 

His  childless  sovereign.     Heaven  denied  an  heir, 

Some  three  hours'  journey  for  a  well-girt  man ; 

And  Europe  mourn'd  in  blood  the  frustrate  prayer." 

A  horseman,  who  in  ha^te  pursued  his  road, 

Southey. 

Would  reach  it  as  the  second  hour  began. 

To  the  original  chapel  of  the  Marquis  of  Castanaza  has  now 

The  way  is  through  a  forest  deep  and  wide, 

been  added  a  building  of  considerable  extent,  the  whole  inte- 

Extending many  a  mile  on  either  side. 

rior  of  which  is  filled  with  monumental  inscriptions  for  the 

heroes  who  fell  in  the  battle. 

"  No  cheerful  woodland  this  of  antic  trees, 

6  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

With  thickets  varied  and  with  sunny  glade ; 

«  "As  a  plain,  Waterloo  seems  marked  out  for  the  scene  of 

Look  where  he  will,  the  weary  traveller  sees 

some  great  action,  though  this  may  be  mere  imagination.     I 

One  gloomy,  thick,  impenetrable  shade 

have  viewed  with  attention,  those  of  Platea,  Troy,  Mantinea, 

Of  tall  straight  trunks,  which  move  before  his  sight, 

Leuctra,  Chaeronea,    and   Marathon ;    and  the  field  around 

With  interchange  of  lines  of  long  green  light. 

Mont  St.  Jean  and  Hougomont  appears  to  want  little  but  a 

better  cause,  and  that  indefinable  but  impressive  halo  which 

*  Here,  where  the  woods  receding  from  the  road 

the  lapse  of  ages  throws  around  a  consecrated  spot,  to  vie  in 

Have  left  on  either  hand  an  open  space 

interest  with  any  or  all  of  these,  except,  perhaps,  the  last  men 

For  fields  and  gardens,  and  for  man's  abode, 

tioned." — Byron. 

Stands  Waterloo  ;  a  little  lowly  place, 

7  MS. — "  Save  where,  \  1*s   >  fire-scathed  bowers  among, 
t  the  ) 

Obscure  till  now,  when  it  hath  risen  to  fame, 

And  given  the  victory  its  English  name." 

Rise  the  rent  towers  of  Hougomom. 

Southky's  Pilgrimage  to  Waterloo. 

8  u  Is  the  spot  mark'd  with  no  colossal  bust, 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

Nor  column  trophied  for  triumphal  show  ? 
None :  But  the  moral's  truth  tells  simpler  so, 

»  MS. — "  Let  not  the  stranger  with  disdain 

As  the  ground  was  before,  thus  let  it  be  ; — 

Its  misproportions  view ; 

How  that  red  rain  hath  made  the  harvest  grow  1           # 

Yon  j  rud,ely  foirm'd  }  ungraceful  shrine, 
(  awkward  and  ) 

And  is  this  all  the  world  has  gain'd  by  thee, 

Thou  first  and  last  of  fields  !  king-making  Victory  V 

And  yonder  humble  spire,  are  thine." 

Byrow 

»  "  What  time  the.  second  Carlos  ruled  in  Spain, 
Last  of  the  Austrian  line  by  fate  decreed, 

"  Was  it  a  soothing  or  a  mournful  thought, 

Here  Castanaza  rear'd  a  votive  fane, 

Amid  this  scene  of  slaughter  as  we  stood, 

fraying  the  patron  saints  to  bless  with  seed 

Where  armies  had  with  recent  fury  fought 

■ 

604 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


On  these  broad  spots  of  trampled  ground, 
Perchance  the  rustics  danced  such  round 

As  Teniers  loved  to  draw ; 
And  where  the  earth  seems  scorch'd  by  flame, 
To  dress  the  homely  feast  they  came, 
And  toil'd  the  kerchief  'd  village  dame 

Around  her  fire  of  straw." 

V. 

So  deem'st  thou — so  each  mortal  deems, 
Of  that  which  is  from  that  which  seems : — 

But  other  harvest  here, 
Than  that  which  peasant's  scythe  demands, 
Was  gather'd  in  by  sterner  hands, 

With  bayonet,  blade,  and  spear. 
No  vulgar  crop  was  theirs  to  reap, 
No  stinted  harvest  thin  and  cheap  ! 
Heroes  before  each  fatal  sweep 

Fell  thick  as  ripen'd  grain  ; 
And  ere  the  darkening  of  the  day, 
Piled  high  as  autumn  shocks,  there  lay 
The  ghastly  harvest  of  the  fray, 

The  corpses  of  the  slain.1 

VI. 

Ay,  look  again — that  line,  so  black 
And  trampled,  marks  the  bivouac, 
Yon  deep-graved  ruts  the  artillery's  track, 

So  often  lost  and  won ; 
And  close  beside,  the  harden'd  mud 
Still  shows  where,  fetlock-deep  in  blood, 
The  fierce  dragoon,  through  battle's  flood, 

Dash'd  the  hot  war-horse  on. 
These  spots  of  excavation  tell 
The  ravage  of  the  bursting  shell — 
And  feel'st  thou  not  the  tainted  steam, 
That  reeks  against  the  sultry  beam, 

From  yonder  trenched  mound  ? 
The  pestilential  fumes  declare 
That  Carnage  has  replenish'd  there 

Her  garner-house  profound. 

VII. 

Far  other  harvest-home  and  feast, 
Than  claims  the  boor  from  scythe  released, 
On  these  scorch'd  fields  were  known : 


To  mark  how  gentle  Nature  still  pursued 
Her  quiet  course,  as  if  she  took  no  care 
For  what  her  noblest  work  had  suffer'd  there. 

"  The  pears  had  ripen'd  on  the  garden  wall ; 

Those  leaves  which  on  the  autumnal  earth  were  spread, 
The  trees,  though  pierced  and  scared  with  many  a  ball, 

Had  only  in  their  natural  season  shed  ; 
Flowers  were  in  seed,  whose  buds  to  swell  began 
When  such  wild  havoc  here  was  made  by  man." 

Southky. 
"  Earth  had  received  into  her  silent  womb 

Her  slaughter'd  creatures  ;  horse  and  man  they  lay, 


Death  hover'd  o'er  the  maddening  rout, 
And,  in  the  thrilling  battle-shout. 
Sent  for  the  bloody  banquet  out 

A  summons  of  his  own. 
Through  rolling  smoke  the  Demon's  eye 
Could  well  each  destined  guest  espy, 
Well  could  his  ear  in  ecstasy 

Distinguish  every  tone 
That  fill'd  the  chorus  of  the  fray — 
From  cannon-roar  and  trumpet-bray, 
From  charging  squadrons'  wild  hurra, 
From  the  wild  clang  that  mark'd  their  way,- 

Down  to  the  dying  groan, 
And  the  last  sob  of  life's  decay, 

When  breath  was  all  but  flown. 

VIII. 
Feast  on,  stern  foe  of  mortal  life, 
Feast  on ! — but  think  not  that  a  strife, 
With  such  promiscuous  carnage  rife, 

Protracted  space  may  last ; 
The  deadly  tug  of  war  at  length 
Must  limits  find  in  human  strength, 

And  cease  when  these  are  past. 
Vain  hope  ! — that  morn's  o'erclouded  sun 
Heard  the  wild  shout  of  fight  begun 

Ere  he  attaind  his  height, 
And  through  the  war-smoke,  volumed  high, 
Still  peals  that  unremitted  cry, 

Though  now  he  stoops  to  night. 
For  ten  long  hours  of  doubt  and  dread, 
Fresh  succors  from  the  extended  head 
Of  either  hill  the  contest  fed ; 

Still  down  the  slope  they  drew, 
The  charge  of  columns  paused  not, 
Nor  ceased  the  storm  of  shell  and  shot ; 

For  all  that  war  could  do 
Of  skill  and  force  was  proved  that  day, 
And  turn'd  not  yet  the  doubtful  fray 

On  bloody  Waterloo. 

IX. 

Pale  Brussels !  then  what  thoughts  were  tlune 
When  ceaseless  from  the  distant  line 

Continued  thunders  came  ! 
Each  burgher  held  his  breath,  to  hear 

And  friend  and  foe,  within  the  general  tomb. 

Equal  had  been  their  lot ;  one  fatal  day 
For  all,  .  .  one  labor,  .  .  and  one  place  of  rest 
They  found  within  their  common  parent's  breast, 

"  The  passing  seasons  had  not  yet  effaced 

The  stamp  of  numerous  hoofs  impress'd  by  force 
Of  cavalry,  whose  path  might  still  be  traced. 

Yet  Nature  everywhere  resumed  her  course  : 
Low  pansies  to  the  sun  their  purple  gave, 
And  the  soft  poppy  blossom'd  on  the  grave." 

Southed 
2  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO.                                       505 

These  forerunners1  of  havoc  near, 

On  came  the  whirlwind — steel-gleams  broke 

Of  rapine  and  of  flame. 

Like  lightning  through  the  rolling  smoke ; 

What  ghastly  sights  were  thine  to  meet, 

The  war  was  waked  anew, 

When  rolling2  through  thy  stately  street, 

Three  hundred  cannon-mouths  roar'd  loud, 

The  wounded  show'd  their  mangled  plight3 

And  from  their  throats,  with  flash  and  cloud, 

In  token  of  the  unfinish'd  fight, 

Their  showers  of  iron  threw. 

And  from  each  anguish-laden  wain 

Beneath  their  fire,  in  full  career, 

The  blood-drops  laid  thy  dust  like  rain  I4 

Rush'd  on  the  ponderous  cuirassier, 

How  often  in  the  distant  drum 

The  lancer  couch'd  his  ruthless  spear, 

Heard' st  thou  the  fell  Invader  come, 

And  hurrying  as  to  havoc  near, 

While  Ruin,  shouting  to  his  band, 

The  cohorts'  eagles  flew. 

Shook  high  her  torch  and  gory  brand ! — 

In  one  dark  torrent,  broad  and  strong, 

Cheer  thee,  fair  City  !  From  yon  stand, 

The  advancing  onset  roll'd  along, 

Impatient,  still  his  outstretch'd  hand 

Forth  harbinger'd  by  fierce  acclaim, 

Points  to  his  prey  in  vain, 

That,  from  the  shroud  of  smoke  and  flame, 

While  maddening  in  his  eager  mood, 

Peal'd  wildly  the  imperial  name. 

And  all  unwont  to  be  withstood, 

He  fires  the  fight  again. 

XII. 

But  on  the  British  heart  were  lost 

X. 

The  terrors  of  the  charging  host ; 

On !  On !"  was  still  his  stern  exclaim  ; 

For  not  an  eye  the  storm  that  view'd 

M  Confront  the  battery's  jaws  of  flame  ! 

Changed  its  proud  glance  of  fortitude, 

Rush  on  the  levell'd  gun  !6 

Nor  was  one  forward  footstep  staid, 

My  steel-clad  cuirassiers,  advance  ! 

As  dropp'd  the  dying  and  the  dead.8 

Each  Hulan  forward  with  Ins  lance, 

Fast  as  their  ranks  the  thunders  tear, 

My  Guard — my  Chosen — charge  for  France, 

Fast  they  renew'd  each  serried  square ; 

France  and  Napoleon !" 

And  on  the  wounded  and  the  slain 

Loud  answer'd  their  acclaiming  shout, 

Closed  their  diminish'd  files  again, 

Greeting  the  mandate  which  sent  out 

Till  from  their  line  scarce  spears'  lengths  three 

Their  bravest  and  their  best  to  dare 

Emerging  from  the  smoke  they  see 

The  fate  their  leader  shunn'd  to  share.6 

Helmet,  and  plume,  and  panoply, — 

But  He,  Ins  country's  sword  and  shield, 

Then  waked  their  fire  at  once ! 

Still  in  the  battle-front  reveal'd, 

Each  musketeer's  revolving  knell, 

Where  danger  fiercest  swept  the  field, 

As  fast,  as  regularly  fell, 

Came  like  a  beam  of  light, 

As  when  they  practise  to  display 

In  action  prompt,  in  sentence  brief — 

Their  discipline  on  festal  day. 

"  Soldiers,  stand  firm,"  exclaim'd  the  Chief, 

Then  down  went  helm  and  lance, 

"  England  shall  tell  the  fight  1"T 

Down  were  the  eagle  banners  sent, 

Down  reeling  steeds  and  riders  went, 

XL 

Corslets  were  pierced,  and  pennons  rent ; 

On  came  the  whirlwind — like  the  last 

And,  to  augment  the  fray, 

But  fiercest  sweep  of  tempest-blast — 

Wheel'd  full  against  their  staggering  flanks, 

1  MS. — "  Harbingers." 

Was  festering,  and  along  the  crowded  ways, 

MS.—"  Streaming." 

Hour  after  hour  was  heard  the  incessant  sound 

MS.—"  Bloody  plight." 

Of  wheels,  which  o'er  the  rough  and  stony  road 

1  Within  those  walls  there  linger'd  at  that  hour, 

Convey'd  their  living  agonizing  load  ! 

Many  a  brave  soldier  on  the  bed  of  pain, 

Whom  aid  of  human  art  should  ne'er  restore 

"  Hearts  little  to  the  melting  mood  inclined, 

To  see  his  country  and  his  friends  again  ; 

Grew  sick  to  see  their  sufferings  ;  and  the  thought 

And  many  a  victim  of  that  fell  debate, 

Still  comes  with  horror  tc  the  shuddering  mind 

Whose  life  yet  waver'd  in  the  scales  of  fate. 

Of  those  sad  days,  when  Belgian  ears  were  taught 

The  British  soldier's  cry,  half  groan,  half  prayer, 

**  Others  in  wagons  borne  abroad  I  saw, 

Breathed  when  his  pain  is  more  than  he  can  bear." 

Albeit  recovering,  still  a  mournful  sight ; 

Southey. 

Languid  and  helpless,  some  were  stretch'd  on  straw, 

6  MS. "  his  stern  exclaim  ; 

Some  more  advanced,  sustain'd  themselves  upright, 

1  Where  fails  the  sword  make  way  by  flame  1 

And  with  bold  eye  and  careless  front,  methought, 

Recoil  not  from  the  cannon's  aim  ; 

Seem'd  to  set  wounds  and  death  again  at  naught. 

Confront  them  and  they're  won.'  " 

See  Appendix,  Note  C.     6  Ibid.  Note  D.      7  Ibid.  Note  IS 

What  hid  it  been,  then,  in  the  recent  days 

8  MS. — "  Nor  was  one  forward  footstep  stopp'd, 

Of  that  great  triumph,  when  the  open  wound 
64 

Though  close  beside  a  comrade  dropp'd  " 

506 


•SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  English  horsemen's  foaming  ranks 

Forced  iheir  resistless  way. 
Then  to  the  musket-knell  succeeds 
The  clash  of  swords — the  neigh  of  steeds — 
As  plies  the  smith  his  clanging  trade,1 
Against  the  cuirass  rang  the  blade  j2 
And  wlihY  amid  their  close  array 
The  well-served  cannon  rent  their  way,8 
And  while  amid  their  scatter'd  band 
Raged  the  fierce  rider's  bloody  brand, 
Recoil'd  in  common  rout  and  fear, 
Lancer  and  guard  and  cuirassier, 
Horsemen  and  foot — a  mingled  host, 
Their  leaders  faH'n  their  standards  lost. 

XIII. 

Then,  Wellington  !  thy  piercing  eye 
This  crisis  caught  of  destiny — 

The  British  host  had  stood 
That  morn  'gainst  charge  of  sword  and  lance4 
As  their  own  ocean  rocks  hold  stance, 
But  when  thy  voice  had  said,  "  Advance  1" 

They  were  their  ocean's  flood. — 

0  Thou,  whose  inauspicious  aim 

Hath  wrought  thy  host  this  hour  of  shame, 
Think'st  thou  thy  broken  bands  will  bide 
The  terrors  of  yon  ruslung  tide  ? 
Or  will  thy  chosen  brook  to  feel 
The  British  shock  of  levell'd  steel,5 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

2  "  I  heard  the  broadswords'  deadly  clang, 

As  if  an  hundred  anvils  rang  !"        Lady  of  the  Lake. 
8  MS. — "  Beneath  that  storm,  in  full  career, 
Rush'd  on  the  ponderous  cuirassier, 

The  lancer  \  came,  #  j  le7ell'd  j  spear, 
(  couch  d  his  ratal     ) 

Sworn  j  eJLch  J  to  do  or  die  ; 
But  not  an  instant  would  they  bear 

The  j  thunders  {  of  each  serried  square, 
(  volhes      ) 

They  halt,  they  turn,  they  fly  ! 

Not  even  their  chosen  brook  to  feel 

The  British  shock  of  levell'd  steel ; 

Enough  that  through  their  close  array 

The  well-plied  cannon  tore  their  way ; 

Enough  that  'mid  their  broken  band 

The  horsemen  plied  the  bloody  brand, 

Recoil'd,"  &c. 

*  "  The  cuirassiers  continued  their  dreadful  onset,  and  rode 
np  to  the  squares  in  the  full  confidence,  apparently,  of  sweep- 
ing every  thing  before  the  impetuosity  of  their  charge.  Their 
onset,  and  reception  was  like  a  furious  ocean  pouring  itself 
against  a  chain  of  insulated  rocks.  The  British  square  stood 
unmoved,  and  never  gave  fire  until  the  cavalry  were  within 
ten  yards,  when  men  rolled  one  way,  horses  galloped  another, 
and  the  cuirassiers  were  in  every  instance  driven  back." — Life 
*/  Bonaparte,  vol.  ix.  p.  12. 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

*  MS. — "  Or  can  thy  memory  fail  to  quote, 

Heard  to  thy  cost,  the  vengeful  note 
Of  Prussia's  trumpet  tone  ?" 

*  ••  We  observe  a  certain  degree  of  similitude  in  some  pas- 


Or  dost  thou  turn  thine  eye 
Where  coming  squadrons  gleam  afar, 
And  fresher  thunders  wake  the  war, 

And  other  standards  fly  ? — 
Think  not  that  in  yon  columns,  file 
Thy  conquering  troops  from  distant  Dyle — 

Is  Blucher  yet  unknown  ? 
Or  dwells  not  in  thy  memory  still 
(Heard  frequent  in  thine  hour  of  ill), 
What  notes  of  hate  and  vengeance  tlu'ill 

In  Prussia's  trumpet  tone  ? — 6 
What  yet  remains  ? — shall  it  be  thine 
To  head  the  relics  of  thy  line 

In  one  dread  effort  more  ? — 
The  Roman  lore  thy  leisure  loved,7 
And  thou  canst  tell  what  fortune  proved 

That  Chieftain,  who,  of  yore, 
Ambition's  dizzy  paths  essay'd, 
And  with  the  gladiators'  aid 

For  empire  enterprised — 
He  stood  the  cast  his  raslmess  play'd, 
Left  not  the  victims  he  had  made, 
Dug  his  red  grave  with  his  own  blade 
And  on  the  field  he  lost  was  laid, 

Abhorr'd — but  not  despised.8 

'   XIV. 
But  if  revolves  thy  fainter  thought 
On  safety — howsoever  bought, — 

sages  of  Mr.  Scott's  present  work,  to  the  compositions  of  Lord 
Byron,  and  particularly  his  Lordship's  Ode  to  Bonaparte  ;  and 
we  think  that  whoever  peruses  '  The  Field  of  Waterloo,'  with 
that  Ode  in  his  recollection,  will  be  struck  with  this  new  re- 
semblance. We  allude  principally  to  such  passages  as  that 
which  begins, 

'  The  Roman  lore  thy  leisure  loved,'  &c. 
and  to  such  lines  as, 

1  Now,  seest  thou  aught  in  this  loved  scene, 
Can  tell  of  that  which  late  hath  been  V 
or, 

'  So  deem'st  thou — so  each  mortal  deems, 
Of  that  which  is,  from  that  which  seems  ;' 

lines,  by  the  way,  of  which  we  cannot  express  any  very  great 
admiration.  This  sort  of  influence,  however,  over  even  the 
principal  writers  of  the  day  (whether  they  are  conscious  of  the 
influence  or  not),  is  one  of  the  surest  tests  of  genius,  and  one 
of  the  proudest  tributes  which  it  receives." — Monthly  Review. 
8  "  When  the  engagement  was  ended,  it  evidently  appeared 
with  what  undaunted  spirit  and  resolution  Catiline's  army  had 
been  fired  ;  for  the  body  of  every  one  was  found  on  that  very 
spot  which,  during  the  battle,  he  had  occupied  ;  those  only  ex- 
cepted who  were  forced  from  their  posts  by  the  Praetorian  co- 
hort ;  and  even  they,  though  they  fell  a  little  out  of  their 
ranks,  were  all  wounded  before.  Catiline  himself  was  found, 
far  from  his  own  men,  amidst  the  dead  bodies  of  the  enemy, 
breathing  a  little,  with  an  air  of  that  fierceness  still  in  his  face 
which  he  had  when  alive.  Finally,  in  all  his  army  there  was 
not  so  much  as  one  free  citizen  taken  prisoner,  either  in  the  en- 
gagement or  in  flight ;  for  they  spared  their  own  lives  as  little 
as  those  of  the  enemy.  The  army  of  the  republic  obtained  the 
victory,  indeed,  but  it  was  neither  a  cheap  nor  a  joyful  one,  for 
their  bravest  men  were  either  slain  in  battle  or  dangerously 
wounded.     As  there  were  many,  too,  who  went  to  view  the 


THE  FIELD  OF   WATERLOO. 


5U'i 


Then  turn  thy  fearful  rein  and  ride, 

XVI. 

Though  twice  ten  thousand  men  have  died 

List — frequent  to  the  hurrying  rout, 

On  this  eventful  day, 

The  stern  pursuers'  vengeful  shout 

To  gild  the  military  fame 

Tells,  that  upon  their  broken  rear 

Which  thou,  for  life,  in  traffic  tame      40fc'<< 

Rages  the  Prussian's  bloody  spear. 

Wilt  barter  thus  away. 

So  fell  a  shriek  was  none, 

Shall  future  ages  tell  this  tale 

When  Beresina's  icy  flood 

Of  inconsistence  faint  and  frail  ? 

Redden'd  and  thaw'd  with  flame  and  bltiod,1 

And  art  thou  He  of  Lodi's  bridge, 

And,  pressing  on  thy  desperate  way, 

Marengo's  field,  and  Wagram's  ridge ! 

Raised  oft  and  long  their  wild  hurra, 

Or  is  thy  soul  like  mountain-tide, 

The  children  of  the  Don. 

That,  swell'd  by  winter   storm   and 

Thine  ear  no  yell  of  horror  cleft 

shower, 

So  ominous,  when,  all  bereft 

Rolls  down  in  turbulence  of  power, 

Of  aid,  the  valiant  Polack  left — 4 

A  torrent  fierce  and  wide ; 

Ay,  left  by  thee — found  soldier's  grave6 

Reft  of  these  aids,  a  rill  obscure, 

In  Leipsic's  corpse-encumber'd  wave. 

Shrinking  unnoticed,  mean  and  poor, 

Fate,  in  those  various  perils  past, 

Whose  channel  shows  display'd 

Reserved  thee  still  some  future  cast , 

The  wrecks  of  its  impetuous  course, 

On  the  dread  die  thou  now  hast  thrown, 

But  not  one  symptom  of  the  force 

Hangs  not  a  single  field  alone, 

By  which  these  wrecks  were  made  1 

Nor  one  campaign — thy  martial  fame. 

Thy  empire,  dynasty,  and  name, 

XV. 

Have  felt  the  final  stroke  ; 

Spur  on  thy  way  ! — since  now  thine  ear 

And  now,  o'er  thy  devoted  head, 

Has  brook'd  thy  veterans'  wish  to  hear, 

The  last  stern  vial's  wrath  is  shed, 

Who,  as  thy  flight  they  eyed, 

The  last  dread  seal  is  broke.8 

Exclaim'd, — while  tears  of  anguish  came, 

Wrung  forth  by  pride,  and  rage,  and 

XVII. 

shame, — 

Since  live  thou  wilt — refuse  not  now 

"  0,  that  he  had  but  died  I"1 

Before  these  demagogues  to  bow, 

But  yet,  to  sum  this  hour  of  ill, 

Late  objects  of  thy  scorn  and  hate, 

Look,  ere  thou  leavest  the  fatal  hill, 

Who  shall  thy  once  imperial  fate 

Back  on  yon  broken  ranks — 

Make  wordy  theme  of  vain  debate. — 

Upon  whose  wild  confusion  gleams 

Or  shall  we  say,  thou  stoop' st  less  low 

The  moon,  as  on  the  troubled  streams 

In  seeking  refuge  from  the  foe, 

When  rivers  break  their  banks, 

Against  whose  heart,  in  prosperous  life, 

And,  to  the  ruin'd  peasant's  eye, 

Thine  hand  hath  ever  held  the  knife  ? 

Objects  half  seen  roll  swiftly  by, 

Such  homage  hath  been  paid 

Down  the  red  current  hurl'd — 

By  Roman  and  by  Grecian  voice, 

So  mingle  banner,  wain,  and  gun, 

And  there  were  honor  in  the  choice, 

Where  the  tumultuous  flight  rolls  on 

If  it  were  freely  made. 

Of  warriors,  who,  when  morn  begun," 

Then  safely  come — in  one  so  low, — 

Defied  a  banded  world. 

So  lost, — we  cannot  own  a  foe ; 

field,  either  out  of  curiosity  or  a  desire  of  plunder,  in  turning  over 

'  MS. — "  Where  in  one  tide  of  terror  run, 

(he  dead  bodies,  some  found  a  friend,  some  a  relation,  and  some 

The  warriors  that,  when  morn  begun." 

*  gues'  ;  others  there  were  likewise  who  discovered  their  ene- 

3  MS. — "  So  ominous  a  shriek  was  none, 

nws  ;  %o  that,  through  the  whole  army,  there  appeared  a  mix- 

Not even  when  Beresina's  flood 

ture  of  gladness  and  sorrow,  joy  and  mourning." — Sallust. 

Was  thawed  by  streams  of  tepid  blood." 

i  The  MS.  adds, 

*  For  an  account  of  the  death  of  Poniatowski  at  Leipsic,  «e« 

"  That  pang  survived,  refuse  not  then 

Sir  Walter  Scott's  Life  of  Bonaparte,  vol.  vii.  p.  401. 

To  humble  thee  before  the  men, 

6  M8. — "  Not  such  were  heard,  when,  all  bereft 

Late  objects  of  thy  scorn  and  hate, 

Of  aid,  the  valiant  Polack  left — 

Who  shall  thy  once  imperial  fate 

Ay,  left  by  thee — found  gallant  grave." 

Make  wordy  theme  of  vain  debate, 

6  "  I  who  with  faith  unshaken  from  the  first, 

And  chaffer  for  thy  crown  ; 

Even  when  the  tyrant  seem'd  to  touch  the  skies, 

As  usurers  wont,  who  suck  the  all 

Had  look'd  to  see  the  high  blown  bubble  burst, 

Of  the  fool-hardy  prodigal, 

And  for  a  fall  conspicuous  as  his  rise, 

When  on  the  giddy  dice's  fall 

Even  in  that  faith  had  look'd  not  for  defeat 

His  latest  hope  has  flown. 

So  swift,  so  overwhelming,  so  complete." 

But  yet,  to  sum,"  &c. 

SOUTHEY. 

608                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Though  dear  experience  bid  us  end, 

And,  such  was  rightful  Heaven's  decree, 

In  thee  we  ne'er  can  hail  a  friend. — 

Ne'er  sheathed  unless  with  victory  1" 

Come,  howsoe'er — but  do  not  hide 

Close  in  thy  heart  that  germ  of  pride, 

XX. 

Erewliile,  by  gifted  bard  espied,1 

Look  forth,  once  more,  with  soften'd  heart, 

That  "yet  imperial  hope  ;"8 

Ere  from  the  field  of  fame  we  part  ;4 

Think  not  that  for  a  fresh  rebound, 

Triumph  and  Sorrow  border  near, 

To  raise  ambition  from  the  ground, 

And  joy  oft  melts  into  a  tear. 

We  yield  thee  means  or  scope. 

Alas !  what  links  of  love  that  morn 

In  safety  come — but  ne'er  again 

Has  War's  rude  hand  asunder  torn ! 

Hold  type  of  independent  reign ; 

For  ne'er  was  field  so  sternly  fought, 

No  islet  calls  thee  lord, 

And  ne'er  was  conquest  dearer  bought. 

We  leave  thee  no  confederate  band, 

Here  piled  in  common  slaughter  sleep 

No  symbol  of  thy  lost  command, 

Those  whom  affection  long  shall  weep : 

To  be  a  dagger  in  the  hand 

Here  rests  the  sire,  that  ne'er  shall  strain 

From  which  we  wrench'd  the  sword. 

His  orphans  to  his  heart  again ; 

The  son,  whom,  on  his  native  shore, 

XVIII. 

The  parent's  voice  shall  bless  no  more  ; 

Yet,  even  in  yon  sequester'd  spot, 

The  bridegroom,  who  has  hardly  press'd 

May  worthier  conquest  be  thy  lot 

His  blushing  consort  to  his  breast ; 

Than  yet  thy  life  has  known ; 

The  husband,  whom  through  many  a  year 

Conquest,  unbought  by  blood  or  harm, 

Long  love  and  mutual  faith  endear. 

That  needs  nor  foreign  aid  nor  arm, 

Thou  canst  not  name  one  tender  tie, 

A  triumph  all  thine  own. 

But  here  dissolved  its  relics  lie  ! 

Such  waits  thee  when  thou  shalt  control 

0 !  when  thou  see'st  some  mourner's  veil 

Those  passions  wild,  that  stubborn  soul, 

Shroud  her  thin  form  and  visage  pale, 

That  marr'd  thy  prosperous  scene : — 

Or  mark'st  the  Matron's  bursting  tears 

Hear  this — from  no  unmoved  heart, 

Stream  when  the  stricken  drum  she  hears; 

Which  sighs,  comparing  what  thou  art 

Or  see'st  how  manlier  grief,  suppress'd, 

With  what  thou  might'st  have  been  Is 

Is  laboring  in  a  father's  breast, — 

With  no  enquiry  vain  pursue 

XIX 

The  cause,  but  think  on  Waterloo ! 

Thou,  too,  whose  deeds  of  fame  renew'd 

Bankrupt  a  nation's  gratitude, 

XXI. 

To  thine  own  noble  heart  must  owe 

Period  of  honor  as  of  woes, 

More  than  the  meed  she  can  bestow. 

What  bright  careers  'twas  thine  to  close ! — 

For  not  a  people's  just  acclaim, 

Mark'd  on  thy  roll  of  blood  what  names 

Not  the  full  hail  of  Europe's  fame, 

To  Briton's  memory,  and  to  Fame's, 

Thy  Prince's  smiles,  thy  State's  decree, 

Laid  there  their  last  immortal  claims  1 

The  ducal  rank,  the  garter'd  knee, 

Thou  saw'st  in  seas  of  gore  expire 

Not  these  such  pure  delight  afford 

Redoubted  Picton's  soul  of  fire — 

As  that,  when  hanging  up  thy  sword, 

Saw'st  in  the  mingled  carnage  lie 

Well  may'st  thou  think,  "  This  honest  steel 

All  that  of  Ponsonby  could  die — 

Was  ever  drawn  for  public  weal ; 

De  Lancey  change  Love's  bridal-wreath, 

MS. "  but  do  not  hide 

And  now  thou  art  a  nameless  thing ; 

Once  more  that  secret  germ  of  pride, 

So  abject — yet  alive  ! 

Which  erst  yon  gifted  bard  espied." 

Is  this  the  man  of  thousand  thrones, 

"  The  Desolater  desolate  ! 

Who  strew'd  our  earth  with  hostile  bones, 

The  Victor  overtnrowu  . 

And  can  he  thus  survive  ? 

The  Arbiter  of  others'  fate 

Since  he,  miscall'd  the  Morning  Star, 

A  Suppliant  for  his  own  ! 

Nor  man  nor  fiend  hath  fallen  so  far." 

Is  it  some  yet  imperial  hope, 

Byron's  Ode  to  Napoleon 

That  with  such  change  can  calmly  cope  1 

*  "  We  left  the  field  of  battle  in  such  mood 

Or  dread  of  death  alone  ? 

As  human  hearts  from  thence  should  bear  away  , 

To  die  a  prince — or  live  a  slave — 

And,  musing  thus,  our  purposed  route  pursued, 

Thy  choice  is  most  ignobly  brave  f* 

Which  still  through  scenes  of  recent  bloodshed  laj 

Byron's  Ode  to  Napalmm. 

Where  Prussia  late,  with  strong  and  stern  delight, 

*  "  'Tis  done — but  yesterday  a  King  ! 

Hung  on  her  fated  foes  to  persecute  their  flight." 

And  arm'd  with  Kings  to  strive — 

Southey 

THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 


509 


For  laurels  from  the  hand  of  Death — 1 
Saw'st  gallant  Miller's2  failing  eye 
Still  bent  where  Albion's  banners  fly, 
And  Cameron,8  in  the  shock  of  steel, 
Die  like  the  offspring  of  Lochiel ; 
And  generous  Gordon,4  'mid  the  strife, 
Fall  while  he  watch' d  his  leader's  life. — 
Ah !  though  her  guardian  angel's  shield 
Fenced  Britain's  hero  through  the  field, 
Fate  not  the  less  her  power  made  known, 
Through  his  friends'  hearts  to  pierce  his  own ! 

XXII. 
Forgive,  brave  Dead,  the  imperfect  lay ! 
Who  may  your  names,  your  numbers,  say  ? 
What  high-strung  harp,  what  lofty  line, 
To  each  the  dear-earn'd  praise  assign, 
From  high-born  chiefs  of  martial  fame 
To  the  poor  soldier's  lowlier  name  ? 
Lightly  ye  rose  that  dawning  day, 
From  your  cold  couch  of  swamp  and  clay, 
To  fill,  before  the  sun  was  low, 
The  bed  that  morning  cannot  know. — 
Oft  may  the  tear  the  green  sod  steep, 
And  sacred  be*  the  heroes'  sleep, 

Till  time  shall  cease  to  run ; 
And  ne'er  beside  their  noble  grave, 
May  Briton  pass  and  fail  to  crave 
A  blessing  on  the  fallen  brave 

Who  fought  with  Wellington ! 

XXIII. 

Farewell,  sad  Field  !  whose  blighted  face 
Wears  desolation's  withering  trace ; 
Long  shall  my  memory  retain 
Thy  shatter'd  huts  and  trampled  grain, 
With  every  mark  of  martial  wrong, 
That  scathe  thy  towers,  fair  Hougomont  !B 
Yet  though  thy  garden's  green  arcade 


i  The  Poet's  friend,  Colonel  Sir  William  De  Lancey,  mar- 
ried the  beautiful  daughter  of  Sir  James  Hall,  Bart.,  in  April 
1815,  and  received  his  mortal  wound  on  the  18th  of  June. 
See  Captain  B.  Hall's  affecting  narrative  in  the  first  series  of 
his  "  Fragments  of  Voyages  and  Travels,"  vol.  ii.  p.  369. 

2  Colonel  Miller,  of  the  Guards — son  to  Sir  William  Miller, 
Lord  Glenlee.  When  mortally  wounded  in  the  attack  on  the 
Bois  de  Bossu,  he  dosired  to  see  the  colors  of  the  regiment 
once  more  ere  he  died  They  were  waved  over  his  head,  and 
the  expiring  officer  declared  himself  satisfied. 

3  "  Colonel  Cameron,  of  Fassiefern,  so  often  distinguished 
in  Lord  Wellington's  despatches  from  Spain,  fell  in  the  action 
at  Quatre  Bras  (16th  June,  1815),  while  leading  the  92d  or 
Gordon  Highlanders,  to  charge  a  body  of  cavalry,  supported  by 
infantry." — Paul's  Letters,  p.  91. 

*  Colonel  the  Honorable  Sir  Alexander  Gordon,  brother  to 
the  Earl  of  Aberdeen,  who  has  erected  a  pillar  on  the  spot 
where  he  fell  by  the  side  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 
o  "  Beyond  these  points  the  fight  extended  not, — 
Small  theatre  for  such  a  tragedy  ! 
*te  breath  scarce  more,  from  eastern  Popelot 


The  marksman's  fatal  post  was  made. 
Though  on  thy  shatter'd  beeches  fell 
The  blended  rage  of  shot  and  shell, 
Though  from  thy  blacken'd  portals  torn, 
Their  fall  thy  blighted  fruit-trees  mourn, 
Has  not  such  havoc  bought  a  name 
Immortal  in  the  rolls  of  fame  ? 
Yes — Agincourt  may  be  forgot, 
And  Cressy  be  an  unknown  spot, 

And  Blenheim's  name  be  new ; 
But  still  in  story  and  in  song, 
For  many  an  age  remember'd  long, 
Shall  live  the  towers  of  Hougomont, 

And  Field  of  Waterloo. 


CONCLUSION. 
Stern  tide  of  human  Time  !  that  know'st  not  rest,, 
But,  sweeping  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb, 
Bear'st  ever  downward  on  thy  dusky  breast 
Successive  generations  to  their  doom ; 
While  thy  capacious  stream  has  equal  room 
For  the  gay  bark  where  Pleasure's  streamers 

sport, 
And  for  the  prison-ship  of  guilt  and  gloom, 
The  fisher-skiff,  and  barge  that  bears  a  court, 
Still  wafting  onward  all  to  one  dark  silent  port  •,— 

Stern  tide  of  Time !  through  what  mysterious 
change  [driven  1 

Of  hope  and  fear  have  our   frail  barks  been 
For  ne'er  before,  vicissitude  so  strange 
Was  to  one  race  of  Adam's  offspring  given. 
And  sure  such  varied  change  of  sea  and  heaven, 
Such  unexpected  bursts  of  joy  and  woe, 
Such  fearful    strife  as   that   where   we   have 

striven, 
Succeeding  ages  ne'er  again  shall  know,    [flow ! 
Until  the  awful  term  when  Thou  shalt  cease  to 


To  where  the  groves  of  Hougomont  on  high 
Rear  in  the  west  their  venerable  head, 
And  cover  with  their  shade  the  countless  dead 

11  But  wouldst  thou  tread  this  celebrated  ground, 
And  trace  with  understanding  eyes  a  scene 
Above  all  other  fields  of  war  renown'd, 

From  western  Hougomont  thy  way  begin  ; 
There  was  our  strength  on  that  side,  and  there  first 
In  all  its  force,  the  storm  of  battle  burst." 

Sotjxhey. 

Mr.  Southey  adds,  in  a  note  on  these  verses  : — "  So  import 
ant  a  battle,  perhaps,  was  never  before  fought  vri-.nin  so  sma.l 
an  extent  of  ground.  I  computed  the  distance  between  Hou- 
gomont and  Popelot  at  three  miles  ;  in  a  straight  line  it  might 
probably  not  exceed  two  and  a  half.  Our  guide  was  very 
much  displeased  at  the  name  which  the  battle  had  obtained 
in  England,—'  Why  call  it  the  battle  of  Waterloo  V  he  said  j 
'  Call  it  Hougomont,  call  it  La  Haye  Sainte,  call  it  Popelot— 
any  thing  but  Waterloo.'  " — Pilgrimage  to  Waterloo. 


.10 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Well  hast  thou  stood,  my  Country  ! — the  brave 
fight  [ill ; 

Hast  well  maintain'd  through  good  report  and 
In  thy  just  cause  and  in  thy  native  might, 
And  in  Heaven's  grace  and  justice  constant  still ; 
Whether  the  banded  prowess^  strength,  and  skill 
Of  half  the  world  against  thee  stood  array'd, 
Or  when,  with  better  views  and  freer  will, 
Beside  thee  Europe's  noblest  drew  the  blade, 
Each  emulous  in  arms  the  Ocean  Queen  to  aid. 

Well  art  thou  now  repaid — though  slowly  rose, 
And  struggled  long  with  mists  thy  blaze  of 

fame, 
While  like  the  dawn  that  in  the  orient  glows 
On  the  broad  wave  its  earlier  lustre  came  j1 
Then  eastern  Egypt  saw  the  growing  flame, 
And  Maida's  myrtles  gleam'd  beneath  its  ray, 
Where  first  the   soldier,  stung  with  generous 

shame, 
Bivall'd  the  heroes  of  the  wat'ry  way,      [away. 
And   wash'd  in   foemen's   gore    unjust  reproach 

i  MS. — "  On  the  broad  ocean  first  its  lustre  came." 

2  In  the  Life  of  Sir  W.  Scott,  vol.  v.,  pp.  99-104,  the  reader 
will  find  a  curious  record  of  minute  alterations  on  this  poem, 
suggested,  while  it  was  proceeding  through  the  press,  by  the 
printer  and  the  bookseller,  with  the  author's  good-natured 
replies,  sometimes  adopting,  sometimes  rejecting  what  was 
proposed. 

3  "  '  The  Field  of  Waterloo'  was  published  before  the  end 
of  October,  in  8vo  ;  the  profits  of  the  first  edition  being  the 
author's  contribution  to  the  fund  raised  for  the  relief  of  the 
widows  and  children  of  the  soldiers  slain  in  the  battle.  This 
piece  appears  to  have  disappointed  those  most  disposed  to  sym- 
pathize with  the  author's  views  and  feelings.  The  descent 
is  indeed  heavy  from  his  Bannockburn  to  his  Waterloo :  the 
presence,  or  all  but  visible  reality  of  what  his  dreams  cher- 
ished, seems  to  have  overawed  his  imagination,  and  tamed  it 
into  a  weak  pomposity  of  movement.  The  burst  of  pure  na- 
tive enthusiasm  upon  the  Scottish  heroes  that  fell  around  the 
Duke  of  Wellington's  person,  bears,  however,  the  broadest 
.narks  of  '  The  Mighty  Minstrel :' — 

'  Saw  gallant  Miller's  fading  eye 

Still  bent  where  Albion's  standards  fly, 
And  Cameron,  in  the  shock  of  steel, 
Die  like  the  offspring  of  Lochiel,'  &c. — 

»nd  this  is  far  from  being  the  only  redeeming  passage.    There 


Now,  Island  Empress,  wave  thy  crest  on  high, 
And  bid  the  banner  of  thy  Patron  flow, 
Gallant  Saint  George,  the  flower  of  Chivalry. 
For  thou  hast  faced,  like  him,  a  dragon  foe, 
And  rescued  innocence  from  overthrow, 
And  trampled  down,  like  him,  tyrannic  *ni#ht, 
And  to  the  gazing  world  may'st  proudly  show 
The  chosen  emblem  of  thy  sainted  Knight, 
Who  quell'd  devouring  pride,  and  vindicated  right 

Yet  'mid  the  confidence  of  just  renown, 
Renown  dear-bought,  but  dearest  thus  acquired, 
Write,  Britain,  write  the  moral  lesson  down : 
Tis  not  alone  the  heart  with  valor  fired, 
The  discipline  so  dreaded  and  admired, 
In  many  a  field  of  bloody  conquest  known ; 
— Such  may  by  fame  be  lured,  by  gold  be  hired — 
'Tis  constancy  in  the  good  cause  alone, 
Best  justifies  the  meed  thy  valiant  sons  have  won. 


END   OF   THE   FIELD    OF   WATERLOO. 

is  one,  indeed,  in  which  he  illustrates  what  he  then  thought 
Buonaparte's  poorness  of  spirit  in  adversity,  which  always 
struck  me  as  pre-eminently  characteristic  of  Scott's  manner 
of  interweaving,  both  in  prose  and  verse,  the  moral  energies 
with  analogous  natural  description,  and  combining  thought 
with  imagery  : — 

1  Or  is  thy  soul  like  mountain  tide, 
That  swell'd  by  winter  storm  and  shower, 
Rolls  down  in  turbulence  of  power, 

A  torrent  fierce  and  wide  ; 
Reft  of  these  aids,  a  rill  obscure, 
Shrinking  unnoticed,  mean  and  poor, 

Whose  channel  shows  display'd 
The  wrecks  of  its  impetuous  course, 
But  not  one  symptom  of  the  force 

By  which  these  wrecks  were  made  !' 

"  The  poem  was  the  first  upon  a  subject  likely  to  be  suffi 
ciently  hackneyed  ;  and,  having  the  advantage  of  coming  out 
in  a  small  cheap  form — (prudently  imitated  from  Murray's  in- 
novation with  the  tales  of  Byron,  which  was  the  deathblow 
to  the  system  of  verse  in  quarto) — it  attained  rapidly  a  meas- 
ure of  circulation  above  what  had  been  reached  either  by 
Rokeby  or  the  Lord  of  the  Isles." — Lockhart — Life  uj 
Scott,  "vol.  v.  pp.  106-107 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  E1ELD  OF  WATERLOO. 


oil 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

Thf  peasant,  at  his  labor  blithe, 
Plus  the  hooWd  staff  and  shorten' d  scythe.—?.  503. 
Til  I  reaper  in  Flanders  carries  in  his  left  hand  a  stick  with 
an  iron  hook,  with  which  he  collects  as  much  grain  as  he  can 
out  at  one  sweep  with  a  short  scythe,  which  he  holds  in  his 
-ight  hand.  They  carry  on  this  double  process  with  great 
ipirit  and  dexterity. 


Note  B. 

Pale  Brussels !  then  what  thoughts  were  thine. — P.  504. 

It  was  affirmed  by  the  prisoners  of  war,  that  Bonaparte  had 
>romised  his  army,  in  case  of  victory,  twenty-four  hours'  plun- 
der of  the  city  of  Brussels. 


Note  0. 
"  On!  On  /"  was  still  his  stern  exclaim. — P.  505. 

The  characteristic  obstinacy  of  Napoleon  was  never  more 
fully  displayed  than  in  what  we  may  be  permitted  to  hope 
will  prove  the  last  of  his  fields.  He  would  listen  to  no  ad- 
vice, and  allow  of  no  obstacles.  An  eye-witness  has  given 
the  following  account  of  his  demeanor  towards  the  end  of  the 
action : — 

"  It  was  near  seven  o'clock  ;  Bonaparte,  who  till  then  had 
remained  upon  the  ridge  of  the  hill  whence  he  could  best 
behold  what  passed,  contemplated  with  a  stern  countenance, 
the  scene  of  this  horrible  slaughter.  The  more  that  obstacles 
•eemed  to  multiply,  the  more  his  obstinacy  seemed  to  in- 
crease. He  became  indignant  at  these  unforeseen  difficul- 
ties ;  and,  far  from  fearing  to  push  to  extremities  an  army 
whose  confidence  in  him  was  boundless,  he  ceased  not  to 
nour  down  fresh  troops,  and  to  give  orders  to  march  forward — 
to  charge  with  the  bayonet — to  carry  by  storm.  He  was 
repeatedly  informed,  from  different  points,  that  the  day  went 
against  him,  and  that  the  troops  seemed  to  be  disordered  ;  to 
which  he  only  replied, — '  En-avant !  En-avant  V 

"  One  general  sent  to  inform  the  Emperor  that  he  was  in  a 
position  which  he  could  not  maintain,  because  it  was  com- 
manded by  a  battery,  and  requested  to  know,  at  the  same 
time,  in  what  way  he  should  protect  his  division  from  the 
•nurderous  fire  of  the  English  artillery.  '  Let  him  storm  the 
•attery,'  replied  Bonaparte,  and  turned  his  back  on  the  aide- 
de-camp  who  brought  the  message." — Relation  de  la  Battaille 
de  Mont-St-Jean.  Par  un  Temoin  Oculaire.  Paris,  1815, 
Svo  p.  51. 


Note  D. 
The  fate  their  leader  shunned  to  share. — P.  505. 
It  has  been  reported  that  Bonaparte  charged  at  the  head  of 
his  guards,  at  the  last  period  of  this  dreadful  conflict.  This, 
however,  is  not  accurate.  He  came  down  indeed  to  a  hollow 
part  of  the  high  road,  leading  to  Charleroi,  within  less  than  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  farm  of  La  Haye  Sainte,  one  of  the 
points  most  fiercely  disputed.  Here  he  harangued  the  guards, 
and  informed  them  that  his  preceding  operations  had  destroyed 
the  British  infantry  and  cavalry,  and  that  they  had  only  to 
support  the  fire  of  the  artillery,  which  they  were  to  attack 
with  the  bayonet.  This  exhortation  was  received  with  shouts 
of  Vive     Empereur,  which  were  heard  over  all  our  line,  and 


kd  to  an  idea  that  Napoleon  was  charging  in  person.  But  tht 
guards  were  led  on  by  Ney  ;  nor  did  Bonaparte  approach 
nearer  the  scene  of  action  than  the  spot  already  mentioned, 
which  the  rising  banks  on  each  side  rendered  secure  from  all 
such  balls  as  did  not  come  in  a  straight  line.  He  witnessed 
the  earlier  part  of  the  battle  from  places  yet  more  remote,  par- 
ticularly i'rom  an  observatory  which  had  been  placed  there  by 
the  King  of  the  Netherlands,  some  weeks  before,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  surveying  the  country.1  It  is  not  meant  to  infer  from 
these  particulars  that  Napoleon  showed,  on  that  memorable 
occasion,  the  least  deficiency  in  personal  courage  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  evinced  the  greatest  composure  and  presence  of  mind 
during  the  whole  action.  But  it  is  no  less  true  that  report  has 
erred  in  ascribing  to  him  any  desperate  efforts  of  valor  for  re- 
covery of  the  battle  ;  and  it  is  remarkable,  that  during  the 
whole  carnage,  none  of  his  suite  were  either  killed  or  wounded, 
whereas  scarcely  one  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington's  personal 
attendants  escaped  unhurt. 


Note  E. 

England  shall  tell  the  fight!—?.  505. 
In  riding  up  to  a  regiment  which  was  hard  pressed,  the  Duke 
called  to  the  men,  "  Soldiers,  we  must  never  be  beat, — what 
will  they  say  in  England  ?"     It  is  needless  to  say  how  this  ap- 
peal was  answered. 


Note  F. 
Jls  plies  the  smith  his  clanging  trade. — P.  506. 
A  private  soldier  of  the  95th  regiment  compared  the  sonna 
which  took  place  immediately  upon  the  British  cavalry  min- 
gling with  those  of  the  enemy,  to  "a  thousand  tinkers  at 
work  mending  pots  and  kettles.,' 


Note  G-. 
The  British  shock  of  lev eWd  steel.— P.  506. 
No  persuasion  or  authority  could  prevail  upon  the  French 
troops  to  stand  the  shock  of  the  bayonet.  The  Imperial 
Guards,  in  particular,  hardly  stood  till  the  British  were  within 
thirty  yards  of  them,  although  the  French  author,  already 
quoted,  has  put  into  their  mouths  the  magnanimous  sentiment, 
"  The  Guards  never  yield — they  die."  The  same  author  has 
covered  the  plateau,  or  eminence,  of  St.  Jean,  which  formed 
the  British  position,  with  redoubts  and  retrenchments  which 
never  had  an  existence.  As  the  narrative,  which  is  in  many 
respects  curious,  was  written  by  an  eye-witness,  he  was  proba- 
bly deceived  by  the  appearance  of  a  road  and  ditch  whicn  run 
along  part  of  the  hill.  It  may  be  also  mentioned,  in  criticising 
this  work,  that  the  writer  mentions  the  Chateau  of  Hougo- 
mont  to  have  been  carried  by  the  French,  although  it  was  res- 
olutely and  successfully  defended  during  the  whole  action. 
The  enemy,  indeed,  possessed  themselves  of  the  wood  by 
which  it  is  surrounded,  and  at  length  set  fire  to  the  house  it- 
self ;  but  the  British  (a  detachment  of  the  Guards,  under  the 
command  of  Colonel  Macdonnell,  and  afterwards  of  Colonel 
Home)  made  good  the  garden,  and  thus  preserved,  by  their 
desperate  resistance,  the  post  which  covered  the  return  of  tha 
Duke  of  Wellington's  right  flank. 


1  The  mistakes  concerning  this  observatory  have  been  mutual.  The 
English  supposed  it  was  erected  for  the  use  of  Bouaparte  :  and  a  French 
writer  affirms  it  was  constructed  by  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 


512 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


i^aroU  t\)t  S)auutle00: 


A    POEM,1  IN  SIX  CANTOS, 


"  Upon  another  occasion,"  says  Sir  Walter,  "  I  sent  up  another  of  these  trifles,  which,  like  schoolboys 
kites,  served  to  show  how  the  wind  of  popular  taste  was  setting.  The  manner  was  supposed  to  be  that  of 
a  rude  minstrel,  or  Scald,  in  opposition  to  '  The  Bridal  of  Triermain'  which  was  designed  to  belong  rather 
to  the  Italian  school.  This  new  fugitive  piece  was  called  'Harold  the  Dauntless  ;'  and  I  am  still  aston 
ished  at  my  having  committed  the  gross  error  of  selecting  the  very  name  which  Lord  Byron  had  made  so 
famous.  It  encountered  rather  an  odd  fate.  My  ingenious  friend,  Mr.  James  Hogg,  had  published, 
about  the  same  time,  a  work  called  the  '  Poetic  Mirror,'  containing  imitations  of  the  principal  living 
poets.  There  was  in  it  a  very  good  imitation  of  my  own  style,  which  bore  such  a  resemblance  to  '  Harold 
the  Dauntless]  that  there  was  no  discovering  the  original  from  the  imitation;  and  I  believe  that  many 
who  took  the  trouble  of  thinking  upon  the  subject,  were  rather  of  opinion  that  my  ingenious  friend  was 
the  true,  and  not  the  fictitious  Simon  Purer — Introduction  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles.     1830.2 


§aroltr  tlje  JDcmntkss. 


INTRODUCTION". 

There  is  a  mood  of  mind,  we  all  have  known 
On  drowsy  eve,  or  dark  and  low'ring  day, 
When  the  tired  spirits  lose  their  sprightly  tone, 
And  naught  can  chase  the  lingering  hours  away. 
Dull  on  our  soul  falls  Fancy's  dazzling  ray, 
And  wisdom  holds  his  steadier  torch  in  vain, 
Obscured  the  painting  seems,  mistuned  the  lay, 
Nor  dare  we  of  our  listless  load  complain, 
For  who  for  sympathy  may  seek  that  cannot  tell 
of  pain  ? 


i  Published  by  Constable  and  Co.,  January,  1817,  in  12mo. 
7s.  6d. 

2  "Within  less  than  a  month,  the  Black  Dwarf  and  Old 
Mortality  were  followed  by  '  Harold  the  Dauntless,  by  the  au- 
thor of  the  Bridal  of  Triermain.'  This  poem  had  been,  it  ap- 
pears, begun  several  years  back  ;  nay,  part  of  it  h^d  been  ac- 
tually printed  before  the  appearance  of  Childe  Harold,  though 
that  circumstance  had  escaped  the  author's  remembrance  when 
be  penned,  in  1830,  his  Introduction  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles ; 
Aw  he  there  says,  '  I  am  still  astonished  at  my  having  commit- 
ted the  gross  error  of  selecting  the  very  name  which  Lord  By- 
ron had  made  so  famous.'  The  volume  was  published  by 
Messrs  Constable,  and  had,  in  those  booksellers'  phrase,  '  con- 


The  jolly  sportsman  knows  such,  drearihood, 
When  bursts  in  deluge  the  autumnal  rain, 
Clouding  that  morn  which  threats  the  heath- 
cock's  brood ; 
Of  such,  in  summer's  drought,  the  anglers  plain, 
Who  hope  the  soft  mild  southern  shower  in  vain ; 
But,  more  than  all,  the  discontented  fair, 
Whom  father  stern,  and  sterner  aunt,  restrain 
From  county -ball,  or  race  occurring  rare, 
While  all  her  friends  around  their  vestments  gay 
prepare. 

Ennui ! — or,  as  our  mothers  call'd  thee,  Spleen  ! 
To  thee  we  owe  full  many  a  rare  device  ; — 
Thine  is  the  sheaf  of  painted  cards,  I  ween, 
The  rolling  billiard-ball,  the  rattling  dice, 

siderable  success.'  It  has  never,  however,  been  placed  on  a 
level  with  Triermain  ;  and,  though  it  contains  many  vigorous 
pictures,  and  splendid  verses,  and  here  and  there  some  happy 
humor,  the  confusion  and  harsh  transitions  of  the  fable,  and 
the  dim  rudeness  of  character  and  manners,  seem  sufficient  to 
account  for  this  inferiority  in  public  favor.  It  is  not  surprising 
that  the  author  should  have  redoubled  his  aversion  to  the  notion 
of  any  more  serious  performances  in  verse.  He  had  seized  on 
an  instrument  of  wider  compass,  and  which,  handled  with 
whatever  rapidity,  seemed  to  reveal  at  every  touch  treasures 
that  had  hitherto  slept  unconsciously  within  him.  He  had 
thrown  off  his  fetters,  and  might  well  go  forth  rejoicing  in  the 
native  elasticity  of  his  strength." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i .  p.  181. 


CANTO  I. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


513 


The  turning-lathe  for  framing  gimcrack  nice ; 
The  amateur's  blotch'd  pallet  thou  mayst  claim, 
Retort   and    air-pump,  threatening  frogs  and 

mice 
(Murders  disguised  by  philosophic  name), 
And  much  of  trifling  grave  and  much  of  buxom 

game. 

Then  of  the  books,  to  catch  thy  drowsy  glance 
Compiled,  what  bard  the  catalogue  may  quote  I 
Plays,  poems,  novels,  never  read  but  once ; — 
But  not  of  such  the  tale  fair  Edgeworth  wrote, 
That  bears  thy  name,  and  is  thine  antidote ; 
And  not  of  such  the  strain  my  Thomson  sung, 
Delicious  dreams  inspiring  by  his  note, 
What  time  to  Indolence  his  harp  he  strung ; — 
0 1  might  my  lay  be  rank'd  that  happier  list 
among  I1 

Each  hath  his  refuge  whom  thy  cares  assail. 
For  me,  I  love  my  study-fire  to  trim, 
And  con  right  vacantly  some  idle  tale, 
Displaying  on  the  couch  each  listless  limb, 
Till  on  the  drowsy  page  the  lights  grow  dim, 
And   doubtful    slumber  half    supplies    the 

theme ; 
"While  antique  shapes  of  knight  and  giant  grim, 
Damsel  and  dwarf,  in  long  procession  gleam, 
nd  the   Romancer's  tale  becomes  the  Reader's 

dream. 

'Tis  thus  my  malady  I  well  may  bear, 
Albeit  outstretch' d,  like  Pope's  own  Paridel, 
Upon  the  rack  of  a  too-easy  chair ; 
And  find,  to  cheat  the  time,  a  powerful  spell 
In  old  romaunts  of  errantry  that  tell, 
Or  later  legends  of  the  Fairy -folk, 
Or  Oriental  tale  of  Afrite  fell, 
Of  Genii,  Talisman,  and  broad- wing'd  Roc, 
Though  taste  may  blush  and  frown,  and  sober  rea- 
son mock. 

Oft  at  such  season,  too,  will  rhymes  unsought 
Arrange  themselves  in  some  romantic  lay ; 
The  which,  as  things  unfitting  graver  thought, 
Are  burnt  or  blotted  on  some  wiser  day. — 
These  few  survive — and  proudly  let  me  say, 
Court   not   the   critic's   smile,  nor  dread    bis 

frown ; 
They  well  may  serve  to  while  an  hour  away, 
Nor  does  the  volume  ask  for  more  renown, 
Than  Ennui's  yawning  smile,  what  time  she  drops 

it  down. 


i  The  dry  humor,  and  sort  of  half  Spenserian  cast  of  these, 

w  well  as  all  the  other  introductory  stanzas  in  the  poem,  we 

think  excellent,  and  scarcely  outdone  by  any  thing  of  the  kind 

we  know  of ;  and  there  are  few  parts,  taken  separately,  that 

65 


fjarotfr  tt)e  Banntltss. 


CANTO    FIRST. 


I. 

List  to  the  valorous  deeds  that  were  done 

By  Harold  the  Dauntless,  Count  Witikind's  son  ! 

Count  Witikind  came  of  a  regal  strain,  [main 

And  roved  with  his  Norsemen  the  land  and  the 
Woe  to  the  realms  which  he  coasted !  for  there 
Was  shedding  of  blood,  and  rending  of  hair, 
Rape  of  maiden,  and  slaughter  of  priest, 
Gathering  of  ravens  and  wolves  to  the  feast : 
When  he  hoisted  his  standard  black, 
Before  him  was  battle,  behind  him  wrack, 
And  he  burn'd  the  churches,  that  heathen  Dane, 
To  light  his  band  to  their  barks  again. 

II. 

On  Erin's  shores  was  his  outrage  known, 

The  winds  of  France  had  his  banners  blown  • 

Little  was  there  to  plunder,  yet  still 

His  pirates  had  foray'd  on  Scottish  hill : 

But  upon  merry  England's  coast 

More  frequent  he  sail'd,  for  he  won  the  most. 

So  wide  and  so  far  his  ravage  they  knew, 

If  a  sail  but  gleam'd  white  'gainst  the  welkin  blue, 

Trumpet  and  bugle  to  arms  did  call, 

Burghers  hasten'd  to  man  the  wall, 

Peasants  fled  inland  his  fury  to  'scape, 

Beacons  were  lighted  on  headland  and  cape, 

Bells  were  toll'd  out,  and  aye  as  they  rung 

Fearful  and  faintly  the  gray  brothers  sung, 

"  Bless  us,  St.  Mary,  from  flood  and  from  fire, 

From  famine  and  pest,  and  Count  Witikind's  ire  1" 

III. 

He  liked  the  wealth  of  fair  England  so  well, 

That  he  sought  in  her  bosom  as  native  to  dwell. 

He  enter'd  the  Humber  in  fearful  hour, 

And  disembark'd  with  his  Danish  power. 

Three  Earls  came  against  him  with  all  their  tram  , 

Two  hath  he  taken,  and  one  hath  he  slain. 

Count  Witikind  left  the  Humber's  rich  strand, 

And  he  wasted  and  warr'd  in  Northumberland 

But  the  Saxon  King  was  a  sire  in  age, 

Weak  in  battle,  in  council  sage  ; 

Peace  of  that  heathen  leader  he  sought, 

Gifts  he  gave,  and  quiet  he  bought ; 

And  the  Count  took  upon  him  the  peaceable  style 

Of  a  vassal  and  liegeman  of  Britain's  broad  isle. 


have  not  something  attractive  to  the  lover  of  natural  poetry 
while  any  one  page  will  show  how  extremely  like  it  is  to  tht 
manner  of  Scott." — Blackwood's  Magazine   1817 


514 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CAMTO  I. 


IV. 

Time  will  rust  the  sharpest  sword, 

Time  will  consume  the  strongest  cord ; 

That  which  moulders  hemp  and  steel, 

Mortal  arm  and  nerve  must  feel. 

Of  the  Danish  band,  whom  Count  WitikLid  led, 

Many  wax'd  aged,  and  many  were  dead  : 

Himself  found  his  armor  full  weighty  to  bear, 

Wrinkled  his  brows  grew,  and  hoary  his  hair  ; 

Be  lean'd  on  a  staff,  when  his  step  went  abroad, 

And  patient  his  palfrey,  when  steed  he  bestrode. 

As  he  grew  feebler,  his  wildness  ceased, 

He  made  himself  peace  with  prelate  and  priest, — 

Made  his  peace,  and,  stooping  his  head, 

Patiently  listed  the  counsel  they  said : 

Saint  Cuthbert's  Bishop  was  holy  and  grave, 

Wise  and  good  was  the  counsel  he  gave. 

V. 
"  Thou  hast  murder'd,  robb'd,  and  spoil' d, 
Time  it  is  thy  poor  soul  were  assoil'd ; 
Priests  didst  thou  slay,  and  churches  burn, 
Time  it  is  now  to  repentance  to  turn  ; 
Fiends  hast  thou  worshipp'd,  with  fiendish  rite, 
Leave  now  the  darkness,  and  wend  into  light : 
O !  while  life  and  space  are  given, 
Turn  thee  yet,  and  think  of  Heaven !" 
That  stern  old  heathen  Ins  head  he  raised, 
And  on  the  good  prelate  he  steadfastly  gazed ; 
"  Give  me  broad  lands  on  the  Wear  and  the  Tyne, 
My  laith  I  will  leave,  and  I'll  cleave  unto  thine." 

VI. 
Broad  lands  he  gave  him  on  Tyne  and  Wear, 
To  be  held  of  the  church  by  bridle  and  spear ; 
Part  of  Monkwearmouth,  of  Tynedale  part, 
To  better  Ins  will,  and  to  soften  his  heart : 
Count  Witikind  was  a  joyful  man, 
Less  for  the  faith  than  the  lands  that  he  wan. 
The  high  church  of  Durham  is  dress'd  for  the  day, 
The  clergy  are  rank'd  in  their  solemn  array : 
There  came  the  Count,  in  a  bear-skin  warm, 
Leaning  on  Hilda  his  concubine's  arm. 
He  kneel'd  before  Saint  Cuthbert's  shrine, 
With  patience  unwonted  at  rites  divine  ; 
He  abjured  the  gods  of  heathen  race, 
And  he  bent  his  head  at  the  font  of  grace. 
But  such  was  the  grisly  old  proselyte's  look, 
That  the  priest  who  baptized  him  grew  pale  and 

shook ; 
And  the  old  monks  mutter'd  beneath  their  hood, 
"  Of  a  stem  so  stubborn  can  never  spring  good !" 

VII. 
Up  then  arose  that  grim  convertite, 
Homeward  he  hied  him  when  ended  the  rite 
The  Prelate  in  honor  will  with  him  ride, 
And  feast  in  his  castle  on  Tyne's  fair  side. 


Banners  and  banderols  danced  in  the  wind, 
Monks  rode  before  them,  and  spearmen  behind  ; 
Cnward  they  pass'd,  till  fairly  did  shine 
Pennon  and  cross  on  the  bosom  of  Tyne  ; 
And  full  in  front  did  that  fortress  lower, 
In  darksome  strength  with  its  buttress  and  tower : 
At  the  castle  gate  was  young  Harold  there, 
Count  Witikind's  only  offspring  and  heir. 

VIII. 

Young  Harold  was  fear'd  for  his  hardihood, 

His  strength  of  frame,  and  his  fury  of  mood. 

Rude  he  was  and  wild  to  behold, 

Wore  neither  collar  nor  bracelet  of  gold, 

Cap  of  vair  nor  rich  array, 

Such  as  should  grace  that  festal  day : 

His  doublet  of  bull's  hide  was  all  unbraced, 

Uncover'd  his  head,  and  his  sandal  unlaced  : 

His  shaggy  black  locks  on  his  brow  hung  low, 

And  his  eyes  glanced  through  them  a  swarthy  glow ; 

A  Danish  club  in  his  hand  he  bore, 

The  spikes  were  clotted  with  recent  gore  ; 

At  his  back  a  she-wolf,  and  her  wolf-cubs  twain, 

In  the  dangerous  chase  that  morning  slain. 

Rude  was  the  greeting  his  father  he  made, 

None  to  the  Bishop, — while  thus  he  said : — 

IX. 

"  What  priest-led  hypocrite  art  thou, 
With  thy  humbled  look  and  thy  monkish  brow, 
Like  a  shaveling  who  studies  to  cheat  his  vow  ? 
Canst  thou  be  Witikind  the  Waster  known, 
Royal  Eric's  fearless  son, 
Haughty  Gunhilda's  haughtier  lord, 
Who  won  his  bride  by  the  axe  and  sword  , 
From  the  shrine  of  St.  Peter  the  chalice  who  tore, 
And  melted  to  bracelets  for  Freya  and  Thor ; 
With  one  blow  of  his  gauntlet  who  burst  the  skull, 
Before  Odin's  stone,  of  the  Mountain  Bull  ? 
Then  ye  worshipp'd  with  rites  that  to  war-gods 
belong,  [strong ; 

With  the  deed  of  the  brave,  and  the  blow  of  the 
And  now,  in  thine  age  to  dotage  sunk, 
Wilt  thou  patter  thy  crimes  to  a  shaven  monk,- 
Lay  down  thy  mail-shirt  for  clothing  of  hair, — 
Fasting  and  scourge,  like  a  slave,  wilt  thou  bear  ? 
Or,  at  best,  be  admitted  in  slothful  bower 
To  batten  with  priest  and  with  paramour  ? 
Oh !  out  upon  thine  endless  shame  ! 
Each  Scald's  high  harp  shall  blast  thy  fame, 
And  thy  son  will  refuse  thee  a  father's  name !' 

X. 

Irefdl  wax'd  old  Witikind's  look, 
His  faltering  voice  with  fury  shook : — 
"  Hear  me,  Harold  of  harden'd  heart ! 
Stubborn  and  wilful  ever  thou  wert. 
Thine  outrage  insane  I  command  thee  to 


CANTO  I. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


old 


Fear  my  wrath  and  remain  at  peace : — 
Just  is  the  debt  of  repentance  I've  paid, 
Richly  the  church  has  a  recompense  made, 
And  the  truth  of  her  doctrines  I  prove  with  my 

blade, 
But  reckoning  to  none  of  my  actions  I  owe, 
And  least  to  my  son  such  accounting  will  show. 
Why  speak  I  to  thee  of  repentance  or  truth, 
Who  ne'er  from  thy  childhood  knew  reason  or  ruth  ? 
Hence  !  to  the  wolf  and  the  bear  in  her  den ; 
These  are  thy  mates,  and  not  rational  men." 

XL 

Grimly  smiled  Harold,  and  coldly  replied, 

"  We  must  honor  our  sires,  if  we  fear  when  they 

chide. 
For  me,  I  am  yet  what  thy  lessons  have  made, 
I  was  rock'd  in  a  buckler  and  fed  from  a  blade ; 
An  infant,  was  taught  to  clasp  hands  ai)d  to  shout 
From  the  roofs  of  the  tower  when  the  flame  had 

broke  out ; 
In  the  blood  of  slain  foemen  my  finger  to  dip, 
And  tinge  with  its  purple  my  cheek  and  my  lip. — 
'Tis  thou  know'st  not  truth,  that  hast  barter'd  in  eld, 
For  a  price,  the  brave  faith  that  thine  ancestors 

held.  [plain, — 

When  this  wolf," — and  the  carcass  he  flung  on  the 
"  Shall  awake  and  give  food  to  her  nurslings  again, 
The  face  of  his  father  will  Harold  review  ; 
Till  then,  aged  Heathen,  young  Christian,  adieu !" 

XII. 
Priest,  monk,  and  prelate,  stood  aghast, 
As  through  the  pageant  the  heathen  pass'd. 
A  cross-bearer  out  of  his  saddle  he  flung, 
Laid  his  hand  on  the  pommel,  and  into  it  sprung. 
Loud  was  the  shriek,  and  deep  the  groan, 
When  the  holy  sign  on  the  earth  was  thrown ! 
The  fierce  old  Count  unsheathed  his  brand, 
But  the  calmer  Prelate  stay'd  his  hand. 
"  Let  him  pass  free ! — Heaven  knows  its  hour, — 
But  he  must  own  repentance's  power, 
Pray  and  weep,  and  penance  bear, 
Ere  he  hold  land  by  the  Tyne  and  the  Wear." 
Thus  in  scorn  and  in  wrath  from  his  father  is  gone 
Young  Harold  the  Dauntless,  Count  Witikind's  son. 

XIII. 

High  was  the  feasting  in  Witikind's  hall, 
Revell'd  priests,  soldiers,  and  pagans,  and  all ; 
And  e'en  the  good  Bishop  was  fain  to  endure 
The  scandal,which  time  and  instruction  might  cure : 
It  were  dangerous,  he  deem'd,  at  the  first  to  re- 
strain, 
m  his  wine  and  his  wassail,  a  half-christen'd  Dane. 
The  mead  flow'd  around,  and  the  ale  was  drain'd 

dry, 
Wild  was  the  laughter,  the  song,  and  the  cry ; 


With  Kyrie  Eleison,  came  clamorously  in 
The  war-songs  of  Danesmen,  Norweyan,  and  Finn, 
Till  man  after  man  the*  contention  gave  o'er,   v 
Outstretch'd  on  the  rushes  that  strew'd  the  hah 
floor ;  [rout, 

And  the  tempest  within,  having  ceased  its  wild 
Gave  place  to  the  tempest  that  thunder'd  without. 

XIV. 

Apart  from  the  wassail,  in  turret  alone, 

Lay  flaxen-hair'd  Gunnar,  old  Ermengarde's  son  ; 

In  the  train  of  Lord  Harold  that  Page  was  the 

first, 
For  Harold  in  childhood  had  Ermengarde  nursed ; 
And  grieved  was  young  Gunnar  his  master  should 

roam, 
Unhoused  and  unfriended,  an  exile  from  home. 
He  heard  the  deep  thunder,  the  plashing  of  rain, 
He  saw  the  red  lightning  through  shot-hole  and 

pane ; 
"  And  oh !"  said  the  Page,  "  on  the  shelterless  wold 
Lord  Harold  is  wandering  in  darkness  and  cold ! 
What  though  he  was  stubborn,  and  wayward,  and 

wild,  [child, — 

He    endured   me   because    I   was   Ermengarde's 
And  often  from  dawn  till  the  set  of  the  sun, 
\n  the  chase,  by  his  stirrup,  unbidden  I  run ; 
I  would  I  were  older,  and  knighthood  could  bear, 
I  would  soon  quit  the  banks  of  the  Tyne  and  the 

Wear :  [breath, 

For  my  mother's  command,  with  her  last  parting 
Bade  me  follow  her  nursling  in  life  and  to  death. 

XV. 

"  It  pours  and  it  thunders,  it  lightens  amain, 
As  if  Lok,  the  Destroyer,  had  burst  from  his  chain ! 
Accursed  by  the  Church,  and  expell'd  by  his  sire, 
Nor  Christian  nor  Dane  give  him  shelter  or  fire, 
And  this  tempest  what  mortal  may  houseless  en- 
dure ? 
Unaided,  unmantled,  he  dies  on  the  moor ! 
Whate'er  comes  of  Gunnar,  he  tarries  not  here." 
He  leapt  from  his ,  couch  and  he  grasp'd  to  hia 
spear ;  [tread, 

Sought  the  hall  of  the  feast.     Undisturb'd  by  his 
The  wassailers  slept  fast  as  the  sleep  of  the  dead : 
"  Ungrateful  and  bestial !"  his  anger  broke  forth, 
"To  forget  'mid  your  goblets  the  pride   of  the 
North !  [store, 

And  you,  ye  cowl'd  priests,  who  have  plenty  in 
Must  give  Gunnar  for  ransom  a  palfrey  and  ore." 

XVI. 

Then,  heeding  full  little  of  ban  or  of  curse, 
He  has  seized  on  the  Prior  of  Jorvaux's  purse : 
Saint  Meneholt's  Abbot  next  morning  has  miss'd 
His  mantle,  deep  furr'd  from  the  cape  to  the  wrist 
The  Seneschal's  keys  from  his  belt  he  has  ta'en 


516 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


CANTO  I 


("Well  drench'd  on  that  eve  was  old  Hildebrand's 

brain). 
To  the  stable-yard  he  made  his  "way, 
And  mounted  the  Bishop's  palfrey  gay, 
Castle  and  hamlet  behind  him  has  cast, 
And  right  on  his  way  to  the  moorland  has  pass'd. 
Sore  snorted  the  palfrey,  unused  to  face 
A  weather  so  wild  at  so  rash  a  pace ; 
So  long  he  snorted,  so  loud  he  neigh'd, 
There  answer'd  a  steed  that  was  bound  beside, 
And  the  red  flash  of  lightning  show'd  there  where 

lay 
His  master,  Lord  Harold,  outstretch'd  on  the  clay. 

XVII. 

Up  he  started,  and  thunder'd  out,  "  Stand !" 
And  raised  the  club  in  his  deadly  hand. 
The  flaxen-hair'd  Gunnar  lus  purpose  told, 
Show'd  the  palfrey  and  proffer'd  the  gold. 
"  Back,  back,  and  home,  thou  simple  boy ! 
Thou  canst  not  share  my  grief  or  joy : 
Have  I  not  mark'd  thee  wail  and  cry 
When  thou  hast  seen  a  sparrow  die  ? 
And  canst  thou,  as  my  follower  should, 
Wade  ankle-deep  tlirough  foeman's  blood, 
Dare  mortal  and  immortal  foe, 
The  gods  above,  the  fiends  below, 
And  man  on  earth,  more  hateful  still, 
The  very  fountain-head  of  ill  ? 
Desperate  of  life,  and  careless  of  death, 
Lover  of  bloodshed,  and  slaughter,  and  scathe, 
Such  must  thou  be  with  me  to  roam, 
And  such  thou  canst  not  be — back,  and  home !" 

XVIII. 
Young  Gunnar  shook  like  an  aspen  bough,    [brow, 
As  he  heard  the  harsh  voice  and  beheld  the  dark 
And  half  he  repented  his  purpose  and  vow. 
But  now  to  draw  back  were  bootless  shame, 
And  he  loved  his  master,  so  urged  his  claim : 
"  Alas !  if  my  arm  and  my  courage  be  weak, 
Bear  with  me  a  wlule  for  old  Ermengarde's  sake ; 
Nor  deem  so  lightly  of  Gunnar's  faith, 
As  to  fear  he  would  break  it  for  peril  of  death. 
Have  I  not  risk'd  it  to  fetch  thee  this  gold, 
This  surcoat  and  mantle  to  fence  thee  from  cold  ? 
And,  did  I  bear  a  baser  mind, 
What  lot  remains  if  I  stay  behind  ? 
The  priests'  revenge,  thy  father's  wrath, 
A  dungeon,  and  a  shameful  death." 

XIX. 

With  gentler  look  Lord  Harold  eyed 
The  Page,  then  turn'd  his  head  aside  ; 


7  "It  may  be  worthy  of  notice,  that  in  Harold  the  Daunt- 
fcss  there  is  a  wise  and  good  Eustace,  as  in  the  Monastery,  and 
a  Prior  of  Jorvaux,   who  is  robbed  (ante,  stanza  xvi.)  as  in 


And  either  a  tear  did  his  eyelash  stain, 

Or  it  caught  a  drop  of  the  passing  rain. 

"  Art  thou  an  outcast,  then  ?"  quoth  he ; 

"  The  meeter  page  to  follow  me." 

'Twere  bootless  to  tell  what  climes  they  sought, 

Ventures  aclrieved,  and  battles  fought ; 

How  oft  with  few,  how  oft  alone, 

Fierce  Harold's  arm  the  field  hath  won. 

Men  swore  his  eye,  that  flash'd  so  red 

When  each  other  glance  was  quench'd  with  dread, 

Bore  oft  a  light  of  deadly  flame, 

That  ne'er  from  mortal  courage  came. 

These  limbs  so  strong,  that  mood  so  stern, 

That  loved  the  couch  of  heath  and  fern, 

Afar  from  hamlet,  tower,  and  town, 

More  than  to  rest  on  driven  down ; 

That  stubborn  frame,  that  sullen  mood, 

Men  deem'd  must  come  of  aught  but  good , 

And  they  whisper'd,  the  great  Master  Fiend  was 

at  one 
With  Harold  the  Dauntless,  Count  Witikind's  son 

XX. 

Years  after  years  had  gone  and  fled, 

The  good  old  Prelate  lies  lapp'd  in  lead ; 

In  the  chapel  still  is  shown 

His  sculptured  form  on  a  marble  stone, 

With  staff  and  ring  and  scapulaire, 

And  folded  hands  in  the  act  of  prayer. 

Saint  Cuthbert's  mitre  is  resting  now 

On  the  haughty  Saxon,  bold  Aldingar's  brow ; 

The  power  of  his  crozier  he  loved  to  extend 

O'er  whatever  would  break,  or  whatever  woinV 

bend ; 
And  now  hath  he  clothed  him  in  cope  and  in  pall, 
And  the  Chapter  of  Durham  has  met  at  his  calL 
"  And  hear  ye  not,  brethren,"  the  proud  Bishoj 

said,  [dead  1 

"That  our  vassal,  the  Danish  Count  Witikind's 
All  his  gold  and  his  goods  hath  he  given 
To  holy  Church  for  the  love  of  Heaven, 
And  hath  founded  a  chantry  with  stipend  and 

dole,  [soul 

That  priests  and  that  beadsmen  may  pray  for  hif 
Harold  his  son  is  wandering  abroad, 
Dreaded  by  man  and  abhorr'd  by  God ; 
Meet  it  is  not,  that  such  should  heir  [Wear 

The  lands  of  the  church   on   the  Tyne   and  tht 
And  at  her  pleasure,  her  hallow'd  hands 
May  now  resume  these  wealthy  lands." 

XXI. 

Answer'd  good  Eustace,1  a  canon  old, — 
"  Harold  is  tameless,  and  furious,  and  bold  ; 


Ivanhoe." — Adolphus'  Letters  on  the  Author  of  JVaverley 
1822,  p.  281. 


canto  ii.                                 HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS.                                      517 

Ever  Renown  blows  a  note  of  fame, 

In  vapory  folds,  o'er  the  landscape  strays, 

And  a  note  of  fear,  when  she  sounds  his  nanle : 

And  half  involves  the  woodland  maze, 

Much  of  bloodshed  and  much  of  scathe 

Like  an  early  widow's  veiL 

Have  been  their  lot  who  have  waked  his  wrath. 

Where  wimpling  tissue  from  the  gaze 

Leave  him  these  lands  and  lordships  still, 

The  form  half  hides,  and  half  betrays, 

Heaven  in  its  hour  may  change  his  will ; 

Of  beauty  wan  and  pale. 

But  if  reft  of  gold,  and  of  living  bare, 

An  evil  counsellor  is  despair." 

III. 

More  had  he  said,  but  the  Prelate  frown'd, 

Fair  Metelill  was  a  woodland  maid, 

And  murmur'd  his  brethren  who  sate  around, 

Her  father  a  rover  of  greenwood  shade, 

And  with  one  consent  have  they  given  their  doom, 

By  forest  statutes  undismay'd, 

That  the  Church  should  the  lands  of  Saint  Cuth- 

Who  lived  by  bow  and  quiver ; 

bert  resume. 

Well  known  was  Wulfstane's  archery, 

So  will'd  the  Prelate ;  and  canon  and  dean 

By  merry  Tyne  both  on  moor  and  lea, 

Gave  to  his  judgment  their  loud  amen. 

Through  wooded  Weardale's  glens  so  free, 

Well  beside  Stanhope's  wildwood  tree, 

And  well  on  Ganlesse  river. 

Yet  free  though  he  trespass'd  on  woodland 

game, 

More  known  and  more  fear'd  was  the  wizard 

$aroUrtl)e  JBatmtto. 

fame 
Of  Jutta  of  Rookhope,  the  Outlaw's  dame ; 

Fear'd  when  she  frown'd  was  her  eye  of  flanu.. 
More  fear'd  when  in  wrath  she  laugh'd ; 

CANTO    SECOND. 

For  then,  'twas  said,  more  fatal  true 
To  its  dread  aim  her  spell-glance  flew, 

I. 

Than  when  from  Wulfstane's  bended  yew 

Tis  merry  in  greenwood, — thus  runs  the  old  lay, — 

Sprung  forth  the  gray -goose  shaft. 

In  the  gladsome  month  of  lively  May, 

"When  the  wild  birds'  song  on  stem  and  spray 

IV. 

Invites  to  forest  bower ; 

Yet  had  this  fierce  and  dreaded  pah 

Then  rears  the  ash  his  airy  crest, 

So  Heaven  decreed,  a  daughter  fair ; 

Then  shines  the  birch  in  silver  vest, 

None  brighter  crown'd  the  bed, 

And  the  beech  in  glistening  leaves  is  drest, 

In  Britain's  bounds,  of  peer  or  prince, 

And  dark  between  shows  the  oak's  proud  breast, 

Nor  hath,  perchance,  a  lovelier  since 

Like  a  chieftain's  frowning  tower ; 

In  this  fair  isle  been  bred. 

Though  a  thousand  branches  join  their  screen, 

And  naught  of  fraud,  or  ire,  or  ill, 

Yet  the  broken  sunbeams  glance  between, 

Was  known  to  gentle  Metelill, — 

And  tip  the  leaves  with  lighter  green, 

A  simple  maiden  she  ; 

With  brighter  tints  the  flower : 

The  spells  in  dimpled  smile  that  lie, 

Dull  is  the  heart  that  loves  not  then 

And  a  downcast  blush,  and  the  darts  that  flj 

The  deep  recess  of  the  wildwood  glen, 

With  the  sidelong  glance  of  a  hazel  eye, 

Where  roe  and  red-deer  find  sheltering  den, 

Were  her  arms  and  witchery. 

When  the  sun  is  in  his  power. 

So  young,  so  simple  was  she  yet, 

She  scarce  could  childhood's  joys  forget 

II. 

And  still  she  loved,  in  secret  set 

Less  merry,  perchance,  is  the  fading  leaf 

Beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 

That  follows  so  soon  on  the  gather'd  sheaf, 

To  plait  the  rushy  coronet, 

When  the  greenwood  loses  the  name  ; 

And  braid  with  flowers  her  locks  of  jet, 

Silent  is  then  the  forest  bound, 

As  when  in  infancy ; — 

Save  the  redbreast's  note,  and  the  rustling  sound 

Yet  could  that  heart,  so  simple,  prove 

Of  frost-nipt  leaves  that  are  dropping  round, 

The  early  dawn  of  stealing  love : 

Or  the  deep-mouth'd  cry  of  the  distant  hound 

Ah !  gentle  maid,  beware ! 

That  opens  on  his  game  : 

The  power  who,  now  so  mild  a  guest, 

Yet  then,  too,  I  love  the  forest  wide, 

Gives  dangerous  yet  delicious  zest 

Whether  the  sun  in  splendor  ride, 

To  the  calm  pleasures  of  thy  breast, 

A.nd  gild  its  many-color'd  side  ; 

Will  soon,  a  tyrant  o'er  the  rest, 

Or  whether  the  soft  and  silvery  haze, 

Let  none  his  empire  share. 

518                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                             canto  n. 

y. 

VIII. 

One  morn,  in  kirtle  green  array'd, 

Secured  within  his  powerful  hold, 

Deep  in  the  wood  the  maiden  stray'd, 

To  bend  her  knee,  her  hands  to  fold, 

And,  where  a  fountain  sprung, 

Was  all  the  maiden  might ; 

She  sate  her  down,  unseen,  to  thread 

And  "  Oh !  forgive,"  she  faintly  said, 

The  scarlet  berry's  mimic  braid, 

"  The  terrors  of  a  simple  maid, 

And  while  the  beads  she  strung, 

If  thou  art  mortal  wight ! 

Like  the  blithe  lark,  whose  carol  gay 

But  if — of  such  strange  tales  are  told — 

Gives  a  good-morrow  to  the  day, 

Unearthly  warrior  of  the  wold, 

So  lightsomely  she  sung. 

Thou  comest  to  chide  mine  accents  bold, 

My  mother,  Jutta,  knows  the  spell, 

VI. 

At  noon  and  midnight  pleasing  well 

The  disembodied  ear ; 

.Sonjj^ 

Oh !  let  her  powerful  charms  atone 

u  Lord  "William  was  born  in  gilded  bower, 

For  aught  my  rashness  may  have  done, 

The  heir  of  Wilton's  lofty  tower ; 

And  cease  thy  grasp  of  fear." 

Yet  better  loves  Lord  William  now 

Then  laugh'd  the  Knight — his  laughter's  sound 

To  roam  beneath  wild  Rookhope's  brow ; 

Half  in  the  hollow  helmet  drown'd ; 

And  William  has  lived  where  ladies 

His  barred  visor  then  he  raised, 

fair 

And  steady  on  the  maiden  gazed. 

With  gawds  and  jewels  deck  their  hair, 

He  smooth'd  his  brows,  as  best  he  might, 

Yet  better  loves  the  dew-drops  still 

To  the  dread  calm  of  autumn  night, 

That  pearl  the  locks  of  Metelill. 

When  sinks  the  tempest  roar ; 

Yet  still  the  cautious  fishers  eye 

u  The  pious  Palmer  loves,  I  wis, 

The  clouds,  and  fear  the  gloomy  sky, 

Saint  Cuthbert's  hallow'd  beads  to  kiss ; 

And  haul  their  barks  on  shore. 

But  I,  though  simple  girl  I  be, 

Might  have  such  homage  paid  to  me  ; 

IX. 

For  did  Lord  William  see  me  suit 

"  Damsel,"  he  said,  "  be  wise,  and  learn 

Tins  necklace  of  the  bramble's  fruit, 

Matters  of  weight  and  deep  concern : 

He  fain — but  must  not  have  his  will — 

From  distant  realms  I  come, 

Would  kiss  the  beads  of  Metelill. 

And,  wanderer  long,  at  length  have  plann'd 

In  this  my  native  Northern  land 

"  My  nurse  has  told  me  many  a  tale, 

To  seek  myself  a  home. 

How  vows  of  love  are  weak  and  frail ; 

Nor  that  alone — a  mate  I  seek ; 

My  mother  says  that  courtly  youth 

She  must  be  gentle,  soft,  and  meek, — 

By  rustic  maid  means  seldom  sooth. 

No  lordly  dame  for  me  ; 

What  should  they  mean  ?  it  cannot  be, 

Myself  am  something  rough  of  mood, 

That  such  a  warning's  meant  for  me, 

And  feel  the  fire  of  royal  blood, 

For  naught — oh !  naught  of  fraud  or  ill 

And  therefore  do  not  hold  it  good 

Can  William  mean  to  Metelill !" 

To  match  in  my  degree. 

Then,  since  coy  maidens  say  my  face 

VII. 

Is  harsh,  my  form  devoid  of  grace, 

Sudden  she  stops — and  starts  to  feel 

For  a  fair  lineage  to  provide, 

A  weighty  hand,  a  glove  of  steel, 

'Tis  meet  that  my  selected  bride 

Upon  her  shrinking  shoulders  laid ; 

In  lineaments  be  fair ; 

Fearful  she  turn'd,  and  saw,  dismay'd, 

I  love  thine  well — till  now  I  ne'er 

A  Knight  in  plate  and  mail  array'd, 

Look'd  patient  on  a  face  of  fear, 

His  crest  and  bearing  worn  and  fray'd, 

But  now  that  tremulous  sob  and  tear 

His  surcoat  soil'd  and  riven, 

Become  thy  beauty  rare. 

Form'd  like  that  giant  race  of  yore, 

One  kiss — nay,  damsel,  coy  it  not ! — 

Whose  long-continued  crimes  outwore 

And  now  go  seek  thy  parents'  cot, 

The  sufferance  of  Heaven. 

And  say,  a  bridegroom  soon  I  come, 

Stern  accents  made  his  pleasure  known, 

To  woo  my  love,  and  bear  her  home." 

Though  then  he  used  his  gentlest  tone : 

u  Maiden,"   he   said,    "  sing    forth   thy 

X. 

glee. 

Home  sprung  the  maid  without  a  pause, 

Start  not — sing  on — it  pleases  me." 

As  leveret  'scaped  from  greyhound's  jaws ; 

canto  ii.                               HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS.                                        519 

But  still  she  lock'd,  howe'er  distress' d, 

XIII. 

The  secret  iu  her  boding  breast ; 

Appall'd  a  while  the  parents  stood, 

Dreading  her  sire,  who  oft  forbade 

Then  changed  their  fear  to  angry  mood, 

Her  st^ps  should  stray  to  distant  glade. 

And  foremost  fell  their  words  of  ill 

Night  came — to  her  accustom'd  nook 

On  unresisting  Metelill : 

Her  distaff  aged  Jutta  took, 

Was  she  not  caution'd  and  forbid, 

And  by  the  lamp's  imperfect  glow, 

Forewarn'd,  implored,  accused  and  chid, 

Rough   Wulfstane   trimm'd   his   shafts   and 

And  must  she  still  to  greenwood  roam, 

bow. 

To  marshal  such  misfortune  home  ? 

Sudden  and  clamorous,  from  the  ground 

"  Hence,  minion — to  thy  chamber  hence— 

Upstarted  slumbering  brach  and  hound ; 

There  prudence  learn,  and  penitence." 

Loud  knocking  next  the  lodge  alarms, 

She  went — her  lonely  couch  to  steep 

And  Wulfstane  snatches  at  Ins  arms, 

In  tears  which  absent  lovers  weep ; 

When  open  flew  the  yielding  door, 

Or  if  she  gain'd  a  troubled  sleep, 

And  that  grim  Warrior  press'd  the  floor. 

Fierce  Harold's  suit  was  still  the  theme 

XL 

And  terror  of  her  feverish  dream. 

*  All  peace  be  here — What !  none  replies  ? 

XIV. 

Dismiss  your  fears  and  your  surprise. 

Scarce  was  she  gone,  her  dame  and  sire 

'Tis  I — that  Maid  hath  told  my  tale, — 

Upon  each  other  bent  their  ire  ; 

Or,  trembler,  did  thy  courage  fail  ? 

"  A  woodsman  thou,  and  hast  a  spear, 

It  recks  not — it  is  I  demand 

And  couldst  thou  such  an  insult  bear  f 

Fair  Metelill  in  marriage  band ; 

Sullen  he  said,  "  A  man  contends 

Harold  the  Dauntless  I,  whose  name 

With  men,  a  witch  with  sprites  and  fiends ; 

Is  brave  men's  boast  and  caitiff's  shame." 

Not  to  mere  mortal  wight  belong 

The  parents  sought  each  other's  eyes, 

Yon  gloomy  brow  and  frame  so  strong. 

With  awe,  resentment,  and  surprise : 

But  thou — is  this  thy  promise  fair, 

Wulfstane,  to  quarrel  prompt,  began 

That  your  Lord  William,  wealthy  heir 

The  stranger's  size  and  thewes  to  scan ; 

To  Ulrick,  Baron  of  Witton-le-Wear, 

But  as  he  scann'd,  his  courage  sunk, 

Should  Metelill  to  altar  bear  ? 

And  from  unequal  strife  he  shrunk, 

Do  all  the  spells  thou  boast'st  as  thine 

Then  forth,  to  blight  and  blemish,  flies 

Serve  but  to  slay  some  peasant's  kine, 

The  harmful  curse  from  Jutta's  eyes ; 

His  grain  in  autumn's  storms  to  steep, 

Yet,  fatal  howsoe'er,  the  spell 

Or  thorough  fog  and  fen  to  sweep, 

On  Harold  innocently  fell ! 

And  hag-ride  some  poor  rustic's  sleep  ? 

And  disappointment  and  amaze 

Is  such  mean  mischief  worth  the  fame 

Were  in  the  witch's  wilder'd  gaze. 

Of  sorceress  and  witch's  name  ? 

Fame,  which  with  all  men's  wish  conspires, 

XII. 

With  thy  deserts  and  my  desires, 

But  soon  the  wit  of  woman  woke, 

To  damn  thy  corpse  to  penal  fires  ? 

And  to  the  Warrior  mild  she  spoke : 

Out  on  thee,  witch  !  aroint  1  aroint  1 

"  Her  child  was  all  too  young." — "  A  toy, 

What  now  shall  put  thy  schemes  in  joint  ? 

The  refuge  of  a  maiden  coy." — 

What  save  this  trusty  arrow's  point, 

Again,  "  A  powerful  baron's  heir 

From  the  dark  dingle  when  it  flies, 

Claims  in  her  heart  an  interest  fair." — 

And  he  who  meets  it  gasps  and  dies." 

"  A  trifle — whisper  in  his  ear, 

That  Harold  is  a  suitor  here  !" — 

XV. 

Baffled  at  length  she  sought  delay : 

Stern  she  replied,  "  I  -will  not  wage 

"  Would  not  the  Knight  till  morning  stay  ? 

War  with  thy  folly  or  thy  rage  ; 

Late  was  the  hour — he  there  might  rest 

But  ere  the  morrow's  sun  be  low, 

Till  morn,  their  lodge's  honor'd  guest." 

Wulfstane  of  Rookhope,  thou  shalt  know, 

Such  were   her  words, — her   craft   might 

If  I  can  venge  me  on  a  foe. 

cast, 

Believe  the  while,  that  whatsoe'er 

Her  honor'd  guest  should  sleep  his  last : 

I  spoke,  in  ire,  of  bow  and  spear, 

"  No,  not  to-night — but  soon,"  he  swore, 

It  is  not  Harold's  destiny 

"  He  would  return,  nor  leave  them  more." 

The  death  of  pilfer'd  deer  to  die. 

The  threshold  then  his  huge  stride  crost, 

But  he,  and  thou,  and  yon  pale  moon 

And  soon  he  v  as  in  darkness  lost. 

(That  shall  be  yet  more  pallid  soon, 

t>20 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  ft 


Before  she  sink  behind  the  dell), 
Thou,  she,  and  Harold  too,  shall  tell 
What  Jutta  knows  of  charm  or  spell." 
Thus  muttering,  to  the  door  she  bent 
Her  wayward  steps,  and  forth  she  went, 
And  left  alone  the  moody  sire, 
To  cherish  or  to  slake  his  ire. 

XVI. 

Far  faster  than  belong' d  to  age 

Has  Jutta  made  her  pilgrimage. 

A  priest  has  met  her  as  she  pass'd, 

And  cross'd  himself  and  stood  aghast : 

She  traced  a  hamlet — not  a  cur 

His  throat  would  ope,  his  foot  would  stir ; 

By  crouch,  by  trembling,  and  by  groan, 

They  made  her  hated  presence  known ! 

But  when  she  trode  the  sable  fell, 

Were  wilder  sounds  her  way  to  tell, — 

For  far  was  heard  the  fox's  yell, 

The  black-cock  waked  and  faintly  crew, 

Scream'd  o'er  the  moss  the  scared  curlew : 

Where  o'er  the  cataract  the  oak 

Lay  slant,  was  heard  the  raven's  croak ; 

The  mountain-cat,  whicli  sought  his  prey, 

Glared,  scream'd,  and  started  from  her  way 

Such  music  cheer'd  her  journey  lone 

To  the  deep  dell  and  rocking  stone  : 

There,  with  unhallow'd  hymn  of  praise. 

She  called  a  God  of  heathen  days. 

XVII. 
Xnbocatfon. 

"  From  thy  Pomeranian  throne, 
Hewn  in  rock  of  living  stone, 
Where,  to  thy  godhead  faithful  yet, 
Bend  Esthonian,  Finn,  and  Lett, 
And  their  swords  in  vengeance  whet, 
That  shall  make  thine  altars  wet, 
Wet  and  red  for  ages  more 
With  the  Christians'  hated  gore, — 
Hear  me  !  Sovereign  of  the  Rock, 
Hear  me  !  mighty  Zernebock ! 

"  Mightiest  of  the  mighty  known, 
Here  thy  wonders  have  been  shown  ; 
Hundred  tribes  in  various  tongue 
Oft  have  here  thy  praises  sung  : 
Down  that  stone  with  Runic  seam'd, 
Hundred  victims'  blood  hath  stream'd! 
Now  one  woman  comes  alone, 
And  but  wets  it  with  her  own, 
The  last,  the  feeblest  of  thy  flock,— 
Hear — and  be  present,  Zernebock ! 

"  Hark !  he  comes !  the  night-blast  cold 
Wilder  sweeps  along  the  wold  ; 


The  cloudless  moon  grows  dark  and  dim, 
And  bristling  hair  and  quaking  limb 
Proclaim  the  Master  Demon  nigh, — 
Those  who  view  his  form  shall  die  ! 
Lo !  I  stoop  and  veil  my  head ; 
Thou  who  ridest  the  tempest  dread, 
Shaking  hill  and  rending  oak — 
Spare  me  !  spare  me  !  Zernebock. 

"  He  comes  not  yet !     Shall  cold  delay 
Thy  votaress  at  her  need  repay  ? 
Thou — shall  I  call  thee  god  or  fiend  ? — 
Let  others  on  thy  mood  attend 
With  prayer  and  ritual — Jutta's  arms 
Are  necromantic  words  and  charms ; 
Mine  is  the  spell,  that  utter'd  once, 
Shall  wake  Thy  Master  from  his  trance, 
Shake  his  red  mansion-house  of  pain, 
And  burst  his  seven-times- twisted  chain  !— 
So  !  com'st  thou  ere  the  spell  is  spoke  ? 
I  own  thy  presence,  Zernebock." — 

XVIII. 
"  Daughter  of  dust,"  the  Deep  Voice  said, 
— Shook  while  it  spoke  the  vale  for  dread, 
Rock'd  on  the  base  that  massive  stone, 
The  Evil  Deity  to  own, — 
"  Daughter  of  dust !  not  mine  the  power 
Thou  seek'st  on  Harold's  fatal  hour. 
'Twixt  heaven  and  hell  there  is  a  strife 
Waged  for  his  soul  and  for  his  life, 
And  fain  would  we  the  combat  win, 
And  snatch  him  in  his  hour  of  sin. 
There  is  a  star  now  rising  red, 
That  threats  him  with  an  influence  dread : 
Woman,  thine  arts  of  malice  whet, 
To  use  the  space  before  it  set. 
Involve  him  with  the  church  in  strife, 
Push  on  adventurous  chance  his  life ; 
Ourself  will  in  the  hour  of  need, 
As  best  we  may  thy  counsels  speed." 
So  ceased  the  Voice  ;  for  seven  leagues  round 
Each  hamlet  started  at  the  sound  ; 
But  slept  again,  as  slowly  died 
Its  thunders  on  the  hill's  blown  side. 

XIX 

"  And  is  this  all,"  said  Jutta  stern, 

"  That  thou  canst  teach  and  I  can  learn  ? 

Hence  !  to  the  land  of  fog  and  waste, 

There  fittest  is  thine  influence  placed, 

Thou  powerless,  sluggish  Deity ! 

But  ne'er  shall  Briton  bend  the  knee 

Again  before  so  poor  a  god." 

She  struck  the  altar  with  her  rod  ; 

Slight  was  the  touch,  as  when  at  need 

A  damsel  stirs  her  tardy  steed ; 

But  to  the  blow  the  stone  gave  place, 


CANTO  III. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


521 


And,  starting  from  its  balanced  base, 

Roll'd  thundering  down  the  moonlight  dell, — 

Re-echo'd  moorland,  rock,  and  fell ; 

Into  the  moonlight  tarn  it  dash'd, 

Their  shores  the  sounding  surges  lash'd, 

And  there  was  ripple,  rage,  and  foam  ; 
But  on  that  lake,  so  dark  and  lone, 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeam  shone 

A  «  Jutta  hied  her  home. 


(jjarotfr  tlje  JDaitntUsa. 


CANTO    THIRD. 


Gray  towers  of  Durham  !  there  was  once  a  time 
I  view'd  your  battlements  with  such  vague  hope, 
As  brightens  life  in  its  first  dawning  prime ; 
Not  that  e'en  then  came  within  fancy's  scope 
A  vision  vain  of  mitre,  throne,  or  cope ; 
Yet,  gazing  on  the  venerable  hall, 
Her  flattering  dreams  would  in  perspective  ope 
Some  reverend  room,  some  prebendary's  stall, — 
And  thus  Hope  me  deceived  as  she  deceiveth  all.1 

Well  yet  I  love  thy  mix'd  and  massive  piles, 
Half  church  of  God,  half  castle  'gainst  the  Scot, 
And  long  to  roam  these  venerable  aisles, 
With  records  stored  of  deeds  long  since  forgot ; 
There  might  I  share  my  Surtees'2  happier  lot, 
Who  leaves  at  will  his  patrimonial  field 
To  ransack  every  crypt  and  hallow'd  spot, 
And  from  oblivion  rend  the  spoils  they  yield, 
Restoring  priestly  chant  and  clang  of  knightly 
shield. 

Vain  is  the  wish — since  other  cares  demand 
Each  vacant  hour,  and  in  another  clime ; 
But  still  that  northern  harp  invites  my  hand, 
Which  tells  the  wonder  of  thine  earlier  time ; 
And  fain  its  numbers  would  I  now  command 
To  paint  the  beauties  of  that  dawning  fair, 
When  Harold,  gazing  from  its  lofty  stand 
Upon  the  western  heights  of  Beaurepaire, 
Saw   Saxon  Eadmer's  towers  begirt  by  winding 
Wear. 


1  In  this  stanza  occurs  one  of  many  touches  by  which,  in 
the  introductory  passages  of  Harold  the  Dauntless  as  of  Trier- 
main,  Sir  Walter  Scott  betrays  his  half-purpose  of  identifying 
the  author  with  his  friend  William  Erskine.  That  gentleman, 
the  son  of  an  Episcopalian  clergyman,  a  stanch  churchman, 
and  a  man  of  the  gentlest  habits,  if  he  did  not  in  early  life  de- 
»i°n  to  follow  the  paternal  profession,  might  easily  be  sup- 
66 


II. 

Fair   on  the  half-seen  streams  the  sunbeams 

danced, 
Betraying  it  beneath  the  woodland  bank, 
And  fair  between  the  Gothic  turrets  glanced 
Broad  lights,  and  shadows  fell  on  front  and  flank, 
Where  tower  and  buttress  rose  in  martial  rank, 
And  girdled  in  the  massive  donjon  Keep, 
And  from  their  circuit  peal'd  o'er  bush  and  bani 
The  matin  bell  with  summons  long  and  deep, 
And  echo  answer'd  still  with  long  resounding  sweep 

III. 

The  morning  mists  rose  from  the  ground, 
Each  merry  bird  awaken'd  round, 

As  if  in  revelry ; 
Afar  the  bugles'  clanging  sound 
Call'd  to  the  chase  the  lagging  hound ; 

The  gale  breathed  soft  and  free, 
And  seem'd  to  linger  on  its  way 
To  catch  fresh  odors  from  the  spray, 
And  waved  it  in  its  wanton  play 

So  light  and  gamesomely. 
The  scenes  which  morning  beams  reveal, 
Its  sounds  to  hear,  its  gales  to  feel 
In  all  their  fragrance  round  him  steal, 
It  melted  Harold's  heart  of  steel, 
And,  hardly  wotting  why, 
He  doff 'd  his  helmet's  gloomy  pride, 
And  hung  it  on  a  tree  beside, 

Laid  mace  and  falchion  by, 
And  on  the  greensward  sate  him  down, 
And  from  his  dark  habitual  frown 

Relax'd  his  rugged  brow — 
Whoever  hath  the  doubtful  task 
From  that  stern  Dane  a  boon  to  ask, 

Were  wise  to  ask  it  now. 

IV. 

His  place  beside  young  Gunnar  took, 
And  mark'd  his  master's  softening  look, 
And  in  his  eye's  dark  mirror  spied 
The  gloom  of  stormy  thoughts  subside, 
And  cautious  watch'd  the  fittest  tide 

To  speak  a  warning  word. 
So  when  the  torrent's  billows  shrink, 
The  timid  pilgrim  on  the  brink 
Waits  long  to  see  them  wave  and  sink, 

Ere  he  dare  brave  the  ford, 
And  often,  after  doubtful  pause, 
His  step  advances  or  withdraws : 

posed  to  have  nourished  such  an  intention — one  which  no  one 
could  ever  have  dreamt  of  ascribing  at  any  period  of  his  day* 
to  Sir  Walter  Scott  himself. 

a  Robert  Surtees  of  Mainsforth,  Esq.,  F.  S.  A.,  author  of 
"The  History  and  Antiquities  of  the  County  Palatine  of  D.ir 
nam."    3  vols,  folio.  1816-20-23. 


522                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOKKS.                             canto  m. 

Fearful  to  move  the  slumbering  ire 

"  What  cares  disturb  the  nnghty  dead  ? 

Of  his  stern  lord,  thus  stood  the  squire, 

Each  honor'd  rite  was  duly  paid ; 

Till  Harold  raised  his  eye, 

No  daring  hand  thy  helm  unlaced, 

That  glanced  as  when  athwart  the  shroud 

Thy  sword,  dry  shield,  were  near  thee  placed,^. 

Of  the  dispersing  tempest-cloud 

Thy  fimty  couch  no  tear  profaned, 

The  bursting  sunbeams  fly. 

Witiiout,  with  hostile  blood  was  stain'd ; 

Witliin,  'twas  lined  with  moss  and  fern, — 

V. 

Then  rest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Cairn ! — 

"  Arouse  thee,  son  of  Ermengarde, 

Offspring  of  prophetess  and  bard ! 

u  He  may  rest  not :  from  realms  afar 

Take  harp,  and  greet  this  lovely  prime 

Come  voice  of  battle  and  of  war, 

With  some  high  strain  of  Runic  rhyme, 

Of  conquest  wrought  with  bloody  hand 

Strong,   deep,   but   powerful !     Peal  it 

On  Carmel's  cliffs  and  Jordan's  strand, 

round 

When  Odin's  warlike  son  could  daunt 

Like  that  loud  bell's  sonorous  sound, 

The  turban'd  race  of  Termagaunt." 

Yet  wild  by  fits,  as  when  the  lay 

Of  bird,  and  bugle  hail  the  day. 

VII. 

Such  was  my  grandsire  Eric's  sport, 

"  Peace,"  said  the  Knight,  "  the  noble  Scald 

When  dawn  gleam' d  on  his  martial  court. 

Our  warlike  fathers'  deeds  recall'd, 

Heymar  the  Scald,  with  harp's  high  sound, 

But  never  strove  to  soothe  the  son 

Summon'd  the  chiefs  who  slept  around ; 

With  tales  of  what  himself  had  done. 

Couch'd  on  the  spoils  of  wolf  and  bear, 

At  Odin's  board  the  bard  sits  high 

They  roused  like  lions  from  their  lair, 

Whose  harp  ne'er  stoop'd  to  flattery ; 

Then  rush'd  in  emulation  fortli 

But  highest  he  whose  daring  lay 

To  enhance  the  glories  of  the  North. — 

Hath  dared  unwelcome  truths  to  say." 

Proud  Eric,  mightiest  of  thy  race, 

With  doubtful  smile  young  Gunnar  eyed 

Where  is  thy  shadowy  resting-place  ? 

His  master's  looks,  and  naught  replied — 

In  wild  Valhalla  hast  thou  quaff 'd 

But  well  that  smile  his  master  led 

From  foeman's  skull  metheglin  draught, 

To  construe  what  he  left  unpaid. 

Or  wanderest  where  thy  cairn  was  piled 

"  Is  it  to  me,  thou  timid  youth, 

To  frown  o'er  oceans  wide  and  wild  ? 

Thou  fear'st  to  speak  unwelcome  truth  ? 

Or  have  the  milder  Christians  given 

My  soul  no  more  thy  censure  grieves 

Thy  refuge  in  their  peaceful  heaven  ? 

Than  frosts  rob  laurels  of  their  leaves 

Where'er  thou  art,  to  thee  are  known 

Say  on — and  yet — beware  the  rude 

Our  toils  endured,  our  trophies  won, 

And  wild  distemper  of  my  blood ; 

Our  wars,  our  wanderings,  and  our  woes." 

Loth  were  I  that  mine  ire  should  wrong 

He  ceased,  and  Gunnar's  song  arose. 

The  youth  that  bore  my  shield  so  long, 

And  who,  in  service  constant  still, 

VI. 

Though  weak  in  frame,  art  strong  in  will." — 

Sonfl. 

"  Oh !"  quoth  the  page,  "  even  there  depends 

My  counsel — there  my  warning  tends — 

"  Hawk  and  osprey  scream'd  for  joy 

Oft  seems  as  of  my  master's  breast 

O'er  the  beetling  cliffs  of  Hoy, 

Some  demon  were  the  sudden  guest ; 

Crimson  foam  the  beach  o'erspread, 

Then  at  the  first  misconstrued  word 

The  heath  was  dyed  with  darker  red, 

His  hand  is  on  the  mace  and  sword, 

When  o'er  Eric,  Inguar's  son, 

From  her  firm  seat  his  wisdom  driven, 

Dane  and  Northman  piled  the  stone ; 

His  life  to  countless  dangers  given. — 

Singing  wild  the  war-song  stern, 

0 !  would  that  Gunnar  could  suffice 

•  Rest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Cairn !' 

To  be  the  fiend's  last  sacrifice, 

So  that,  when  glutted  with  my  gore, 

"  Where  eddying  currents  foam  and  boil 

He  fled  and  tenrpted  thee  no  more !" 

By  Bersa's  burgh  and  Graemsay's  isle, 

The  seaman  sees  a  martial  form 

VIII. 

Half-mingled  with  the  mist  and  storm. 

Then  waved  his  hand,  and  shook  his  head 

In  anxious  awe  he  bears  away 

The  impatient  Dane,  while  thus  he  said : 

To  moor  his  bark  in  Stromna's  bay, 

"  Pr(  fane  not,  youth — it  is  not  thine 

And  murmurs  from  the  bounding  stern, 

To  judge  the  spirit  of  our  line — 

'  Rest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Cairn  1' 

The  bold  Berserkar's  rage  divine. 

CANTO  III. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


Tlirough  whose  inspiring,  deeds  are  wrought 
Fast  human  strength  and  human  thought. 
When  full  upon  his  gloomy  soul 
The  champion  feels  the  influence  roll, 
He  swims  the  lake,  he  leaps  the  wall — 
Be  eds  not  the  depth,  nor  plumbs  the  fall — 
Unshielded,  mail-less,  on  he  goes 
Singly  against  a  host  of  foes ; 
Their  spears  he  holds  like  wither'd  reeds, 
Their  mail  like  maiden's  silken  weeds ; 
One  'gainst  a  hundred  will  he  strive, 
Take  countless  wounds,  and  yet  survive. 
Then  rush  the  eagles  to  his  cry 
Of  slaughter  and  of  victory, — 
And  blood  he  quaffs  like  Odin's  bowl, 
Deep   drinks  his   sword, — deep   drinks   his 

soul; 
And  all  that  meet  him  in  his  ire 
He  gives  to  ruin,  rout,  and  fire ; 
Then,  like  gorged  lion,  seeks  some  den, 
And  couches  till  he's  man  agen. — 
Thou  know'st  the  signs  of  look  and  limb, 
When  'gins  that  rage  to  overbrim — 
Thou  know'st  when  I  am  moved,  and  why ; 
And  when  thou  see'st  me  roll  mine  eye, 
Set  my  teeth  thus,  and  stamp  my  foot, 
Regard  thy  safety  and  be  mute ; 
But  else  speak  boldly  out  whate'er 
Is  fitting  that  a  knight  should  hear. 
I  love  thee,  youth.     Thy  lay  has  power 
Upon  my  dark  and  sullen  hour ; — 
So  Christian  monks  are  wont  to  say 
Demons  of  old  were  charm'd  away ; 
Then  fear  not  I  will  rashly  deem 
111  of  thy  speech  whate'er  the  theme." 

IX. 

As  down  some  strait  in  doubt  and  dread 
The  watchful  pilot  drops  the  lead, 
And,  cautious  in  the  midst  to  steer, 
The  shoaling  channel  sounds  with  fear ; 
So,  lest  on  dangerous  ground  he  swerved, 
The  Page  his  master's  brow  observed, 
Pausing  at  intervals  to  fling 
His  hand  o'er  the  melodious  string, 
And  to  his  moody  breast  apply 
The  soothing  charm  of  harmony, 
While  hinted  half,  and  half  exprest, 
This  warning  song  convey'd  the  rest. — 

1. 

**  HI  fares  the  bark  with  tackle  riven, 
And  ill  when  on  the  breakers  driven, — 
111  when  the  storm-sprite  shrieks  in  air, 
And  the  scared  mermafa*  tears  her  hair ; 
But  worse  when  on  her  helm  the  hand 
Of  some  false  traitor  holds  command. 


"  111  fares  the  fainting  Palmer,  placed 

'Mid  Hebron's  rocks  or  Rana's  waste, — 

111  when  the  scorching  sun  is  high, 

And  the  expected  font  is  dry, — 

Worse  when  Ins  guide  o'er  sand  and  heath, 

The  barbarous  Copt,  has  plann'd  Ins  death. 

3. 

"  HI  fares  the  Knight  with  buckler  cleft, 
And  ill  when  of  his  helm  bereft, — 
111  when  his  steed  to  earth  is  flung, 
Or  from  his  grasp  his  falchion  wrung ; 
But  worse,  if  instant  ruin  token, 
When  he  lists  rede  by  woman  spoken." — 

X. 

"  How  now,  fond  boy  ? — Canst  thou  tlunk  ill 
Said  Harold,  "  of  fair  Metelill  ?"— 
"  She  may  be  fair,"  the  Page  replied, 

As  through  the  strings  he  ranged, — 
"  She  may  be  fair ;  but  yet,"  he  cried, 

And  then  the  strain  he  changed, 

Sonfl. 
1. 

a  She  may  be  fair,"  he  sang,  "  but  yet 

Far  fairer  have  I  seen 
Than  she,  for  all  her  locks  of  jet, 

And  eyes  so  dark  and  sheen. 
Were  I  a  Danish  knight  in  arms, 

As  one  day  I  may  be, 
My  heart  should  own  no  foreign  charms.— 

A  Danish  maid  for  me. 

2. 
"  I  love  my  fathers'  northern  land, 

Where  the  dark  pine-trees  grow, 
And  the  bold  Baltic's  echoing  strand 

Looks  o'er  each  grassy  oe.1 
I  love  to  mark  the  lingering  sun, 

From  Denmark  loth  to  go, 
And  leaving  on  the  billows  bright, 
To  cheer  the  short-lived  summer  night, 

A  path  of  ruddy  glow. 


"  But  most  the  northern  maid  I  love, 

With  breast  like  Denmark's  snow, 
And  form  as  fair  as  Denmark's  pine, 
Who  loves  with  purple  heath  to  twine 

Her  locks  of  sunny  glow ; 
And  sweetly  blend  that  shade  of  gold 

With  the  cheek's  rosy  hue, 
And  Faith  might  for  her  mirror  hold 

That  eye  of  matchless  blue. 

i  Oe— Island. 


524 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CAino  rv. 


"  'Tis  hers  the  manly  sports  to  love 

That  southern  maidens  fear, 
To  bend  the  bow  by  stream  and  grove, 

And  lift  the  hunter's  spear. 
She  can  her  chosen  champion's  flight 

With  eye  undazzled  see, 
Clasp  him  victorious  from  the  strife, 
Or  on  his  corpse  yield  up  her  life, — 

A  Danish  maid  for  me  !" 

XL 
Then  smiled  the  Dane — "  Thou  canst  so  well 
The  virtues  of  our  maidens  tell, 
Half  could  I  wish  my  choice  had  been 
Blue  eyes,  and  hair  of  golden  sheen, 
And  lofty  soul ; — yet  what  of  ill 
Hast  thou  to  charge  on  Metelill  ?" — 
"Nothing  on  her,"1  young  Gunnar  said, 
"  But  her  base  sire's  ignoble  trade. 
Her  mother,  too — the  general  fame 
Hath  given  to  Jutta  evil  name, 
And  in  her  gray  eye  is  a  flame 
Art  cannot  hide,  nor  fear  can  tame. — 
That  sordid  woodman's  peasant  cot 
Twice  have  thine  honor'd  footsteps  sought, 
And  twice  return'd  with  such  ill  rede 
A3  sent  thee  on  some  desperate  deed." — 

XII. 
"  Thou  errest ;  Jutta  wisely  said, 
He  that  comes  suitor  to  a  maid, 
Ere  link'd  in  marriage,  should  provide 
Lands  and  a  dwelling  for  his  bride — 
My  father's,  by  the  Tyne  and  Wear, 
I  have  reclaim'd." — "  O,  all  too  dear, 
And  all  too  dangerous  the  prize, 
E'en  were  it  won,"  young  Gunnar  cries ; — 
"  And  then  this  Jutta's  fresh  device, 
That  thou  shouldst  seek,  a  heathen  Dane, 
From  Durham's  priests  a  boon  to  gain, 
When  thou  hast  left  their  vassals  slain 
In  their  own  halls !"— Flash'd  Harold's  eye, 
Thunder'd  his  voice—"  False  Page,  you  He  ! 
The  castle,  hall  and  tower,  is  mine, 
Built  by  old  Witikind  on  Tyne. 
The  wild-cat  will  defend  Ins  den, 
Fights  for  her  nest  the  timid  wren ; 
Aid  think'st  thou  I'll  forego  my  right 

1  "  Nothing  on  her,"  is  the  reading  of  the  interleaved  copy 
»f  1831— "  On  her  naught,"  in  all  the  former  editions. 

»  "  All  is  hush'd,  and  still  as  death— 'tis  dreadful! 
How  reverend  is  the  face  of  this  tall  pile, 
Whose  ancient  pillars  rear  their  marble  heads 
To  bear  aloft  its  arch'd  and  ponderous  roof, 
By  its  own  weight  made  stedfast  and  immovable, 
.Looking  tranquillity  !     It  strikes  an  awe 
And  terror  on  my  aching  sight.     The  tombs 


For  dread  of  monk  or  monuidh  knight  ? — 
Up  and  away,  that  deepening  bell 
Doth  of  the  Bishop's  conclave  tell. 
Thither  will  I,  in  manner  due, 
As  Jutta  bade,  my  claim  to  sue ; 
And,  if  to  righi  me  they  are  loth, 
Then  woe  to  church  and  chapter  both !" 
Now  shift  tnb  scene,  and  let  the  curtain  fall, 
And  our  bcxt  entry  be  Saint  Cuthbert's  hall 


§aroUr  %  JDatmtUss. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


I. 

Full  many  a  bard  hath  sung  the  solemn  gloom 
Of  the  long  Gothic  aisle  and  stone-ribb'd  roof, 
O'er-canopying  shrine  and  gorgeous  tomb, 
Carved  screen,  and  altar  glimmering  far  aloof, 
And  blending  with  the  shade — a  matchless  proof 
Of  high  devotion,  which  hath  now  wax'd  cold  ;* 
Y"et  legends  say,  that  Luxury's  brute  hoof 
Intruded  oft  within  such  sacred  fold,       [of  old.3 
Like  step  of  Bel's  false  priest,  track'd  in  his  fane 

Well  pleased  am  I,  howe'er,  that  when  the  route 
Of  our  rude  neighbors  whilome  deign'd  to  come, 
Uncall'd,  and  eke  unwelcome,  to  sweep  out 
To  cleanse  our  chancel  from  the  rags  of  Rome, 
They  spoke  not  on  our  ancient  fane  the  doom 
To  which  their  bigot  zeal  gave  o'er  their  own, 
But  spared  the  martyr'd  saint  and  storied  tomb 
Though  papal  miracles  had  graced  the  stone, 
And  though  the  aisles  still  loved  the  organ's  swel 
ling  tone. 

And  deem  not,  though  'tis  now  my  part  to  paint 
A  Prelate  sway'd  by  love  of  power  and  gold, 
That  all  who  wore  the  mitre  of  our  Saint 
Like  to  ambitious  Aldingar  I  hold ; 
Since  both  in  modern  times  and  days  of  old 
It  sate  on  those  whose  virtues  might  atone 
Their  predecessors'  frailties  trebly  told : 
Matthew  and  Morton  we  as  such  may  own — 
And  such  (if  fame  speak  truth)  the  honor'd  Bar- 
rington.4 

And  monumental  caves  of  death  look  cold, 
And  shoot  a  dullness  to  my  trembling  heart." 

Congreve's  Mourning  Bride,  Act  ii.  Scene  1. 
See  also  Joanna  Baillie's  "  De  Montfort,"  Acts  iv.  and  v. 
s  See,  in  the  Apocryphal  Books,  "  The  History  of  Bel  and 
the  Dragon."  » 

*  See,  for  the  lives  of  Bishop  Matthew  and  Bishop  Morton, 
here  alluded  to,  Mr.  Surtees's  History  of  the  Bishopric  of  Dur- 
ham :  the  venerable  Shute  Barrington,  their  honored  successor, 
ever  a  kind  friend  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  died  in  1826. 


CANTO  IV. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


526 


II. 

But  now  to  earlier  and  to  ruder  times, 

As  subject  meet,  I  tune  my  rugged  rhymes, 

Telling  how  fairly  the  chapter  was  met, 

And  rood  and  books  in  seemly  order  set ; 

Huge  brass-clasp'd  volumes,  which  the  hand 

Of  studious  priest  but  rarely  scann'd, 

Now  on  fair  carved  desk  display'd, 

'Twas  theirs  the  solemn  scene  to  aid. 

O'erhead  with  many  a  scutcheon  graced, 

And  quaint  devices  interlaced, 

A  labyrinth  of  crossing  rows, 

The  roof  in  lessening  arches  shows ; 

Beneath  its  shade  placed  proud  and  high, 

With  footstool  and  with  canopy, 

Sate  Aldingar, — and  prelate  ne'er 

More  haughty  graced  Saint  Cuthbert's  chair ; 

Canons  and  deacons  were  placed  below, 

In  due  degree  and  lengthen'd  row. 

Unmoved  and  silent  each  sat  there, 

Like  image  in  his  oaken  chair ; 

Nor  head,  nor  hand,  nor  foot  they  stirr'd, 

Nor  lock  of  hair,  nor  tress  of  beard ; 

And  of  their  eyes  severe  alone 

The  twinkle  show'd  they  were  not  stone. 

III. 

The  Prelate  was  to  speech  address'd, 
Each  head  sunk  reverent  on  each  breast ; 
But  ere  his  voice  was  heard — without 
Arose  a  wild  tumultuous  shout, 
Offspring  of  wonder  mix'd  with  fear, 
Such  as  in  crowded  streets  we  hear 
Hailing  the  flames,  that,  bursting  out, 
Attract  yet  scare  the  rabble  rout. 
Ere  it  had  ceased,  a  giant  hand 
Shook  oaken  door  and  iron  band, 
Till  oak  and  iron  both  gave  way, 
Clash'd  the  long  bolts,  the  hinges  bray, 
And,  ere  upon  angel  or  saint  they  can  call, 
Stands  Harold  the  Dauntless  in  midst  of  the  hall. 

IV. 

"  Now  save  ye,  my  masters,  both  rocket  and  rood, 
From  Bishop  with  mitre  to  Deacon  with  hood ! 
For  here  stands  Count  Harold,  old  Witikind's  son, 
Come  to  sue  for   the   lands  which  his  ancestors 
won."  [eye, 

The  Prelate  look'd  round  him  with  sore  troubled 
Unwilling  to  grant,  yet  afraid  to  deny ; 
While  each  Canon   and   Deacon  who  heard  the 

Dane  speak, 
To  be  safely  at  home  would  have  fasted  a  week : — 
Then  Aldingar  roused  him,  and  answer'd  again, 
K  Thou  suest  for  a  boon  which  thOu  canst  not  ob- 
tain ; 
The  Church  hath  no  fiefs  for  an  unchristen'd  Dane. 
Thy  father  was  wise,  and  his  treasure  hath  given, 


That  the  priests  of  a  chantry  might  hymn  him  tt 

heaven ;  [due. 

And  the  fiefs  which  whilome  he  possess'd  as  his 
Have  lapsed  to  the  Church,  and  been  granted 

anew 
To  Anthony  Conyers  and  Alberic  Vere, 
For  the  service  Saint  Cuthbert's  bless'd  banner  to 

bear,  [Wear ; 

When  the  bands  of  the  North  come  to  foray  the 
Then  disturb  not  our  conclave  with  wrangling  or 

blame,  [came." 

But  in  peace  and  in  patience  pass  hence  as  ye 

V. 

Loud  laugh'd  the  stern  Pagan, — "  They're  free  from 

the  care 
Of  fief  and  of  service,  both  Conyers  and  Vere,  - 
Six  feet  of  your  chancel  is  all  they  will  need, 
A  buckler  of  stone  and  a  corslet  of  lead. — 
Ho,  Gunnar  ! — the  tokens ;" — and,  sever'd  anew, 
A  head  and  a  hand  on  the  altar  he  threw. 
Then  shudder'd  with  terror  both  Canon  and  Monk, 
They  knew  the  glazed  eye  and  the  countenance 

shrunk, 
And  of  Anthony  Conyers  the  half-grizzled  hair, 
And  the  scar  on  the  hand  of  Sir  Alberic  Vere. 
There  was  not  a  churchman  or  priest  that  was  there, 
But  grew  pale  at  the  sight,  and  betook  him  to 

prayer.  , 

VI. 
Count  Harold  laugh'd  at  their  looks  of  fear : 
"  Was  this  the  hand  should  your  banner  bear, 
Was  that  the  head  should  wear  the  casque 
In  battle  at  the  Church's  task  ? 
Was  it  to  such  you  gave  the  place 
Of  Harold  with  the  heavy  mace  ? 
Find  me  between  the  Wear  and  Tyne 
A  knight  will  wield  this  club  of  mine, — 
Give  him  my  fiefs,  and  I  will  say 
There's  wit  beneath  the  cowl  of  gray." 
He  raised  it,  rough  with  many  a  stain, 
Caught  from  crush'd  skull  and  spouting  brain ; 
He  wheel'd  it  that  it  shrilly  sung, 
And  the  aisles  echo'd  as  it  swung, 
Then  dash'd  it  down  with  sheer  descent, 
And  split  King  Osric's  monument. — 
"  How  like  ye  this  music  ?  How  trow  ye  the  hanu 
That  can  wield  such  a  mace  may  be  reft  of  its  land  i 
No  answer  ? — I  spare  ye  a  space  to  agree, 
And  Saint  Cuthbert  inspire  you,  a  saint  if  he  be. 
Ten  strides  through  your  chancel,  ten  strokes  on 

your  bell, 
And  again  I  am  with  you — grave  fathers,  farewell." 

VII. 
He  turn'd  from  their  presence,  he  clash'd  the  oa* 
door, 


526 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  IV, 


And  the  clang  of  his  stride  died  away  on  the  floor ; 
And  his  head  from  his  bosom  the  Prelate  uprears 
With  a  ghost-seer's  look  when  the  ghost  disappears. 
u  Ye  priests  of  Saint  Cuthbert,  now  give  me  your 

rede, 
For  never  of  counsel  had  Bishop  more  need  1 
Were  the  arch-fiend  incarnate  in  flesh  and  in  bone, 
The  language,  the  look,  and  the  laugh  were  his 

own. 
In  the  bounds  of  Saint  Cuthbert  there  is  not  a 

knight 
Dare  confront  in  our  quarrel  yon  goblin  in  fight ; 
Then  rede  me  aright  to  his  claim  to  reply, 
'Tis  unlawful  to  grant,  and  'tis  death  to  deny." 

VIII. 

On  ven'son  and  malmsie  that  morning  had  fed 
The  Cellarer  Vinsauf — 'twas  thus  that  he  said  : — 
"  Delay  till  to-morrow  the  Chapter's  reply  ; 
Let  the  feast  be  spread  fair,  and  the  wine  be 

pour'd  high : 
If  he's  mortal  he  drinks, — if  he  drinks,  he  is  ours — 
His  bracelets  of  iron, — his  bed  in  our  towers." 
This  man  had  a  laughing  eye, 
Trust  not,  friends,  when  such  you  spy  ; 
A  beaker's  depth  he  well  could  drain, 
Revel,  sport,  and  jest  amain — 
The  haunch  of  the  deer  and  the  grape's  bright  dye 
Never  bard  loved  them  better  than  I ; 
But  sooner  than  Vinsauf  fill'd  me  my  wine, 
Pass'd  me  his  jest,  and  laugh'd  at  mine, 
Though  the  buck  were  of  Bearpark,  of  Bourdeaux 

the  vine, 
With  the  dullest  hermit  I'd  rather  dine 
On  an  oaken  cake  and  a  draught  of  the  Tyne. 

IX. 

Walwayn  the  leech  spoke  next — he  knew 
Each  plant  that  loves  the  sun  and  dew, 
But  special  those  whose  juice  can  gain 
Dominion  o'er  the  blood  and  brain ; 
The  peasant  who  saw  him  by  pale  moonbeam 
Gathering  such  herbs  by  bank  and  stream, 
Deem'd  his  thin  form  and  soundless  tread 
"Were  those  of  wanderer  from  the  dead. — 
"  Vinsauf,  thy  wine,"  he, said,  "hath  power, 
Our  gyves  are  heavy,  strong  our  tower ; 
Yet  three  drops  from  this  flask  of  mine, 
More  strong  than  dungeons,  gyves,  or  wine, 
Shall  give  him  prison  under  ground 
More  dark,  more  narrow,  more  profound. 
Short  rede,  good  rede,  let  Harold  have — 
A  dog's  death  and  a  heathen's  grave." 
I  have  lain  on  a  sick  man's  bed, 
Watching  for  hours  for  the  leech's  tread, 
As  if  I  deem'd  that  his  presence  alone 
Were  of  power  to  bid  my  pain  begone ; 
I  have  listed  his  words  of  comfort  given 


As  if  to  oracles  from  heaven  ; 
I  have  counted  his  steps  from  my  chamber  door, 
And  bless'd  them  when  they  were  heard  no  more ; 
But  sooner  than  Walwayn  my  sick  couch  should 

nigh, 
My  choice  were,  by  leech-craft  unaided,  to  die. 

X. 

"  Such  service  done  in  fervent  zeal, 

The  Church  may  pardon  and  conceal," 

The  doubtful  Prelate  said,  "  but  ne'er 

The  counsel  ere  the  act  should  hear. — 

Anselm  of  Jarrow,  advise  us  now, 

The  stamp  of  wisdom  is  on  thy  brow ; 

Thy  days,  thy  nights,  in  cloister  pent, 

Are  still  to  mystic  learning  lent ; — 

Anselm  of  Jarrow,  in  thee  is  my  hope, 

Thou  well  mayst  give  counsel  to  Prelate  or  Pope." 

XL 

Answer'd  the  Prior — "  'Tis  wisdom's  use 

Still  to  delay  what  we  dare  not  refuse ; 

Ere  granting  the  boon  he  comes  hither  to  ask, 

Shape  for  the  giant  gigantic  task ; 

Let  us  see  how  a  step  so  sounding  can  tread 

In  paths  of  darkness,  danger,  and  dread ; 

He  may  not,  he  will  not,  impugn  our  decree. 

That  calls  but  for  proof  of  his  chivalry  ; 

And  were  Guy  to  return,  or  Sir  Be  vis  the  Strong, 

Our  wilds  have   adventure  might  cumber  them 

long —  [no  more  ! 

The  Castle  of  Seven  Shields" "  Kind  Anselm, 

The  step  of  the  Pagan  approaches  the  door." 
The  churchmen  were  hush'd. — In  his  mantle  of  skin, 
With  his  mace  on  his  shoulder,  Count  Harold  strode 

in. 
There  was  foam  on  his  lips,  there  was  fire  in  Ms  eye, 
For,  chafed  by  attendance,  his  fury  was  nigh. 
"  Ho !  Bishop,"  he  said,  "  dost  thou  grant  me  my 

claim? 
Or  must  I  assert  it  by  falchion  and  flame  ?" — 

XII. 
"  On  thy  suit,  gallant  Harold,"  the  Bishop  replied, 
In  accents  which  trembled,  "  we  may  not  decide, 
Until  proof  of  your  strength  and  your  valor  w<» 

saw — 
'Tis  not  that  we  doubt  them,  but  such  is  the  law." — 
"  And  would  you,  Sir  Prelate,  have  Harold  make 

sport  [court  ? 

For  the  cowls  and  the  shavelings  that  herd  in  thy 
Say  what  shall  he  do  ? — From  the  shrine  shall  he 

tear 
The  lead  bier  of  thy  patron,  and  heave  it  in  air, 
And  through  the  long  chancel  make  Cuthbert  take 

wing,  [sling  ?"— • 

With  the  speed  of  a  bullet  dismiss'd   from  the 
"  Nay,  spare  such  probation,"  the  Cellarer  said. 


CANTO    IV. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


527 


"  From  the  mouth  of  our  minstrels  thy  task  shall 

be  read. 
While  the  wine  sparkles  high  in  the  goblet  of  gold, 
And  the  revel  is  loudest,  thy  task  shall  be  told ; 
And  thyself,  gallant  Harold,  shall,  hearing  it,  tell 
That  the  Bishop,  his  cowls,   and   his  shavelings, 

meant  well." 

XIII. 

Loud  revell'd  the  guests,  and  the  goblets  loud  rang, 
But  louder  the  minstrel,  Hugh  Meneville,  sang ; 
And  Harold,  the  hurry  and  pride  of  whose  soul, 
E'en  when  verging  to  fury,  own'd  music's  control, 
Still  bent  on  the  harper  his  broad  sable  eye, 
And  often  untasted  the  goblet  pass'd  by ; 
Than  wine,  or  than  wassail,  to  him  was  more  dear 
The  minstrel's  high  tale  of  enchantment  to  hear ; 
And  the  Bishop  that  day  might  of  Vinsauf  complain 
That  liis  art  had  but  wasted  his  wine-casks  in  vain. 

XIV. 

2Tfte  Castle  of  tlje  ^ebeu  Stnelost. 

A  BALLAD. 

The  Druid  Urien  had  daughters  seven, 
'Their  skill  could  call  the  moon  from  heaven ; 
So  fair  their  forms  and  so  high  their  fame, 
That  seven  proud  kings  for  their  suitors  came. 

King  Mador  and  Rhys  came  from  Powis  and  Wales, 
Unshorn  was  their  hair,  and  unpruned  were  their 
nails ;  [lame, 

From  Strath-Clwyde  was  Ewain,  and  Ewain  was 
And  the  red-bearded  Donald  from  Galloway  came. 

Lot,  King  of  Lodon,  was  hunchback'd  from  youth ; 
Dunmail  of  Cumbria  had  never  a  tooth; 
But  Adolf  of  Bambrough,  Northumberland's  heir, 
Was  gay  and  was  gallant,  was  young  and  was  fair. 

There  was  strife  'mongst  the  sisters,  for  each  one 

would  have 
For  husband  King  Adolf,  the  gallant  and  brave  ; 
And  envy  bred  hate,  and  hate  urged  them  to  blows, 
When  the  firm  earth  was  cleft,  and  the  Arch-fiend 

arose  ! 

He  swore  to  the  maidens  their  wish  to  fulfil — 
They  swore  to  the  foe  they  would  work  by  his  will. 
A  spindle  and  distaff  to  each  hath  he  given, 

*  Now  hearken  my  spell,"  said   the   Outcast   of 

heaven. 

*  Ye  shall  ply  these  spindles  at  midnight  hour, 

i  "  The  word  '  peril'  is  continually  used  as  a  verb  by  both 
writers : — 

'  Nor  peril  aught  for  me  agen.' 

Lady  of  the  Lake.     Canto  ii.  stanza  26. 
I  perill'd  thus  the  helpless  child.' 

Lord  of  the  Isles.     Canto  v.  stanza  10. 


Ana  for  every  spindle  shall  rise  a  tower, 

"Where  the  right  shall  be  feeble,  the  wrong  shaE 

have  power, 
And  there  shall  ye  dwell  with  your  paramour." 

Beneath  the  pale  moonlight  they  sate  on  the  wold, 
And  the  rhymes  which  they  chanted  must  never 

be  told ; 
And  as  the  black  wool  from  the  distaff  they  sped, 
With  blood  fro**,  their  bosom  they  moisten'd  the 

thread. 

[gleam, 
As  light  danced  the   spindles  beneath  the  cold 
The  castle  arose  like  the  birth  of  a  dream — 
The  seven  towers   ascended  like  mist  from  the 

ground, 
Seven  portals  defend  them,  seven  ditches  surround. 

Witlun  that  dread  castle  seven  monarchs  were  wed, 
But  six  of  the  seven  ere  the  morning  lay  dead ; 
With  their  eyes  all  on  fire,  and  their  daggers  all  red, 
Seven  damsels  surround  the  Northumbrian's  bed. 

"  Six  kingly  bridegrooms  to  death  we  have  done, 
Six  gallant  kingdoms  King  Adolf  hath  won, 
Six  lovely  brides  all  his  pleasure  to  do, 
Or  the  bed  of  the  seventh  shall  be  husbandless  too/' 

Well  chanced  it  that  Adolf  the  night  when  hewed 
Had  confess'd  and  had  sain'd  him  ere  boune  to  his 
bed ;  [drew, 

He  sprung  from  the  couch  and  his  broadsword  he 
And  there  the  seven  daughters  of  Urien  he  slew. 

The  gate  of  the  castle  he  bolted  and  seal'd, 
And  hung  o'er  each  arch-stone  a  crown  and  a  shield ; 
To  the  cells  of  Saint  Dunstan  then  wended  his  way 
And  died  in  his  cloister  an  anchorite  gray. 

Seven  monarchs'  wealth  in  that  castle  lies  stow'd, 
The  foul  fiends  brood  o'er  them  like  raven  and  toad. 
Whoever  shall  guesten  these  chambers  within, 
From  curfew  till  matins,  that  treasure  shall  win. 

But  manhood  grows  faint  as  the  world  waxes  old ! 
There  lives  not  in  Britain  a  champion  so  bold, 
So  dauntless  of  heart,  and  so  prudent  of  brain, 
As  to  dare  the  adventure  that  treasure  to  gain 

The  waste  ridge  of  Cheviot  shall  wave  with  the  rye, 
Before  the  rude  Scots  shall  Northumberland  fly, 
And  the  flint  clifts  of  Bambro'  shall  melt  in  the  sun 
Before  that  adventure  be  perill'd  and  won.1 

•  Were  the  blood  of  all  my  ancestors  in  my  veins,  I  would 
have  perilled  it  in  this  quarrel.' — Waver  ley. 

'  I  were  undeserving  his  grace,  did  I  not  peril  it  for  his  goort 
— Ivanhoe. 
&c.  &c." — Adolphus'  Letters  on  the  Author  of  Waverley. 


528 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XV. 

•  And  is  this  my  probation  ?"  wild  Harold  he  said, 
'  Within  a  lone  castle  to  press  a  lone  bed  ? — 
Good  even,  my  Lord  Bishop, — Saint  Cuthbert  to 
borrow,  [row." 

The  Castle  of  Seven  Shields  receives  me  to-mor- 


fiarolir  fyt  WatmtitBS. 


CANTO  FIFTH. 


Denmark's  sage  courtier  to  her  princely  youth, 
Granting  his  cloud  an  ouzel  or  a  whale,1 
Spoke,  though  unwittingly,  a  partial  truth ; 
For  Fantasy  embroiders  Nature's  veil. 
The  tints  of  ruddy  eve,  or  dawning  pale, 
Of  the  swart  thunder-cloud,  or  silver  haze, 
Are  but  the  ground-work  of  the  rich  detail 
Which  Fantsay  with  pencil  wild  portrays, 
Blending  what  seems  and  is,  in  the  wrapt  muser's 
gaze. 

Nor  are  the  stubborn  forms  of  earth  and  stone 
Less  to  the  Sorceress's  empire  given ; 
For  not  with  unsubstantial  hues  alone, 
Caught  from  the  varying  surge,  or  vacant 

heaven, 
From  bursting  sunbeam,  or  from  flashing  levin, 
She  limns  her  pictures :  on  the  earth,  as  air, 
Arise  her  castles,  and  her  car  is  driven  ; 
And  never  gazed  the  eye  on  scene  so  fair, 
But  of  its  boasted  charms  gave  Fancy  half  the 

share. 

II. 

Up  a  wild  pass  went  Harold,  bent  to  prove, 
Hugh  Meneville,  the  adventure  of  thy  lay ; 
Gunnar  pursued  his  steps  in  faith  and  love, 
Ever  companion  of  his  master's  way. 
Midward  their  path,  a  rock  of  granite  gray 
From  the  adjoining  cliff  had  made  descent, — 
A  barren  mass — yet  with  her  drooping  spray 
Had  a  young  birch-tree  crown'd  its  battlement, 
Twisting  her  fibrous  roots  through  cranny,  flaw 
and  rent. 

This  rock   and   tree   could   Gunnar's    thought 

engage 
Till  Fancy  brought  the  tear-drop  to  his  eye, 

i  "  Hamlet.  Do  you  see  yonder  cloud,  that's  almost  in  shape 
•f  a  camel  ? 

Polonius.  By  the  mass,  and  'tis  like  a  camel,  indeed  ! 
Ham.  Methinks,  it  is  like  a  weasel. 


And  at  his  master  ask'd  the  timid  Page, 
"  What  is  the  emblem  that  a  bard  shou'd  spy 
In  that  rude  rock  and  its  green  canopy  ?" 
And  Harold  said,  "  Like  to  the  helmet  brave 
Of  warrior  slain  in  fight  it  seems  to  lie, 
And  these  same  drooping  boughs  do  o'er  it  wave 
Not  all  unlike  the  plume  his  lady's  favor  gave." — 

"  Ah,  no !"  replied  the  Page ;  "  the  ill-starr'd  love 
Of  some  poor  maid  is  in  the  emblem  shown, 
Whose  fates  are  with  some  hero's  interwove, 
And  rooted  on  a  heart  to  love  unknown : 
And  as  the  gentle  dews  of  heaven  alone 
Nourish   those    drooping   boughs,   and   as   the 

scathe 
Of  the  red  lightning  rends  both  tree  and  stone, 
So  fares  it  with  her  unrequited  faith, — 
Her  sole  relief  is  tears — her  only  refuge  death."— 

III. 

"  Thou  art  a  fond  fantastic  boy," 
Harold  replied,  "  to  females  coy, 

Yet  prating  still  of  love ; 
Even  so  amid  the  clash  of  war 
I  know  thou  lovest  to  keep  afar, 
Though  destined  by  thy  evil  star 

With  one  like  me  to  rove, 
Whose  business  and  whose  joys  are  found 
Upon  the  bloody  battle-ground. 
Yet,  foolish  trembler  as  thou  art, 
Thou  hast  a  nook  of  my  rude  heart, 
And  thou  and  I  will  never  part ; — 
Harold  would  wrap  the  world  in  flame 
Ere  injury  on  Gunnar  came  !" 

IV. 

The  grateful  Page  made  no  reply, 
But  turn'd  to  Heaven  his  gentle  eye, 
And  clasp'd  his  hands,  as  one  who  said, 
"  My  toils — my  wanderings  are  o'erpaid  1" 
Then  in  a  gayer,  lighter  strain, 
Compell'd  himself  to  speech  again ; 

And,  as  they  flow'd  along, 
His  words  took  cadence  soft  and  slow, 
And  liquid,  like  dissolving  snow, 

They  melted  into  song. 


"  What  though  through  fields  of  carnage  wid« 
I  may  not  follow  Harold's  stride, 
Yet  who  with  faithful  Gunnar's  pride 

Lord  Harold's  feats  can  see  ? 
And  dearer  than  the  couch  of  pride, 
He  loves  the  bed  of  gray  wolf's  hide. 

Pol.  It  is  backed  like  a  weasel. 
Ham.  Or,  like  a  whale  ? 
Pol.  Very  like  a  whale." 

Hamlet. 


canto  v.                                HAROLD  THE 

• 

-  DAUNTLESS.                                        529 

When  slumbering  by  Lord  Harold's  side 

The  fiends  of  bloodshed  and  of  wrath. 

Tn  forest,  field,  or  lea." — 

In  this  thine  hour,  yet  turn  and  hear  1 

VI. 

For  life  is  brief  and  judgment  near." 

"Break  off!"  said  Harold,  in  a  tone 

IX. 

Where  hurry  and  surprise  were  shown, 

Then  ceased  The  Voice. — The  Dane  replied 

With  some  slight  touch  of  fear, — 

In  tones  where  awe  and  inborn  pride 

■  Break  off,  we  are  not  here  alone  ; 

For  mastery  strove, — "  In  vain  ye  chide 

A  Palmer  form  comes  slowly  on ! 

The  wolf  for  ravaging  the  flock, 

By  cowl,  and  staff,  and  mantle  known, 

Or  with  its  hardness  taunt  the  rock, — 

My  monitor  is  near. 

I  am  as  they — my  Danish  strain 

Now  mark  him,  Gunnar,  needfully ; 

Sends  streams  of  fire  through  every  vein. 

He  pauses  by  the  blighted  tree — 

Amid  thy  realms  of  goule  and  ghost, 

Dost  see  him,  youth  ? — Thou  couldst  not  see 

Say,  is  the  fame  of  Eric  lost, 

When  in  the  vale  of  Galilee 

Or  Witikind's  the  Waster,  known 

I  first  beheld  his  form, 

Where  fame  or  spoil  was  to  be  won ; 

Nor  when  we  met  that  other  while 

Whose  galleys  ne'er  bore  off  a  shore 

In  Cephalonia's  rocky  isle, 

They  left  not  black  with  flame  ? — 

Before  the  fearful  storm, — 

He  was  my  sire, — and,  sprung  of  him, 

Dost  see  him  now  ?" — The  Page,  distraught 

That  rover  merciless  and  grim, 

With  terror,  answer'd,  "  I  see  naught, 

Can  I  be  soft  and  tame  ?                         [me, 

And  there  is  naught  to  see, 

Part  hence,  and  with  my  crimes  no  more  upbraid 

Save  that  the  oak's  scathed  boughs  fling  down 

I  am  that  Waster's  son,  and  am  but  what  he  made 

Upon  the  path  a  shadow  brown, 

me." 

That,  like  a  pilgrim's  dusky  gown, 

Waves  with  the  waving  tree." 

X. 

The    Phantom    groan'd;  —  the    mountain    shook 

VII. 

around, 

Count  Harold  gazed  upon  the  oak 

The  fawn  and  wild-doe  started  at  the  sound, 

As  if  his  eyestrings  would  have  broke, 

The  gorse  and  fern  did  wildly  round  them  wav«, 

And  then  resolvedly  said, — 

As  if  some  sudden  storm  the  impulse  gave. 

"  Be  what  it  will  yon  phantom  gray — 

"  All  thou  hast  said  is  truth — Yet  on  the  head 

Nor  heaven,  nor  hell,  shall  ever  say 

Of  that  bad  sire  let  not  the  charge  be  laid, 

That  for  their  shadows  from  his  way 

That  he,  like  thee,  with  unreleuiing  pace, 

Count  Harold  turn'd  dismay'd : 

From  grave  to  cradle  ran  the  evil  race : — 

I'll  speak  him,  though  his  accents  fill 

Relentless  in  his  avarice  and  ire, 

My  heart  with  that  unwonted  thrill 

Churches  and  towns  he  gave  to  sword  and  flie 

Which  vulgar  minds  call  fear.1 

Shed  blood  like  water,  wasted  every  land, 

I  will  subdue  it !" — Forth  he  strode, 

Like  the  destroying  angel's  burning  brand  ; 

Paused  where  the  blighted  oak-tree  show'd 

Fulfill' d  whate'er  of  ill  might  be  invented, 

Its  sable  shadow  on  the  road, 

Yes — all   these   things  he    did — he   did,  but   he 

And,  folding  on  his  bosom  broad 

REPENTED ! 

His  arms,  said,  "  Speak — I  hear." 

Perchance  it  is  part  of  his  punishment  still, 

That  his  offspring  pursues  his  example  of  ill. 

VIII. 

But  thou,  when  thy  tempest  of  wrath  shall  next 

The  Deep  Voice2  said,  "  0  wild  of  will, 

shake  thee,                                            [thee ; 

Furious  thy  purpose  to  fulfil — 

Gird  thy  loins  for  resistance,  my  son,  and  awake 

Heart-sear'd  and  unrepentant  still, 

If  thou  yield'st  to  thy  fury,  how  tempted  soever, 

How  long,  0  Harold,  shall  thy  tread 

The  gate  of  repentance  shall  ope  for  thee  neveb  !"— 

Disturb  the  slumbers  of  the  dead  ? 

Each  step  in  thy  wild  way  thou  makest, 

XI. 

The  ashes  of  the  dead  thou  wakest ; 

"  He  is  gone,"  said  Lord  Harold,  and  gazed  as  ha 

And  shout  in  triumph  o'er  thy  path 

spoke ; 

i  "  I'll  speak  to  it,  though  hell  itself  should  gape." 

Thou  aged  carle,  so  stern  and  gray  ? 

Hamlet. 

4  Know'st  thou  not  me  ?'  the  Deep  Voice  cried." 

*  "  Why  sit'st  thou  by  that  ruin'd  hall, 
67 

Waverley  Novels — Antiquary,  vol.  v.  p   14.** 

530 


ISCOITJS  POETICAL   YVOKKS. 


u  There  is  naught  on  the  path  but  the  shade  of  the 

oak. 
He  is  gone,  whose  strange  presence  my  feeling 

oppress'd,  [breast. 

Like  the  night-hag   that  sits  on  the  slumberer's 
My  heart  beats  as  thick  as  a  fugitive's  tread, 
And   cold   dews    drop   from  my  brow  and   my 

head. — 
Ho !  Gunnar,  the  flasket  yon  almoner  gave ; 
He  said  that  three  drops  would  recall  from  the 

grave.  [has  power, 

For  the  first  time  Count  Harold  owns  leech-craft 
Or,  liia  courage  to  aid,  lacks  the  juice  of  a  flower !" 
The  page  gave  the  flasket,  which  Walwayn  had 

fill'd  [distiird— 

With  the  juice  of  wild  roots  that   his   art  had 
So  baneful  their  influence  on  all  that  had  breath, 
One  drop  had  been  phrensy,  and  two  had  been 

death. 
Harold  took  it,  but  drank  not ;  for  jubilee  shrill, 
And  music  and  clamor  were  heard  on  the  hill, 
And  down  the  steep  pathway,  o'er  stock  and  o'er 

stone, 
The  train  of  a  bridal  came  blithesomely  on  ; 
There  was  song,  there  was  pipe,  there  was  timbrel, 

and  still 
The  burden  was,  "  Joy  to  the  fair  Metelill !" 

XII. 

Harold  might  see  from  his  high  stance, 
Himself  unseen,  that  train  advance 

With  mirth  and  melody  ; — 
On  horse  and  foot  a  mingled  throng, 
Measuring  their  steps  to  bridal  song 

And  bridal  minstrelsy ; 
And  ever  when  the  blithesome  rout 
Lent  to  the  song  their  choral  shout, 
Redoubling  echoes  roll'd  about, 
While  echoing  cave  and  cliff  sent  out 

The  answering  symphony 
Of  all  those  mimic  notes  which  dwell 
In  hollow  rock  and  sounding  dell. 

XIII. 
Joy  shook  his  torch  above  the  band, 
By  many  a  various  passion  fann'd ; — 
As  elemental  sparks  can  feed 
On  essence  pure  and  coarsest  weed, 
Gentle,  or  stormy,  or  refined, 
Joy  takes  the  colors  of  the  mind. 
Lightsome  and  pure,  but  unrepress'd, 
He  fired  the  bridegroom's  gallant  breast ; 
More  feebly  strove  with  maiden  fear, 
Yet  still  joy  glimmer'd  through  the  tear 
On  the  bride's  blushing  cheek,  that  shows 
Like  dew-drop  on  the  budding  rose ; 
While  Wulfstane's  gloomy  smile  declared 
The  glee  that  selfish  avarice  shared, 


And  pleased  revenge  and  malice  high 

Joy's  semblance  took  in  Jutta's  eye. 

On  dangerous  adventure  sped, 

The  witch  deem'd  Harold  with  the  dead, 

For  thus  that  morn  her  Demon  said : 

"  If,  ere  the  set  of  sun,  be  tied 

The  knot  'twixt  bridegroom  and  his  bride, 

The  Dane  shall  have  no  power  of  ill 

O'er  William  and  o'er  Metelill." 

And  the  pleased  witch  made  answer,  "  Then 

Must   Harold   have   pass'd  from   the   paths  oi 

men  ! 
Evil  repose  may  his  spirit  have, — 
May  hemlock  and  mandrake  find  root  in  his 

grave, — 
May  his  death-sleep  be  dogged  by  dreams  of 

dismay, 
And  his  waking  be  worse  at  the  answering  day.' 

XIV. 
Such  was  their  various  mood  of  glee 
Blent  in  one  shout  of  ecstasy. 
But  still  when  Joy  is  brimming  highest, 
Of  Sorrow  and  Misfortune  nighest, 
Of  Terror  with  her  ague  cheek, 
And  lurking  Danger,  sages  speak : — 
These  haunt  each  path,  but  chief  they  lay 
Their  snares  beside  the  primrose  way. — 
Thus  found  that  bridal  band  their  path 
Beset  by  Harold  in  his  wrath. 
Trembling  beneath  his  maddening  mood, 
High  on  a  rock  the  giant  stood ; 
His  shout  was  like  the  doom  of  d^ath 
Spoke  o'er  their  heads  that  pass'd  beneath 
His  destined  victims  might  not  spy 
The  reddening  terrors  of  his  eye, — 
The  frown  of  rage  that  writhed  his  face, — 
The  lip  that  foam'd  like  boar's  in  chase ; — 
But  all  could  see — and,  seeing,  all 
Bore  back  to  shun  the  threaten'd  fall — 
The  fragment  which  their  giant  foe 
Rent  from  the  cliff  and  heaved  to  throw. 

XV. 
Backward  they  bore ; — yet  are  there  two  • 

For  battle  who  prepare  : 
No  pause  of  dread  Lord  William  knew 

Ere  his  good  blade  was  bare ; 
And  Wulfstane  bent  his  fatal  yew, 
But  ere  the  silken  cord  he  drew, 
As  hurl'd  from  Hecla's  thunder,  flew 

That  ruin  through  the  air  1 
Full  on  the  outlaw's  front  it  came, 
And  all  that  late  had  human  name, 
And  human  face,  and  human  frame 
That  lived,  and  moved,  and  had  free  will 
To  choose  the  path  of  good  or  ill, 

Is  to  its  reckoning  gone ; 


tAsio  v.                                  HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS.                                         531 

And  naught  of  Wulfstane  rests  behind, 

He  turns  and  strides  away  ; 

Save  that  beneath  that  stone, 

Yet  oft,  like  revellers  who  leave 

Half-buried  in  the  dinted  clay, 

Unfinish'd  feast,  looks  back  to  grieve, 

A  red  and  shapeless  mass  there  lay 

As  if  repenting  the  reprieve 

Of  mingled  flesh  and  bone ! 

He  granted  to  his  prey. 

Yet  still  of  forbearance  one  sign  hath  he  given, 

XVI. 

And  fierce  Witikind's  son  made  one  step  towards 

As  from  the  bosom  of  the  sky 

heaven. 

The  eagle  darts  amain, 

Three  bounds  from  yonder  summit  high 

XVIII. 

Placed  Harold  on  the  plain. 

But  though  his  dreaded  footsteps  part, 

As  the  scared  wild-fowl  scream  and  fly, 

Death  is  behind  and  shakes  his  dart ; 

So  fled  the  bridal  train ; 

Lord  William  on  the  plain  is  lying, 

As  'gainst  the  eagle's  peerless  might 

Beside  him  Metelill  seems  dying  ! — 

The  noble  falcon  dares  the  fight, 

Bring  odors — essences  in  haste — 

But  dares  the  fight  in  vain, 

And  lo  !  a  flasket  richly  chased, — 

So  fought  the  bridegroom ;  from  his  hand 

But  Jutta  the  elixir  proves 

The  Dane's  rude  mace  has  struck  his  brand, 

Ere  pouring  it  for  those  she  loves — 

Its  glittering  fragments  strew  the  sand, 

Then  Walwayn's  potion  was  not  wasted, 

Its  lord  lies  on  the  plain. 

For  when  three  drops  the  hag  had  tasted, 

Now,  Heaven !  take  noble  William's  part, 

So  dismal  was  her  yell, 

And  melt  that  yet  unmelted  heart, 

Each  bird  of  evil  omen  woke, 

Or,  ere  his  bridal  hour  depart, 

The  raven  gave  his  fatal  croak, 

The  hapless  bridegroom's  slain  ! 

And,  shriek'd   the   night-crow   from   the 

oak, 

XVII. 

The  screech-owl  from  the  thicket  broke, 

Count  Harold's  phrensied  rage  is  high, 

And  flutter'd  down  the  dell ! 

There  is  a  death-fire  in  Ins  eye, 

So  fearful  was  the  sound  and  stern, 

Deep  furrows  on  his  brow  are  trench' d, 

The  slumbers  of  the  full-gorged  erne 

His  teeth  are  set,  his  hand  is  clench'd, 

Were  startled,  and  from  furze  and  fern 

The  foam  upon  his  lip  is  white, 

Of  forest  and  of  fell, 

His  deadly  arm  is  up  to  smite  1 

The  fox  and  famish'd  wolf  replied 

But,  as  the  mace  aloft  he  swung, 

(For  wolves  then  prowl'd  the  Cheviot  side) 

To  stop  the  blow  young  Gunnar  sprung, 

From  mountain  head  to  mountain  head 

Around  his  master's  knees  he  clung, 

The  unhallow'd  sounds  around  were  sped  y 

And  cried,  "  In  mercy  spare ! 

But  when  their  latest  echo  fled, 

0,  think  upon  the  words  of  fear 

The  sorceress  on  the  ground  lay  dead. 

Spoke  by  that  visionary  Seer, 

The  crisis  he  foretold  is  here, — 

XIX. 

Grant  mercy, — or  despair !" 

Such  was  the  scene  of  blood  and  woes, 

Tins  word  suspended  Harold's  mood, 

With  which  the  bridal  morn  arose 

Yet  still  with  arm  upraised  he  stood, 

Of  William  and  of  Metelill ; 

And  visage  like  the  headsman's  rude 

But  oft,  when  dawning  'gins  to  spread,, 

That  pauses  for  the  sign. 

The  summer  morn  peeps  dim  and  red 

"  0  mark  thee  with  the  blessed  rood," 

Above  the  eastern  hill, 

The  Page  implored ;  "  Speak  word  of  good, 

Ere,  bright  and  fair,  upon  his  road 

Resist  the  fiend,  or  be  subdued !" 

The  King  of  Splendor  walks  abroad ; 

He  sign'd  the  cross  divine — 

So,  when  this  cloud  had  pass'd  away, 

Instant  his  eye  hath  human  light, 

Bright  was  the  noontide  of  their  day, 

Less  red,  less  keen,  less  fiercely  bright ; 

And  all  serene  its  setting  ray. 

His  brow  relax'd  the  obdurate  frown, 
The  fatal  mace  sinks  gently  down, 

i  See  a  note  on  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  Canto  v.  st.  31,  p.  454 
ante. 

532 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


canto  v: 


iljarottr  tlje  JDattntlm. 


C  -NTO    SIXTH, 


I. 

"Well  do  I  hope  that  this  my  minstrel  tale 
Will  tempt  no  traveller  from  southern  fields, 
Whether  in  tilbury,  barouche,  or  mail, 
To  view  the  Castle  of  these  Seven  Proud  Shields. 
Small  confirmation  its  condition  yields 
To  Meneville's  high  lay, — No  towers  are  seen 
On  the  wild  heath,  but  those  that  Fancy  builds, 
And,  save  a  fosse  that  tracks  the  moor  with 
green,  [been. 

[s  naught  remains  to  tell  of  what  may  there  have 

And  yet  grave  authors,  with  the  no  small  waste 
Of  their  grave  time,  have  dignified  the  spot 
By  theories,  to  prove  the  fortress  placed 
By  Roman  bands,  to  curb  the  invading  Scot. 
Hutchinson,  Horsley,  Camden,  I  might  quote, 
But  rather  choose  the  theory  less  civil 
Of  boors,  who,  origin  of  things  forgot, 
Refer  still  to  the  origin  of  evil,  [fiend  the  Devil. 
And  for  their  master-mason  choose  that  master- 

II. 
Therefore,  I  say,  it  was  on  fiend-built  towers 
That  stout  Count  Harold  bent  his  wondering 

gaze, 
When  evening  dew  was  on  the  heather  flowers, 
And   the   last   sunbeams   made   the   mountain 

blaze, 
And  tinged  the  battlements  of  other  days 
With  the  bright  level  light  ere  sinking  down. — 
Blumined  thus,  the  Dauntless  Dane  surveys 
The  Seven  Proud  Shields  that  o'er  the  portal 

frown,  [renown. 

And  on  their  blazons  traced  high  marks  of  old 

A  wolf  North  Wales  had  on  his  armor-coat, 
And  Rhys  of  Powis-land  a  couchant  stag  ; 
Strath-Clwyd's  strange  emblem  was  a  stranded 

boat, 
Donald  of  Galloway's  a  trotting  nag ; 
A  corn-sheaf  gilt  was  fertile  Lodon's  brag ; 
A  dudgeon-dagger  was  by  Dunmail  worn ; 
Northumbrian  Adolf  gave  a  sea-beat  crag 
Surmounted  by  a  cross — such  signs  were  borne 
Upon  these  antique  shields,  all  wasted  now  and 
worn. 

III. 
These  scann  d,  Count  Harold  sought  the  castle- 
door, 
Whose  ponderous  bolts  were  rusted  to  decay ; 


Yet  till  that  hour  adventurous  knight  forbore 
The  unobstructed  passage  to  essay. 
More  strong  than  armed  warders  in  array, 
And  obstacle  more  sure  than  bolt  or  bar. 
Sate  in  the  portal  Terror  and  Dismay, 
While  Superstition,  who  forbade  to  war 
With  foes  of  other  mould  than  mortal  clay, 
Cast  spells  across  the  gate,  and  bair'd  the  onward 
way. 

Vain  now  those  spells ;  for  soon  with  heavy  clank 
The  feebly-fasten'd  gate  was  inward  push'd, 
And,  as  it  oped,  through  that  emblazon'd  rank 
Of  antique  shields,  the  wind  of  evening  rush'd 
With  sound  most  like  a  groan,  and  then  was 

hush'd. 
Is  none  who  on  such  spot  such  sounds  could  hear 
But  to  his  heart  the  blood  had  faster  ruslrd  ; 
Yet  to  bold  Harold's  breast  that  throb  was  dear- 
It  spoke  of  danger  nigh,  but  had  no  touch  of  fear. 

IV. 
Yet  Harold  and  his  Page  no  signs  have  traced 
Within  the  castle,  that  of  danger  show'd  : 
For  still  the  halls  and  courts  were  wild  and  waste. 
As  through  their  precincts  the  adventurers  trode 
The  seven  huge  towers  rose  stately,  tall,  and 

broad, 
Each  tower  presenting  to  their  scrutiny 
A  hall  in  which  a  king  might  make  abode, 
And  fast  beside,  garnish'd  both  proud  and  high 
Was  placed  a  bower  for  rest  in  which  a  king  might 

lie. 

As  if  a  bridal  there  of  late  had  been, 
Deck'd  stood  the  table  in  each  gorgeous  hall ; 
And  yet  it  was  two  hundred  years,  I  ween, 
Since  date  of  that  unhallow'd  festival. 
Flagons,  and  ewers,  and  standing  cups,  were  all 
Of  tarnish'd  gold,  or  silver  nothing  clear, 
With  throne  begilt,  and  canopy  of  pall,   [sear — 
And  tapestry  clothed  the  walls  with  fragments 
Frail  as  the  spider's  mesh  did  that  rich  woof  appear. 


In  every  bower,  as  round  a  hearse,  was  hung 
A  dusky  crimson  curtain  o'er  the  bed, 
And  on  each  couch  in  ghastly  wise  were  flung 
The  wasted  relics  of  a  monarch  dead ; 
Barbaric  ornaments  around  were  spread,  [stone, 
Vests  twined  with  gold,  and  chains  of  precious 
And  golden  circlets,  meet  for  monarch's  head ; 
While  grinn'd,  as  if  in  scorn  amongst  them  thrown, 
The  wearer's  fleshless  skull,  alike  with  dust  be- 
strown. 

For  these  were  tbey  who,  drunken  with  delighl 
On  pleasure's  opiate  pillow  laid  their  head, 


CANTO  VI. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUN'iLEdri. 


53b 


For  whom  the  bride's  shy  footstep,  slow  and  light, 
Was  changed  ere  morning  to  the  murderer's  tread. 
For  human  bliss  and  woe  in  the  frail  thread 
Of  human  life  are  all  so  closely  twined, 
That  till  the  shears  of  Fate  the  texture  shred, 
The  close  succession  cannot  be  disjoin'd, 
NToi  dare  we,  from  one  hour,  judge  that  which  comes 
behind. 

VI. 
But  where  the  work  of  vengeance  had  been  done, 
In  that  seventh  chamber,  was  a  sterner  sight ; 
There  of  the  witch-brides  lay  each  skeleton, 
Still  in  the  posture  as  to  death  when  dight. 
For  this  lay  prone,  by  one  blow  slain  outright ; 
And  that,  as  one  who  struggled  long  in  dying ; 
One  bony  hand  held  knife,  as  if  to  smite ; 
One  bent  on  fleshless  knees,  as  mercy  crying ; 
One  lay  across  the  door,  as  kill'd  in  act  of  flying.1 

The  stern  Dane  smiled  this  charnel-house  to  see,— 
For  his  chafed  thought  return'd  to  Metelill ; — 
And  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  hath  woman's  perfidy, 
Empty  as  air,  as  water  volatile, 
Been  here  avenged — The  origin  of  ill 
Through   woman   rose,   the    Christian   doctrine 

saith : 
Nor  deem  I,  Gunnar,  that  thy  minstrel  skill 
Can  show  example  where  a  woman's  breath 
Hath  made  a  true-love  vow,  and,  tempted,  kept 

her  faith." 

VII. 

The  minstrel-boy  half  smiled,  half  sigh'd, 

And  his  half  filling  eyes  he  dried, 

And  said,  "  The  theme  I  should  but  wrong, 

Unless  it  were  my  dying  song 

(Our  Scalds  have  said,  in  dying  hour 

The  Northern  harp  has  treble  power), 

Else  could  I  tell  of  woman's  faith, 

Defying  danger,  scorn,  and  death. 

Firm  was  that  faith, — as  diamond  stone 

Pure  and  unflaw'd, — her  love  unknown, 

And  unrequited ; — firm  and  pure, 

Her  stainless  faith  could  all  endure ; 

From  clime  to  clime, — from  place  to  place, — 

Through  want,  and  danger,  and  disgrace, 

A  wanderer's  wayward  steps  could  trace. — 

All  this  she  did,  and  guerdon  none 

Required,  save  that  her  burial-stone 

Should  make  at  length  the  secret  known, 

'  Thus  hath  a  faithful  woman  done.' — 


1  "  In  an  invention  like  this  we  are  hardly  to  look  for  prob- 
ulii'ities,  but  all  these  preparations  and  ornaments  are  not  quite 
consistent  with  the  state  of  society  two  hundred  years  before 
the  Danish  Invasion,  as  far  as  we  know  any  thing  of  it.  In 
these  matters,  however,  the  author  is  never  very  scrupulous, 
md  has  too  little  regarded  propriety  in  the  minor  circumstan- 


Not  in  each  breast  such  truth  is  laid, 
But  Eivir  was  a  Danish  maid." — 

VIII. 

"  Thou  art  a  wild  enthusiast,"  said 
Count  Harold,  "  for  thy  Danish  maid  • 
And  yet,  young  Gunnar,  I  will  own 
Hers  were  a  faith  to  rest  upon. 
But  Eivir  sleeps  beneath  her  stone, 
And  all  resembling  her  are  gone. 
What  maid  e'er  show'd  such  constancy 
In  plighted  faith,  like  thine  to  me  ? 
But  couch  thee,  boy ;  the  darksome  shad» 
Falls  thickly  round,  nor  be  dismay'd 

Because  the  dead  are  by. 
They  were  as  we  ;  our  little  day 
O'erspent,  and  we  shall  be  as  they. 
Yet  near  me,  Gunnar,  be  thou  laid, 
Thy  couch  upon  my  mantle  made, 
That  thou  mayst  think,  should  fear  invade, 

Thy  master  slumbers  nigh." 
Thus  couch'd  they  in  that  dread  abode. 
Until  the  beams  of  dawning  glow'd. 

IX. 

An  alter'd  man  Lord  Harold  rose, 
When  he  beheld  that  dawn  unclose — 

There's  trouble  in  his  eyes, 
And  traces  on  his  brow  and  cheek 
Of  mingled  awe  and  wonder  speak : 

"  My  page,"  he  said,  "  arise  ; — 
Leave  we  this  place,  my  page." — No  more 
He  utter'd  till  the  castle  door 
They  cross' d — but  there  he  paused  and  said, 
"  My  wildness  hath  awaked  the  dead — 

Disturb'd  the  sacred  tomb ! 
Methought  this  night  I  stood  on  high, 
Where  Hecla  roars  in  middle  sky, 
And  in  her  cavern'd  gulfs  could  spy 

The  central  place  of  doom ; 
And  there  before  my  mortal  eye 
Souls  of  the  dead  came  flitting  by, 
Whom  fiends,  with  many  a  fiendish  cry, 

Bore  to  that  evil  den  ! 
My  eyes  grew  dizzy,  and  my  brain 
Was  wilder'd,  as  the  elvish  train, 
With  shriek  and  howl,  dragg'd  on  amain 

Those  who  had  late  been  men. 

X. 

"  With  haggard  eyes  and  streaming1  hair, 
Jutta  the  Sorceress  was  there, 

ces  :  thus  Harold  is  clad  in  a  kind  of  armor  not  worn  until  som« 
hundred  years  after  the  era  of  the  poem,  and  many  of  th« 
scenes  described,  like  that  last  quoted  (stanzas  iv.  v.  vi.1,  be- 
long even  to  a  still  later  period.  At  least  this  defect  is  not  an 
imitation  of  Mr.  Scott,  who,  being  a  skilful  antiquary,  is  ex- 
tremely careful  as  to  niceties  of  this  sort." — Critical  Review. 


534                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.                              canto  vi 

And  there  pass'd  Wulfstane,  lately  slain, 

Methought  while  thus  my  sire  did  teach, 

All  crush'd  and  foul  with  bloody  stain. — 

I  caught  the  meaning  of  his  speech, 

More  had  I  seen,  but  that  uprose 

Yet  seems  its  purport  doubtful  now." 

A  whirlwind  wild,  and  swept  the  snows ; 

His  hand  then  sought  his  thoughtful  brow  - 

And  with  such  sound  as  when  at  need 

Then  first  he  mark'd,  that  in  the  tower 

A  champion  spurs  his  horse  to  speed, 

His  glove  was  left  at  waking  hour. 

Three  arm'd  knights  rush  on,  who  lead 

Caparison'd  a  sable  steed. 

XII. 

Sable  their  harness,  and  there  came 

Trembling  at  first,  and  deadly  pale, 

Through  their  closed  vizors  sparks  of  flame. 

Had  Gunnar  heard  the  vision'd  tale  ; 

The  first  proclaim'd,  in  sounds  of  fear, 

But  when  he  learn'd  the  dubious  close, 

'  Harold  the  Dauntless,  welcome  here  1' 

He  blush'd  like  any  opening  rose, 

The  next  cried, '  Jubilee  !  we've  won 

And,  glad  to  hide  his  tell-tale  cheek, 

Count  Witikind  the  Waster's  son  !' 

Hied  back  that  glove  of  mail  to  seek 

And  the  third  rider  sternly  spoke, 

When  soon  a  shriek  of  deadly  dread 

'  Mount,  in  the  name  of  Zernebock  ! — 

Summon'd  Ins  master  to  his  aid. 

From  us,  0  Harold,  were  thy  powers, — 

Thy  strength,  thy  dauntlessness,  are  ours ; 

XIII. 

Nor  think,  a  vassal  thou  of  hell, 

What  sees  Count  Harold  in  that  bowe 

With  hell  can  strive.'     The  fiend  spoke  true  ! 

So  late  his  resting-place  ? — 

My  inmost  soul  the  summons  knew, 

The  semblance  of  the  Evil  Power, 

As  captives  know  the  knell 

Adored  by  all  his  race  ! 

That  says  the  headsman's  sword  is  bare, 

Odin  in  living  form  stood  there, 

And,  with  an  accent  of  despair, 

His  cloak  the  spoils  of  Polar  bear ; 

Commando  them  quit  their  cell. 

For  plumy  crest  a  meteor  shed 

I  felt  resistance  was  in  vain, 

Its  gloomy  radiance  o'er  his  head, 

My  foot  had  that  fell  stirrup  ta'en, 

Yet  veil'd  its  haggard  majesty 

My  hand  was  on  the  fatal  mane, 

To  the  wild  lightnings  of  his  eye. 

When  to  my  rescue  sped 

Such  height  was  his,  that  when  in  stone 

That  Palmer's  visionary  form, 

O'er  Upsal's  giant  altar  shown : 

And — like  the  passing  of  a  storm — 

So  fiow'd  his  hoary  beard ; 

The  demons  yell'd  and  fled ! 

Such  was  his  lance  of  mountain-pine, 

So  did  his  sevenfold  buckler  shine  ; — 

XL 

But  when  his  voice  he  rear'd, 

"  His  sable  cowl,  flung  back,  reveal'd 

Deep,  without  harshness,  slow  and  strong, 

The  features  it  before  conceal'd  ; 

The  powerful  accents  roll'd  along, 

And,  Gunnar,  I  could  find 

And,  while  he  spoke,  his  hand  was  laid 

In  him  whose  counsels  strove  to  stay 

On  captive  Gunnar's  shrinking  head. 

So  oft  my  course  on  wilful  way, 

My  father  Witikind ! 

XIV. 

Doom'd  for  his  sins,  and  doom'd  for  mine, 

"  Harold,"  he  said,  "  what  rage  is  thn*t> 

A  wanderer  upon  earth  to  pine 

To  quit  the  worship  of  thy  line, 

Until  liis  son  shall  turn  to  grace, 

To  leave  thy  Warrior-God  ? — 

And  smooth  for  him  a  resting-place. — 

With  me  is  glory  or  disgrace, 

Gunnar,  he  must  not  hunt  in  vain 

Mine  is  the  onset  and  the  chase, 

This  world  of  wretchedness  and  pain : 

Embattled  hosts  before  my  face 

I'll  tame  my  wilful  heart  to  live 

Are  wither'd  by  a  nod. 

In  peace — to  pity  and  forgive — 

Wilt  thou  then  forfeit  that  high  seat 

And  thou,  for  so  the  Vision  said, 

Deserved  by  many  a  dauntless  feat, 

Must  in  thy  Lord's  repentance  aid. 

Among  the  heroes  of  thy  line, 

Thy  mother  was  a  prophetess, 

Eric  and  fiery  Thorarine  ? — 

He  said,  who  by  her  skill  could  guess 

Thou  wilt  not.     Only  I  can  give 

How  close  the  fatal  textures  join 

The  joys  for  which  the  valiant  live, 

Which  knit  thy  thread  of  life  with  mine  ; 

Victory  and  vengeance — only  I 

Then,  dark,  he  hinted  of  disguise 

Can  give  the  joys  for  which  they  die, 

She  framed  to  cheat  too  curious  eyes, 

The  immortal  tilt — the  banquet  full, 

That  not  a  moment  might  divide 

The    brimming    draught    from    foeman's 

Thy  fated  footsteps  from  my  side. 

skull. 

canto  vi.                             HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS.                                       535 

Mine  art  thou,  witness  tins  thy  glove, 

Upon  her  brow  and  neck  he  threw, 

The  faithful  pledge  of  vassal's  love." 

And  mark'd  how  life  with  rosy  hue 

On  her  pale  cheek  revived  anew, 

XV. 

And  glimmer'd  in  her  eye. 

"  Tempter,"  said  Harold,  firm  of  heart, 

Inly  he  said,  "  That  silken  tress, — 

"  I  charge  thee  hence !  whate'er  thou  art. 

What  blindness  mine  that  could  not  guess ! 

I  do  defy  thee — and  resist 

Or  how  could  page's  rugged  dress 

The  kindling  phrensy  of  my  breast, 

That  bosom's  pride  belie  ? 

Waked  by  thy  words ;  and  of  my  mail 

0,  dull  of  heart,  through  wild  and  wave 

Nor  glove,  nor  buckler,  splent,  nor  nail, 

In  search  of  blood  and  death  to  rave, 

Shall  rest  with  thee — that  youth  release, 

With  such  a  partner  nigh  I"1 

And  God,  or  Demon,  part  in  peace." — 

"  Eivir,"  the  Shape  replied,  "  is  mine, 

XVIII. 

Mark'd  in  the  birth-hour  with  my  sign. 

Then  in  the  mirror'd  pool  he  peer'd, 

Think' st  thou  that  priest  with  drops  of  spray 

Blamed  his  rough  locks  and  shaggy  beard, 

Could  wash  that  blood-red  mark  away  ? 

The  stains  of  recent  conflict  clear'd, — 

Or  that  a  borrow'd  sex  and  name 

And  thus  the  Champion  proved, 

Can  abrogate  a  Godhead's  claim  ?" 

That  he  fears  now  who  never  fear'd, 

Thrill'd  this  strange  speech  through   Harold's 

And  loves  who  never  loved. 

brain, 

And  Eivir — life  is  on  her  cheek, 

He  clench'd  his  teeth  in  high  disdain, 

And  yet  she  will  not  move  or  speak, 

For  not  his  new-born  faith  subdued 

Nor  will  her  eyelid  fully  ope  ; 

Some  tokens  of  his  ancient  mood. — 

Perchance  it  loves,  that  half-shut  eye. 

"  Now,  by  the  hope  so  lately  given 

Through  its  long  fringe,  reserved  and  shy, 

Of  better  trust  and  purer  heaven, 

Affection's  opening  dawn  to  spy : 

I  will  assail  thee,  fiend  !" — Then  rose 

And  the  deep  blush,  which  bids  its  dye 

His  mace,  and  with  a  storm  of  blows 

O'er  cheek,  and  brow,  and  bosom  fly, 

The  mortal  and  the  Demon  close. 

Speaks  shame-facedness  and  hope. 

XVI. 

XIX. 

Smoke  roll'd  above,  fire  flash'd  around, 

But  vainly  seems  the  Dane  to  seek 

Darken'd  the  sky  and  shook  the  ground 

For  terms  his  new-born  love  to  speak, — 

But  not  the  artillery  of  hell, 

For  words,  save  those  of  wrath  and  wrong 

The  bickering  lightning,  nor  the  rock 

Till  now  were  strangers  to  his  tongue ; 

Of  turrets  to  the  earthquake's  shock, 

So,  when  he  raised  the  blushing  maid, 

Could  Harold's  courage  quell. 

In  blunt  and  honest  terms  he  said 

Sternly  the  Dane  his  purpose  kept, 

('Twere  well  that  maids,  when  lovers  woo, 

And  blows  on  blows  resistless  heap'd, 

Heard  none  more  soft,  were  all  as  true), 

Till  quail' d  that  Demon  Form, 

"  Eivir  I  since  thou  for  many  a  day 

And — for  his  power  to  hurt  or  kill 

Hast  follow'd  Harold's  wayward  way, 

Was  bounded  by  a  higher  will — 

It  is  but  meet  that  in  the  line 

Evanish'd  in  the  storm. 

Of  after-life  I  follow  thine. 

Nor  paused  the  Champion  of  the  North, 

To-morrow  is  Saint  Cuthbert's  tide, 

But  raised,  and  bore  his  Eivir  forth, 

And  we  will  grace  his  altar's  side, 

From  that  wild  scene  of  fiendish  strife, 

A  Christian  knight  and  Christian  bride ; 

To  light,  to  liberty,  and  life  1 

And  of  Witikind's  son  shall  the  marvel  be  said, 

That  on  the  same  morn   he  was  ehristen'd  ana 

XVII. 

wed." 

He  placed  her  on  a  bank  of  moss, 
A  silver  runnel  bubbled  by, 

And  new-born  thoughts  his  soul  engross, 

And  tremors  yet  unknown  across 

CONCLUSION. 

His  stubborn  sinews  fly, 

And  now,  Ennui,  what  ails  thee,  weary  maid  ? 

The  while  with  timid  hand  the  dew 

And  why  these  listless  looks  of  yawning  sorrow  ; 

•  Mr  Adolphus,  in  his  Letters  on  the  Author  of  Waverley, 

son  in  the  Irish  orphan  of  '  Rokeby,'  and  the  conversion  o! 

p  230  remarks  on  the  coincidence  between  "  the  catastrophe 

Harold's  page  into  a  female," — all  whie^  he  calls  "specimens 

of  •  The  Black  Dwarf,'   the  recognition   of   Morthara's  lost 

of  unsuccessful  contrivance,  at  a  great  expense  of  probability." 

$36 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  VJ 


No  need  to  turn  the  page,  as  if  'twere  lead, 
'  Or  fling  aside  the  volume  till  to-morrow. — 
Be  cheer' d — 'tis  ended — and  I  will  not  borrow, 
To  try  thy  patience  more,  one  anecdote 

i  "  '  Harold  the  Dauntless,'  like  '  The  Bridal  of  Triermain,' 
i  a  tolerably  successful  imitation  of  some  parts  of  the  style  of 
Mr.  Walter  Scott ;  but  like  all  imitations,  it  is  clearly  distin- 
guishable from  the  prototype  ;  it  wants  the  life  and  seasoning 
of  originality.  To  illustrate  this  familiarly  from  the  stage  : —  I 
We  have  all  witnessed  a  hundred  imitations  of  popular  actors —  | 
of  Kemble,  for  instance,  in  which  the  voice,  the  gesture,  and 
somewhat  even  of  the  look,  were  copied.  In  externals  the  re- 
semblance might  be  sufficiently  correct ;  but  where  was  the 
'nforming  soul,  the  mind  that  dictated  the  action  and  expres- 
sion ?  Who  could  endure  the  tedium  of  seeing  the  imitator  go 
through  a  whole  character  ?  In  '  Harold  the  Dauntless,'  the 
imitation  of  Mr.  Scott  is  pretty  obvious,  but  we  are  weary  of 
it  before  we  arrive  near  the  end.  The  author  has  talent,  and 
considerable  facility  in  versification,  and  on  this  account  it  is 
somewhat  lamentable,  not  only  that  he  should  not  have  se- 
lected a  better  model,  but  that  he  should  copy  the  parts  of  that 
model  which  are  least  worthy  of  study.  Perhaps  it  was  not 
easy  to  equal  the  energy  of  Mr.  Scott's  line,  or  his  picturesque 
descriptions.  His  peculiarities  and  defects  were  more  attaina- 
ble, and  with,  these  the  writer  of  this  novel  in  verse  has  gener- 
ally contented  himself;  he  will  also  content  a  certain  number 
of  readers,  who  merely  look  for  a  few  amusing  or  surprising 
incidents.  In  these,  however,  '  Harold  the  Dauntless'  does 
not  abound  so  much  as  '  The  Bridal  of  Triermain.'  They 
are,  indeed,  romantic  enough  to  satisfy  all  the  parlor-boarders 
"ladies'  schools  in  England  ;  but  they  want  that  appearance 
.if  probability  which  should  give  them  interest." — Critical  Re- 
view, April,  1817. 


u  We  had  formerly  occasion  to  notice,  with  considerable 
praise,  The  Bridal  of  Triermain.  We  remarked  it  as  a  pretty 
close  imitation  of  Mr.  Scott's  poetry  ;  and  as  that  great  master 
seems,  for  the  present,  to  have  left  his  lyre  unstrung,  a  substi- 
tute, even  of  inferior  value,  may  be  welcomed  by  the  public. 
It  appeared  to  us,  however,  and  still  does,  that  the  merit  of  the 
present  author  consists  rather  in  the  soft  and  wildly  tender 
passages,  than  in  those  rougher  scenes  of  feud  and  fray,  through 
which  the  poet  of  early  times  conducts  his  reader.  His  war- 
horse  follows  with  somewhat  of  a  hobbling  pace  the  proud  and 
impetuous  courser  whom  he  seeks  to  rival.  Unfortunately,  as 
it  appears  to  us,  the  last  style  of  poetical  excellence  is  rather 
more  aimed  at  here  than  in  the  former  poem  ;  and  as  we  do 
not  discover  any  improvement  in  the  mode  of  treating  it,  Ha- 
rold the  Dauntless  scarcely  appears  to  us  to  equal  the  Bridal  of 
Triermain.  It  contains,  indeed,  passages  of  similar  merit,  but 
not  quite  so  numerous  ;  and  such,  we  suspect,  will  evei  be  the 
case  while  the  author  continues  to  follow  after  this  line  of 
poetry." — Scots  Mag.  Feb.  1817. 


"This  is  an  elegant,  sprightly,  and  delightful  little  poem, 
written  apparently  by  a  person  of  taste  and  genius,  but  who 
either  possesses  not  the  art  of  forming  and  combining  a  plot, 
or  regards  it  only  as  a  secondary  and  subordinate  object.  In 
this  we  do  not  widely  differ  from  him,  but  are  sensible,  mean- 
time, that  many  others  will  ;  and  that  the  rambling  and  un- 
certain nature  of  the  story  will  he  the  principal  objection 
urged  against  the  poem  before  us,  as  well  as  the' greatest  bar 
io  its  extensive  popularity.  The  character  of  Mr.  Scott's  ro- 
mances has  effected  a  material  change  in  our  mode  of  esti- 
mating poetical  compositions.  In  all  the  estimable  works  of 
uur  former  poets,  from  Spenser  down  to  Thomson  and  Cowper, 
the  plot  seems  to  have  been  regarded  as  good  or  bad,  only  in 


From  Bartholine,  or  Perinskiold,  or  Snorro. 
Then  pardon  thou  thy  minstrel,  who  hath  wrote 
A  Tale    six   cantos   long,  yet   scorn'd  to  add  a 
note.1 

proportion  to  the  advantages  which  it  furnished  for  poetical 
description  ;  but,  of  late  years,  one  half,  at  least,  of  the  merit 
of  a  poem  is  supposed  to  rest  on  the  interest  and  management 
of  the  tale.  « 

"  We  speak  not  exclusively  of  that  numerous  class  of  read- 
ers who  peruse  and  estimate  a  new  poem,  or  any  poem,  with 
the  same  feelings,  and  precisely  on  the  same  principles,  as  they 
do  a  novel.  It  is  natural  for  such  persons  to  judge  only  by  the 
effect  produced  by  the  incidents;  but  we  have  often  been 
surprised  that  some  of  our  literary  critics,  even  those  to  whose 
judgment  we  were  most  disposed  to  bow,  should  lay  so  much 
stress  on  the  probability  and  fitness  of  every  incident  which 
the  fancy  of  the  poet  may  lead  him  to  embellish  in  the  course 
of  a  narrative  poem,  a  great  proportion  of  which  must  neces- 
sarily be  descriptive.  The  author  of  Harold  the  Dauntless 
seems  to  have  judged  differently  from  these  critics  ;  and  in 
the  lightsome  rapid  strain  of  poetry  which  he  nas  chosen,  we 
feel  no  disposition  to  quarrel  with  him  on  account  of  the  easy 
and  careless  manner  in  which  he  has  arranged  his  story.  In 
many  instances  he  undoubtedly  shows  the  hand  of  a  master, 
and  has  truly  studied  and  seized  the  essential  character  of  the 
antique — his  attitudes  and  draperies  are  unconfined,  and  va- 
ried with  demi-tints,  possessing  much  of  the  lustre,  freshness, 
and  spirit  of  Rembrandt.  The  airs  of  his  heads  have  grace, 
and  his  distances  something  of  the  lightness  and  keeping  of 
Salvator  Rosa.  The  want  of  harmony  and  union  in  the  car- 
nations of  his  females  is  a  slight  objection,  and  there  is  like- 
wise a  meagre  sheetiness  in  his  contrasts  of  chiaroscuro  ;  but 
these  are  all  redeemed  by  the  felicity,  execution,  and  rnastei 
traits  distinguishable  in  his  grouping,  as  in  a  Murillo  or  Carra 
veggio. 

But  the  work  has  another  quality,  and  though  its  leading 
one,  we  do  not  know  whether  to  censure  or  approve  it.  It  is 
an  avowed  imitation,  and  therefore  loses  part  of  its  value,  if 
viewed  as  an  original  production.  On  the  other  hand,  regarded 
solely  as  an  imitation,  it  is  one  of  the  closest  and  most  success- 
ful, without  being  either  a  caricature  or  a  parody,  that  perhaps 
ever  appeared  in  any  language.  Not  only  is  the  general  man- 
ner of  Scott  ably  maintained  throughout,  but  the  very  structure 
of  the  language,  the  associations,  and  the  tram  of  thinking, 
appear  to  be  precisely  the  same.  It  was  once  alleged  by  some 
writers,  that  it  was  impossible  to  imitate  Mr.  Scott's  style  ; 
but  it  is  now  fully  proved  to  the  world  that  there  is  no  style 
more  accessible  to  imitation  ;  for  it  will  be  remarked  (laying 
parodies  aside,  which  any  one  may  execute),  that  Mr.  David- 
son and  Miss  Halford,  as  well  as  Lord  Byron  and  Wordsworth, 
each  in  one  instance,  have  all,  without  we  believe  intending 
it,  imitated  him  with  considerable  closeness.  The  author  of 
the  Poetic  Mirror  has  given  us  one  specimen  of  his  most  pol- 
ished and  tender  style,  and  another,  still  more  close,  of  his 
rapid  and  careless  manner  ;  but  all  of  them  fall  greatly  short 
of  the  Bridal  of  Triermain,  and  the  poem  vow  before  us. 
We  are  sure  the  author  will  laugh  heartily  in  his  sleeve  at  our 
silliness  and  want  of  perception,  when  we  confess  to  him  that 
we  never  could  open  either  of  these  works,  and  peruse  his  pages 
for  two  minutes  with  attention,  and  at  the  same  time  divest 
our  minds  of  the  idea  that  we  were  engaged  in  an  early  or 
experimental  work  of  that  great  master.  That  they  are  gene- 
rally inferior  to  the  works  of  Mr.  Scott  in  vigor  and  interest, 
admits  no'  of  dispute ;  still  they  have  many  of  his  wild  and 
softer  beauties;  and  if  they  fail  to  be  read  and  admired,  we 
shall  not  on  that  account  think  the  better  cf  the  taste  of  the 
age." — Blackwood'' s  Magazine,  April,  1817. 

END  OF  HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


jhitroirtutorg     Remarks1 

ON 

popular  |)oeirrj, 


AND    ON    THE 


aAIOUS   COLLECTIONS  OF  BALLADS   OF  BRITAIN,  PARTICULARLY   THOSE 

OF   SCOTLAND. 


The  Introduction  originally  prefixed  to  "  The 
Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  was  rather  of 
i,  historical  than  a  literary  nature ;  and  the  re- 
marks which  follow  have  been  added,  to  afford  the 
general  reader  some  information  upon  the  charac- 
ter of  Ballad  Poetry. 

It  would  be  throwing  away  words  to  prove, 
what  all  must  admit,  the  general  taste  and  pro- 
pensity of  nations  in  their  early  state,  to  cultivate 
some  species  of  rude  poetry.  When  the  organs 
and  faculties  of  a  primitive  race  have  developed 
themselves,  each  for  its  proper  and  necessary  use, 
there  is  a  natural  tendency  to  employ  them  in  a 
more  refined  and  regulated  manner  for  purposes 
of  amusement.  The  savage,  after  proving  the  ac- 
tivity of  his  limbs  in  the  chase  or  the  battle,  trains 
them  to  more  measured  movements,  to  dance  at 
the  festivals  of  his  tribe,  or  to  perform  obeisance 
before  the  altars  of  his  deity.  From  the  same  im- 
pulse, he  is  disposed  to  refine  the  ordinary  speech 
which  forms  the  vehicle  of  social  communication 
betwixt  him  and  his  brethren,  until,  by  a  more  or- 
nate diction,  modulated  by  certain  rules  of  rhythm, 
cadence,  assonance  of  termination,  or  recurrence  of 
sound  or  letter,  he  obtains  a  dialect  more  solemn 
in  expression,  to  record  the  laws  or  exploits  of  his 
tribe,  or  more  sweet  in  sound,  in  which  to  plead 
his  own  cause  to  his  mistress. 

This  primeval  poetry  must  have  one  general 
character  in  all  nations,  both  as  to  its  merits  and 
Hs  imperfections.  The  earlier  poets  have  the  ad- 
vantage, and  it  is  not  a  small  one,  of  having  the 
first  choice  out  of  the  stock  of  materials  which  are 
proper  to  tV.3  art;  and  thus  they  compel  later  au- 
thors, if  they  would  avoid  slavishly  imitating  the 
fathers  of  verse,  into  various  devices,  often  more 

i  These  remarks  were  first  appended  to  the  edition  of  the 
Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  1830.— Ed. 

'  Sir  Walter  Scott,  as  this  paragraph  intimates,  never  doubt- 


ingenious  than  elegant,  that  they  may  establish,  if 
not  an  absolute  claim  to  originality,  at  least  a  visi- 
ble distinction  betwixt  themselves  and  their  pre- 
decessors. Thus  it  happens,  that  early  poets  al- 
most uniformly  display  a  bold,  rude,  original  cast 
of  genius  and'  expression.  They  have  walked  at 
free-will,  and  with  unconstrained  steps,  along  the 
wilds  of  Parnassus,  while  their  followers  move 
with  constrained  gestures  and  forced  attitudes,  in 
order  to  avoid  placing  their  feet  where  their  pre- 
decessors have  stepped  before  them.  The  first 
bard  who  compared  his  hero  to  a  Hon,  struck  a 
bold  and  congenial  note,  though  the  simile,  in  a 
nation  of  hunters,  be  a  very  obvious  one ;  but 
every  subsequent  poet  who  shall  use  it,  must 
either  struggle  hard  to  give  his  lion,  as  heralds 
say,  with  a  difference,  or  He  under  the  imputatior 
of  being  a  servile  imitator. 

It  is  not  probable  that,  by  any  researches  of 
modern  times,  we  shall  ever  reach  back  to  an  ear- 
lier model  of  poetry  than  Homer ;  but  as  there 
lived  heroes  before  Agamemnon,  so,  unquestiona- 
bly, poets  existed  before  the  immortal  Bard  who 
gave  the  King  of  kings  his  fame  ;  and  he  whom  all 
civilized  nations  now  acknowledge  as  the  Father 
of  Poetry,  must  have  himself  looked  back  to  an 
ancestry  of  poetical  predecessors,  and  is  only  held 
original  because  we  know  not  from  whom  he  copied. 
Indeed,  though  much  must  be  ascribed  to  the  riches 
of  his  own  individual  genius,  the  poetry  of  Homer 
argues  a  degree  of  perfectiou  in  an  art  which  prac- 
tice had  already  rendered  regular,  and  concerning 
which,  his  frequent  mention  of  the  bards,  or  chant- 
ers of  poetry,  indicates  plainly  that  it  was  studied 
by  many,  and  known  and  admired  by  all.2 

It  is  indeed  easily  discovered,  that  the  qualities 

ed  that  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  were  substantially  the  works  of 
one  and  the  same  individual.  He  said  of  the  Wolfian  hypo- 
thesis, that  it  was  the  most  irreligious  one  he  had  heard  of, 
and  could  never  be  believed  in  by  any  poet. — Ed. 


538 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


necessary  for  composing  such  poems  are  not  the 
portion  of  every  man  in  the  tribe  ;  that  the  bard, 
to  reach  excellence  in  his  art,  must  possess  some- 
thing more  than  a  full  command  of  words  and 
phrases,  and  the  knack  of  arranging  them  in  such 
form  as  ancient  examples  have  fixed  upon  as  the 
recognized  structure  of  national  verse  The  tribe 
speedily  become  sensible,  that  besides  this  degree 
of  mechanical  facility,  which  (like  making  what 
are  called  at  school  nonsense  verses)  may  be  at- 
tained by  dint  of  memory  and  practice,  much 
higher  qualifications  are  demanded.  A  keen  and 
active  power  of  observation,  capable  of  perceiv- 
ing at  a  glance  the  leading  circumstances  from 
which  the  incident  described  derives  its  charac- 
ter ;  quick  and  powerful  feelings,  to  enable  the 
bard  to  comprehend  and  delineate  those  of  the 
actors  in  his  piece ;  and  a  command  of  language, 
alternately  soft  and  elevated,  and  suited  to  express 
the  conceptions  which  he  had  formed  in  his  mind, 
are  all  necessary  to  eminence  in  the  poef^cal  art. 

Above  all,  to  attain  the  highest  point  of  his  pro- 
fession, the  poet  must  have  that  original  power  of 
embodying  and  detailing  circumstances,  winch  can 
place  before  the  eyes  of  others  a  scene  which  only 
exists  in  his  own  imagination.  This  last  high  and 
creative  faculty,  namely,  that  of  impressing  the 
mind  of  the  hearers  with  scenes  and  sentiments 
having  no  existence  save  through  their  art,  has 
procured  for  the  bards  of  Greece  the  term  of 
Uotr}Tiji}  which,  as  it  singularly  happens,  is  literally 
translated  by  the  Scottish  epithet  for  the  same 
class  of  persons,  whom  they  termed  the  Makers. 
The  French  phrase  of  Trouveurs,  or  Troubadours, 
namely,  the  Finders,  or  Inventors,  has  the  same 
reference  to  the  quality  of  original  conception  and 
invention  proper  to  the  poetical  art,  and  without 
which  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  exist  to  any  pleas- 
ing or  useful  purpose. 

The  mere  arrangement  of  words  into  poetical 
rhythm,  or  combining  them  according  to  a  tech- 
nical rule  or  measure,  is  so  closely  connected  with 
the  art  of  music,  that  an  alliance  between  these 
two  tine  arts  is  very  soon  closely  formed.  It  is 
fruitless  to  inquire  which  of  them  has  been  first 
invented,  since  doubtless  the  precedence  is  acci- 
dental ;  and  it  signifies  little  whether  the  musician 
adapts  verses  to  a  rude  tune,  or  whether  the  pri- 
mitive poet,  in  reciting  his  productions,  falls  natu- 
rally into  a  chant  or  song.  With  this  additional 
accomplishment,  the  poet  becomes  aoiios,  or  the 
man  of  song,  and  his  character  is  complete  when 
the  additional  accompaniment  of  a  lute  or  harp  is 
added  to  his  vocal  performance. 


i  The  "  Foema  del  Cid"  (of  which  Mr.  Frere  has  translated 
some  specimens)  is,  however,  considered  by  every  historian  of 
Spanish  literature,  as  the  work  of  one  hand  ;  and  is  et'dently 


Here,  therefore,  we  have  the  history  of  early 
poetry  in  all  nations.  But  it  is  evident  that, 
though  poetry  seems  a  plant  proper  to  almost  all 
soils,  yet  not  only  is  it  of  various  kinds,  according 
to  the  climate  and  country  in  which  it  has  its  ori- 
gin, but  the  poetry  of  different  nations  differs  still 
more  widely  in  the  degree  of  excellence  which  ii, 
attains.  This  must  depend  in  some  measure,  no 
doubt,  on  the  temper  and  manners  of  the  people, 
or  their  proximity  to  those  spirit-stirring  events 
which  are  naturally  selected  as  the  subject  of 
poetry,  and  on  the  more  comprehensive  or  ener- 
getic character  of  the  language  spoken  by  the 
tribe.  But  the  progress  of  the  art  is  far  more  de- 
pendent upon  the  rise  of  some  highly  gifted  indi- 
vidual, possessing  in  a  pre-eminent  and  uncommon 
degree  the  powers  demanded,  whose  talents  in- 
fluence the  taste  of  a  whole  nation,  and  entail  on 
their  posterity  and  language  a  character  almost 
indelibly  sacred.  In  this  respect  Homer  stands 
alone  and  unrivalled,  as  a  light  from  whose  lamp 
the  genius  of  successive  ages,  and  of  distant  na- 
tions, has  caught  fire  and  illumination  ;  and  who, 
though  the  early  poet  of  a  rude  age,  has  purchased 
for  the  era  he  has  celebrated,  so  much  reverence, 
that,  not  daring  to  bestow  on  it  the  term  of  bar- 
barous, we  distinguish  it  as  the  heroic  period. 

Wo  other  poet  (sacred  and  inspired  authors  ex- 
cepted) ever  did,  or  ever  will,  possess  the  same 
influence  over  posterity,  in  so  many  distant  lands, 
as  has  been  acquired  by  the  blind  old  man  of 
Chios ;  yet  we  are  assured  that  his  works,  collected 
by  the  pious  care  of  Pisistratus,  who  caused  to  be 
united  into  their  present  form  those  divine  poems, 
would  otherwise,  if  preserved  at  all,  have  ap- 
peared to  succeeding  generations  in  the  humble 
state  of  a  collection  of  detached  ballads,  connected 
only  as  referring  to  the  same  age,  the  same  gene- 
ral subjects,  and  the  same  cycle  of  heroes,  like  the 
metrical  poems  of  the  Cid  in  Spam,1  or  of  Robin 
Hood  in  England. 

In  other  countries,  less  favored,  either  in  lan- 
guage or  in  picturesque  incident,  it  cannot  be  sup- 
posed that  even  the  genius  of  Homer  could  have 
soared  to  such  exclusive  eminence,  since  he  must 
at  once  have  been  deprived  of  the  subjects  and 
themes  so  well  adapted  for  his  muse,  and  of  the 
lofty,  melodious,  and  flexible  language  in  wliich  he 
recorded  them.  Other  nations,  during  the  forma- 
tion of  their  ancient  poetry,  wanted  the  genius  of 
Homer,  as  well  as  his  picturesque  scenery  and 
lofty  language.  Yet  the  investigation  of  the  early 
poetry  of  every  nation,  even  the  rudest,  carries 
with  it  an  object  of  curiosity  and  interest.     It  is  a 


more  ancient  than  the  detached  ballads  on  the  Adventures  of 
the  Campeador,  which  are  included  in  the  Cancioneros.— 
Ed. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY. 


d3f 


chapter  in  the  histoiy  of  the  childhood  of  society, 
and  its  resemblance  to,  or  dissimilarity  from,  the 
popular  rhymes  o'i  other  nations  in  the  same  stage, 
must  needs  illustrate  the  ancient  history  of  states ; 
their  slower  or  owifter  progress  towards  civiliza- 
tion ;  their  gradual  or  more  rapid  adoption  of  man- 
ners, sentir.ients,  and  religion.  The  study,  there- 
fore, of  lays  rescued  from  the  gulf  of  oblivion,  must 
in  every  case  possess  considerable  interest  for  the 
moral  philosopher  and  general  historian. 

The  historian  of  an  individual  nation  is  equally 
or  more  deeply  interested  in  the  researches  into 
popular  poetry,  since  he  must  not  disdain  to  ga- 
ther from  the  tradition  conveyed  in  ancient  ditties 
and  ballads,  the  information  necessary  to  confirm 
or  correct  intelligence  collected  from  more  certain 
sources.  And  although  the  poets  were  a  fabling 
race  from  the  very  beginning  of  time,  and  so  much 
addicted  to  exaggeration,  that  their  accounts  are 
seldom  to  be  relied  on  without  corroborative  evi- 
dence, yet  instance  frequently  occur  where  the 
statements  of  poeUcal  tradition  are  unexpectedly 
confirmed. 

To  the  lover,*.  <v?d  admirers  of  poetry  as  an  art, 
it  cannot  be  ud  ji  teresting  to  have  a  glimpse  of  the 
National  Muse.m  her  cradle,  or  to  hear  her  bab- 
bling the  earliest  attempts  at  the  formation  of  the 
tuneful  pounds  with  which  she  was  afterwards  to 
charm  posterity.  And  I  may  venture  to  add,  that 
among  poetry,  which,  however  rude,  was  a  gift  of 
Nature'ts  first  fruits,  even  a  reader  of  refined  taste 
wtfl  find  his  patience  rewarded,  by  passages  in 
which  the  rude  minstrel  rises  into  suolimity  or 
melts  into  pathos.  These  were  the  merits  which 
induced  the  classical  Addison1  to  write  an  elabo- 
rate commentary  upon  the  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase, 
and  which  roused,  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet,  the 
heroic  blood  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.2 

It  is  true  that  passages  of  this  high  character 
seldom  occur ;  for,  during  the  infancy  of  the  art  of 
poetry,  the  bards  have  been  generally  satisfied 
with  a  rude  and  careless  expression  of  their  senti- 
ments ;  and  even  when  a  more  felicitous  expres- 
sion, or  loftier  numbers,  have  been  dictated  by  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  composition,  the  advantage  came 
unsought  for,  and  perhaps  unnoticed,  either  by 
the  minstrel  or  the  audience. 

Another  cause  contributed  to  the  tenuity  of 
thought  and  poverty  of  expression,  by  which  old 
ballads  are  too  often  distinguished.  The  apparent 
simplicity  of  the  ballad  stanza  carried  with  it  a 
strong  temptation  to  loose  and  trivial  composition. 
The  collection  of  rhymes,  accumulated  by  the  ear- 
liest of  the  craft,  appear  to  have  been  considered 

i  See  The  Spectator,  Nos.  70  and  74. 

«  "  I  never  heard  the  old  song  of  Percie  and  Douglas,  that  I 


as  forming  a  joint  stock  for  the  common  use  of  the 
profession ;  and  not  mere  rhymes  only,  but  verses 
and  stanzas,  have  been  used  as  common  property, 
so  as  to  give  an  appearance  of  sameness  and  cru- 
dity to  the  whole  series  of  popular  poetry.  Sue)), 
for  instance,  is  the  salutation  so  often  repeated, — 

"  Now  Heaven  thee  save,  thou  brave  young  knight, 
Now  Heaven  thee  save  and  see." 

And  such  the  usual  expression  for  taking  counse^ 
with, 

"  Rede  me,  rede  me,  brother  dear, 
My  rede  shall  rise  at  thee." 

Such  also  is  the  unvaried  account  of  the  rose  and 
the  brier,  which  are  said  to  spring  out  of  the  grave 
of  the  hero  and  heroine  of  these  metrical  legends, 
with  little  effort  at  a  variation  of  the  expressions 
in  winch  the  incident  is  prescriptively  told.  The 
least  acquaintance  with  the  subject  will  recall  a 
great  number  of  commonplace  verses,  which  each 
ballad-maker  has  unceremoniously  appropriated  to 
himself ;  thereby  greatly  facilitating  his  own  task, 
and  at  the  same  time  degrading  his  art  by  his 
slovenly  use  of  over-scutched  phrases.  From  the 
same  indolence,  the  ballad-mongers  of  most  nations 
have  availed  themselves  of  every  opportunity  of 
prolonging  their  pieces,  of  the  same  kind,  without 
the  labor  of  actual  composition.  If  a  message  is 
to  be  delivered,  the  poet  saves  himself  a  little 
trouble,  by  using  exactly  the  same  words  in  which 
it  was  originally  couched,  to  secure  its  being  trans- 
mitted to  the  person  for  whose  ear  it  was  intended 
The  bards  of  ruder  climes,  and  less  favored  lan- 
guages, may  indeed  claim  the  countenance  of 
Homer  for  such  repetitions;  but  whilst,  in  the 
Father  of  Poetry,  they  give  the  reader  an  dppor 
tunity  to  pause,  and  look  back  upon  the  enchanted 
ground  over  which  they  have  travelled,  they  afford 
nothing  to  the  modern  bard,  save  facilitating  the 
power  of  stupefying  the  audience  with  stanzas  of 
dull  and  tedious  iteration. 

Another  cause  of  the  flatness  and  insipidity, 
which  is  the  great  imperfection  of  ballad  poetry, 
is  to  be  ascribed  less  to  the  compositions  in  their 
original  state,  when  rehearsed  by  their  authors, 
than  to  the  ignorance  and  errors  of  the  reciters  or 
transcribers,  by  whom  they  have  been  transmitted 
to  us.  The  more  popular  the  composition  of  an 
ancient  poet,  or  Maker,  became,  the  greater  chance 
there  was  of  its  being  corrupted;  for  a  poem 
transmitted  tnrough  a  number  of  reciters,  like  a 
book  reprinted  in  a  multitude  of  editions,  incurs 
the  risk  of  impertinent  interpolations  from  the  con- 
ceit of  one  rehearser,  unintelligible  blunders  iron 


found  not  my  heart  moved  more  than  with  the  sound  or  a 
trumpet ;  and  yet  it  is  sung  but  by  some  blind  crowder,  wit* 
no  roughervoice  than  rude  style." — Sidney. 


540 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  stupidity  of  another,  and  omissions  equally  to  be 
regretted,  from  the  want  of  memory  in  a  third.  This 
Bort  of  injury  is  felt  very  early  and  the  reader 
will  find  a  curious  instance  in  the  Introduction  to 
the  Romance  of  Sir  Tristrem.  Robert  de  Brunne 
there  complains,  that  though  the  Romance  of  Sir 
Tristrem  was  the  best  which  had  ever  been  made, 
if  it  could  be  recited  as  composed  by  the  author, 
Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  yet  that  it  was  written  in 
»ufh  an  ornate  style  of  language,  and  such  a  diffi- 
cult strain  of  versification,  as  to  lose  all  value  in  the 
mouths  of  ordinary  minstrels,  who  could  scarcely 
repeat  one  stanza  without  omitting  some  part  of 
it,  fftid  marring,  consequently,  both  the  sense  and 
the  rhythm  of  the  passage.1  This  deterioration 
could  not  be  limited  to  one  author  alone ;  others 
must  have  suffered  from  the  the  same  cause,  in 
the  same  or  a  greater  degree.  Nay,  we  are  au- 
thorized to  conclude,  that  in  proportion  to  the  care 
bestowed  by  the  author  upon  any  poem,  to  attain 
what  his  age  might  suppose  to  be  the  highest 
graces  of  poetry,  the  greater  was  the  damage  which 
it  sustained  by  the  inaccuracy  of  reciters,  or  their 
desire  to  humble  both  the  sense  and  diction  of  the 
poem  to  their  powers  of  recollection,  and  the  com- 
prehension of  a  vulgar  audience.  It  cannot  be  ex- 
pected that  compositions  subjected  in  this  way  to 
mutilation  and  corruption,  should  continue  to  pre- 
sent their  original  sense  or  diction ;  and  the  accu- 
racy of  our  editions  of  popular  poetry,  unless  in 
the  rare  event  of  recovering  original  or  early  copies, 
is  lessened  in  proportion. 

But  the  chance  of  these  corruptions  is  incalcu- 
lably increased,  when  we  consider  that  the  ballads 
hara  been,  not  in  one,  but  innumerable  instances 
of  muismission,  liable  to  similar  alterations,  through 
a  long  course  of  centuries,  during  which  they  have 
been  handed  from  one  ignorant  reciter  to  another, 
each  discarding  whatever  original  words  or  phrases 
time  or  fashion  had,  in  his  opinion,  rendered  obso- 
lete, and  substituting  anachronisms  by  expressions 
taken  from  the  customs  of  his  own  day.  And  here 
it  may  be  remarked,  that  the  desire  of  the  reciter 
to  be  intelligible,  however  natural  and  laudable, 
has  been  one  of  the  greatest  causes  of  the  deterio- 
ration of  ancient  poetry.  The  minstrel  who  en- 
deavored to  recite  with  fidelity  the  words  of  the 
author,  might  indeed  fall  into  errors  of  sound  and 
Bense,  and  substitute  corruptions  for  words  he  did 
not  understand.     But  the  ingenuity  of  a  skilful 

1  "  That  thou  may  hear  in  Sir  Tristrem  : 
Over  gestes  it  has  the  steem, 
Over  all  that  is  or  was, 
If  men  it  sayd  as  made  Thomas ; 
But  I  hear  it  no  man  so  say — 
But  of  some  copple  some  is  away,"  &c. 

An  instance  occurs  in  the  valuable  old  ballad,  called  Auld 


critic  could  often,  in  that  case,  revive  and  restore 
the  original  meaning ;  while  the  corrupted  worda 
became,  in  such  cases,  a  warrant  for  the  authen- 
ticity of  the  whole  poem.2 

In  general,  however,  the  later  reciters  appear 
to  have  been  far  less  desirous  to  speak  the  author's 
words,  than  to  introduce  amendments  and  ncv 
readings  of  their  own,  which  have  always  produced 
the  effect  of  modernizing,  and  usually  that  of  de- 
grading and  vulgarizing,  the  rugged  sense  and 
spirit  of  the  antique  minstrel.  Thus,  undergoing 
from  age  to  age  a  gradual  process  of  alteration 
and  recomposition,  our  popular  and  oral  minstrelsy 
has  lost,  in  a  great  measure,  its  original  appear- 
ance ;  and  the  strong  touches  by  which  it  had 
been  formerly  characterized,  have  been  generally 
smoothed  down  and  destroyed  by  a  process  simi- 
lar to  that  by  which  a  coin,  passing  from  hand  to 
hand,  loses  in  circulation  all  the  finer  marks  of  the 
impress. 

The  very  fine  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase  is  an  ex- 
ample of  this  degrading  sprcies  of  alchymy,  by 
which  the  ore  of  antiquity  is  deteriorated  and 
adulterated.  While  Addison,  in  an  age  which  had 
never  attended  to  popular  poetry,  wrote  his  clas- 
sical criticism  on  that  ballad,  he  naturally  took  for 
his  text  the  ordinary  stall-copy,  although  he  might, 
and  ought  to  have  suspected,  that  a  ditty  couched 
in  the  language  nearly  of  his  own  time,  could  not 
be  the  same  with  that  which  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
more  than  one  hundred  years  before,  had  spoken 
of,  as  being  "  evil  apparelled  in  the  dust  and  cob- 
webs of  an  uncivilized  age."  The  venerable  Bish- 
op Percy  was  the  first  to  correct  this  mistake,  by 
producing  a  copy  of  the  song,  as  old  at  least  as 
the  reign  of  Henry  VII.,  bearing  the  name  of  the 
author  or  transcriber,  Richard  Sheale.3  But  even 
the  Rev.  Editor  himself  fell  under  the  mistake  of 
supposing  the  modern  Chevy  Chase  to  be  a  new 
copy  of  the  original  ballad,  expressly  modernized 
by  some  one  later  bard.  On  the  contrary,  the 
current  version  is  now  universally  allowed  to  have 
been  produced  by  the  gradual  alterations  of  nu- 
merous reciters,  during  two  centuries,  in  the  course 
of  which  the  ballad  has  been  gradually  moulded 
into  a  composition  bearing  only  a  general  resem- 
blance to  the  original — expressing  the  same  events 
and  sentiments  in  much  smoothei  language,  and 
more  flowing  and  easy  versificatiou ;  but  losing 
in  poetical  fire  and  energy,  and  in  the  vigor  and 

Maitland.     The  reciter  repeated  a  verse,  descriptive  of  the  de- 
fence of  a  castle,  thus  : 

"  With  spring-wall,  stanes,  and  goads  of  aim, 
Among  them  fast  he  threw." 
Spring-wall,  is  a  corruption  of  syringald,  a  military  engine 
for  casting  darts  or  stones ;   the  restoration  of  which  reading 
gives  a  precise  and  clear  sense  to  the  linos 
3  See  Percy's  Reliques,  vol.  i.  p.  2. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON   POPULAR  POETRY 


54  i 


pithiness  of  the  expression,  a  great  deal  more  than 
it  has  gained  in  suavity  of  diction.     Thus : — 

'*  The  Percy  owt  of  Northumberland, 

And  a  vowe  to  God  mayd  he, 
Thai  he  wolde  hunte  in  the  mountayns 

Off  Cheviot  within  dayes  thre, 
In  the  mauger  of  doughty  Douglea, 

And  all  that  ever  with  him  be," 

"  The  stout  Earl  of  Northumberland 
A  vow  to  God  did  make, 
His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods 
Three  summer  days  to  take,"  &c. 

From  this,  and  other  examples  of  the  same  kind, 
of  which  many  might  be  quoted,  we  must  often 
expect  to  find  the  remains  of  Minstrel  poetry,  com- 
posed originally  for  the  courts  of  princes  and  halls 
of  nobles,  disguised  in  the  more  modern  and  vul- 
gar dialect  in  which  they  have  been  of  late  sung 
to  the  frequenters  of  the  rustic  ale-bench.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  mention  more  than  one  other  re- 
markable and  humbling  instance,  printed  in  the 
curious  collection  entitled,  a  Ballad-Book,  where 
we  find,  in  the  words  of  the  ingenious  Editor,1  a 
stupid  ballad,  printed  as  it  was  sung  in  Annandale, 
founded  on  the  well-known  story  of  the  Prince  of 
Salerno's  daughter,  but  with  the  uncouth  change 
of  Dysmal  for  Ghismonda,  and  Guiscard  trans- 
formed into  a  greasy  kitchen-boy. 

"  Tu  what  base  uses  may  we  not  return  !" 

Sometimes  a  still  more  material  and  systematic 
difference  appears  between  the  poems  of  antiqui- 
ty, as  they  ^ere  originally  composed,  and  as  they 
now  exist  This  occurs  in  cases  where  the  longer 
metrical  r  mances,  which  were  in  fashion  during 
the  mi<*d'/i  ages,  were  reduced  to  shorter  compo- 
sition", ;  j  <  /der  that  they  might  be  chanted  before 
an  inf -r.fr  audience.  A  ballad,  for  example,  of 
Thorn?  j  A  Erceldoune,  and  his  intrigues  with  the 
Qneeii  jf  Faery-Land,  is,  or  has  been,  long  current 
m  x'e  /rotdale,  and  other  parts  of  Scotland.  Two 
ancient  copies  of  a  poem,  or  romance,  on  the  same 
subject,  and  containing  very  often  the  same  words 
and  turns  of  expression,  are  preserved  in  the  libra- 
ries of  the  Cathedral  of  Lincoln  and  Peterborough. 
We  are  left  to  conjecture  whether  the  originals  of 
such  ballads  have  been  gradually  contracted  into 
their  modern  shape  by  the  impatience  of  later 
audiences,  combined  with  the  lack  of  memory 
displayed  by  more  modern  reciters,  or  whether, 
in  particular  cases,  some  ballad-maker  may  have 

*  Ch».rles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe,  Esq.  The  Ballad-Book  was 
printed  in  1823,  and  inscribed  to  Sir  Walter  Scott ;  the  im- 
pression consisting  of  only  thirty  copies. 

2  Th'-sc  i-ro  ancient  Romances  are  reprinted  in  a  volume 
of"  Ea>'y  Metrical  Tales,"  edited  by  Mr.  David  Laing,  Edin- 
ntiK<P,  ±tlt,  small  8vo.     Only  175  copies  printed. 


actually  set  himself  to  work  to  retrench  the  old 
details  of  the  minstrels,  and  regularly  and  sys- 
tematically to  modernize,  and  if  the  phrase  be  per- 
mitted, to  balladize,  a  metrical  romance.  We  are- 
assured,  however,  that  "  Roswal  and  Lilian"  was 
sung  through  the  streets  of  Edinburgh  two  gene- 
rations since ;  and  we  know  that  the  romance  oi 
"  Sir  Eger,  Sir  Grime,  and  Sir  Greysteil,'"2  had  also 
its  own  particular  chant,  or  tune.  The  stall-copies 
of  both  these  romances,  as  they  now  exist,  are  very 
much  abbreviated,  and  probably  exhibit  them 
when  they  were  undergoing,  or  had  nearly 
undergone,  the  process  of  being  cut  down  into 
ballads. 

Taking  into  consideration  the  various  indirect 
channels  by  which  the  popular  poetry  of  our  an- 
cestors has  been  transmitted  to  their  posterity,  it 
is  nothing  surprising  that  it  should  reach  us  in  a 
mutilated  and  degraded  state,  and  that  it  should 
little  correspond  with  the  ideas  we  are  apt  to  form 
of  the  first  productions  of  national  genius;  nay,  it 
is  more  to  be  wondered  at  that  we  possess  so  many 
ballads  of  considerable  merit,  than  that  the  much 
greater  number  of  them  which  must  have  oncp 
existed,  should  have  perished  before  our  time- 
Having  given  this  brief  account  of  ballad  poetry 
in  general,  the  purpose  of  the  present  prefatory 
remarks  will  be  accomplished,  by  shortly  noticing 
the  popular  poetry  of  Scotland,  and  some  of  the 
efforts  which  have  been  made  to  collect  and  illus- 
trate it. 

It  is  now  generally  admitted  that  the  Scots  and 
Picts,  however  differing  otherwise,  were  each  by 
descent  a  Celtic  race ;  that  they  advanced  in  a 
course  of  victory  somewhat  farther  than  the  pres- 
ent frontier  between  England  and  .Scotland,  and 
about  the  end  of  the  eleventh  century  subdued 
and  rendered  tributary  the  Britons  of  Strathcluyd, 
who  were  also  a  Celtic  race  like  themselves.  Ex- 
cepting, therefore,  the  provinces  of  Berwickshire 
and  the  Lothians,  which  were  chiefly  inhabited  by 
an  Anglo-Saxon  population,  the  whole  of  Scotland 
was  peopled  by  different  tribes  of  the  same  abo- 
riginal race,3 — a  race  passionately  addicted  to  mu 
sic,  as  appears  from  the  kindred  Celtic  nations  oi 
Irish,  Welsh,  and  Scottish,  preserving  each  to  this 
day  a  style  and  character  of  music  peculiar  to  their 
own  country,  though  all  three  bear  marks  of  geim 
ral  resemblance  to  each  other.  That  of  Scotland, 
in  particular,  is  early  noticed  and  extolled  by 
ancient  authors,  and  its  remains,  to  which  the  na- 
tives are  passionately  attached,  are  still  found  to 

3  The  author  seems  to  have  latterly  modified  his  original 
opinion  on  some  rarts  of  this  subject.  In  his  reviewal  of  Mr. 
T.  F.  Tytler's  History  of  Scotland  (Quart.  Rev.  vol.  xli.  p. 
328),  he  says,  speaking  of  the  period  of  the  final  subjugation 
of  the  Picts,  "  It  would  appear  the  Scandinavians  had  colo- 
nies along  the  fertile  shores  of  Mrray,  and  among  the  mounr 


542 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


afford  pleasure  even  to  those  who  cultivate  the  art 
upon  a  more  refined  and  varied  system. 

This  skill  in  music  did  not,  of  course,  exist  with- 
out a  corresponding  degree  of  talent  for  a  species 
of  poetry,  adapted  to  the  habits  of  the  country, 
celebrating  the  victories  of  triumphant  clans,  pour- 
ing forth  lamentations  over  fallen  heroes,  and  re- 
cording such  marvellous  adventures  as  -were  cal- 
culated to  amuse  individual  families  around  their 
household  fires,  or  the  whole  tribe  when  regaling 
in  the  hall  of  the  chief.  It  happened,  however, 
singular!}  enough,  that  while  the  music  continued 
to  be  Celtic  in  its  general  measure,  the  language 
of  Scotland,  most  commonly  spoken,  began  to  be 
that  of  their  neighbors,  the  English,  introduced  by 
the  multitude  of  Saxons  who  thronged  to  the  court 
of  Malcolm  Canmore  and  his  successors;  by  the 
crowds  of  prisoners  of  war,  whom  the  repeated 
ravages  of  the  Scots  in  Northumberland  carried  off 
as  slaves  to  their  country ;  by  the  influence  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  richest  and  most  populous  prov- 
inces in  Scotland,  Berwickshire,  namely,  and  the 
Lothians,  over  the  more  mountainous ;  lastly,  by 
the  superiority  which  a  language  like  the  Anglo- 
Saxon,  considerably  refined,  long  since  reduced  to 
writing,  and  capable  of  expressing  the  wants, 
wishes,  and  sentiments  of  the  speakers,  must  have 
possessed  over  the  jargon  of  various  tribes  of  Irish 
and  British  origin,  limited  and  contracted  in  every 
varying  dialect,  and  differing,  at  the  same  time, 
from  each  other.  This  superiority  being  consid- 
ered, and  a  fair  length  of  time  being  allowed,  it  is 
no  wonder  that,  while  the  Scottish  people  retained 
their  Celtic  music,  and  many  of  their  Celtic  cus- 
toms, together  with  their  Celtic  dynasty,  they 
should  nevertheless  have  adopted,  throughout  the 
Lowlands,  the  Saxon  language,  while  in  the  High- 
lands they  retained  the  Celtic  dialect,  along  with 
the  dress,  arms,  manners,  and  government  of  their 
fathers. 

There  was,  for  a  time,  a  solemn  national  recog- 
nizance that  the  Saxon  language  and  poetry  had 
not  originally  been  that  of  the  royal  family.  For, 
at  the  coronations  of  the  kings  of  Scotland,  previ- 
ous to  Alexander  III.,  it  was  a  part  of  the  solem- 
nity, that  a  Celtic  bard  stepped  forth,  so  soon  as 
the  king  assumed  his  seat  upon  the  fated  stone, 
and  recited  the  genealogy  of  the  monarch  in  Celtic 
verse,  setting  forth  his  descent,  and  the  right 
which  he  had  by  birth  to  occupy  the  place  of  sov- 
ereignty.   For  a  time,  no  doubt,  the  Celtic  songs 


tains  of  Sutherland,  whose  name  speaks  for  itself,  that  it  was 
given  by  the  Norwegians  ;  and  probably  they  had  also  settle- 
ments in  Caithness  and  the  Orcades."  In  this  essay,  however, 
ne  adheres  in  the  main  to  his  Anti-Pinkertonian  doctrine,  and 
treats  the  Picts  as  Celts. — Ed. 

'  A  curious  account  of  the  reception  of  an  Irish  or  Celtic 


and  poems  remained  current  in  the  Lowlands, 
while  any  remnant  of  the  language  yet  lasted. 
The  Gaelic  or  Irish  bards,  we  are  also  aware,  oc- 
casionally strolled  into  the  Lowlands,  where  their 
music  might  be  received  with  favor,  even  after 
their  recitation  was  no  longer  understood.  But 
though  these  aboriginal  poets  showed  themselves 
at  festivals  and  other  places  of  public  resort,  it 
does  not  appear  that,  as  in  Homer's  time,  the* 
were  honored  with  high  places  at  the  board,  anc 
savory  morsels  of  the  chine ;  but  they  seem  rather 
to  have  been  accounted  fit  company  for  the  feigned 
fools  and  sturdy  beggars,  with  whom  they  were 
ranked  by  a  Scottish  statute.1 

Time  was  necessary  wholly  to  eradicate  one 
language  and  introduce  another ;  but  it  is  remark- 
able that,  at  the  death  of  Alexander  the  Third, 
the  last  Scottish  king  of  the  pure  Celtic  race,  the 
popular  lament  for  his  death  was  composed  in 
Scoto-English,  and,  though  closely  resembling  the 
modern  dialect,  is  the  earliest  example  we  have  of 
that  language,  whether  in  prose  or  poetry.2  About 
the  same  time  flourished  the  celebrated  Thomas 
the  Rhymer,  whose  poem,  written  in  English,  or 
Lowland  Scottish,  with  the  most  anxious  attention 
both  to  versification  and  alliteration,  forms,  even 
as  it  now  exists,  a  very  curious  specimen  of  the 
early  romance.  Such  complicated  construction 
was  greatly  too  concise  for  the  public  ear,  which 
is  best  amused  by  a  looser  diction,  in  which  nume- 
rous repetitions,  and  prolonged  descriptions,  enable 
the  comprehension  of  the  audience  to  keep  up  with 
the  voice  of  the  singer  or  reciter,  and  supply  the 
gaps  which  in  general  must  have  taken  place, 
either  through  a  failure  of  attention  in  the  hear- 
ers, or  of  voice  and  distinct  enunciation  on  the 
part  of  the  minstrel. 

The  usual  stanza  which  was  selected  as  the 
most  natural  to  the  language  and  the  sweetest  to 
the  ear,  after  the  complex  system  of  the  more 
courtly  measures,  used  by  Thomas  of  Erceldoune, 
was  laid  aside,  was  that  which,  when  originally 
introduced,  we  very  often  find  arranged  in  two 
lines,  thus : — 

"Earl  Douglas  on  his  milk-white  steed,  most  like  a  baron 
bold, 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company,  whose  armor  shore  ike 
gold  ;" 

but  which,  after  being  divided  into  four,  consti- 
tutes what  is  now  generally  called  the  ballad 
stanza, — 


bard  at  a  festival,  is  given  in  Sir  John  Holland's  Buke  of  th« 
Houlat,  Bannatyne  edition,  p.  liii. 

2  "  Whan  Alexander  our  king  was  ded, 
Wlia  Scotland  led  in  luve  and  lee, 
Away  was  sons  of  ale  and  bred, 

Of  wine  and  wax,  of  game  and  glee,"  &c. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY. 


54J 


'*  Earl  Douglas  on  his  milk-white  steed, 
Most  like  a  baron  bold, 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company, 
Whose  armor  shone  like  gold." 

The  breaking  of  the  lines  contains  a  plainer  in- 
timation how  the  stanza  ought  to  be  read,  than 
every  one  could  gather  from  the  original  mode  of 
writing  out  the  poem,  where  the  position  of  the 
caesura,  or  inflection  of  voice,  is  left  to  the  individ- 
ual's own  taste.  This  was  sometimes  exchanged 
for  a  stanza  of  six  lines,  the  third  and  sixth  rhym- 
ing together.  For  works  of  more  importance  and 
pretension,  a  more  complicated  versification  was 
still  retained,  and  may  be  found  in  the  tale  of 
Ralph  Coilzear,1  the  Adventures  of  Arthur  at  the 
Tarn-Wathelyn,  Sir  Gawain,  and  Sir  Gologras,  and 
other  scarce  romances.  A  specimen  of  this  struc- 
ture of  verse  has  been  handed  down  to  our  times 
in  the  stanza  of  Christ  Kirk  on  the  Green,  trans- 
mitted by  King  James  I.,  to  Allan  Ramsay  and 
to  Burns.  The  excessive  passion  for  alliteration, 
which  formed  a  rule  of  the  Saxon  poetry,  was  also 
retained  in  the  Scottish  poems  of  a  more  elevated 
character,  though  the  more  ordinary  minstrels  and 
ballad-makers  threw  off  the  restraint. 

The  varieties  of  stanza  thus  adopted  for  popular 
poetry  were  not,  we  may  easily  suppose,  left  long 
unemployed.  In  frontier  regions,  where  men  are 
continually  engaged  in  active  enterprise,  betwixt 
the  task  of  defending  themselves  and  annoying 
their  neighbors,  they  may  be  said  to  live  in  an 
atmosphere  of  danger,  the  excitation  of  which  is 
peculiarly  favorable  to  the  encouragement  of  po- 
etry. Hence,  the  expressions  of  Lesly  the  histori- 
an, quoted  in  the  following  Introduction,2  in  which 
he  paints  the  delight  taken  by  the  Borderers  in 
their  peculiar  species  of  music,  and  the  rhyming 
ballads  in  which  they  celebrated  the  feats  of  their 
ancestors,  or  recorded  their  own  ingenious  strata- 
gems in  predatory  warfare.  In  the  same  Intro- 
duction, the  reader  will  find  the  reasons  alleged 
why  the  taste  for  song  was  and  must  have  been 
longer  preserved  on  the  Border  than  in  the  inte- 
rior of  the  country. 

Having  thus  made  some  remarks  on  early  poe- 
try in  general,  and  on  that  of  Scotland  in  particu- 
lar, the  Editor's  purpose  is,  to  mention  the  fate  of 
some  previous  attempts  to  collect  ballad  poetry, 
and  the  principles  of  selection  and  publication 
which  have  been  adopted  by  various  editors  of 
learning  and  information  ;  and  although  the  pres- 


i  This,  and  most  of  the  other  romances  here  referred  to, 
may  be  found  reprinted  in  a  volume,  entitled,  "  Select  Re- 
mains of  the  Arr:ient  Popular  Poetry  of  Scotland"  (Edin. 
1822.  Small  4to.)-  Edited  by  Mr.  David  Laing,  and  inscribed 
io  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

»  See  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scott  sh  Border,  vol.  i.  p.  213. 


ent  work  chiefly  regards  the  Ballads  of  Scotland, 
yet  the  investigation  must  necessarily  include 
some  of  the  principal  collections  among  the  Eng- 
lish also. 

Of  manuscript  records  of  ancient  ballads,  very 
few  have  been  yet  discovered.  It  is  probable 
that  the  minstrels,  seldom  knowing  either  how  tc 
read  or  write,  trusted  to  their  well-exercised 
memories.  Nor  was  it  a  difficult  task  to  acquire 
a  sufficient  stock  in  trade  for  their  purpose,  since 
the  Editor  has  not  only  known  many  persons  ca- 
pable of  retaining  a  very  large  collection  of  legend- 
ary lore  of  this  kind,  but  there  was  a  period  in  his 
own  life,  when  a  memory  that  ought  to  have  been 
charged  with  more  valuable  matter,  enabled  him 
to  recollect  as  many  of  these  old  Sf-ogs  as  would 
have  occupied  several  days  in  the  r*  citation. 

The  press,  however,  at  length  superseded  the 
necessity  of  such  exertions  of  recollection,  and 
sheafs  of  ballads  issued  from  it  weekly,  for  the 
amusement  of  the  sojourners  at  the  alehouse,  and 
the  lovers  of  poetry  in  grange  and  hall,  where 
such  of  the  audience  as  could  not  read,  had  at 
least  read  unto  them.  These  fugitive  leaves,  gen- 
erally printed  upon  broadsides,  or  in  small  mis- 
cellanies called  Garlands,  and  circulating  amongst 
persons  of  loose  and  careless  habits — so  far  as 
books  were  concerned — were  subject  to  destruc- 
tion from  many  causes ;  and  as  the  editions  in  the 
early  age  of  printing  were  probably  much  limited 
even  those  published  as  chap-books  in  the  early 
part  of  the  18th  century,  are  rarely  met  with. 

Some  persons,  however,  seem  to  have  had  what 
their  contemporaries  probably  thought  the  bizarre 
taste  of  gathering  and  preserving  collections  of 
this  fugitive  poetry.  Hence  the  great  body  of 
ballads  in  the  Pepysian  collection  of  Cambridge, 
made  by  that  Secretary  Pepys,  whose  Diary  is  so 
very  amusing ;  and  hence  the  still  more  valuable 
deposit,  in  three  volumes  folio,  in  which  the  late 
Duke  John  of  Roxburghe  took  so  much  pleasure, 
that  he  was  often  found  enlarging  it  with  fresh 
acquisitions,  which  he  pasted  in  and  registered 
with  his  own  hand. 

The  first  attempt,  however,  to  -eprint  a  collec- 
tion of  ballads  for  a  class  of  reaaers  distinct  from 
those  for  whose  use  the  stall-copies  were  intended, 
was  that  of  an  anonymous  editor  of  three  12ino 
volumes,  which  appeared  in  London,  with  engrav- 
ings. These  volumes  came  out  in  various  years, 
in  the  besnnnin°;  of  the  18th  centurv.8     The  editor 


s  "  A  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,  collected  from  the  best  and 
most  ancient  Copies  extant,  with  Introductions,  Histoncai  and 
Critical,  illustrated  with  copper-plates."  This  anonymous 
collection,  first  published  in  1723,  was  so  well  received,  thai 
it  soon  passed  to  a  second  edition,  and  two  more  volumes  were 
added  in  1723  and  1725.  The  third  edition  of  the  first  volume 
is  dated  1727.— Ed, 


544 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


writes  with  some  flippancy,  but  with  the  air  of  a 
person  superior  to  the  ordinary  drudgery  of  a  mere 
collector.  His  work  appears  to  have  been  got  up 
at  considerable  expense,  and  the  general  introduc- 
tions and  historical  illustrations  which  are  prefixed 
to  the  various  ballads,  are  written  with  an  ac- 
curacy of  which  such  a  subject  had  not  till  then 
been  deemed  worthy.  The  principal  part  of  the 
collection  consists  of  stall-ballads,  neither  possess- 
ing much  poetical  merit,  nor  any  particular  rarity 
or  curiosity.  Still  this  original  Miscellany  holds  a 
considerable  value  amongst  collectors  ;  and  as  the 
three  volumes — being  published  at  different  times 
— are  seldom  found  together,  they  sell  for  a  high 
price  when  complete. 

We  may  now  turn  our  eyes  to  Scotland,  where 
the  facility  of  the  dialect,  which  cuts  off  the  con- 
sonants in  the  termination  of  the  words,  so  as 
greatly  to  simplify  the  task  of  rhyming,  and  the 
habits,  dispositions,  and  manners  of  the  people, 
were  of  old  so  favorable  to  the  composition  of  bal- 
lad-poetry, that,  had  the  Scottish  songs  been  pre- 
served, there  is  no  doubt  a  very  curious  history 
might  have  been  composed  by  means  of  minstrelsy 
only,  from  the  reign  of  Alexander  III.  in  1285, 
down  to  the  close  of  the  Civil  Wars  in  1745.  That 
materials  for  such  a  collection  existed,  cannot  be 
disputed,  since  the  Scottish  historians  often  refer 
to  old  ballads  as  authorities  for  general  tradition. 
But  their  regular  preservation  was  not  to  be 
hoped  for  or  expected.  Successive  garlands  of 
song  sprung,  flourished,  faded,  and  were  forgotten, 
in  their  turn ;  and  the  names  of  a  few  specimens 
are  only  preserved,  to  show  us  how  abundant  the 
display  of  these  wild  flowers  had  been. 

Like  the  natural  free  gifts  of  Flora,  these  poeti- 
cal garlands  can  only  be  successfully  sought  for 
where  the  land  is  uncultivated ;  and  civilization 
and  increase  of  learning  are  sure  to  banish  them, 
as  the  plough  of  the  agriculturist  bears  down  the 
mountain  daisy.  Yet  it  is  to  be  recorded  with 
some  interest,  that  the  earliest  surviving  specimen 
of  the  Scottish  press,  is  a  Miscellany  of  Millar  and 
Chapman,1  which  preserves  a  considerable  fund  of 
Scottish  popular  poetry,  and  among  other  things, 
no  bad  specimen  of  the  gests  of  Robin  Hood,  "  the 
English  ballad-maker's  joy,"  and  whose  renown 
seems  to  have  been  as  freshly  preserved  in  the 
north  as  on  the  southern  shores  of  the  Tweed. 
There  were  probably  several  collections  of  Scot- 
tish ballads  and  metrical  pieces  during  the  seven- 

i  A  facsimile  reprint,  in  black-letter,  of  the  Original  Tracts 
which  issued  from  the  press  of  Walter  Chepman  and  Andro 
Myllar  at  Edinburgh,  in  the  year  1503,  was  published  under 
♦he  title  of  "  The  Knightly  Tale  of  Golagrus  and  Gawane, 
and  other  Ancient  Poems,"  in  1827,  4to.  The  "  litil  geste  " 
of  Robin  Hood,  referred  to  in  the  text,  is  a  fragment  of  a 
oiece  contained  in  Ritson's  Collection. — Ed. 


teenth  century.  A  very  fine  one,  belonging  f 
Lord  Montagu,  perished  in  the  fire  which  con- 
sumed Ditton  House,  about  twenty  years  ago. 

James  Watson,  in  1706,  published,  at  Edinburgh, 
a  miscellaneous  collection  in  three  parts,  contain- 
ing some  ancient  poetry.  But  the  first  editor  who 
seems  to  have  made  a  determined  effort  to  pre 
serve  our  ancient  popular  poetry  was  the  well- 
known  Allan  Ramsay,  in  his  Evergreen,  containing 
chiefly  extracts  from  the  ancient  Scottish  Makers, 
whose  poems  have  been  preserved  in  the  Banna  - 
tyne  Manuscript,  but  exhibiting  amongst  them 
some  popular  ballads.  Amongst  these'  is  the 
Battle  of  Harlaw,  apparently  from  a  modernized 
copy,  being  probably  the  most  ancient  Scottish 
historical  ballad  of  any  length  now  in  existence. 
He  also  inserted  in  the  same  collection,  the  genu- 
ine Scottish  Border  ballad  of  Johnnie  Armstrong, 
copied  from  the  recitation  of  a  descendant  of  the 
unfortunate  hero,  in  the  sixth  generation.  This 
poet  also  included  in  the  Evergreen,  Hardyknute, 
which,  though  evidently  modern,  is  a  most  spirited 
and  beautiful  imitation  of  the  ancient  ballad.  In 
a  subsequent  collection  of  lyrical  pieces,  called  the 
Tea-Table  Miscellany,  Allan  Ramsay  inserted  sev- 
eral old  ballads,  such  as  Cruel  Barbara  Allan, 
The  Bonnie  Earl  of  Murray,  There  came  a  Ghost 
to  Margaret's  door,  and  two  or  three  ethers.  But 
his  unhappy  plan  of  writing  new  words  to  old 
tunes,  without  at  the  same  time  preserving  the 
ancient  verses,  led  him,  with  the  assistance  oj 
"some  ingenious  young  gentlemen,"  to  throw 
aside  many  originals,  the  preservation  of  which 
would  have  been  much  more  interesting  than  any 
thing  which  has  been  substituted  in  their  stead.8 

In  fine,  the  task  of  collecting  and  illustrating 
ancient  popular  poetry,  whether  in  England  01 
Scotland,  was  never  executed  by  a  competent 
person,  possessing  the  necessary  powers  of  selec 
tion  and  annotation,  till  it  was  undertaken  by  Dr 
Percy,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Dromore  in  Ireland 
This  reverend  gentleman,  himself  a  poet,  and  rank- 
ing high  among  the  literati  of  the  day,  command- 
ing access  to  the  individuals  and  institutions  which 
could  best  afford  him  materials,  gave  the  public 
the  result  of  his  researches  in  a  work  entitled 
"  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry,"  in  three 
volumes,  published  in  London  1765,  which  has 
since  gone  through  four  editions.4  The  taste  with 
which  the  materials  were  chosen,  the  extreme 
felicity  with  which  they  were  illustrated,  the  dia- 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

*  Sir  Walter  Scott  corresponded  frequently  with  the  Bishou 
of  Dromore,  at  the  time  when  he  was  collecting  the  material* 
of  the  "  Border  Minstrelsy." — Ed. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY 


64; 


play  at  once  of  antiquarian  knowledge  and  classi- 
cal reading  which  the  collection  indicated,  render 
it  difficult  to  imitate,  and  impossible  to  excel,  a 
work  which  must  always  be  held  among  the  first 
of  its  class  in  point  of  merit,  though  not  actually 
the  foremost  in  point  of  time.  But  neither  the 
high  character  of  the  work,  nor  the  rank  and  re- 
spectability of  the  author,  could  protect  him  or 
his  labors,  from  the  invidious  attacks  of  criticism. 

The  most  formidable  of  these  were  directed  by 
Joseph  Ritson,  a  man  of  acute  observation,  pro- 
found research,  and  great  labor.  These  valuable 
attributes  were  unhappily  combined  with  an  eager 
irritability  of  temper,  which  induced  him  to  treat 
antiquarian  trifles  with  the  same  seriousness  which 
men  of  the  world  reserve  for  matters  of  import- 
ance, and  disposed  him  to  drive  controversies  into 
personal  quarrels,  by  neglecting  in  literary  de- 
bate, the  courtesies  of  ordinary  society.1  It  ought 
to  be  said,  however,  by  one  who  knew  him  well, 
that  this  irritability  of  disposition  was  a  constitu- 
tional and  physical  infirmity,  and  that  Bitson's 
extreme  attachment  to  the  severity  of  truth,  cor- 
responded to  the  rigor  of  his  criticisms  upon  the 
labors  of  others.  He  seems  to  have  attacked 
Bishop  Percy  with  the  greater  animosity,  as  bear- 
ing no  good  will  to  the  hierarchy,  in  which  that 
prelate  held  a  distinguished  place. 

Ritson's .  criticism,  in  which  there  was  too  much 
horse-play,  was  grounded  on  two  points  of  accusa- 
tion. The  first  point  regarded  Dr.  Percy's  definition 
of  the  order  and  office  of  minstrels,  which  Ritson 
considered  as  designedly  overcharged,  for  the  sake 
of  giving  an  undue  importance  to  his  subject.  The 
second  objection  respected  the  liberties  which  Dr. 
Percy  had  taken  with  his  materials,  in  adding  to, 
retrenching,  and  improving  them,  so  as  to  bring 
them  nearer  to  the  taste  of  his  own  period.  We 
will  take  some  brief  notice  of  both  topics. 

Firs/,  Dr.  Percy,  in  the  first  edition  of  his  work, 
certainly  laid  himself  open  to  the  charge  of  having 
given  an  inaccurate,  and  somewhat  exaggerated 
account  of  the  English  Minstrels,  whom  he  defined 
to  be  an  "  order  of  men  in  the  middle  ages,  who 
subsisted  by  the  arts  of  poetry  and  music,  and 
sung  to  the  harp  the  verses  which  they  themselves 
composed."  The  reverend  editor  of  the  Reliques 
produced  in  support  of  this  definition  many  curious 
quotations,  to  show  that  in  many  instances  the 
persons  of  these  minstrels  had  been  honored  and 
respected,  their  performances  applauded  and  re- 
warded by  the  great  and  the  courtly,  and  their 
craft  imitated  by  princes  themselves. 

Against  both  these  propositions,  Ritson  made  a 
determined  opposition.    He  contended,  and  pro- 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 


bably  with  justice,  that  the  minstrels  ^^e  not 
necessarily  poets,  or  in  the  regular  habit  of  com- 
posing the  verses  which  they  sung  to  the  harp ; 
and  indeed,  that  the  word  minstrel,  in  its  ordinary 
acceptation,  meant  no  more  than  musician. 

Dr.  Percy,  from  an  amended  edition  of  his  Essay 
on  Minstrelsy,  prefixed  to  the  fourth  edition  of  the 
Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry,  seems  to  have  been, 
to  a  certain  point,  convinced  by  the  critic's  reason- 
ing ;  for  he  has  extended  the  definition  impugned 
by  Ritson,  and  the  minstrels  are  thus  described 
as  singing  verses  "composed  by  themselves  or 
others."  This  we  apprehend  to  be  a  tenable  posi- 
tion ;  for,  as  on  the  one  hand  it  seems  too  broad  an 
averment  to  say  that  all  minstrels  were  by  pro- 
fession poets,  so  on  the  other,  it  is  extravagant  to 
affirm,  that  men  who  were  constantly  in  tht  habit 
of  reciting  verse,  should  not  frequently  have  ac 
quired  that  of  composing  it,  especially  when  their 
bread  depended  on  giving  pleasure  ;  and  to  have 
the  power  of  producing  novelty,  is  a  great  step 
towards  that  desirable  end.  No  unprejudiced 
reader,  therefore,  can  have  any  hesitation  in  adopt- 
ing Bishop  Percy's  definition  of  the  minstrels,  and 
their  occupation,  as  qualified  in  the  fourth  edition 
of  his  Essay,  implying  that  they  were  sometimes 
poets,  sometimes  the  mere  reciters  of  the  poetry 
of  others. 

On  the  critic's  second  proposition,  Dr.  Percy  sue 
cessfully  showed,  that  at  no  period  of  history  was 
the  word  minstrel  applied  to  instrumental  music 
exclusively;  and  he  has  produced  sufficient  evi- 
dence, that  the  talents  of  the  profession  were  as 
frequently  employed  in  chanting  or  reciting  po- 
etry as  in  playing  the  mere  tunes.  There  is  ap- 
pearance of  distinction  being  sometimes  made  be 
tween  minstrel  recitations  and  minstrelsy  of  music 
alone ;  and  we  may  add  a  curious  instance,  to  those 
quoted  by  the  Bishop.  It  is  from  the  singular 
ballad  respecting  Thomas  of  Erceldoune,2  which 
announces  the  proposition,  that  tongue  is  chief  oi 
minstrelsy. 

We  may  also  notice,  that  the  word  minstrel  be 
ing  in  fact  derived  from  the  Minnesinger  of  tho 
Germans,  means,  in  its  primary  sense,  one  who 
sings  of  love,  a  sense  totally  inapplicable  to  a  mere 
instrumental  musician. 

A  second  general  point  on  which  Dr.  Percy  was 
fiercely  attacked  by  Mr.  Ritson,  was  also  one  on 
which  both  the  parties  might  claim  a  right  to  sing 
Te  Deum.  It  respected  the  rank  or  status  -which 
was  held  by  the  minstrels  in  society  during  the 
middle  ages.  On  this  point  the  editor  of  the  Re- 
liques of  Ancient  Poetry  had  produced  the  most 
satisfactory  evidence,  that,  at  the  courts  of  the 


Select  Remains  of  Popular  Pieces  of  Poetry.     Edinburgh 


1822. 


M6 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Anglo-Norman  princes,  the  professors  of  the  gay- 
science  were  the  favorite  solacers  of  the  leisure 
hours  of  princes,  who  did  not  themselves  disdain 
to  share  their  tuneful  labors,  and  imitate  their 
compositions.  Mr.  Ritson  replied  to  this  with  great 
ingenuity,  arguing,  that  such  instances  of  respect 
paid  to  French  minstrels  reciting  in  their  native 
language  in  the  court  of  Norman  monarchs,  though 
held  in  Britain,  argued  nothing  in  favor  of  English 
artists  professing  the  same  trade ;  and  of  whose 
compositions,  and  not  of  those  existing  in  the 
French  language,  Dr.  Percy  professed  to  form  his 
collection.  The  reason  of  the  distinction  betwixt 
the  respectability  of  the  French  minstrels,  and  the 
degradation  of  the  same  class  of  men  in  England, 
Mr.  Ritson  plausibly  alleged  to  be,  that  the  Eng- 
lish language,  a  mixed  speech  betwixt  Anglo- 
Saxon  and  Norman-French,  was  not  known  at  the 
court  of  the  Anglo-Norman  kings  until  the  reign 
of  Ed^  ard  III. ;'  and  that,  therefore,  until  a  very 
late  period,  and  when  the  lays  of  minstrelsy  were 
going  out  of  fashion,  English  performers  in  that 
capacity  must  have  confined  the  exercise  of  their 
talents  to  the  amusement  of  the  vulgar.  Now,  as 
it  must  be  conceded  to  Mr.  Ritson,  that  almost  all 
the  English  metrical  romances  which  have  been 
preserved  till  the  present  day,  are  translated  from 
the  French,  it  may  also  be  allowed,  that  a  class  of 
men  employed  chiefly  in  rendering  into  English 
the  works  of  others,  could  not  hold  so  lugh  a  sta- 
tion as  those  who  aspired  to  original  composition ; 
and  so  far  the  critic  has  the  best  of  the  dispute. 
-But  Mr.  Ritson  has  over-driven  his  argument,  since 
there  was  assuredly  a  period  in  English  history, 
when  the  national  minstrels,  writing  in  the  nation- 
al dialect,  were,  in  proportion  to  their  merit  in 
their  calling,  held  in  honor  and  respect. 

Thomas  the  Rhymer,  for  example,  a  minstrel  who 
-flourished  in  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century,  was 
not  only  a  man  of  talent  in  Ins  art,  but  of  some 
rank  in  society ;  the  companion  of  nobles,  and  him- 
self a  man  of  landed  property.  He,  and  his  con- 
temporary Kendal,  wrote,  as  we  are  assured  by 
Robert  de  Brunne,  in  a  passage  already  alluded 
;to,  a  kind  of  English,  which  was  designed  for  "  pride 
•and  nobleye,"2  and  not  for  such  inferior  persons  as 
Robert  himself  addressed,  and  to  whose  compre- 
hension he  avowedly  lowered  his  language  and 
structure  of  versification.  There  existed,  there- 
forb,  during  the  time  of  this  historian,  a  more  re- 

i  That  monarch  first  used  the  vernacular  English  dialect  in 
a  motto  which  he  displayed  on  his  shield  at  a  celebrated  tour- 
nament. The  legend  which  graced  the  representation  cvf  a  white 
swan  on  the  king's  buckler,  ran  thus  : — 

M  Ha  !  ha  !  the  whyte  swan  ! 
By  Goddis  soule  I  am  thy  man." 

•  The  learned  editor  of  Warton's  History  of  English  Poetry, 
»  of  opinion  that  Sir  Wa.ter  Scott  misinterpreted  the  passage 


fined  dialect  of  the  English  language,  used  by  such 
composers  of  popular  poetry  as  moved  in  a  higher 
circle  ;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt,  that  while 
their  productions  were  held  in  such  high  esteem, 
the  authors  must  have  been  honored  in  proportion. 

The  education  bestowed  upon  James  I.  of  Scot- 
land, when  brought  up  under  the  charge  of  Henry 
IV.,  comprehended  both  music  and  the  art  of  ver- 
nacular poetry ;  in  other  words,  Minstrelsy  in  both 
branches.  That  poetry,  of  which  the  King  left 
several  specimens,  was,  as  is  well  known,  English ; 
nor  is  it  to  be  supposed  that  a  prince,  upon  whose 
education  such  sedulous  care  was  bestowed,  would 
have  been  instructed  in  an  art  which,  if  we  are  to 
beheve  Mr.  Ritson,  was  degraded  to  the  last  de- 
gree, and  discreditable  to  its  professors.  The  same 
argument  is  strengthened  by  the  poetical  exercises 
of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  hi  English,  written  during 
his  captivity  after  the  battle  of  Agincourt.3  It 
could  not  be  supposed  that  the  noble  prisoner  was 
to  solace  his  hours  of  imprisonment  with  a  degra- 
ding and  vulgar  species  of  composition. 

We  could  produce  other  instances  to  show  that 
this  acute  critic  has  carried  his  argument  consid- 
erably too  far.  But  we  prefer  taking  a  general 
view  of  the  subject,  which  seems  to  explain  clear- 
ly how  contradictory  evidence  should  exist  on  it, 
and  why  instances  of  great  personal  respect  to 
individual  minstrels,  and  a  high  esteem  of  the  art, 
are  quite  reconcilable  with  much  contempt  thrown 
on  the  order  at  large. 

All  professors  of  the  fine  arts — all  those  who 
contribute,  not  to  the  necessities  of  life,  but  to  the 
enjoyments  of  society,  hold  their  professional  re- 
spectability by  the  severe  tenure  of  exhibiting  ex- 
cellence in  their  department.  We  are  well  enough 
satisfied  with  the  tradesman  who  goes  through  his 
task  in  a  workmanlike  manner,  nor  are  we  disposed 
to  look  down  upon  the  divine,  the  lawyer,  or  the 
physician,  unless  they  display  gross  ignorance  of 
their  profession :  we  hold  it  enough,  that  ^f  they 
do  not  possess  the  highest  knowledge  of  their  re- 
spective sciences,  they  can  at  least  instruct  us  on 
the  points  we  desire  to  know.     But 

"  mediocribus  esse  poetis 

Non  di,  non  homines,  non  concessere  column*. " 

The  same  is  true  respecting  the  professors  of 
painting,  of  sculpture,  of  music,  and  the  fine  art? 
in  general.     If  they  exhibit  paramount  excellence, 

referred  to.  De  Brunne,  according  to  this  author's  text,  says 
of  the  elder  reciters  of  the  metrical  romance, 

"  They  said  it  for  pride  and  nobleye, 
That  non  were  soulk  as  they  ;" 

i.  e.  they  recited  it  in  a  style  so  lofty  and  noble,  that  none  have 
since  equalled  them.—  Warton,  edit.  1824,  vol.  i.  p.  183.— Ed 
3  See  the  edition  printed  by  Mr.  Watson  Taylor,  for  the 
Roxburghe  Club. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  OJN'  POPULAR  POETRi 


ao  situation  in  society  is  too  high  for  them  which 
their  manners  enable  them  to  fill ;  if  they  fall 
short  of  the  highest  point  of  aim,  they  degenerate 
into  sign-painters,  stone-cutters,  common  crowders, 
doggerel  rhymers,  and  so  forth,  the  most  contempt- 
ibis  of  mankind.  The  reason  of  this  is  evident. 
Men  must  be  satisfied  with  such  a  supply  of  their 
actual  wants  as  can  be  obtained  in  the  circum- 
stances, and  should  an  individual  want  a  coat,  he 
must  employ  the  village  tailor  if  Stultze  is  not  to 
be  had.  But  if  he  seeks  for  delight,  the  case  is 
quite  different ;  and  he  that  cannot  hear  Pasta  or 
Sontag,  would  be  little  solaced  for  the  absence  of 
these  sirens,  by  the  strains  of  a  crack-voiced  bal- 
lad-singer. Nay,  on  the  contrary,  the  offer  of  such 
inadequate  compensation  would  only  be  regarded 
as  an  insult,  and  resented  accordingly. 

The  theatre  affords  the  most  appropriate  exam- 
ple of  what  we  mean.  The  first  circles  in  society 
are  open  to  persons  eminently  distinguished  in  the 
drama ;  and  their  rewards  are,  in  proportion  to 
those  who  profess  the  useful  arts,  incalculably 
higher.  But  those  who  lag  in  the  rear  of  the  dra- 
matic art  are  proportionally  poorer  and  more  de- 
graded than  those  who  are  the  lowest  of  a  useful 
trade  or  profession.  These  instances  will  enable 
us  readily  to  explain  why  the  greater  part  of  the 
minstrels,  practising  their  profession  in  scenes  of 
vulgar  mirth  and  debauchery,  humbling  their  art 
to  please  the  ears  of  drunken  clowns,  and  living 
with  the  dissipation  natural  to  men  whose  preca- 
rious subsistence  is,  according  to  the  ordinary 
phrase,  from  hand  to  mouth  only,  should  fall  un- 
der general  contempt,  while  the  stars  of  the  pro- 
fession, to  use  a  modern  phrase,  looked  down  on 
ihem  from  the  distant  empyrean,  as  the  planets 
Ao  upon"  those  shooting  exhalations  arising  from 
jp*oss  vapors  in  the  nether  atmosphere. 

The  debate,  therefore,  resembles  the  apologue 
jf  the  gold  and  silver  shield.  Dr.  Percy  looked 
on  the  minstrel  in  the  palmy  and  exalted  state  to 
which,  no  doubt,  many  were  elevated  by  their 
talents,  like  those  who  possess  excellence  in  the 
fine  arts  in  the  present  day ;  and  Ritson  consid- 
ered the  reverse  of  the  medal,  when  the  poor  and 
wandering  glee-man  was  glad  to  purchase  his  bread 
by  singing  his  ballads  at  the  alehouse,  wearing  a 
fantastic  habit,  and  latterly  sinking  into  a  mere 
crowder  upon  an  untuned  fiddle,  accompanying 
his  rude  strains  with  a  ruder  ditty,  the  helpless 
associate  of  drunken  revellers,  and  marvellously 
afraid  of  the  constable  and  parish-beadle.1  The 
differences  betwixt  those  holding  the  extreme  po- 
sitions of  highest  and  lowest  in  such  a  profession, 
rannot  surely  be  more  marked  than  that  which 
leparated  David  Garrick  or  John  Kemble  from  the 

i  See  Appendix    Note  D. 


outcasts  of  a  strolling  company,  exposed  to  penury 
indigence,  and  persecution  according  to  law.2 

There  was  still  another  and  more  important 
subject  of  debate  between  Dr.  Percy  and  liis  hos- 
tile critic.  The  former,  as  a  poet  and  a  man  of 
taste,  was  tempted  to  take  such  freedoms  with  his 
original  ballads  as  might  enable  him  to  please  a 
more  critical  age  than  that  in  which  they  were 
composed.  Words  were  thus  altered,  phrases  im- 
proved, and  whole  verses  were  inserted  or  omit 
ted  at  pleasure.  Such  freedoms  were  especially 
taken  with  the  poems  published  from  a  folio  man- 
uscript in  Dr.  Percy's  own  possession,  very  curious 
from  the  miscellaneous  nature  of  its  contents,  but 
unfortunately  having  many  of  the  leaves  mutila- 
ted, and  injured  in  other  respects,  by  the  gross 
carelessness  and  ignorance  of  the  transcriber. 
Anxious  to  avail  himself  of  the  treasures  which 
this  manuscript  contained,  the  editor  of  the  Re- 
liques  did  not  hesitate  to  repair  and  renovate  the 
songs  which  he  drew  from  this  corrupted  yet  cu- 
rious source,  and  to  accommodate  them  with  such 
emendations  as  might  recommend  them  to  the 
modern  taste. 

For  these  liberties  with  his  subject,  Ritson  cen- 
sured Dr.  Percy  in  the  most  uncompromising  terms, 
accused  him,  in  violent  language,  of  interpolation 
and  forgery,  and  insinuated  that  there  existed  no 
such  thing  in  rerum  natura  as  that  folio  manu- 
script, so  often  referred  to  as  the  authority  of  ori- 
ginals inserted  in  the  Reliques.  In  this  charge, 
the  eagerness  of  Ritson  again  betrayed  him  far- 
ther than  judgment  and  discretion,  as  well  as  cour- 
tesy, warranted.  It  is  no  doubt  highly  desirable 
that  the  text  of  ancient  poetry  should  be  given 
untouched  and  uncorrupted.  But  this  is  a  point 
which  did  not  occur  to  the  editor  of  the  Reliques 
in  P765,  whose  object  it  was  to  win  the  favor  of 
the  public,  at  a  period  when  the  great  difficulty 
was  not  how  to  secure  the  very  words  of  old  bal- 
lads, but  how  to  arrest  attention  upon  the  subject 
at  all.  That  great  and  important  service  to  na- 
tional literature  would  probably  never  have  been 
attained  without  the  work  of  Dr.  Percy  ;  a  work 
which  first  fixed  the  consideration  of  general  read- 
ers on  ancient  poetry,  and  made  it  worth  while  to 
inquire  how  far  its  graces  were  really  antique,  or 
how  far  derived  from  the  taste  with  which  the 
publication  had  been  superintended  and  revised. 
The  object  of  Dr.  Percy  was  certainly  intimated 
in  several  parts  of  his  work,  where  ho  ingenuously 
acknowledges,  that  certain  ballads  have  received 
emendations,  and  that  others  are  not  of  pure  and 
unmixed  antiquity  ;  that  the  beginning  of  some 
and  end  of  others  have  been  supplied  ;  and  upon 
the  whole,  that  he  has,  in  many  instances,  deco* 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 


548 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


rated  the  ancient  ballads  "with  the  graces  of  a 
more  refined  period. 

This  system  is  so  distinctly  intimated,  that  if 
Ahere  be  any  critic  still  of  opinion,  like  poor  Rit- 
son,  whose  morbid  temperament  led  him  to  such  a 
conclusion,  that  the  crime  of  literary  imitation  is 
equal  to  that  of  commercial  forgery,  he  ought  to 
recollect  that  guilt,  in  the  latter  case,  does  not 
exist  without  a  corresponding  charge  of  uttering 
the  forged  document,  or  causing  it  to  be  uttered, 
as  genume,  without  which  the  mere  imitation  is 
not  culpable,  at  least  not  criminally  so.  This  qual- 
ity is  totally  awanting  in  the  accusation  so  roughly 
brought  against  Dr.  Percy,  who  avowedly  indulged 
in  such  alterations  and  improvements  upon  his 
materials,  as  might  adapt  them  to  the  taste  of  an 
age  not  otherwise  disposed  to  bestow  its  attention 
on  them. 

We  have  to  add,  that,  in  the  fourth  edition  of 
the  Reliques,  Mr.  Thomas  Percy  of  St.  John's  Col- 
lege, Oxford,  pleading  the  cause  of  his  uncle  with 
the  most  gentlemanlike  moderation,  and  with 
every  respect  to  Mr.  Ritson's  science  and  talents, 
has  combated  the  critic's  opinion,  without  any  at- 
tempt to  retort  his  injurious  language. 

It  would  be  now,  no  doubt,  desirable  to  have 
had  some  more  distinct  account  of  Dr.  Percy's  folio 
manuscript  and  its  contents ;  and  Mr.  Thomas  Per- 
cy, accordingly,  gives  the  original  of  the  marriage 
of  Sir  Gawain,  and  collates  it  with  the  copy  pub- 
lished in  a  complete  state  by  his  uncle,  who  has 
on  this  occasion  given  entire  rein  to  his  own  fancy, 
though  the  rude  origin  of  most  of  his  ideas  is  to  be 
found  in  the  old  ballad.  There  is  also  given  a 
copy  of  that  elegant  metrical  tale,  "  The  Child  of 
Elle,"  as  it  exists  in  the  folio  manuscript,  which 
goes  far  to  show  it  has  derived  all  its  beauties 
from  Dr.  Percy's  poetical  powers.  Judging  from 
these  two  specimens,  we  can  easily  conceive  why 
the  Reverend  Editor  of  the  "Reliques"  should 
have  declined,  by  the  production  of  the  folio  man- 
uscript, to  furnish  his  severe  Aristarch  with  wea- 
pons against  him,  which  he  was  sure  would  be  un- 
sparingly used.  Yet  it  is  certain,  the  manuscript 
con  tains  much  that  is  really  excellent,  though  mu- 
tilated and  sophisticated.  A  copy  of  the  fine  bal- 
lad of  "  Sir  Caulin"  is  found  in  a  Scottish  shape, 
under  the  name  of  "King  Malcolm  and  Sir  Col- 
vin,"  in  Buchan's  North  Country  Ballads,  to  be 
presently  mentioned.  It  is,  therefore,  unquestion- 
ably ancient,  though  possibly  retouched,  and  per- 
haps with  the  addition  of  a  second  part,  of  which 
the  Scottish  copy  has  no  vestiges.  It  would 
be  desirable  to  know  exactly  to  what  extent 
Dr.  Percy  had  used  the  license  of  an  editor,  in 

» Introduction  to  Evans's  Ballads,  1810.  New  edition,  en- 
Mged,  &o. 


these  and  other  cases ;  and  certainly,  at  this  pe- 
riod, would  be  only  a  degree  of  justice  due  to  his 
memory. 

On  the  whole,  we  may  dismiss  the  "  Reliques  ol 
Ancient  Poetry"  with  the  praise  and  censure  con- 
ferred on  it  by  a  gentleman,  himself  a  valuable  la- 
borer in  the  vineyard  of  antiquities.  "  It  is  the 
most  elegant  compilation  of  the  early  poetry  that 
has  ever  appeared  in  any  age  or  country.  But  it 
must  be  frankly  added,  that  so  numerous  are  the 
alterations  and  corrections,  that  the  severe  anti- 
quary, who  desires  to  see  the  old  English  ballads 
in  a  genuine  state,  must  consult  a  more  accurate 
edition  than  this  celebrated  work."1 

Of  Ritson's  own  talents  as  an  editor  of  ancient 
poetry,  we  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  hereafter. 
The  first  collector  who  followed  the  example  ol 
Dr.  Percy,  was  Mr.  T.  Evans,  bookseller,  father  oi 
the  gentleman  we  have  just  quoted.  His  "  Old 
Ballads,  historical  and  narrative,  with  some  of  mod- 
ern date,"  appeared  in  two  volumes,  in  1777,  and 
were  eminently  successful.  In  1784,  a  second  edi- 
tion appeared,  extending  the  work  to  four  vol- 
umes. In  this  collection,  many  ballads  found  ac- 
ceptance, which  Bishop  Percy  had  not  considered  as 
possessing  sufficient  merit  to  claim  admittance  into 
the  Reliques.  The  8vo.  Miscellany  of  1723  yield- 
ed a  great  part  of  the  materials.  The  collection  of 
Evans  contained  several  modern  pieces  of  great 
merit,  which  are  not  to  be  found  elsewhere,  and 
which  are  understood  to  be  the  productions  of  Wil- 
liam Julius  Mickle,  translator  of  the  Lusiad,  though 
they  were  never  claimed  by  him,  nor  received 
.among  his  works.  Amongst  them  is  the  elegiac 
poem  of  Cumnor  Hall,  which  suggested  the  ficti- 
tious narrative  entitled  Kenilworth.  The  Red- 
Cross  Knight,  also  by  Mickle,  which  has  furnished 
words  for  a  beautiful  glee,  first  occurred  in  the 
same  collection.  As  Mickle,  with  a  vein  of  great 
facility,  united  a  power  of  verbal  melody  which 
might  have  been  envied  by  bards  of  much  greater 
renown,2  he  must  be  considered  as  very  successful 
in  these  efforts,  if  the  ballads  be  regarded  as 
avowedly  modern.  If  they  are  to  be  judged  of 
as  accurate  imitations  of  ancient  poetry,  they  have 
less  merit ;  the  deception  being  only  maintained 
by  a  huge  store  of  double  consonants,  strewed  at 
random  into  ordinary  words,  resembling  the  real 
fashion  of  antiquity  as  little  as  the  niches,  turrets, 
and  tracery  of  plaster  stuck  upon  a  modern  front 
In  the  year  1810,  the  four  volumes  of  1784  were 
republished  by  Mr.  R.  H.  Evans,  the  son  of  the 
original  editor,  with  very  considerable  alterations 
and  additions.  In  this  last  edition,  the  more  ordi- 
nary modern  ballads  were  judiciously  retrenched 

2  See  Appenlix,  Note  F. 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON   POPULAR  tOKUiY. 


5  4i* 


in  number,  and  large  and  valuable  additions  made 
to  the  ancient  part  of  the  collection.  Being  in 
some  measure  a  supplement  to  the  Reliques  of 
Ancient  Poetry,  this  miscellany  cannot  be  dis- 
pensed with  on  the  shelves  of  any  bibliomaniac 
who  may  choose  to  emulate  Captain  Cox  of  Co- 
ventry, the  prototype  of  all  collectors  of  popular 
poetry. 

While  Dr.  Percy  was  setting  the  example  of  a 
classical  publication  of  ancient  English  poetry,  the 
late  David  Herd  was,  in  modest  retirement,  com- 
piling a  collection  of  Scottish  Songs,  which  ho  has 
happily  described  as  "  the  poetry  and  music  of  the 
heart."  The  first  part  of  his  Miscellany  contains 
heroic  and  historical  ballads,  of  which  there  is  a 
respectable  and  well-chosen  selection.  Mr.  Herd,1 
an  accountant,  as  the  profession  is  called  in  Edin- 
burgh, was  known  and  generally  esteemed  for  his 
shrewd,  manly  common  sense  and  antiquarian  sci- 
ence, mixed  with  much  good  nature  and  great 
modesty.  His  hardy  and  antique  mould  of  counte- 
nance, and  his  venerable  grizzled  locks,  procured 
him,  amongst  his  acquaintance,  the  name  of  Gray- 
steil.  His  original  collection  of  songs,  in  one  vol- 
ume, appeared  in  1769  ;  an  enlarged  one,  in  two 
volumes,  came  out  in  1776.  A  publication  of  the 
same  kind,  being  Herd's  book  still  more  enlarged, 
was  printed  for  Lawrie  and  Symington  in  1791. 
Some  modern  additions  occur  in  this  latter  work, 
of  which  by  far  the  most  valuable  were  two  fine 
imitations  of  the  Scottish  ballad  by  the  gifted  au- 
thor of  the  "  Man  of  Feeling," — (now,  alas  !  no 
more,) — called  "  Duncan"  and  "  Kenneth." 

John  Pinkerton,  a  man  of  considerable  learning, 
and  some  severity  as  well  as  acuteness  of  disposi- 
tion, was  now  endeavoring  to  force  himself  into 
public  attention ;  and  Ins  collection  of  Select  Bal- 
lads, London,  1783,  contains  sufficient  evidence 
that  he  understood,  in  an  extensive  sense,  Horace's 
maxim,  quidlibet  audendi.  As  he  was  possessed  of 
considerable  powers  of  poetry,  though  not  equal 
to  what  he  was  willing  to  take  credit  for,  he  was 
resolved  to  enrich  his  collection  with  all  the  nov- 
elty and  interest  which  it  could  derive  from  a 
liberal  insertion  of  pieces  dressed  in  the  garb  of 
antiquity,  but  equipped  from  the  wardrobe  of  the 
editor's  imagination.  With  a  boldness,  suggested 
perhaps  by  the  success  of  Mr.  Macpherson,  he  in- 
cluded, within  a  collection  amounting  to  only 
twenty-one  tragic  ballads,  no  less  than  five,  of 
which  he  afterwards  owned  himself  to  have  been 
altogether,  or  in  great  part,  the  author.  The  most 
j-emarkable  article  in  this  Miscellany  was,  a  second 

i  David  Herd  was  a  native  of  St.  Cyrus,  in  Kincardineshire, 
»nd  though  often  termed  a  writer,  he  was  only  a  clerk  in  the 
office  of  Mr.  David  Russell,  accountant  in  Edinburgh.  He 
died,  aged  78,  in  1810,  and  left  a  very  curious  library,  which 
iras  dispersed  by  auction.     Herd  by  no  means  merited  the  char- 


part  to  the  noble  ballad  of  Hardyknute,  which  hat 
some  good  verses.  It  labors,  however,  under  this 
great  defect,  that,  in  order  to  append  Ins  own  con- 
clusion to  the  original  tale,  Mr.  Pinkerton  found 
himself  under  the  necessity  of  altering  a  leading 
circumstance  in  the  old  ballad,  which  would  have 
rendered  his  catastrophe  inapplicable.  With  such 
license,  to  write  continuations  and  conclusions 
would  be  no  difficult  task.  In  the  second  volume 
of  the  Select  Ballads,  consisting  of  comic  pieces,  a 
list  of  fifty-two  articles  contained  nine  written  en- 
tirely by  the  editor  himself.  Of  the  manner  in 
which  these  supposititious  compositions  are  exe 
cuted,  it  may  be  briefly  stated,  that  they  are  the 
work  of  a  scholar  much  better  acquainted  with  an- 
cient books  and  manuscripts,  than  with  oral  tradi- 
tion and  popular  legends.  The  poetry  smells  of 
the  lamp  ;  and  it  may  be  truly  said,  that  if  ever  a 
ballad  had  existed  in  such  quaint  language  as  the 
author  employs,  it  could  never  have  been  so  popu- 
lar as  to  be  preserved  .by  oral  tradition.  The 
glossary  displays  a  much  greater  acquaintance 
with  learned  lexicons  than  with  the  familiar  dia- 
lect still  snoken  by  the  Lowland  Scottish,  and  it 
is,  of  course,  full  of  errors.2  Neither  was  Mr. 
Pinkerton  more  happy  in  the  way  of  conjectural 
illustration.  He  chose  to  fix  on  Sir  John  Bruce  of 
Kinross  the  paternity  of  the  ballad  of  Hardyknute, 
and  of  the  fine  poem  called  the  Vision.  The  first 
is  due  to  Mrs.  Halket  of  Wardlaw,  the  second  to 
Allan  Ramsay,  although,  it  must  be  owned,  it  is  of 
a  character  superior  to  his  ordinary  poetry.  Sir 
John  Bruce  was  a  brave,  blunt  soldier,  who  made 
no  pretence  whatever  to  literature,  though  his 
daughter,  Mrs.  Bruce  of  Arnot,  had  much  talent, 
a  circumstance  which  may  perhaps  have  misled 
the  antiquary. 

Mr.  Pinkerton  read  a  sort  of  recantation,  in  a 
List  of  Scottish  Poets,  prefixed  to  a  Selection  of 
Poems  from  the  Maitland  Manuscript,  vol.  i.  1786, 
in  which  he  acknowledges,  as  his  own  composition, 
the  pieces  of  spurious  antiquity  included  in  his 
"  Select  Ballads,"  with  a  coolness  which,  when  his 
subsequent  invectives  against  others  who  had  taken 
similar  liberties  is  considered,  infers  as  much  au- 
dacity as  the  studied  and  labored  defence  of  ob 
scenity  with  which  he  disgraced  the  same  pages. 

In  the  mean  time,  Joseph  Ritson,  a  man  of  dili- 
gence and  acumen  equal  to  those  cf  Pinkerton,  but 
of  the  most  laudable  accuracy  and  fidelity  as  an 
editor,  was  engaged  in  various  publications  re- 
specting poetical  antiquities,  in  which  he  employed 
profound  research.     A  select  collection  of  English 

ac\er  given  him  by  Pinkerton,  of  "  an  illiterate  and  injudicious 
coupiler." — Ed. 

2  Bansters,  for  example,  a  word  generally  applied  to  the  men, 
on  a  harvest  field,  who  bind  the  sheaves,  is  derived  from  ban,  tc 
curse,  and  explained  to  mean,  "  blustering,  swearing  fellows.' 


550 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Songs  was  compiled  by  him,  with  great  care  and 
considerable  taste,  and  published  at  London,  1783. 
A  new  edition  of  this  has  appeared  since  Ritson'? 
death,  sanctioned  by  the  name  of  the  learned  and 
indefatigable  antiquary,  Thomas  Park,  and  aug- 
mented with  many  original  pieces,  and  some  which 
Ritson  had  prepared  for  publication. 

Ritson's  Collection  of  Songs  was  followed  by  a 
carious  volume,  entitled,  "  Ancient  Songs  from  the 
time  of  Henry  III.  to  the  Revolution,"  1790; 
"Pieces  of  Ancient  Popular  Poetry"  1792;  and 
"  A  collection  of  Scottish  Songs,  with  the  genuine 
music,"  London,  1794.  This  last  is  a  genuine,  but 
rather  meagre  collection  of  Caledonian  popular 
songs.  Next  year  Mr.  Ritson  published  "Robin 
Hood,"  2  vols.,  1795,  being  "  A  Collection  of  all  the 
Ancient  Poems,  Songs,  and  Ballads  now  extant, 
relative  to  that  celebrated  Outlaw."  This  work  is 
a  notable  illustration  of  the  excellencies  and  de- 
fects of  Mr.  Ritson's  system.  It  is  almost  impossi- 
ble to  conceive  so  much  zeal,  research,  and  indus- 
try bestowed  on  a  subject  of  antiquity.  There 
scarcely  occurs  a  phrase  or  word  relating  to  Robin 
Hood,  whether  in  history  or  poetry,  in  law  books, 
in  ancient  proverbs,  or  common  parlance,  but  it  is 
here  collected  and  explained.  At  the  same  time, 
the  extreme  fidelity  of  the  editor  seems  driven  to 
excess,  when  we  find  him  pertinaciously  retaining 
all  the  numerous  and  gross  errors  which  repeated 
recitations  have  introduced  into  the  text,  and  re- 
garding it  as  a  sacred  duty  to  prefer  the  worst  to 
the  better  readings,  as  if  their  inferiority  was  a  se- 
curity for  their  being  genuine.  In  short,  when 
Ritson  copied  from  rare  books,  or  ancient  manu- 
scripts, there  could  not  be  a  more  accurate  editor ; 
when  taking  his  authority  from  oral  tradition,  and 
judging  between  two  recited  copies,  he  was  apt  to 
consider  the  worst  as  most  genuine,  as  if  a  poem 
was  not  more  likely  to  be  deteriorated  than  im- 
proved by  passing  through  the  mouths  of  many  re- 
citers. In  the  Ballads  of  Robin  Hood,  this  super- 
stitious scrupulosity  was  especially  to  be  regretted, 
as  it  tended  to  enlarge  the  collection  with  a  great 
number  of  doggerel  compositions,  which  are  all 
copies  of  each  other,  turning  on  the  same  idea  of 
Bold  Robin  meeting  with  a  shepherd,  a  tinker,  a 
mendicant,  a  tanner,  &c.  &c,  by  each  and  all  of 
whom  he  is  soundly  thrashed,  and  all  of  whom  he 
receives  into  his  band.  The  tradition,  which  avers 
that  it  was  the  brave  outlaw's  custom  to  try  a  bout 
at  quarter-staff  with  his  young  recruits,  might  in- 
deed have  authorized  one  or  two  such  tales,  but 
the  greater  part  ought  to  have  been  rejected  as 
modern  imitations  of  the  most  paltry  kind,  com- 

I'The  first  opening  of  the  ballad  has  much  of  the  martial 
Ktrain  with  which  a  pibroch  commences.  Properat  in  medias 
r« — according  x>  the  classical  admonition. 


posed  probably  about  the  age  cf  James  I.  of  Eng- 
land. By  adopting  this  spurious  trash  as  part  of 
Robin  Hood's  history,  he  is  represented  as  the  best 
cudgelled  hero,  Don  Quixote  excepted,  that  ever 
was  celebrated  in  prose  or  rhyme.  Ritson  also 
published  several  garlands  of  North  Country  songs. 

Looking  on  this  eminent  antiquary's  labors  in  a 
general  point  of  view,  we  may  deprecate  the  eager- 
ness and  severity  of  his  prejudices,  and  feel  sur- 
prise that  he  should  have  shown  so  much  irritabil- 
ity of  disposition  on  such  a  topic  as  a  collection  of 
old  ballads,  which  certainly  have  little  in  them  to 
affect  the  passions ;  and  we  may  be  sometimes  pro- 
voked at  the  pertinacity  with  which  lie  has  pre- 
ferred bad  readings  to  good.  But  while  industry, 
research,  and  antiquarian  learning,  are  recommen- 
dations to  works  of  this  nature,  few  editors  will 
ever  be  found  so  competent  to  the  task  as  Joseph 
Ritson.  It  must  also  be  added  to  his  praise,  that 
although  not  willing  to  yield  his  opinion  rashly, 
yet  if  he  saw  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  been 
mistaken  in  any  fact  or  argument,  he  resigned  his 
own  opinion  with  a  candor  equal  to  the  warmth 
with  which  he  defended  himself  while  confident 
he  was  in  the  right.  Many  of  his  works  are  now 
almost  out  of  print,  and  an  edition  of  them  in  com- 
mon orthography,  and  altering  the  bizarre  spelling 
and  character  which  his  prejudices  induced  the  au- 
thor to  adopt,  would  be,  to  antiquaries,  an  accept- 
able present. 

We  have  now  given  a  hasty  account  of  various 
collections  of  popular  poetry  during  the  eighteenth 
century  ;  we  have  only  further  to  observe,  that,  in 
the  present  century,  this  species  of  lore  has  been 
sedulously  cultivated.  The  "Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border"  first  appeared  in  1802,  in  two 
volumes ;  and  what  may  appear  a  singular  coinci- 
dence, it  was  the  first  work  printed  by  Mr.  James 
Ballantyne  (then  residing  at  Kelso),  as  it  was  the 
first  serious  demand  which  the  present  author 
made  on  the  patience  of  the  public.  The  Border 
jflinstrelsy,  augmented  by  a  third  volume,  came  to 
a  second  edition  in  1803.  In  1803,  Mr.,  now  Sir 
John  Grahame  Dalzell,  to  whom  his  country  is 
obliged  for  his  antiquarian  labors,  published  "  Scot- 
tish Poems  of  the  Sixteenth  Century,"  which,  among 
other  subjects  of  interest,  contains  a  curious  con- 
temporary ballad  of  Belrinnes,  which  has  some 
stanzas  of  considerable  merit.1 

The  year  1806  was  distinguished  by  the  appear- 
ance of  "  Popular  Ballads  and  Songs,  from  Tradi 
tions,  Manuscripts,  and  Scarce  Editions,  with  Trans 
lations  of  Similar  Pieces  from  the  Ancient  Danisl 
Language,  and  a  few  Originals  by  the  Editor,  Rob 

"  MaeCallanmore  came  from  the  w  est 
With  many  a  bow  and  brand  ; 
To  waste  the  Rinnes  lie  thought  it  b.;st 
The  Earl  of  Huntly's  land  V 


INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY. 


551 


ert  Jamieson,  A.  M.,  and  F.  A.  S."1  This  work,  which 
w:ts  not  greeted  by  the  public  with  the  attention 
it  deserved,  opened  a  new  discovery  respecting 
the  original  source  of  the  Scottish  ballads.  Mr. 
Jamieson's  extensive  acquaintance  with  the  Scan- 
dinavian literature,  enabled  him  to  detect  not  only 
a  general  similarity  betwixt  these  and  the  Danish 
ballads  preserved  in  the  "  Kiempe  Viser,"  an  early 
collection  of  heroic  ballads  in  that  language,  but 
tc  demonstrate  that,  in  many  cases,  the  stories  and 
songs  were  distinctly  the  same,  a  circumstance 
which  no  antiquary  had  hitherto  so  much  as  sus- 
pected. Mr.  Jamieson's  annotations  are  also  very 
valuable,  and  preserve  some  curious  illustrations 
of  the  old  poets.  His  imitations,  though  he  is  not 
entirely  free  from  the  affectation  of  using  rather 
too  many  obsolete  words,  are  generally  highly  in- 
teresting. The  work  fills  an  important  place  in 
the  collection  of  those  who  are  addicted  to  this 
branch  of  antiquarian  study. 

Mr.  John  Finlay,  a  poet  whose  career  was  cut 
short  by  a  premature  death,2  published  a  short  col- 
lection of  "  Scottish  Historical  and  Romantic  Bal- 
lads," in  1808.  The  beauty  of  some  imitations  of 
the  old  Scottish  ballad,  with  the  good  sense,  learn- 
ing, and  modesty  of  the  preliminary  dissertations, 
must  make  all  admirers  of  ancient  lore  regret  the 
early  loss  of  this  accomplished  young  man. 

Various  valuable  collections  of  ancient  ballad- 
poetry  have  appeared  of  late  years,  some  of  which 
are  illustrated  with  learning  and  acuteness,  as  those 
of  Mr.  Motherwell3  and  of  Mr.  Kinloch4  intimate 
much  taste  and  feeling  for  this  species  of  litera- 
ture. Nor  is  there  any  want  of  editions  of  ballads, 
less  designed  for  public  sale,  than  to  preserve  float- 
ing pieces  of  minstrelsy  which  are  in  immediate 
danger  of  perishing.  Several  of  those,  edited,  as 
we  have  occasion  to  know,  by  men  of  distinguished 
talent,  have  appeared  in  a  smaller  form  and  more 
limited  edition,  and  must  soon  be  among  the  in- 
trouvables  of  Scottish  typography.  We  would  par- 
ticularize a  duodecimo,  under  the  modest  title  of 
a  "  Ballad  Book,"  without  place  or  date  annexed, 

1  After  the  completion  of  the  Border  Minstrelsy,  and  nearly 
three  years  previous  to  the  publication  of  his  own  Collection, 
Mr.  Jamieson  printed  in  the  Scots  Magazine  (October,  1803)  a 
List  of  desiderata  in  Scottish  Song.  His  communication  to 
the  Editor  of  that  work  contains  the  following  paragraph : — 
"  I  am  now  writing  out  for  the  press  a  Collection  of  Popular 
Ballads  and  Songs  from  tradition,  MSS.,  and  scarce  publica- 
tions, with  a  few  of  modern  date,  which  hav?  been  written  for, 
and  are  exclusively  dedicated  to  my  collection.  As  many  of 
the  pieces  were  common  property,  I  have  heretofore  waited  for 
Jie  completion  of  Mr.  Walter  Scott's  Work,  with  more  anx- 

ety  for  the  cause  in  general,  than  for  any  particular  and  selfish 
interest  of  my  own  ;  as  I  was  sure  of  having  the  satisfaction  of 
•feeing  such  pieces  as  that  gentleman  might  choose  to  adopt, 
appear  with  every  advantage  which  I,  partial  as  1  was,  could 

wisn  them.  The  most  sanguine  expectations  of  the  public 
have  now  been  amply  gratified  ;  and  much  curious  and  valua- 


which  indicates,  by  a  few  notes  only,  the  capacity 
which  the  editor  possesses  for  supplying  the  mosi 
extensive  and  ingenious  illustrations  upon  antiqua- 
rian subjects.  Most  of  the  ballads  are  of  a  comic 
character,  and  some  of  them  admirable  specimens 
of  Scottish  dry  humor.5  Another  collection,  which 
calls  for  particular  distinction,  is  in  the  same  siz»-, 
or  nearly  so,  and  bears  the  s&me  title  with  thfl 
preceding  one,  the  date  being,  Edinburgh,  1827. 
But  the  contents  are  announced  as  containing  the 
budget,  or  stock-in-trade,  of  an  old  Aberdeenshire 
minstrel,  the  very  last,  probably,  of  the  race,  who, 
according  to  Percy's  definition  of  the  profession, 
sung  his  own  compositions,  and  those  of  others, 
through  the  capital  of  the  county,  and  other  towns 
in  that  country  of  gentlemen.  This  man's  name 
was  Charles  Leslie,  but  he  was  known  more  gene 
rally  by  the  nickname  of  Mussel-mou'd  Charlie, 
from  a  singular  projection  of  his  under  lip.  His 
death  was  thus  announced  in  the  newspapers  fo" 
October,  1792: — "Died  at  Old  Rain,  in  Aberdeen- 
shire, aged  one  hundred  and  four  years,  Charles 
Leslie,  a  hawker,  or  ballad-singer,  well  known  in 
that  country  by  the  name  of  Mussel-mou'd  Chariie. 
He  followed  his  occupation  till  within  a  few  weeks 
of  his  death."  Charlie  was  a  devoted  Jacobite, 
and  so  popular  in  Aberdeen,  that  he  enjoyed  ir. 
that  city  a  sort  of  monopoly  of  the  minstrel  call- 
ing, no  other  person  being  allowed,  under  any  pre- 
tence, to  chant  ballads  on  the  causeway,  or  plain- 
stanes,  of  "  the  brave  burgh."  Like  the  former  col- 
lection, most  of  Mussel-mou'd  Charlie's  songs  were 
of  a  jocose  character.  v 

But  the  most  extensive  and  valuable  additions 
which  have  been  of  late  made  to  this  branch  of 
ancient  literature,  are  the  collections  of  Mr.  Peter 
Buchan  of  Peterhead,  a  person  of  indefatigable  re- 
search in  that  department,  and  whose  industry  has 
been  crowned  with  the  most  successful  results. 
This  is  partly  owing  to  the  country  where  Mr. 
Buchan  resides,  which,  full  as  it  is  of  minstrel  rel- 
ics, has  been  but  little  ransacked  by  any  former 
collectors ;  so  that,  while  it  is  a  very  rare  event 

ble  matter  is  still  left  for  me  by  Mr.  Scott,  to  whom  I  am  much 
indebted  for  many  acts  of  friendship,  and  much  hber&Aty  ane 
good  will  shown  towards  me  and  my  undertaking." — Ed. 

a  Mr.  Finlay,  best  known  by  his  "  Wallace,  or  The  Vale  t 
Ellerslie,"  died  in  1810,  in  his  twenty-eighth  year.  An  affeu 
tionate  and  elegant  tribute  to  his  memory,  from  the  pen  of  Pro 
fessor  Wilson,  appeared  in  Blackwood's  Magazine,  November, 
1817.— Ed. 

3  Minstrelsy ;  Ancient  and  Modern,  with  an  Historical  In- 
troduction and  Notes.  By  William  Motherwell.  4to.  Glasg. 
1827. 

4  Ancient  Scottish  Ballads,  recovered  from  Tradition,  and 
never  before  published  ;  with  Notes,  Historical  and  Explaua 
tory,  and  an  Appendix,  containing  the  Airs  of  several  of  the 
ballads.    8vo.     Edin.  1827. 

s  This  is  Mr.  C.  K.  Sharpe's  Work,  already  alluded  to.- 
Ed. 


552 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


south  ol  the  Tay,  to  recover  any  ballad  having  a 
claim  to  antiquity,  which  has  not  been  examined 
and  republished  in  some  one  or  other  of  our  collec- 
tions of  ancient  poetry,  those  of  Aberdeenshire 
have  been  comparatively  little  attended  to.  The 
present  Editor  was  the  first  to  solicit  attention  to 
these  northern  songs,  in  consequence  of  a  collection 
of  ballads  communicated  to  him  by  his  late  re- 
spected fri  ;nd,  Lord  Woodhouslee.  Mr.  Jamieson, 
in  his  collections  of  "Songs  and  Ballads,"  being 
himself  a  native  of  Morayshire,  was  able  to  push 
this  inquiry  much  farther,  and  at  the  same  time, 
by  doing  so,  to  illustrate  his  theory  of  the  connec- 
tion between  the  ancient  Scottish  and  Danish  bal- 
lads, upon  which  the  publication  of  Mr.  Buchan 
throws  much  light.  It  is,  indeed,  the  most  com- 
plete collection  of  the  kind  which  has  yet  appeared.1 
Of  the  originality  of  the  ballads  in  Mr.  Buchan's 
collection  we  do  not  entertain  the  slightest  doubt. 
Several  (we  may  instance  the  curious  tale  of 
"Thfe  Two  Magicians")  are  translated  from  the 
Norse,  and  Mr.  Buchan  is  probably  unacquainted 
with  the  originals.  Others  refer  to  points  of 
history,  with  which  the  editor  does  not  seem  to 
be  familiar.  It  is  out  of  no  disrespect  to  this 
laborious  and  useful  antiquary,  that  we  observe 
his  prose  composition  is  rather  florid,  and  forms, 
in  this  respect,  a  strong  contrast  to  the  extreme 
simplicity  of  the  ballads,  which  gives  us  the  most 
distinct  assurance  that  he  has  delivered  the  lat- 
ter to  the  public  in  the  shape  in  which  he  found 
them.  Accordingly,  we  have  never  seen  any  col- 
lection of  Scottish  poetry  appearing,  from  in- 
ternal evidence,  so  decidedly  and  indubitably 
original.  It  is  perhaps  a  pity  that  Mr.  Buchan 
did  not  remove  some  obvious  errors  and  cor- 
ruptions ;  but,  in  truth,  though  their  remaining 
on  record  is  an  injury  to  the  effect  of  the  ballads, 
in  point  of  composition,  it  is,  in  some  degree,  a 
proof  of  their  authenticity.  Besides,  although 
the  exertion  of  this  editorial  privilege,  of  select- 
ing readings,  is  an  advantage  to  the  ballads  them- 
selves, we  are  contented  rather  to  take  the  whole 
in  their  present,  though  imperfect  state,  than 
that  the  least  doubt  should  be  thrown  upon  them, 
by  amendments  or  alterations,  which  might  render 
their  authenticity  doubtful.  The  historical  poems, 
we  observe,  are  few  and  of  no  remote  date. 
That  of  the  "  Bridge  of  Dee,"  is  among  the  oldest, 
and  there  are  others  referring  to  the  times  of 
the  Covenanters.     Some,  indeed,  are  composed  on 

i  Ancient  Ballads  and  Songs  of  the  North  of  Scotland, 
hitherto  unpublished  ;  with  Explanatory  Notes.  By  P.  B. 
2  vols.  8vo.     Edin.  1828 


still  more  recent  events  ;  as  the  marriage  of  the 
mother  of  the  late  illustrious  Byron,2  and  a  catas- 
trophe of  still  later  occurrence,  "  The  Death  oi 
Leith-hall." 

As  we  wish  to  interest  the  admirers  of  ancient 
minstrel  lore  in  this  curious  collection,  we  shall 
only  add,  that,  on  occasion  of  a  new  edition,  we 
would  recommend  to  Mr.  Buchan  to  leave  out  a 
number  of  songs  which  he  has  only  inserted  be- 
cause they  are  varied,  sometimes  for  the  worse, 
from  sets  which  have  appeared  in  other  publica- 
tions. Tins  restriction  would  make  considerable 
room  for  such  as,  old  though  they  be,  possess  to 
this  age  all  the  grace  of  novelty. 

To  these  notices  of  late  collections  of  Scottish 
Ballads,  we  ought  to  add  some  remarks  on  the 
very  curious  "  Ancient  Legendary  Tales,  printed 
chiefly  from  Original  Sources,  edited  by  the  Rev. 
Charles  Henry  Hartshorne,  M.  A.  1829."  The 
editor  of  this  unostentatious  work  has  done  his 
duty  to  the  public  with  much  labor  and  care,  and 
made  the  admirers  of  this  species  of  poetry  ac- 
quainted with  very  many  ancient  legendary  poems, 
which  were  hitherto  unpublished  and  very  little 
known.  It  increases  the  value  of  the  collection, 
that  many  of  them  are  of  a  comic  turn,  a  species 
of  composition  more  rare,  and,  from  its  necessary 
allusion  to  domestic  manners,  more  curious  and 
interesting,  than  the  serious  class  of  Romances. 


We  have  thus,  in  a  cursory  manner,  gone 
through  the  history  of  English  and  Scottish  popu- 
lar poetry,  and  noticed  the  principal  collections 
which  have  been  formed  from  time  to  time  of  such 
compositions,  and  the  principles  on  which  the 
editors  have  proceeded.  It  is  manifest  that,  of 
late,  the  public  attention  has  been  so  much  turned 
to  the  subject  by  men  of  research  and  talent,  that 
we  may  well  hope  to  retrieve  from  oblivion  as 
much  of  our  ancient  poetry  as  there  is  now  any 
possibility  of  recovering. 

Another  important  p^rt  of  our  task  consists  in 
giving  some  aojouivl  of  the  modern  imitaKon  of 
the  English  I'sihid,  a  species  of  literary  tabor 
which  the  aut'w/  hat  himself  pursued  vi+1  some 
success. 

ABBOTSFoar,  1st  March,  1830. 

2  This  song  is  odotA  *«,  Myore'a  Life  <x  Byum,  xA  1  — 
Ed. 


APPENDIX  TO  REMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY. 


553 


APPENDIX 


UoTE  A. 
THE  BATTLE  OF  HARLAW. — P.  544. 

That  there  was  such  an  ancient  ballad  is  certain,  and  the 
tune,  adapted  to  the  bagpipe,  was  long  extremely  popular, 
and,  within  the  remembrance  of  man,  the  first  which  was 
played  at  kirns  and  other  rustic  festivals.  But  there  is  a 
suspicious  phrase  in  the  ballad  as  it  is  published  by  Allan 
Ramsay.  When  describing  the  national  confusion,  the  bard 
?ays, 

"  Sen  the  days  of  auld  King  Harie, 
Such  slauchter  was  heard  or  seen." 

CAuery,  Who  was  the  "auld  King  Harie"  here  meant?  If 
Henry  VIII.  be  intended,  as  is  most  likely,  it  must  bring  the 
date  of  the  poem,  at  least  of  that  verse,  as  low  as  Q,ueen  Mary's 
time.  The  ballad  is  said  to  have  been  printed  in  1668.  A  copy 
of  that  edition  would  be  a  great  curiosity. 

See  the  preface  to  the  reprint  of  this  ballad,  in  the  volume 
*f  "  Early  Metrical  Tales,"  ante  referred  to. 


Note  B. 


allan  ramsay's  "  evergreen." — P.  544. 

Green  be  the  pillow  of  honest  Allan,  at  whose  lamp  Burns 
lighted  his  brilliant  torch  !  It  is  without  enmity  to  his  mem- 
ory that  we  record  his  mistake  in  this  matter.  But  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  regret  that  such  an  affecting  tale  as  that  of 
Bessie  Bell  and  JViary  Gray  should  have  fallen  into  his  hands. 
The  southern  reader  must  learn  (for  what  northern  reader  is 
ignorant  1)  that  these  two  beautiful  women  were  kinsfolk,  and 
so  strictly  united  in  friendship,  that  even  personal  jealousy 
could  not  interrupt  their  union.  They  were  visited  by  a  hand- 
some and  agreeable  young  man,  who  was  acceptable  to  them 
both,  but  so  captivated  with  their  charms,  that,  while  confi- 
dent of  a  preference  on  the  part  of  both,  he  was  unable  to 
make  a  choice  between  them.  While  this  singular  situation 
of  the  three  persons  of  the  tale  continued,  the  breaking  out 
of  the  plague  forced  the  two  ladies  to  take  refuge  in  the  beau- 
tiful valley  of  Lynedoch,  where  they  built  themselves  a 
bower,  in  order  to  avoid  human  intercourse  and  the  danger  of 
infection.  The  lover  was  not  included  in  their  renunciation 
of  society.  He  visited  their  retirement,  brought  with  him 
the  fatal  disease,  and  unable  to  return  to  Perth,  which  was 
his  usual  residence,  was  nursed  by  the  fair  friends  with  all 
the  tenderness  of  affection.  He  died,  however,  having  first 
communicated  the  infection  to  his  lovely  attendants.  They 
followed  hire  to  the  grave,  lovely  in  their  lives,  and  undivided 
in  their  death  Their  burial-place,  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
bower  which  they  built,  is  still  visible,  in  the  romantic 
vicinity  of  Lord  Lyndoch's  mansion,  and  prolongs  the  mem- 
ory of  female  friendship,  which  even  rivalry  could  not  dissolve. 
Two  stanzas  of  the  original  ballad  alone  survive  :  — 
70 


'•  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Giay, 

They  were  twa  bonnie  lasses  ; 
They  bigged  a  bower  on  yon  ^urn  bra» 
And  theekit  it  ower  wi'  rasnes. 

"  They  wadna  rest  in  Methvin  kirk, 
Among  their  gentle  kin  ; 
But  they  wad  lie  in  Lednoch  braes, 
To  beek  against  the  sun." 

There  is,  to  a  Scottish  ear,  so  much  tenderness  and  simplicitj 
in  these  verses,  as  must  induce  us  to  regret  that  the  rest  should 
have  been  superseded  by  a  pedantic  modern  song,  turning 
upon  the  most  unpoetkj  part  of  the  legend,  the  hesitation, 
namely,  of  the  lover,  which  of  the  ladies  to  prefer.  One  of 
the  most  touching  expressions  in  the  song  is  the  following  ex- 
clamation : 

"  Oh,  Jove  !  she's  like  thy  Pallas." 

Another  song,  of  which  Ramsay  chose  a  few  words  for  tt» 
theme  of  a  rifacimento,  seems  to  have  been  a  curious  speci- 
men of  minstrel  recitation.  It  was  partly  verse,  partly  narra 
tive,  and  was  alternately  sung  and  repeated.  The  story  was 
the  escape  of  a  young  gentleman,  pursued  by  a  cruel  uncle, 
desirous  of  his  estate  ;  or  a  bloody  rival,  greedy  of  his  life  ;  or 
the  relentless  father  of  his  lady-love,  or  some  such  remorseless 
character,  having  sinister  intentions  on  the  person  of  the  fugitive. 
The  object  of  his  rapacity  or  vengeance  being  nearly  overtaken, 
a  shepherd  undertakes  to  mislead  the  pursuer,  who  comes  in 
sight  just  as  the  object  of  his  pursuit  disappears,  and  greets  the 
shepherd  thus : — 


Good  morrow,  shepherd,  and  my  friend, 
Saw  you  a  young  man  this  way  riding  ; 

With  long  black  hair,  on  a  bob-tail'd  mare, 
And  I  know  that  I  cannot  be  far  behind  him  ? 


Yes, 


THE  SHEPHERD. 

did  see  him  this  way  riding, 


And  what  did  much  surprise  my  wit, 
The  man  and  tne  mare  ilew  id  in  the  air 

And  I  see,  and  I  see,  and  I  see  her  yet. 
Behind  yon  white  cloud  I  see  her  tail  wave, 

And  I  see,  and  I  see,  and  I  see  her  yet." 

The  tune  of  these  verses  is  an  extremely  good  one,  and 
Allan  Ramsay  has  adapted  a  bacchanalian  song  to  it  witk 
some  success  ;  but  we  should  have  thanked  him  much  had  he 
taken  the  trouble  to  preserve  the  original  legend  of  the  old 
minstrel.  The  valuable  and  learned  friend1  to  whom  we 
owe  this  mutilated  account  of  it,  has  often  heard  it  sung 
among  the  High  Jinks  of  Scottish  lawyers  of  the  last  genera- 
tion. 

1  The  late  Kight  Honorable  William  Adam,  Lord  Cuief  CommiMtoner  rf 
the  Scotch  Jury  Court. — Ed. 


£54 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  C. 


JOSEPH   RITSON. 


" Neglecting,  in  literary  debate,   the  courtesies  of 

ordinary  society." — P.  545. 

For  example,  in  quoting  a  popular  song,  well  known  by  the 
.lame  of  \i aggie  Lauder,  the  editor  of  the  Reliques  had  given 
a  line  of  the  Dame's  address  to  the  merry  minstrel,  thus  : — 

"  Gin  ye  be  Rob,  I've  heard  of  you, 
You  dwell  upon  the  Border." 

Ritson  insisted  the  genuine  reading  was, 

"  Come  ye  frae  the  Border?" 

And  he  expatiates  with  great  keenness  on  the  crime  of  the 
Bishop's  having  sophisticated  the  text  (of  which  he  produces 
no  evidence),  to  favor  his  opinion,  that  the  Borders  were  a 
favorite  abode  of  the  minstrels  of  both  kingdoms.  The  fact,  it 
is  believed,  is  undoubted,  and  the  one  reading  seems  to  support 
it  as  well  as  the  other.— [Joseph  Ritson  died  in  1803.] 


Note  D. 


"a  mere  crowder  upon  an  untuned  FIDDLE."— P.  547. 

In  Fletcher's  comedy  of"  Monsieur  Thomas,"  such  a  fid- 
dler is  questioned  as  to  the  ballads  he  is  best  versed  in,  and 
replies, 

"  Under  your  mastership's  correction  I  can  sing, 
1  The  Duke  of  Norfolk,'  or  the  merry  ballad 
Of  Divius  and  Lazarus  ;'  '  The  Rose  of  England  ;' 
'  In  Crete,  where  Dedimus  first  began  ;' 
1  Jonas  his  crying  out  against  Coventry.' 

Thomas.  Excellent ! 
Rare  matters  all. 

Fiddler.  '  Mawdlin  the  Merchant's  Daughter ;' 
'  The  Devil  and  ye  Dainty  Dames.' 

Thomas.  Rare  still. 

Fiddler.  '  The  Landing  of  the  Spaniards  at  Bow, 
With  the  bloody  battle  at  Mile-end.'  " 

The  poor   minstrel   is   described  as  accompanying  the  young 
rake  in  his  revels.     Launcelot  describes 

"  The  gentleman  himself,  young  Monsieur  Thomas, 
Errant  with  his  furious  myrmidons; 
The  fiery  fiddler  and  myself— now  singing, 
Now  beating  at  the  doors,"  &.c. 


Note  E. 

MINSTRELS. — P.  547. 

The  "  Song  of  the  Traveller,"  an  ancient  piece  lately  dis- 
covered in  the  Cathedral  Library  at  Exeter,  and  published  by 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Coneybeare,  in  his  Illustrations  of  Anglo-Saxon 
Poetry  (1826),  furnishes  a  most  curious  picture  of  the  life  of 
the- Northern  Scald,  or  Minstrel,  in  the  high  and  palmy  state 


of  the  profession.  The  reverend  editor  thus  translates  tire 
closing  lines : 

"  Ille  est  carissimus  Terrse  incolis 
Cui  Deus  addidit  Hominum  imperium  gerendum, 
Quum  ille  eos  [bardos]  habeat  caros. 
Ita  comeantes  cum  cantilenis  feruntur 
Bardi  hominum  per  terras  multas  ; 
Sim ul  eos  remuneratur  ob  cantilenas  pulchras, 
Muneribus  immensis,  ille  qui  ante  nobiles 
Vult  judicium  suum  extollere,  dignitatem  sustinere. 
Habet  ille  sub  ccelo  stabilem  famam." — P.  22. 

Mr.  Coneybeare  contrasts  this  "flattering  picture"  with  the 
following  "  melancholy  specimen"  of  the  Minstrel  life  of  later 
times — contained  in  some  verses  by  Richard  Sheale  (die  alleged 
author  of  the  old  Chevy  Chase),  which  are  preserved  in  one  of 
the  Ashmolean  MSS. 

"  Now  for  the  good  cheere  that  I  have  had  here, 
I  give  you  hearty  thanks  with  bowing  of  my  shankes, 
Desiring  you  by  petition  to  grant  me  such  commission — 
Because  my  name  is  Sheale,  that  both  for  meat  and  meale, 
To  you  I  may  resort  sum  tyme  for  my  com  forte. 
For  I  perceive  here  at  all  tymes  is  good  cheere, 
Both  ale,  wyne,  and  beere,  as  hyt  doth  now  appere, 
I  perceive  without  fable  ye  keepe  a  good  table. 
I  can  be  contente,  if  hyt  be  out  of  Lent, 
A  piece  of  beefe  to  take  my  honger  to  aslake, 
Both  mutton  and  veale  is  goode  for  Rycharde  Sheale; 
Though  I  look  so  grave,  I  were  a  veri  knave, 
If  I  wold  thinke  skorne  ether  evenynge  or  morne, 
Beyng  in  honger,  of  fresshe  samon  or  kongar, 
I  can  fynde  in  my  hearte,  with  my  friendis  to  take  a  parte 
Of  such  as  Godde  shal  sende,  and  thus  I  make  an  ende. 
Now  farewel,  good  myn  Hoste,  I  thank  youe  for  youre  costs 
Untyl  another  tyme,  and  thus  do  I  ende  my  ryme." — P.  28. 


Note  F. 

WILLIAM    JULIUS   MICKLE. — P.  548. 

In  evidence  of  what  is  stated  in  the  text,  the  author  woulu 
quote  the  introductory  stanza  to  a  forgotten  poem  of  Mickle, 
originally  published  under  the  injudicious  and  equivocal  title 
of  "The  Concubine,"  but  in  subsequent  editions  called,  "Sir 
Martyn,  or  The  Progress  of  Dissipation." 

"  Awake,  ye  west  winds,  through  the  lonely  dale, 
And,  Fancy,  to  thy  faery  bower  betake  ;' 
Even  now,  with  balmy  sweetness  breathes  the  gale, 

Dimpling  with  downy  wing  the  stilly  lake  ; 
Through  the  pale  willows  faltering  whispers  wake, 

And  evening  comes  with  locks  bedropp'd  with  dew  ; 
On  Desmond's  mouldering  turrets  slowly  shake 
The  wither'd  ryegrass,  and  the  harebell  blue, 
And  ever  and  anon  sweet  Mulla's  plaints  renew." 

Mickle's  facility  of  versification  was  so  great,  ihat,  being  a 
printer  by  profession,  he  frequently  put  his  lines  into  types 
without  taking  the  trouble  previously  to  put  them  into  writing  ; 
thss  uniting  the  composition  of  the  author  with  the  mechanical 
operation  which  typographers  call  by  the  same  name. 


ESSAY 


IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD.' 


The  invention  of  printing  necessarily  occasioned 
the  downfall  of  the  Order  of  Minstrels,  already  re- 
duced to  contempt  by  their  own  bad  habits,  by 
the  disrepute  attached  to  their  profession,  and  by 
the  law?  calculated  to  repress  their  license.  When 
the  Metrical  Romances  were  very  many  of  them 
in  the  hands  of  every  one,  the  occupation*  of  those 
who  made  their  living  by  reciting  them  was  in 
some  degree  abolished,  and  the  minstrels  either 
disappeared  altogether,  or  sunk  into  mere  musi- 
cians, whose  utmost  acquaintance  with  poetry  was 
being  able  to  sing  a  ballad.  Perhaps  old  Anthony, 
who  acquired,  from  the  song  which  he  accounted 
his  masterpiece,  the  name  of  Anthony  Now  Now, 
was  one  of  the  last  of  tins  class  in  the  capital ;  nor 
does  the  tenor  of  his  poetry  evince  whether  it  was 
his  own  composition  or  that  of  some  other.2 

But  the  taste  for  popular  poetry  did  not  decay 
with  the  class  of  men  by  whom  it  had  been  for 
some  generations  practised  and  preserved.  Not 
only  did  the  simple  old  ballads  retain  their  ground, 
though  circulated  by  the  new  art  of  printing,  in- 
stead of  being  preserved  by  recitation  ;  but  in  the 
Garlands,  and  similar  collections  for  general  sale, 
the  authors  aimed  at  a  more  ornamental  and  regu- 
lar style  of  poetry  than  had  been  attempted  by 
the  old  minstrels,  whose  composition,  if  not  extem- 
poraneous, was  seldom  committed,  to  writing,  and 
was  not,  therefore,  susceptible  of  accurate  revision. 
This  was  the  more  necessary,  as  even  the  popular 
poetry  was  now  feeling  the  effects  arising  from 
the  advance  of  knowledge,  and  the  revival  of  the 
study  of  the  learned  languages,  with  all  the  ele- 
gan  le  and  refinement  which  it  induced. 

In  short,  the  general  progress  of  the  country  led 
t:  an  improvement  in  the  department  of  popular 
poetry,  tending  both  to  soften  and  melodize  the 
language  employed,  and  to  ornament  the  diction 
beyond  that  of  the  rude  minstrels,  'to  whom  such 
topics  of  composition  had  been  originally  aban- 

»  This  essay  was  written  in  April,  1830,  and  forms  a  contin- 
uation of  the  "  Remarks  on  Popular  Poetry."— Ed. 

2  He  might  be  supposed  a  contemporary  of  Henry  VIII.,  if 
the  greeting  which  he  pretends  to  have  given  to  that  monarch 
i  01  his  own  composition,  and  spoken  in  his  own  person. 


doned.  The  monotony  of  the  ancient  recitals  was 
for  the  same  causes,  altered  and  improved  upon 
The  eternal  descriptions  of  battles,  and  of  love  di 
lemmas,  which,  to  satiety,  filled  the  old  romances 
with  trivial  repetition,  was  retrenched.  If  any 
one  wishes  to  compare  the  two  eras  of  lyrical  poe- 
try, a  few  verses  taken  from  one  of  the  latest 
minstrel  ballads,  and  one  of  the  earliest  that  were 
written  for  the  press,  will  afford  him,  in  some  de 
gree,  the  power  of  doing  so. 

The  rude  lines  from  Anthony  Now  Now,  which 
we  have  just  quoted,  may,  for  example,  be  com- 
pared, as  Ritson  requests,  with  the  ornamented 
commencement  of  the  ballad  of  Fair  Rosamond  :— 

"  When  as  King  Henry  ruled  this  land 
The  second  of  that  name, 
Besides  his  queen  he  dearly  loved 
A  fair  and  comely  dame. 

"  Most,  peerless  was  her  beauty  found, 
Her  favor,  and  her  face  ; 
A  sweeter  creature  in  the  world, 
Could  never  prince  embrace. 

"  Her  crisped  locks,  like  threads  of  gold 
Appear'd  to  each  man's  sight ; 
Her  sparkling  eyes,  like  orient  pearls, 
Did  cast  a  heavenly  light. 

"  The  blood  within  her  crystal  cheeka 
Did  such  a  color  drive, 
As  though  the  lily  and  the  rose 
For  mastership  did  strive. "3 

It  may  be  rash  to  affirm,  that  those  who  lived 
by  singing  tlus  more  refined  poetry,  were  a  class 
of  men  different  from  the  ancient  minstrels ;  but 
it  appears,  that  both  the  name  of  the  professors, 
and  the  character  of  the  Minstrel  poetry,  had  sunk 
in  reputation. 

The  facility  of  versification,  and  of  poetical  die 
tion,  is  decidedly  in  favor  of  the  moderns,  as  might 
reasonably  be  expected  from  the  improved  taste, 

"  Good  morrow  to  our  noble  king,  quoth  1 ; 
Good  morrow,  quoth  he,  to  thou  : 
And  then  he  said  to  Anthony, 
O  Anthony  now  now  now." 
3  Percy's  Reliques,  vol.  ii.  d.  147. 


656 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


and  enlarged  knowledge,  of  an  age  which  abound- 
ed to  smch  a  degree  in  poetry,  and  of  a  character 
so  imaginative  as  was  #ie  Elizabethan  era.  The 
poetry  addressed  to  the  populace,  and  enjoyed  by 
them  alone,  was  animated  by  the  spirit  tnat  was 
breathed  around  We  may  cite  Shakspeare's  un- 
questionable and  decisive  evidence  in  this  respect. 
In  Twelfth  Night  he  describes  a  popular  ballad, 
with  a  beauty  and  precision  which  no  one  but 
himself  could  have  affixed  to  its  character ;  and 
the  whole  constitu*  es  the  strongest  appeal  in  favor 
of  that  species  oi  poetry  winch  is  written  to  suit 
the  taste  of  the  public  in  general,  arid  is  most 
naturally  preserved  by  oral  tradition.  But  the 
remarkable  part  of  the  circumstance  is,  that  when 
the  song  is  actually  sung  by  Feste  the  clown,  it 
differs  in  almost  all  particulars  from  what  we 
might  have  been  justified  in  considering  as  attri- 
butes of  a  popular  ballad  of  that  early  period.  It 
is  simple,  doubtless,  both  in  structure  and  phrase- 
ology, but  is  rather  a  love  song  than  a  minstrel 
ballad — a  love  song,  also,  which,  though  its  imagi- 
native figures  of  speech  are  of  a  very  simple  and 
intelligible  character,  may  nevertheless  be  com- 
pared to  any  thing  rather  than  the  boldness  of  the 
preceding  age,  and  resembles  nothing  less  than  the 
ordinary  minstrel  ballad.  The  original,  though  so 
well  known,  may  be  here  quoted,  for  the  purpose 
of  showing  what  was,  in  Shakspeare's  time,  re- 
garded as  the  poetry  of  "  the  old  age."  Almost 
every  one  has  the  passage  by  heart,  yet  I  must 
quote  it,  because  there  seems  a  marked  difference 
between  the  species  of  poem  which  is  described, 
and  that  which  is  sung. 

"  Mark  it,  Ccesario  ;  it  is  old  and  plain  : 
The  spinsters  and  the  knitters  in  the  sun, 
And  the  free  maids,  that  weave  their  thread  with  bones, 
Do  use  to  chant  it ;  it  is  silly  sooth, 
And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love, 
Like  the  old  age." 

The  song,  thus  beautifully  prefaced,  is  as  follows : 

"  Come  away,  come  away,  death, 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid  ; 

Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath  ; 
1  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

O,  prepare  it ; 
My  part  of  death  no  one  so  true 
Did  share  it. 

"  Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweet, 
On  my  black  co/fin  let  there  be  strown  ; 

Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 
My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall  be  thrown  : 
A  thousand,  thousand  sighs  to  save, 

Lay  me,  O  where 
Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave, 
To  weep  there."i 

i  Twelfth  Night,  Act  ii.  Scene  4th. 


On  comparing  this  love  elegy,  or  whatever  it 
may  be  entitled,  with  the  ordinary,  anu  especially 
the  earlier  popular  poetry,  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  a  great  difference  will  be  observed  in  the 
structure  of  the  verse,  the  character  of  the  senti- 
ments, the  ornaments  and  refinement  of  the  lan- 
guage. Neither,  indeed,  as  might  be  expected 
from  the  progress  of  human  affairs,  was  the  change 
in  the  popular  style  of  poetry  achieved  without 
some  disadvantages,  which  counterbalanced,  in  a 
certain  degree,  the  superior  art  and  exercise  of 
fancy  which  had  been  introduced  of  late  times. 

The  expressions  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  an  unques- 
tionable judge  of  poetry,  flourishing  in  Elizabeth's 
golden  reign,  and  drawing  around  him,  like  a  mag- 
net-, the  most  distinguished  poets  of  the  age, 
amongst  whom  we  need  only  name  Shakspeare 
and  Spenser,  still  show  something  to  regret  when 
he  compared  the  highly  wrought  and  richly  orna- 
mented poetry  of  Iris  own  time,  with  the  ruder 
but  more  energetic  diction  of  Chevy  Chase.  His 
words,  often  quoted,  cannot  yet  be  dispensed  with 
on  the  present  occasion.  They  are  a  chapter  in 
the  history  of  ancient  poetry.  "  Certainly^  says 
the  brave  knight,  "  I  must  confess  my  own  bar- 
barousness ;  I  never  heard  the  old  song  of  Percy 
and  Douglas,  that  I  found  not  my  heart  more 
moved  than  with  a  trumpet.  And  yet  it  is  sung 
by  some  blind  crowdcr,  with  no  rougher  voice  than 
rude  style,  which  being  so  evil  apparelled  in  the 
dust  and  cobwebs  of  that  uncivil  age,  what  would 
it  work,  trimmed  in  the  gorgeous  eloquence  oi 
Pindar."2 

If  we  inquire  more  particularly  what  were  the 
peculiar  charms  by  which  the  old  minstrel  ballad 
produced  an  effect  like  a  trumpet-sound  upon  the 
bosom  of  a  real  son  of  chivalry,  we  may  not  be 
wrong  in  ascribing  it  to  the  extreme  simplicity 
with  which  the  narrative  moves  forward,  neglect- 
ing all  the  more  minute  ornaments  of  speech  and 
diction,  to  the  grand  object  of  enforcing  on  the 
hearer  a  striking  and  affecting  catastrophe.  The 
author  seems  too  serious  in  his  wish  to  affect  the 
audience,  to  allow  himself  to  be  drawn  aside  by 
any  thing  which  can,  either  by  its  tenor,  or  the 
manner  in  which  it  is  spoken,  have  the  perverse 
effect  of  distracting  attention  from  the  catastrophe. 

Such  grand  and  serious  beauties,  however,  oc- 
curred but  rarely  to  the  old  minstrels  ;  and  in  or- 
der to  find  them,  it  became  necessary  to  struggle 
through  long  passages  of  monotony,  languor,  and 
inanity.  Unfortunately  it  also  happened,  that 
those  who,  like  Sidney,  could  ascertain,  feel,  and 
do  full  justice  to  the  beauties  of  the  heroic  ballad, 
were  few,  compared  to  the  numbers  who  could  be 
sensible  of  the  trite  verbiage  of  a  bald  passage,  <>r 

2  Sh  Philip  Sidney's  Defence  of  Poesy. 


ESSAY  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


55? 


the  ludicrous  effect  of  an  absurd  rhyme.  In  Eng- 
land, accordingly,  the  popular  ballad  fell  into  con- 
tempt during  the  seventeenth  century;  and  al- 
though in  remote  counties1  its  inspiration  was 
occasionally  the  source  of  a  few  verses,  it  seems 
to  have  become  almost  entirely  obsolete  in  the 
capital.  Even  the  Civil  Wars,  which  gave  so  much 
occasion  for  poetry,  produced  rather  song  and  sa- 
tire, than  the  ballad  or  popular  epic.  The  curious 
reader  may  satisfy  himself  on  this  point,  should  he 
wish  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  the  allegation,  by 
looking  through  D'Urfey's  large  and  curious  col- 
lection,2 when  he  will  be  aware  that  the  few  bal- 
lads which  it  contains  are  the  most  ancient  pro- 
ductions in  the  book,  and  very  seldom  take  their 
date  after  the  commencement  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

In  Scotland,  on  the  contrary,  the  old  minstrel 
ballad  long  continued  to  preserve  its  popularity. 
Even  the  last  contests  of  Jacobitism  were  recited 
with  great  vigor  in  ballads  of  the  time,  the  authors 
of  some  of  which  are  known  and  remembered; 
nor  is  there  a  more  spirited  ballad  preserved  than 
that  of  Mr.  Skirving8  (father  of  Skirving  the  art- 
ist), upon  the  battle  of  Prestonpans,  so  late  as 
1745.  But  this  was  owing  to  circumstances  con- 
nected with  the  habits  of  the  people  in  a  remote 
and  rude  country,  which  could  not  exist  in  the 
richer  and  wealthier  provinces  of  England. 

On  the  whole,  however,  the  ancient  Heroic  bal- 
lad, as  it  was  called,  seemed  to  be  fast  declining 
among  the  more  enlightened  and  literary  part  of 
both  countries ;  and  if  retained  by  the  lower  classes 
in  Scotland,  it  had  in  England  ceased  to  exist,  or 
degenerated  into  doggerel  of  the  last  degree  of 
vileness. 

Subjects  the  most  interesting  were  abandoned 
to  the  poorest  rhymers,  and  one  would  have 
thought  that,  as  in  an  ass-race,  the  prize  had  been 
destined  to  the  slowest  of  those  who  competed 
for  the  prize.  The  melancholy  fate  of  Miss  Ray,4 
who  fell  by  the  hands  of  a  frantic  lover,  could  only 
inspire  the  Grub  Street  muse  with  such  verses  as 
these, — that  is,  if  I  remember  them  correctly : 

"  A  Sandwich  favorite  was  this  fair, 
And  her  he  dearly  loved  ; 
By  whom  six  children  had,  we  hear ; 
This  story  fatal  proved. 

**  A  clergyman,  O  wicked  one, 
In  Covent  Garden  shot  her  ; 
No  time  to* cry  upon  hev  God, 
It's  hoped  He's  not  forgot  her." 

i  A  curious  and  spirited  specimen  occurs  in  Cornwall,  as  late 
us  the  '.rial  of  the  Bishops  before  the  Revolution.  The  Presi- 
dent of  the  Royal  Society  of  London  (Mr.  Davies  Gilbert)  has 
pot  disdained  the  trouble  of  preserving  it  from  oblivion. 

i  Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy. 


If  it  be  true,  as  in  other  cases,  that  when  things 
al  i  at  the  worst  they  must  mend,  it  was  certainly 
time  to  expect  an  amelioration  in  the  department 
in  which  such  doggerel  passed  current. 

Accordingly,  previous  to  this  time,  a  new  spe- 
cies of  poetry  seems  to  have  arisen,  which,  in  some 
cases,  endeavored  to  pass  itself  as  the  production 
of  genuine  antiquity,  and,  in  others,  honestly  avow- 
ed an  attempt  to  emulate  the  merits  and  a  voil  the 
errors  with  which  the  old  ballad  was  encumbered 
and  in  the  effort  to  accomplish  this,  a  species  of 
composition  was  discovered,  which  is  capable  of 
being  subjected  to  peculiar  rules  of  criticism,  and 
of  exhibiting  excellences  of  its  own. 

In  writing  for  the  use  of  the  general  reader, 
rather  than  the  poetical  antiquary,  I  shall  be 
readily  excused  from  entering  into  any  inquiry  re- 
specting the  authors  who  first  showed  the  way  in 
this  peculiar  department  of  modern  poetry,  which 
I  may  term  the  imitation  of  the  old  ballad,  espe- 
cially that  of  the  latter  or  Elizabethan  era.  One 
of  the  oldest,  according  to  my  recollection,  which 
pretends  to  engraft  modern  refinement  upon  ar- 
dent simplicity,  is  extremely  beautiful,  both  from 
the  words,  and  th$  simple  and  affecting  melody  tr 
which  they  are  usually  sung.  The  title  is,  "  Lord 
Henry  and  Fair  Catherine."     It  begins  thus : 

"  In  ancient  days,  in  Britain's  isle, 
Lord  Henry  well  was  known  : 
No  knight  in  all  the  land  more  famed, 
Or  more  deserved  renown. 

"  His  thoughts  were  all  on  honor  bent, 
He  ne'er  would  stoop  to  love  : 
No  lady  in  the  land  had  power 
His  frozen  heart  to  move." 

Early  in  the  eighteenth  century,  this  peculiar 
species  of  composition  became  popular.  We  find 
Tickell,  the  friend  of  Addison,  who  produced  the 
beautiful  ballad,  "Of  Leinster  famed  for  maid- 
ens fair,"  Mallet,  Goldsmith,  Shenstone,  Percy, 
and  many  others,  followed  an  example  which  had 
much  to  recommend  it,  especially  as  it  present- 
ed considerable  facilities  to  those  who  wished, 
at  as  little  exertion  of  trouble  as  possible,  to  at- 
tain for  themselves  a  certain  degree  of  literary 
reputation. 

Before,  however,  treating  of  the  prc/essed  imi 
tators  of  Ancient  Ballad  Poetry,  I  ought  to  say  a 
word  upon  those  who  have  written  their  imita- 
tions with  the  preconceived  purpose  of  passing 
them  for  ancient. 

There  is  no  small  degree  of  cant  in  the  violent 

s  See  Hogg's  Jacobite  Relics,  vol.  i. — Ed. 

*  Miss  Ray,  the  beautiful  mistress  of  the  Earl  of  Sandwich, 
then  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty,  was  assassinated  by  Mr. 
Haekman,  "in  a  fit  of  frantic  jealous  love,"  as  Boswell  ex- 
presses it,  in  1779.    See  Croker's  Boswell  vol.  iv.  p  254.— R» 


558 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


invectives  with  which  impostors  of  this  nature 
have  been  assailed.  In  fact,  the  case  of  each  js 
special,  and  ought  to  be  separately  considered, 
according  to  its  ovm  circumstances.  If  a  young, 
perhaps  a  female  author,  chooses  to  circulate  a 
beautiful  poem,  we  will  suppose  that  of  Hardy- 
knute,  under  the  disguise  of  antiquity,  the  public 
is  surely  more  enriched  by  the  contribution  than 
injured  by  the  deception.1  It  is  hardly  possible, 
indeed,  without  a  power  of  poetical  genius,  and 
acquaintance  with  ancient  language  and  manners 
possessed  by  very  few,  to  succeed  in  deceiving 
those  who  have  made  this  branch  of  literature 
their  study.  The  very  desire  to  unite  modern  re- 
finement with  the  verve  of  the  ancient  minstrels, 
will  itself  betray  the  masquerade.  A  minute  ac- 
quaintance with  ancient  customs,  and  with  ancient 
history,  is  also  demanded,  to  sustain  a  part  which, 
as  it  must  rest  on  deception,  cannot  be  altogether 
an  honorable  one. 

Two  of  the  most  distinguished  authors  of  this 
class  have,  in  this  manner,  been  detected ;  being 
deficient  in  the  knowledge  requisite  to  support 
their  genius  in  the  disguise  they  meditated.  Har- 
dyknute,  for  instance,  already  jnentioned,  is  irrec- 
oncilable with  all  chronology,  and  a  chief  with  a 
Norwegian  name  is  strangely  introduced  as  the 
first  of  the  nobles  brought  to  resist  a  Norse  inva- 
sion, at  the  battle  of  Largs :  the  "  needlework  so 
rare,"  introduced  by  the  fair  authoress,  must  have 
been  certainly  long  posterior  to  the  reign  of  Alex- 
ander III.  In  Chatterton's  ballad  of  "  Sir  Charles 
Baudwin,"  we  find  an  anxious  attempt  to  repre- 
sent the  composition  as  ancient,  and  some  entries 
in  the  public  accounts  of  Bristol  were  appealed  to 
in  corroboration.  But  neither  was  this  ingenious 
but  most  unhappy  young  man,  with  all  his  powers 
of  poetry,  and  with  the  antiquarian  knowledge 
which  he  had  collected  with  indiscriminating  but 
astonishing  research,  able  to  impose  on  that  part 
of  the  public  qualified  to  judge  of  the  composi- 
tions, which  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  pass  off  as 
those  of  a  monk  of  the  14th  century.  It  was  in 
vain  that  he  in  each  word  doubled  the  consonants, 
like  the  sentinels  of  an  endangered  army.  The 
art  used  to  disguise  and  misspell  the  words  only 
DTtsrdtd  what  was  intended,  and  afforded  sure  evi- 
dence that  the  poems  published  as  antiques  had 
oeen,  in  fact,  tampered  with  by  a  modern  artist, 
as  the  newly  forged  medals  of  modern  days  stand 
convicted  of  imposture  from  the  very  touches  of 
the  file,  by  which  there  is  an  attempt  to  imitate 
the  cracks  and  fissures  produced  by  the  hammer 
upon  the  original.2 


1  "  Hardyknute  was  ine  first  poem  that  I  ever  learnt — the 
ast  that  I  shall  forget." — MS.  note  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  on  a 
eaf  of  Allan  Ramsay's  Tea-Table  Miscellany. 


I  have  only  met,  in  my  researches  into  these 
matters,  with  one  poem,  which,  if  it  had  been  pro- 
duced as  ancient,  could  not  have  been  detected  on 
internal  evidence.  It  is  the  "  War  Song  upon  the 
victory  at  Brunnanburg,  translated  from  the  An- 
glo-Saxon into  Anglo-Norman,"  by  the  Right  Hon- 
orable John  Hookham  Frere.  See  Ellis's  Speci- 
mens of  Ancient  English  Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  32.  The 
accomplished  Editor  tells  us,  that  this  very  singu- 
lar poem  was  intended  as  an  imitation  of  the  style 
and  language  of  the  fourteenth  century,  and  was 
written  during  the  controversy  occasioned  by  the 
poems  attributed  to  Rowley.  Mr.  Ellis  adds, 
"the  reader  will  probably  hear  with  some  sur- 
prise, that  this  singular  instance  of  critical  inge- 
nuity was  the  composition  of  an  Eton  schoolboy." 

The  author  may  be  permitted  to  speak  as  an 
artist  on  tlus  occasion  (disowning,  at  the  same 
time,  all  purpose  of  imposition),  as  having  written, 
at  the  request  of  the  late  Mr.  Ritson,  one  or  two 
things  of  this  kind ;  among  others,  a  continuation 
of  the  romance  of  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  the  only 
one  which  chances  to  be  preserved.3'  And  he 
thinks  himself  entitled  to  state,  that  a  modern 
poet  engaged  in  such  a  task,  is  much  in  the  situa- 
tion of  an  architect  of  the  present  day,  who,  ii 
acquainted  with  his  profession,  finds  no  difficulty 
in  copying  the  external  forms  of  a  Gothic  castle  oi 
abbey  ;  but  when  it  is  completed,  can  hardly,  by  anj 
artificial  tints  or  cement,  supply  the  spots,  weath 
er-stains,  and  hues  of  different  kinds,  with  whicl 
time  alone  had  invested  the  venerable  fabric  which 
he  desires  to  imitate. 

Leaving  this  branch  of  the  subject,  in  widen  the 
difficulty  of  passing  off  what  is  mode.r.  fvr  \viaat 
is  ancient  cannot  be  matter  of  regref,  vc  n.ay  be- 
stow with  advantage  some  brief  c  i,ide\aCioii  on 
the  fair  trade  of  manufacturing  n.^d^rn  antiques, 
not  for  the  purpose  of  passing  t)  m  as  contraband 
goods  on  the  skilful  antiquar. ,  but  in  order  to 
obtain  the  credit  due  to  autlv  o  as  succtsafui  ind- 
tators  of  the  ancient  simplici  ,v ,  while  their  system 
admits  of  a  considerable  in' asion  of  modern  refine- 
ment. Two  classes  of  in  station  may  be  referred 
to  as  belonging  to  thiw  species  of  composition. 
When  they  approach  each  other,  there  may  be 
some  difficulty  in  loaning  to  individual  poems 
their  peculiar  ch>',5«ciei',  but  in  general  the  differ- 
ence is  distinc*!^  marked.  The  distinction  lies  be 
twixt  th"  authors  of  ballads  or  legendary  poems, 
who  have  attempted  to  imitate  the  language,  the 
manners,  and  the  sentiments  ,pf  the  ancient  poems 
which  were  their  prototypes;  and  those,  on  the 
contrary,  who,  without  endeavoring  to  do  so,  have 


2  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

3  See  Sir  Tristrem,  Scott's  Poetical  Works,  vol.  v 
1833. 


ItiSSAY  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


55\t 


struck  out  a  particular  path  for  themselves,  which 
cannot,  "with  strict  propriety,  be  termed  either 
ancient  or  maderu. 

In  the  actual  imitation  of  the  ancient  ballad, 
Dr.  Percy,  whose  researches  made  him  well  ac- 
quainted with  that  department  of  poetry,  was 
peculiarly  successful.  The  "  Hermit  of  Wark- 
<vorth"  the  "  Child  e  of  Elle,"  and  other  minstrel 
tales  of  hk  composition,  must  always  be  remem- 
bered Vith  fondness  by  those  who  have  perused 
them  in  that  period  of  life  when  the  feelings  are 
Strong-,  and  the  taste  for  poetry,  especially  of  this 
simple  nature,  is  keen  and  poignant.  This  learned 
and  amiable  prelate  was  also  remarkable  for  his 
power  of  restoring  the  ancient  ballad,  by  throwing 
in  touches  of  poetry,  so  adapted  to  its  tone  and 
tenor,  as  to  assimilate  with  its  original  structure, 
and  impress  every  one  who  considered  the  subject 
as  being  coeval  with  the  rest  of  the  piece.  It  must 
be  owned,  that  such  freedoms,  when  assumed  by 
a  professed  antiquary,  addressing  himself  to  anti- 
quaries, and  for  the  sake  of  illustrating  literary 
antiquities,  are  subject  to  great  and  licentious 
abuse ;  and  herein  the  severity  of  Ritson  was  to  a 
certain  extent  justified.  But  when  the  license  is 
avowed,  and  practised  without  the  intention  to 
deceive,  it  cannot  be  objected  to  but  by  scrupulous 
pedantry. 

The  poet,  perhaps,  most  capable,  by  verses, 
lines,  even  single  words,  to  relieve  and  heighten 
tne  character  of  ancient  poetry,  was  the  Scottish 
bard  Robert  Burns.  We  are  not  here  speaking 
of  the  avowed  lyrical  poems  of  his  own  composi- 
tion, which  he  communicated  to  Mr.  George  Thom- 
son, out  of  the  manner  in  which  he  recomposed 
and  rt  paired  the  old  songs  and  fragments  for  the 
collection  of  Johnson1  and  others,  when,  if  his 
memory  supplied  the  theme,  or  general  subject  of 
the  song,  such  as  it  existed  in  Scottish  lore,  his 
genius  contributed  that  part  which  was  to  give 
life  and  immortality  to  the  whole.  If  tlus  praise 
should  be  thought  extravagant,  the  reader  may 
compare  his  splendid  lyric,  "My  heart's  in  the 
Highlands,"  with  the  tame  and  scarcely  half-intel- 
ligible remuins  of  that  song  as  preserved  by  Mr. 
Peter  Buchan.  Or,  what  is  perhaps  a  still  more 
magnificent  example  of  what  we  mean,  "  Macpher- 
son's  Farewell,"  with  all  its  spirit  and  grandeur, 
as  repaired  by  Burns,  may  be  collated  with  the 
original  poem  called  "  Macpherson's  Lament,"  or 
sometimes  the  "  Ruffian's  Rant."  In  Burns's  bril- 
liant rifacimento,  the  same  strain  of  wild  ideas  is 
expressed  as  we  find  in  the  original ;  but  with  an 
infusion  of  the  savage  and  impassioned  spirit  of 
Highland  chivalry,  which  gives  a  splendor  to  the 

i  Johnson's  "  Musical  Museum,"  in  6  vols.,  was  lately  re- 
printec  a.*  Edinburgh. 


composition,  of  which  we  find  not  a  trace  in  the 
rudeness  of  the  ancient  ditty.  I  can  bear  witnes* 
to  the  older  verses  having  been  current  while  I 
was  a  child,  but  I  never  knew  a  line  of  the  inspired 
edition  of  the  Ayrshire  bard  until  the  appearance 
of  Johnson's  Museum. 

Besides  Percy,  Burns,  and  others,  we  must  not 
omit  to  mention  Mr.  Finlay,  whose  beautiful  son£s 

"  There  came  a  knight  from  the  field  of  the  slain," 

is  so  happily  descriptive  of  antique  manners ;  or 
I  Mickle,  whose  accurate  and  interesting  imitations 
of  the  ancient  ballad  we  have  already  mentioned 
;  with  approbation  in  the  former  Essay  on  Ballad. 
Composition.     These,  with  others  of  modern  date, 
i  at  the  head  of  whom  we    must    place    Thomas 
\  Moore,  have  aimed  at  striking  the  ancient  harp 
with  the  same  bold  and  rough  note  to  which  it 
was  awakened  by  the  ancient  minstrels.    Southey, 
Wordsworth,  and  other  distinguished  names  of  the 
present  century,  have,  in  repeated  instances,  dig- 
nified this  branch  of  literature ;  but  no  one  more 
I  than  Coleridge,  in  the  wild  and  imaginative  tale 
I  of  the  "  Ancient  Mariner,"  which  displays  so  much 
!  beauty  with  such  eccentricity.      We  should  act 
I  most  unjustly  in  this  department  of  Scottish  ballad 
poetry,  not  to  mention  the  names  of  Leyden,  Hogg, 
and  Allan  Cunningham.    They  have  all  three  hon 
ored  their  country,  by  arriving  at  distinction  from 
a  humble  origin,  and  there  is  none  of  them  under 
whose  hand   the   ancient  Scottish  harp   has   not 
sounded  a  bold  and  distinguished  tone.    Miss  Anne 
Bannerman  likewise  should  not  be  forgotten,  whose 
"Tales  of   Superstition  and  Chivalry"  appeared 
about  1802.    They  were  perhaps  too  mystical  and 
too  abrupt ;  yet  if  it  be  the  purpose  of  this  kind 
of  ballad  poetry  powerfully  to  excite  the  imagina- 
tion, without  pretending  to  satisfy  it,  few  persons 
have  succeeded  better  than  this  gifted  lady,  whose 
volume   is  peculiarly  fit  to  be  read  in  a  lonely 
house  by  a  decaying  lam]). 

As  we  have  already  hinted,  a  numerous  class  of 
the  authors  (some  of  them  of  the  very  first  class) 
who  condescended  to  imitate  the  simplicity  of  an- 
cient poetry,  gave  themselves  no  trouble  to  ob 
serve  the  costume,  style,  or  manner,  either  of  the 
old  minstrel  or  ballad-singer,  but  assumed  a  struo 
ture  of  a  separate  and  peculiar  kind,  which  could 
not  be  correctly  termed  either  ancient  or  modern, 
although  made  the  vehicle  of  beauties  which  were 
common  to  both.  The  discrepancy  between  the 
mark  which  they  avowed  their  purpose  of  shooting 
at,  and  that  at  which  they  really  took  aim,  is  best 
illustrated  by  a  production  of  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  their  number.  Goldsmith  describes 
the  young  family  of  his  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  a* 
amusing  themselves  with  conversing  about  poetry 
Mr.  Burchell  observes,  that  the  British  poets,  who 


S60 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


imitated  the  classics,  have  especially  contributed 
to  introduce  a  false  taste,  by  loading  their  hues 
with  epithets,  so  as  to  present  a  combination  of 
luxuriant  images,  without  plot  or  connection, — a 
string  of  epithets  that  improve  the  sound,  without 
carrying  on  the  sense.  But  when  an  example  of 
popular  poetry  is  produced  as  free  from  the  fault 
KJhioh  the  critic  has  just  censured,  it  is  the  well- 
known  and  beautiful  poem  of  Edwin  and  Angelina ! 
which,  in  felicitous  attention  to  the  language,  and 
in  fanciful  ornament  of  imagery,  is  as  unlike  to  a 
minstrel  ballad,  as  a  lady  assuming  the  dress  of  a 
Shepherdess  for  a  masquerade,  is  different  from 
the  actual  Sisly  of  Salisbury  Plain.  Tickell's 
beautiful  ballad  is  equally  formed  upon  a  pastoral, 
sentimental,  and  ideal  model,  not,  however,  less 
beautifully  executed;  and  the  attention  of  Addi- 
son's friend  had  been  probably  directed  to  the 
ballad  stanza  (for  the  stanza  is  all  which  is  imi- 
tated) by  the  praise  bestowed  on  Chevy  Chase  in 
the  Spectator. 

Upon  a  later  occasion,  the  subject  of  Mallet's 
fine  poem,  Edwin  and  Emma,  being  absolutely 
rural  in  itself,  and  occurring  at  the  hamlet  of 
Bowes,  in  Yorkshire,  might  have  seduced  the  poet 
from  the  beau  ideal  which  he  had  pictured  to  him- 
self, into  something  more  immediately  allied  to 
common  life.  But  Mallet  was  not  a  man  to  neg- 
lect what  was  esteemed  fashionable,  and  poor 
Hannah  Railton  and  her  lover  Wrightson  were 
enveloped  in  the  elegant  but  tinsel  frippery  ap- 
pertaining to  Edward  and  Emma ;  for  the  similes, 
reflections,  and  suggestions  of  the  poet  are,  in  fact, 
too  intrusive  and  too  well  said  to  suffer  the  reader 
to  feel  the  full  taste  of  the  tragic  tale.  The  verses 
are  doubtless  beautiful,  but  I  must  own  the  simple 
prose  of  the  Curate's  letter,  who  gives  the  narra- 
tive of  the  tale  as  it  really  happened,  has  to  me  a 
tone  of  serious  veracity  more  affecting  than  the 
ornaments  of  Mallet's  fiction.  The  same  author's 
ballad,  "  William  and  Margaret,"  has,  in  some 
degree,  the  same  fault.  A  disembodied  spirit  is 
not  a  person  before  whom  the  living  spectator 
takes  leisure  to  make  remarks  of  a  moral  kind,  as, 

'  Fo  will  the  fairest  face  appear, 

When,  youth  and  years  are  flown, 
And  such  the  rohe  that  Kings  must  wear 
When  death  has  reft  their  crown." 

Upon  the  whole,  the  ballad,  though  the  best  of 
Mallet's  writing,  is  certainly  inferior  to  its  origi- 
nal, which  I  presurr  8  to  be  the  very  fine  and  even 
terrific  old  Scottish  '  ale,  beginning, 

"  There  came  a  ^host  to  Margaret's  door." 

i  If  I  am  right  in  what  must  be  a  very  early  recollection,  [ 
•aw  Mr.  Cartwright  (then  a  student  of  medicine  at  the  Edin- 
burgh University)  at  the  house  of"  my  maternal  grandfather, 
John  Rutherford,  M.  D. 


It  may  be  found  in  Allan  Ramsay's  "Tea-tabk 
Miscellany." 

We  need  only  stop  to  mention  another  very 
beautiful  piece  of  this  fanciful  kind,  by  Dr.  Cart- 
wright,  called  Armin  and  Elvira,  containing  some 
excellent  poetry,  expressed  with  unusual  felicity. 
I  have  a  vision  of  having  met  this  accomplished 
gentleman  in  my  very  early  youth,  and  am  the. 
less  likely  to  be  mistaken,  as  he  was  the  first  living 
poet  I  recollect  to  have  seen.1  His  poem  had  the 
distinguished  honor  to  be  much  admired  by  our 
celebrated  philosopher,  Dugald  Stewart,  who  was 
wont  to  quote  with  much  pathos,  the  picture  of 
resignation  in  the  following  stanza  : — 

"  And  while  his  eye  to  Heaven  he  raised, 
Its  silent  waters  stole  away,  "a 

After  enumerating  so  many  persons  of  undoubt 
ed  genius,  who  have  cultivated  the  Arcadian  style 
of  poetry  (for  to  such  it  may  be  compared),  it 
would  be  endless  to  enumerate  the  various  Sir 
Eldreds  of  the  hills  and  downs  whose  stories  were 
woven  into  legendary  tales — which  came  at  length 
to  be  the  name  assigned  to  this  half-ancient,  half 
modern  style  of  composition. 

In  general  I  may  observe,  that  the  supposed  fa 
cility  of  this  species  of  composition,  the  alluring 
simplicity  of  which  was  held  sufficient  to  support 
it,  afforded  great  attractions  for  those  whose  am- 
bition led  them  to  exercise  their  untried  talents 
in  verse,  but  who  were  desirous  to  do  so  with  the 
least  possible  expense  of  thought.  The  task  seems 
to  present,  at  least  to  the  inexperienced  acolyte 
of  the  Muses,  the  same  advantages  which  an  ii 
strument  of  sweet  sound  and  small  compass  offeri 
to  those  who  begin  their  studies  in  music.  In 
either  case,  however,  it  frequently  happens  that 
the  scholar,  getting  tired  of  the  palling  and  monot- 
onous character  of  the  poetry  or  music  which  he 
produces,  becomes  desirous  to  strike  a  more  inde- 
pendent note,  even  at  the  risk  of  its  being  a  more 
difficult  one. 

The  same  simplicity  involves  an  inconvenience 
fatal  to  the  continued  popularity  of  any  species  of 
poetry,  by  exposing  it  in  a  peculiar  degree  to  ridi- 
cule and  to  parody.  Dr.  Johnson,  whose  style  of 
poetry  was  of  a  very  different  and  more  stately 
description,  could  ridicule  the  ballads  of  Percy,  in 
such  stanzas  as  these, — 

"  The  tender  infant,  meek  au    mild, 
Fell  down  upon  a  stone  ; 
The  nurse  took,  up  the  squalling  child, 
But  still  the  child  squall'd  on  ;" 

with  various  slipshod  imitations  of  the  same  qaat 

2  Happily  altered  by  an  admiring  foreigner,  who  read 
"  The  silent  waters  stole  away." 


ESSAY  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


561 


it/.1  It  did  not  require  his  talents  to  pursue  this 
vein  of  raillery,  for  it  was  such  as  most  men  could 
nutate,  and  all  could  enjoy.  It  is,  therefore,  little 
wonderful  that  tins  sort  of  composition  should  be 
repeatedly  laid  aside  for  considerable  periods  ot 
timfi,  iiid  certainly  as  little  so,  that  it  should  have 
been  repeatedly  revived,  like  some  forgotten  mel- 
ody, and  have  again  obtained  some  degree  of  pop- 
ularity, until  it  sunk  once  more  under  satire,  as 
well  as  parody,  but,  above  all,  the  effects  of  satiety. 

During  the  thirty  years  that  I  have  paid  some 
attention  to  literary  matters,  the  taste  for  the  an- 
cient ballad  melody,  and  for  the  closer  or  more 
distant  imitation  of  that  strain  of  poetry,  has  more 
than  once  arisen,  and  more  than  once  subsided,  in 
consequence,  perhaps,  of  too  unlimited  indulgence. 
That  this  has  been  the  case  in  other  countries,  we 
know  ;  for  the  Spanish  poet,  when  he  found  that 
the  beautiful  Morisco  romances  were  excluding  all 
other  topics,  confers  upon  them  a  hearty  maledic- 
tion.2 

A  period  trhen  this  particular  taste  for  the  pop- 
ular ballad  was  in  the  most  extravagant  degree 
of  fashion,  became  the  occasion,  unexpectedly,  in- 
deed, of  my  deserting  the  profession  to  which  I 
was  educated,  and  in  which  I  had  sufficiently  ad- 
vantageous prospects  for  a  person  of  limited  ambi- 
tion. I  have,  in  a  former  publication,  undertaken 
to  mention  this  circumstance  ;  and  I  will  endeavor 
to  do  so  with  becoming  brevity,  and  without  more 
egotism  than  is  positively  exacted  by  the  nature 
■»f  the  story. 

I  may,  in  the  first  place,  remark,  that  although 
the  assertion  has  been  made,  and  that  by  persons 
who  seemed  satisfied  with  their  authority,  it  is  a 
mistake  to  suppose  that  my  situation  in  life  or 
place  in  society  were  materially  altered  by  such 
success  as  I  attained  in  literary  attempts.  My 
birth,  without  giving  the  least  pretension  to  dis- 
tinction, was  that  of  a  gentleman,  and  connected 
me  with  several  respectable  families  and  accom- 
plished persons.  My  education  had  been  a  good 
one,  although  I  was  deprived  of  its  full  benefit  by 
indifferent  health,  just  at  the  period  when  I  ought 
to  have  been  most  sedulous  in  improving  it.  The 
young  men  with  whom  I  was  brought  up,  and 
lived  most  familiarly,  were  those,  who,  from  op- 
portunities, birth,  and  talents,  might  be  expected 
to  make  the  greatest  advances  in  the  career  for 
which  we  were  all  destined;  and  I  have  the 
pleasure  still  to  preserve  my  youthful  intimacy 
with  no  inconsiderable  number  of  them,  whom 
their  merit   has   carried   forward  to  the   highest 


Percy  was  especially  annoyed,  according  to  Bosvrell,  with 

"  I  put  my  hat  upon  my  head, 
And  walked  into  the  Strand, 
71 


honors  of  their  profession.  Neither  was  I  m  a 
situation  to  be  embarrassed  by  the  res  angusta 
domi,  which  might  have  otherwise  brought  painful 
additional  obstructions  to  a  path  in  which  progress 
is  proverbially  slow.  I  enjoyed  a  moderate  degree 
of  business  for  my  standing,  and  the  friendship  of 
more  than  one  person  of  consideration  and  in- 
fluence efficiently  disposed  to  aid  my  views  in 
life.  The  private  fortune,  also,  which  I  might  ex- 
pect, and  finally  inherited,  from  my  family,  did 
not,  indeed,  amount  to  affluence,  but  placed  me 
considerably  beyond  all  apprehension  of  want.  I 
mention  these  particulars  merely  because  they  are 
true.  Many  better  men  than  myself  have  owed 
their  rise  from  indigence  and  obscurity  to  their 
own  talents,  which  were,  doubtless,  much  more 
adequate  to  the  task  of  raising  thefcn  than  any 
which  I  possess.  But  although  it  would  be  ab- 
surd and  ungracious  in  me  to  deny,  that  I  owe 
to  literature  many  marks  of  distinction  to  which 
I  could  not  otherwise  have  aspired,  and  particu- 
larly that  of  securing  the  acquaintance,  and  even 
the  friendship,  of  many  remarkable  persons  of  the 
age,  to  whom  I  could  not  otherwise  have  made 
my  way  ;  it  would,  on  the  other  hand,  be  ridicu- 
lous to  affect  gratitude  to  the  public  favor,  either 
for  my  general  position  in  society,  or  the  means  of 
supporting'  it  with  decency,  matters  which  had 
been  otherwise  secured  under  the  usual  chances 
of  human  affairs.  Thus  much  I  have  thought  it 
necessary  to  say  upon  a  subject,  which  is,  after  all, 
of  very  little  consequence  to  any  one  but  myself.  I 
proceed  to  detail  the  circumstances  which  engaged 
me  in  literary  pursuits. 

During  the  last  ten  years  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  the  art  of  poetry  was  at  a  remarkably 
low  ebb  in  Britain.  Hayley,  to  whom  fashion  had 
some  years  before  ascribed  a  higher  degree  of  rep- 
utation than  posterity  has  confirmed,  had  now 
lost  his  reputation  for  talent,  though  he  still  lived 
beloved  and  respected  as  an  amiable  and  accom- 
plished man.  The  Bard  of  Memory  slumbered 
on  his  laurels,  and  He  of  Hope  had  scarce  begun 
to  attract  his  share  of  public  attention.  Cowper, 
a  poet  of  deep  feeling  and  bright  genius,  was  still 
alive,  indeed  ;  but  the  hypochondria,  which  was 
his  mental  malady,  impeded  his  popularity.  Burns, 
whose  genius  our  southern  neighbors  could  hardly 
yet  comprehend,  had  long  confined  himself  to 
song-writing.  Names  winch  are  now  known  and 
distinguished  wherever  the  English  language  i* 
spoken,  were  then  only  beginning  to  be  men- 
tioned ;  and,  unless  among  the  small  number  of 


And  there  I  met  another  man 
With  his  hat  in  his  hand." — Ed. 
2  See  the  Introduction  to  Lockhart's  Spanish  Ballads,  1823 
p.  xxii. 


562 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


persons  who  habitually  devote  a  part  of  their 
leisure  to  literature,  even  those  of  Southey, 
Wordsworth,  and  Coleridge,  were  still  but  little 
known.  The  realms  of  Parnassus,  like  many  a 
kingdom  at  the  period/seemed  to  lie  open  to  the 
iirst  bold  invader,  whether  he  should  be  a  daring 
usurper,  or  could  show  a  legitimate  title  of  sove- 
reignty. 

As  far  back  as  1788,  a  new  species  of  literature 
Degan  to  be  introduced  into  this  countiy.  Ger- 
many, long  known  as  a  powerful  branch  of  the  Eu- 
ropean confederacy,  was  then,  for  the  first  time, 
heard  of  as  the  cradle  of  a  style  of  poetry  and  lit- 
erature, of  a  kind  much  more  analogous  to  that  of 
Britain,  than  either  the  French,  Spanish,  or  Italian 
schools,  though  all  three  had  been  at  various  times 
cultivated  and  imitated  among  us.  The  names  of 
Lessing,  Klopstock,  Schiller,  and  other  German 
poets  of  eminence,  were  only  known  in  Britain  very 
imperfectly.  "  The  Sorrows  of  Werter"  was  the 
only  composition  that  had  attained  any  degree  of 
popularity,  and  the  success  of  that  remarkable 
novel,  notwithstanding  the  distinguished  genius  of 
the  author,  was  retarded  by  the  nature  of  its  inci- 
dents. To  the  other  compositions  of  Goethe\  whose 
lalents  were  destined  to  illuminate  the  age  in  which 
ha  flourished,  the  English  remained  strangers,  and 
much  more  so  to  Schiller,  Burger,  and  a  whole  cy- 
cle of  foreigners  of  distinguished  merit.  The  ob- 
scurity to  which  German  literature  seemed  to  be 
condemned,  did  not  arise  from  want  of  brilliancy 
in  the  lights  by  which  it  was  illuminated,  but  from 
the  palpable  thickness  of  the.  darkness  by  which 
they  were  surrounded.  Frederick  II.  of  Prussia 
had  given  a  partial  and  ungracious  testimony 
against  his  native  language  and  native  literature, 
and  im  politically  and  unwisely,  as  well  as  unjustly, 
had  yield'ed  to  the  French  that  superiority  in  let- 
ters, which,  after  his  death,  paved  the  way  for 
their  obtaining,  for  a  time,  an  equal  superiority  in 
arms.  That  great  Prince,  by  setting  the  example 
of  undervaluing  his  country  in  one  respect,  raised 
a  belief  in  its  general  inferiority,  and  destroyed  the 
manly  pride  with  which  a  nation  is  naturally  dis- 
posed to  regard  its  own  peculiar  manners  and  pe- 
culiar literature. 

Unmoved  by  the  scornful  neglect  of  its  sover- 
eigns and  nobles,  and  encouraged  by  the  tide  of 
native  genius,  which  flowed  in  upon  the  nation, 
German  literature  began  to  assume  a  new,  inter- 
esting, and  highly  impressive  character,  to  which 
it  became  impossible  for  strangers  to  shut  their 
eyes.  That  it  exhibited  the  faults  of  exaggeration 
and  false  taste,  almost  inseparable  from  the  first 
attempts  at  the  heroic  and  at  the  pathetic,  cannot 
be  denied.  It  was,  in  a  word,  the  first  crop  of  a 
rich  soil,  which  throws  out  weeds  as  well  as  flow- 
ers with  a  prolific  abundance 


It  was  so  late  as  the  21st  day  of  April,  178<\ 
that  the  literary  persons  of  Edinburgh,  of  whom, 
at  that  period,  I  am  better  qualified  to  speak  than 
of  those  of  Britain  generally,  or  especially  those  of 
London,  were  first  made  aware  of  the  existence 
of  works  of  genius  in  a  language  cognate  with  the 
English,  and  possessed  of  the  same  manly  force  of 
expression.  They  learned,  at  the  same  time,  that 
the  taste  which  dictated  the  German  compositions 
was  of  a  kind  as  nearly  allied  to  the  English  as 
their  language.  Those  who  were  accustomed  from 
their  youth  to  admire  Milton  and  Shakspeare,  be- 
came acquainted,  I  may  say  for  the  first  time,  with 
the  existence  of  a  race  of  poets  who  had  the  same 
lofty  ambition  to  spurn  the  flaming  boundaries  of  the 
universe,1  and  investigate  the  realms  of  chaos  and 
old  night ;  and  of  dramatists,  who,  disclaiming  the 
pedantry  of  the  unities,  sought,  at  the  expense  of  oc- 
casional improbabilities  and  extravagancies,  to  pre- 
sent life  in  i,ts  scenes  of  wildest  contrast,  and  in  all 
its  boundless  variety  of  character,  mingling,  without 
hesitation,  livelier  with  more  serious  incidents,  and 
exchanging  scenes  of  tragic  distress,  as  they  occur 
in  common  life,  with  those  of  a  comic  tendency. 
This  emancipation  from  the  rules  so  servilely  ad- 
hered to  by  the  French  school,  and  particularly  by 
their  dramatic  poets,  although  it  was  attended 
with  some  disadvantages,  especially  the  risk  of 
extravagance  and  bombast,  was  the  means  of  giv- 
ing free  scope  to  the  genius  of  Goethe,  Schiller, 
and  others,  which,  thus  relieved  from  shackles,  was 
not  long  in  soaring  to  the  highest  pitch  of  poetic 
sublimity.  The  late  venerable  Henry  Mackenzie, 
author  of  "  The  Man  of  Feeling,"  in  an  Essay  upon 
the  German  Theatre,  introduced  his  countrymen 
to  this  new  species  of  national  literature,  the  pecu- 
liarities of  which  he  traced  with  equal  truth  and 
-spirit,  although  they  were  at  that  time  known  to 
him  only  througr  the  imperfect  and  uncongenial 
medium  of  a  French  translation.  Upon  the  dav 
already  mentioned  (21st  April,  1788),  he  read  to 
the  Royal  Society  an  Essay  on  German  Litera- 
ture, which  made  much  noise,  and  produced  a 
powerful  effect.  "  Germany,"  he  observed,  "  in  her 
literary  aspect,  presents  herself  to  observation  in 
a  singular  point  of  view  ;  that  of  a  country  arrived 
at  maturity,  along  with  the  neighboring  nations, 
in  the  arts  and  sciences,  in  the  pleasures  and  re- 
finements of  manners,  and  yet  only  in  its  infancy 
with  regard  to  writings  of  taste  and  imagination. 
This  last  path,  however,  from  these  very  circum- 
stances, she  pursues  with  an  enthusiasm  which  no 
other  situation  could  perhaps  have  produced,  the 
enthusiasm  which  novelty  inspires,  and  which  the 
servility  incident  to  a  more  cultivated  and  critical 
state  of  literature   does  not  restrain."     At  the 

i  "  Flammantia  moenia  mundi." — Lucretius. 


EfeSAY   OJN   lMiTATlOItffc.  Oh    THiii  AJNUiJbixNi  BALLAD. 


503 


same  time,  the  accomplished  critic  showed  himself 
equally  familiar  with  the  classical  rules  of  the 
French  stage,  and  failed  not  to  touch  upon  the  ac- 
knowledged advantages  which  these  produced,  by 
the  encouragement  and  regulation  of  taste,  though 
at  the  risk  of  repressing  genius. 

But  it  was  not  the  dramatic  literature  alone  of 
the  Germans  which  was  hitherto  unknown  to  their 
neighbors — their  fictitious  narratives,  their  ballad 
poetry,  and  other  branches  of  their  literature, 
which  are  particularly  apt  to  bear  the  stamp  of 
the  extravagant  and  the  supernatural,  began  to 
occupy  the  attention  of  the  British  literati. 

In  Edinburgh,  where  the  remarkable  coincidence 
between  the  German  language  and  that  of  the 
Lowland  Scottish,  encouraged  young  men  to  ap- 
proach this  newly  discovered  spring  of  literature, 
a  class  was  formed,  of  six  or  seven  intimate  friends, 
who  proposed  to.make  themselves  acquainted  with 
the  German  language.  They  were  in  the  habit  of 
living  much  together,  and  the  time  they  sjient  in 
this  new  study  was  felt  as  a  period  of  great  amuse- 
ment. One  source  of  this  diversion  was  the  lazi- 
ness of  one  of  their  number,  the  present  author, 
who,  averse  to  the  necessary  toil  of  grammar  and 
its  rules,  was  in  the  practice  of  fighting  his  way  to 
the  knowledge  of  the  German  by  his  acquaintance 
with  the  Scottish  and  Anglo-Saxon  dialects,  and, 
of  course,  frequently  committed  blunders  which 
were  not  lost  on  lus  more  accurate  and  more  stu- 
dious companions.  A  more  general  source  of 
amusement,  was  the  despair  of  the  teacher,  on 
finding  it  impossible  to  extract  from  his  Scottish 
students  the  degree  of  sensibility  necessary,  as  he 
thought,  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the  author  to 
whom  he  considered  it  proper  first  to  introduce 
them.  We  were  desirous  to  penetrate  at  once 
into  the  recesses  of  the  Teutonic  literature,  and 
therefore  were  ambitious  of  perusing  Goethe"  and 
Schiller,  and  others  whose  fame  had  been  sounded 
by  Mackenzie.  Dr.  Willich  (a  medical  gentleman), 
who  was  our  teacher,  was  judiciously  disposed  to 
commence  our  studies  with  the  more  simple  dic- 
tion of  Gesner,  and  prescribed  to  us  "  The  Death 
of  Abel,"  as  the  production  from  which  our  Ger- 
man tasks  were  to  be  drawn.  The  pietistic  style 
of  this  author  was  ill  adapted  to  attract  young 
persons  of  our  age  and  disposition.  We  could  no 
more  sympathize  with  the  overstrained  sentimen- 
tality of  Adam  and  liis  family,  than  we  could  have 
nad  a  fellow-feeling  with  the  jolly  Faun  of  the 
same  author,  who  broke  his  beautiful  jug,  and  then 
made  a  song  on  it  which  might  have  affected  all 
Staffordshire.  To  sum  up  the  distresses  of  Dr. 
Willich,  we,  with  one  consent,  voted  Abel  an  in- 

i  Alexander  Fraser  Tytler,  a  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Session 
#y  the  title  of  Lord  Woocthourclee,  author  of  the  well-known 
'  Elements  of  General  History  "  and  long  eminent  as  Professor 


sufferable  bore,  and  gave  the  pre-eminence,  in 
point  of  masculine  character,  to  his  brother  Cain, 
or  even  to  Lucifer  himself.  When  these  jests, 
which  arose  out  of  the  sickly  monotony  and  affect- 
ed ecstasies  of  the  poet,  failed  to  amuse  us,  we 
had  for  our  entertainment  the  unutterable  sounds 
manufactured  by  a  Frenchman,  our  fellow-student, 
who,  with  the  economical  purpose  of  learning  two 
languages  at  once,  was  endeavoring  to  acquire 
German,  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  by  means  of 
English,  concerning  wliich  he  was  nearly  as  igno- 
rant. Heaven  only  knows  the  notes  which  he  ut- 
tered, in  attempting,  with  unpractised  organs,  t< 
imitate  the  gutturals  of  these  two  intractable  lan- 
guages. At  length,  in  the  midst  of  much  laughing 
and  little  study,  most  of  us  acquired  some  know 
ledge,  more  or  less  extensive,  of  the  German  lan- 
guage, and  selected  for  ourselves,  some  in  the 
philosophy  of  Kant,  some  in  the  more  animated 
works  of  the  German  dramatists,  specimens  more 
to  our  taste  than  "  The  Death  of  Abel." 

About  this  period,  or  a  year  or  two  sooner,  the 
accomplished  and  excellent  Lord  Woodhouselee,1 
one  of  the  friends  of  my  youth,  made  a  spirited 
version  of  "  The  Robbers"  of  Schiller,  which  I  be 
lieve  was  the  first  published,  though  an  English 
version  appeared  soon  afterwards  in  London,  as 
the  metropolis  then  took  the  lead  in  every  thing 
like  literary  adventure.  The  enthusiasm  with 
which  this  work  was  received,  greatly  increased 
the  general  taste  for  German  compositions. 

While  universal  curiosity  was  thus  distinguish- 
ing the  advancing  taste  for  the  German  language 
and  literature,  the  success  of  a  very  young  student, 
in  a  juvenile  publication,  seemed  to  show  that  the 
prevailing  taste  in  that  country  might  be  easily 
employed  as  a  formidable  auxiliary  to  renewing 
the  spirit  of  our  own,  upon  the  same  system  as 
when  medical  persons  attempt,  by  the  transfusion 
of  blood,  to  pass  into  the  veins  of  an  aged  and  ex- 
hausted patient,  the  vivacity  of  the  circulation  and 
liveliness  of  sensation  which  distinguish  a  young 
subject.  The  person  who  first  attempted  to  in- 
troduce something  like  the  German  taste  into 
English  fictitious  dramatic  and  poetical  composi 
tion,  although  his  works,  when  first  published, 
engaged  general  attention,  is  now  comparatively 
forgotten.  I  mean  Matthew  Gregory  Lewis,  whose 
character  and  literary  history  are  so  immediately 
connected  with  the  subject  of  which  I  am  treating, 
that  a  few  authentic  particulars  may  be  here  in 
serted  by  one  to  whom  he  was  well  known.2 

Lewis's  rank  in  society  was  determined  by^s 
birth,  which,  at  the  same  time,  assured  his  fortune. 
His  father  was  Under-Secretary  at  War,  at  that 

of  History   in   the   University   of  Edinburgh.      He   died   i» 
1810.— Ed. 
2  See  more  of  Lewis  in  the  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  pp.  8-14. 


564 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


time  a  very  lucrative  appointment,  and  the  young 
poet  was  provided  with  a  seat  in  Parliament  as 
soon  as  his  age  permitted  him  to  fill  it.  But  his 
mind  did  not  incline  him  to  politics,  or,  if  it  did, 
they  were  not  of  the  complexion  which  his  father, 
attached  to  Mr.  Pitt's  administration,  would  have 
approved.  He  was,  moreover,  indolent,  and  though 
possessed  of  abilities  sufficient  to  conquer  any  diffi- 
culty which  might  stand  in  the  way  of  classical 
attainments,  he  preferred  applying  his  exertions 
in  a  path  where  they  were  rewarded  with  more 
immediate  applause.  As  he  completed  his  edu- 
cation abroad,  he  had  an  opportunity  of  indulging 
his  inclination  for  the  extraordinary  and  supernatu- 
ral, by  wandering  through  the  whole  enchanted 
land  of  German  faery  and  diablerie,  not  forgetting 
the  paths  of  her  enthusiastic  tragedy  and  romantic 
poetry. 

"We  are  easily  induced  to  imitate  what  we  ad- 
mire, and  Lewis  early  distinguished  himself  by  a 
romance  in  the  German  taste,  called  "  The  Monk." 
In  this  work,  written  in  his  twentieth  year,  and 
foujded  on  the  Eastern  apologue  of  the  Santon 
Barsisa,  the  author  introduced  supernatural  ma- 
chinery with  a  courageous  consciousness  of  Ins  own 
power  to  manage  its  ponderous  strength,  which 
commanded  the  respect  of  his  reader.  "  The 
Monk"  was  published  in  1*795,  and,  though  liable 
to  the  objections  common  to  the  school  to  which  it 
belonged,  and  to  others  peculiar  to  itself,  placed 
its  author  at  once  high  in  the  scale  of  men  of  let- 
ters. Nor  can  that  be  regarded  as  an  ordinary 
exertion  of  genius,  to  which  Charles  Fox  paid  the 
unusual  compliment  of  crossing  the  House  of  Com- 
mons that  he  might  congratulate  the  young  author, 
whose  work  obtained  high  praise  from  many  other 
able  men  of  that  able  time.  The  party  which  ap- 
proved "  The  Monk"  was  at  first  superior  in  the 
lists,  and  it  was  some  time  before  the  anonymous 
author  of  the  "  Pursuits  of  Literature"  denounced 
as  puerile  and  absurd  the  supernatural  machinery 
which  Lewis  had  introduced — 

1 ' I  bear  an  English  heart, 

Unused  at  ghosts  or  rattling  bones  to  start." 

Yet  the  acute  and  learned  critic  betrays  some  in- 
consistency in  praising  the  magic  of  the  Italian 
poets,  and  complimenting  Mrs.  Radcliffe  for  her 
success  in  supernatural  imagery,  for  which  at  the 
same  moment  he  thus  sternly  censures  her  brother 
novelist. 

A  more  legitimate  topic  of  condemnation  was 
the  indelicacy  of  particular  passages.  The  present 
author  will  hardly  be  deemed  a  willing,  or  at  least 
an  interested  apologist  for  an  offence  equally  re- 
pugnant to  decency  and  good  breeding.  But  as 
Lewis  at  once,  and  with  a  good  grace,  submitted 
to  the  voice  of  censure,  and  expunged  the  objec- 


tionable passages,  we  cannot  holp  considering  the 
manner  in  which  the  fault  was  insisted  on,  after 
all  the  amends  had  been  offered  of  which  the  case 
could  admit,  as  in  the  last  degree  ungenerous  and 
uncandid.  The  pertinacity  with  which  the  pas- 
sages so  much  found  fault  with  were  dwelt  upon, 
seemed  to  warrant  a  belief  that  something  more 
was  desired  than  the  correction  of  the  author's 
errors ;  and  that,  where  the  apologies  of  extreme 
youth,  foreign  education,  and  instant  submission, 
were  unable  to  satisfy  the  critics'  fury,  they  must 
have  been  determined  to  act  on  the  severity  of 
the  old  proverb,  "  Confess  and  be  hanged."  Cer 
tain  it  is,  that  other  persons,  offenders  in  the  same 
degree,  have  been  permitted  to  sue  out  their  par- 
don without  either  retraction  or  palinode.1 

Another  peccadillo  of  the  author  of  "  The  Monk" 
was  his  having  borrowed  from  Musaeus,  and  from 
the  popular  tales  of  the  Germans,  the  singular  and 
striking  adventure  of  the  "Bleeding  Nun."  But 
the  bold  and  free  hand  with  which  he  traced  some 
scenes,  as  well  of  natural  terror  as  of  that  which 
arises  from  supernatural  causes,  shows  distinctly 
that  the  plagiarism  could  not  have  been  occa- 
sioned by  any  deficiency  of  invention  on  his  part, 
though  it  might  take  place  from  wantonness  or 
wilfulness. 

In  spite  of  the  objections  we  have  stated,  "  The 
Monk "  was  so  highly  popular,  that  it  seemed  to 
create  an  epoch  in  our  literature.  But  the  public 
were  chiefly  captivated  by  the  poetry  with  which 
Mr.  Lewis  had  interspersed  his  prose  narrative.  It 
has  now  passed  from  recollection  among  the  changes 
of  literary  taste  ;  but  many  may  remember,  as  well 
as  I  do,  the  effect  produced  by  the  beautiful  bal- 
lad of  "  Durandarte,"  which  had  the  good  fortune 
to  be  adapted  to  an  air  of  great  sweetness  and 
pathos ;  by  the  ghost  tale  of  "  Alonzo  and  Imo- 
gine  ;"  and  by  several  other  pieces  of  legendary 
poetry,  which  addressed  themselves  in  all  the 
charms  of  novelty  and  of  simplicity  to  a  public 
who  had  for  a  long  time  been  unused  to  any  regale 
of  the  kind.  In  his  poetry  as  well  as  his  prose, 
Mr.  Lewis  had  been  a  successful  imitator  of  the 
Germans,  both  in  his  attachment  to  the  ancient 
ballad,  and  hi  the  tone  of  superstition  which  they 
willingly  mingle  with  it.  New  arrangements  of 
the  stanza,  and  a  varied  construction  of  verses, 
were  also  adopted,  and  welcomed  as  an  addition 
of  a  new  string  to  the  British  harp.  In  this  re- 
spect, the  stanza  in  which  "  Alonzo  the  Brave  "  is 
written,  was  greatly  admired,  and  received  as  an 
improvement  worthy  of  adoption  into  English  poe- 
try. 

In  short,  Lewis's  works  were  admired,  and  the 
author  became  famous,  not  merely  through  his  own 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  B 


ESSAY  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


565 


merit,  though  that  was  of  no  mean  quality,  but 
because  he  had  in  some  measure  taken  the  public 
by  surprise,  by  using  a  style  of  composition,  which, 
like  national  melodies,  is  so  congenial  to  the  gen- 
eral taste,  that,  though  it  palls  by  being  much 
hackneyed,  it  nas  only  to  be  for  a  short  time  for- 
gotten in  ordei  to  lecover  its  original  popularity. 

It  chanced  that,  while  his  fame  was  at  the 
highest,  Mr.  Lewis  became  almost  a  yearly  visitor 
to  Scotland,  chiefly  from  attachment  to  the  illus- 
trious family  of  Argyle.  The  writer  of  these  re- 
marks had  the  advantage  of  being  made  known 
to  the  most  distinguished  author  of  the  day,  by  a 
lady  who  belongs  by  birth  to  that  family,  and  is 
equally  distinguished  by  her  beauty  and  accom- 
plishments.1 Out  of  this  accident-al  acquaintance, 
which  increased  into  a  sort  of  intimacy,  conse 
quences  arose  which  altered  almost  all  the  Scot- 
tish ballad-maker's  future  prospects  in  life. 

In  early  youth  I  had  been  an  eager  student  of 
Ballad  Poetry,  and  the  tree  is  still  in  my  recol- 
lection, beneath  which  I  lay  and  first  entered  upon 
the  enchanting  perusal  of  Percy's  "  Reliques  of 
Ancient  Poetry,"2  although  it  has  long  perished  in 
the  general  blight  which  affected  the  whole  race 
of  Oriental  platanus  to  which  it  belonged.3  The 
taste  of  another  person  had  strongly  encouraged 
my  own  researches  into  this  species  of  legendary 
lore.  But  I  had  never  dreamed  of  an  attempt  to 
imitate  what  gave  me  so  much  pleasure. 

1  had,  indeed,  tried  the  metrical  translations 
which  were  occasionally  recommended  to  us  at  the 
High  School.  I  got  credit  for  attempting  to  do 
what  was  enjoined,  but  very  little  for  the  mode 
in  which  the  task  was  performed,  and  I  used  to 
feel  not  a  little  mortified  when  my  versions  were 
placed  in  contrast  with  others  of  admitted  merit. 
A.t  one  period  of  my  school-boy  days  I  was  so  far 
left  to  my  own  desires  as  to  become  guilty  of 
Verses  on  a  Thunder-storm,4  which  were  much 
approved  of,  until  a  malevolent  critic  sprung  up, 
in  the  shape  of  an  apothecary's  blue-buskined  wife, 
who  affirmed  that  my  most  sweet  poetry  was 
stolen  from  an  old  magazine.  I  never  forgave  the 
imputation,  and  even  now  I  acknowledge  some 
resentment  against  the  poor  woman's  memory. 
She  indeed  accused  me  unjustly,  when  she  said  I 
had  stolen  my  brooms  ready  made  ;  but  as  I  had, 
like  most  premature  pcets,  copied  all  the  words 
and  ideas  of  which  my  verses  consisted,  she  was 
bo  far  right.  I  made  one  or  two  faint  attempts  at 
verse,  after  I  had  undergone  this  sort  of  daw- 

i  The  Lady  Charlotte  Bury.— Ed. 

2  See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i.  p.  53. 

s  This  tree  grew  in  a  large  garden  attached  to  a  cottage  at 
SCelso   the  re»  tlence  of  my  father's  sister,  where  I  spent  many 


plucking  at  the  hands  of  the  apothecary's  wife 
but  some  friend  or  other  always  advised  me  tc 
put  my  verses  in  the  fire,  and,  like  Dorax  in  the 
play,  I  submitted,  though  "  with  a  swelling  heart." 
In  short,  excepting  the  usual  tribute  to  a  mis- 
tress's eye-brow,  which  is  the  language  of  passion 
rather  than  poetry,  I  had  not  for  ten  years  in- 
dulged the  wish  to  couple  so  much  as  love  and 
dove,  when,  finding  Lewis  in  possession  of  so  much 
reputation,  and  conceiving  that,  if  I  fell  behind 
him  in  poetical  powers,  I  considerably  exceeded 
him  in  general  information,  I  suddenly  took  it  into 
my  head  to  attempt  the  style  of  poetry  by  which 
he  had  raised  himself  to  fame. 

This  idea  was  hurried  into  execution,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  temptation  which  others,  as  well  as 
the  author,  found  it  difficult  to  resist.  The  cele- 
brated ballad  of  "  Lenore,"  by  Burger,  was  about 
this  time  introduced  into  England;  and  it  is  re- 
markable, that,  written  as  far  back  as  1775,  it  was 
upwards  of  twenty  years  before  it  was  known  in 
Britain,  though  calculated  to  make  so  strong  an 
impression.  The  wild  character  of  the  tale  was 
such  as  struck  the  imagination  of  all  who  read  it, 
although  the  idea  of  the  lady's  ride  behind  the 
spectre  horseman  had  been  long  before  hit  upon 
by  an  English  ballad-maker.  But  this  pretended 
English  original,  if  in  reality  it  be  such,  is  so  dull, 
flat,  and  prosaic,  as  to  leave  the  distinguished  Ger- 
man author  all  that  is  valuable  in  his  story,  by 
clothing  it  with  a  fanciful  wildness  of  expression, 
which  serves  to  set  forth  the  marvellous  tale  in  its 
native  terror.  The  ballad  of  "Lenore"  accord- 
ingly possessed  general  attractions  for  such  of  the 
English  as  understood  the  language  in  which  it  is 
written;  and,  as  if  there  had  been  a  charm  in  the 
ballad,  no  one  seemed  to  cast  his  eyes  upon  it 
without  a  desire  to  make  it  known  by  translation 
to  his  own  countrymen,  and  six  or  seven  versions 
were  accordingly  presented  to  the  public.  Al- 
though the  present  author  was  one  of  those  whe 
intruded  his  translation  on  the  world  at  this  time, 
he  may  fairly  exculpate  himself  from  the  rashness 
of  entering  the  lists  against  so  many  rivals.  The 
circumstances  which  threw  him  into  this  competi 
tion  were  quite  accidental,  and  of  a  nature  tend 
ing  to  show  how  much  the  destiny  of  human  life 
depends  upon  unimportant  occurrences,  to  which 
little  consequence  is  attached  at  the  moment. 

About  the  summer  of  1793  or  1794,  the  cele- 
brated Miss  Laetitia  Aikin,  better  known  as  Mrs 
Barbauld,  paid  a  visit  to  Edinburgh,  and  was  ro- 
of the  happiest  days  of  my  youth.  (1831.)  [See  Life,  vol.  i. 
p.  156.— Ed.] 

4  See  these  Verses  among  the  "  Miscellanies,"  whioh  follow 
this  "  Essay,"  where  also  many  other  pieces  fiom  the  pen  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott  are  now  for  the  first  time  included  in  as 
edition  of  his  Poetical  Works.     (1841  .~i 


j66 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ceired  by  such  literary  society  as  the  place  then 
boasted,  with  the  hospitality  to  which  her  talents 
and  her  worth  entitled  her.  Among  others,  she 
was  kindly  welcomed  by  the  late  excellent  and 
admired  Professor  Dugald  Stewart,  his  lady,  and 
family.  It  was  in  their  evening  society  that  Miss 
Aikm  drew  from  her  pocket-book  a  version  of 
:'Lenore7'  executed  by  William  Taylor,  Esq.,  of 
Norwich,  with  as  much  freedom  as  was  consistent 
with  great  spirit  and  scrupulous  fidelity.  She 
read  this  composition  to  the  company,  who  were 
electrified  by  the  tale.  It  was  the  more  success- 
ful, that  Mr.  Taylor  had  boldly  copied  the  imita- 
tive harmony  of  the  German,  and  described  the 
3pectral  journey  in  language  resembling  that  of 
the  original.  Burger  had  thus  painted  the  ghostly 
career : 

"  Und  hurre,  hurre,  hop,  hop,  hop, 
Gings  fort  in  sausendem  Galopp, 
Dass  Ross  und  Reiter  schnoben, 
Und  Kies  und  Funken  stoben." 

The  words  were  rendered  by  the  kindred  sounds 
in  English: 

"  Tramp,  tramp,  across  the  land  they  speede 
Splash,  splash,  across  the  sea  ; 
Hurra,  the  dead  can  ride  apace  ! 
Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me  V 

"When  Miss  Aikin  had  finished  her  recitation, 
she  replaced  in  her  pocket-book  the  paper  from 
which  she  had  read  it,  and  enjoyed  the  satisfaction 
of  having  made  a  strong  impression  on  the  hear- 
ers, whose  bosoms  thrilled  yet  the  deeper,  as  the 
ballad  was  not  to  be  more  closely  introduced  to 
them. 

The  author  was  not  present  upon  this  occasion, 
although  he  had  then  the  distinguished  advantage 
of  being  a  familiar  friend  and  frequent  visitor  of 
Professor  Stewart  and  his  family.  But  he  was 
absent  from  town  while  Miss  Aikin  was  in  Edin- 
burgh, and  it  was  not  until  his  return  that  he 
found  all  his  friends  in  rapture  with  the  intelli- 
gence and  good  sense  of  their  visitor,  but  in  par- 
ticular with  the  wonderful  translation  from  the 
German,  by  means  of  which  she  had  delighted  and 
astonished  them.  The  enthusiastic  description 
given  of  Burger's  ballad,  and  the  broken  account 
of  the  story,  of  which  only  two  lines  were  recollect- 
ed, inspired  the  author,  who  had  some  acquaint- 
ance, as  has  been  said,  with  the  German  language, 
and  a  strong  taste  for  popular  poetry,  with  a  de- 
sire to  see  the  original. 

This  was  not  a  wish  easily  gratified ;  German 
works  were  at  that  time  seldom  found  in  London 


i  Born  Countess  Harriet  Bruhl  of  Martinskirchen,  and  mar- 
ried to  Hugh  Scott,  Esq.  of  Harden,  now  Lord  Polwarth,  the 
author's  relative,  and  much  valued  friend  almost  from  infancy. 


for  sale — in  Edinburgh  never.  A  lady  of  nobLi 
German  descent,1  whose  friendship  I  have  enjoyed 
for  many  years,  found  means,  however,  to  procure 
me  a  copy  of  Burger's  works  from  Hamburgh. 
The  perusal  of  the  original  rather  exceeded  than 
disappointed  the  expectations  which  the  report  of 
Mr.  Stewart's  family  had  induced  me  to  form.  At 
length,  when  the  book  had  been  a  few  hours  in 
my  possession,  I  found  myself  giving  an  animated 
account  of  the  poem  to  a  friend,  and  rashly  added 
a  promise  to  furnish  a  copy  in  English  ballad 
verse. 

I  well  recollect  that  I  began  my  task  after  sup- 
per, and  finished  it  about  daybreak  the  next 
morning,  by  which  time  the  ideas  which  the  task 
had  a  tendency  to  summon  up  were  rather  of  an 
uncomfortable  character.  As  my  object  was  much 
more  to  make  a  good  translation  of  the  poem  for 
those  whom  I  wished  to  please,  than  to  acquire 
any  poetical  fame  for  myself,  I  retained  in  my 
translation  the  two  lines  which  Mr.  Taylor  had 
rendered  with  equal  boldness  and  felicity. 

My  attempt  succeeded  far  beyond  my  expecta- 
tions ;  and  it  mar  readily  be  believed,  that  I  was 
induced-  to  persevere  in  a  pursuit  which  gratified 
my  own  vanity,  while  it  seemed  to  amuse  others. 
I  accomplished  a  translation  of  "  Der  Wilde  Jager  " 
— a  romantic  ballad  founded  on  a  superstition 
universally  current  in  Germany,  and  known  also 
in  Scotland  and  France.  In  this  I  took  rather 
more  license  than  in  versifying  "  Lenor6 ;"  and  I 
balladized  one  or  two  other  poems  of  Burger  with 
more  or  less  success.  In  the  course  of  a  few 
weeks,  my  own  vanity,  and  the  favorable  opinion 
of  friends,  interested  by  the  temporary  revival  of 
a  species  of  poetry  containing  a  germ  of  popularity 
of  which  perhaps  they  were  not  themselves  aware, 
urged  me  to  the  decisive  step  of  sending  a  selec- 
tion, at  least,  of  my  translations  to  the  press,  to 
save  the  numerous  applications  which  were  made 
for  copies.  When  was  there  an  author  deaf  to 
such  a  recommendation?  In  1*796,  the  present 
author  was  prevailed  on,  "  by  request  of  friends," 
to  indulge  liis  own  vanity  by  publishing  the  trans- 
lation of  "  Lenore,"2  with  that  of  "  The  Wild  Hunts- 
man," in  a  thin  quarto.3 

The  fate  of  this,  my  first  publication,  was  by  no 
means  flattering.  I  distributed  so  many  copies 
among  my  friends  as,  according  to  the  booksellers, 
materially  to  interfere  with  the  sale ;  and  the 
number  of  translations  which  appeared  in  England 
about  the  same  time,  including  that  of  Mr.  Taylor 
to  which  I  had  been  so  much  indebted,  and  which 
was  published  in  "  The  Monthly  Magazine,"  were 


a  Under  the  title  of  "  William  and  Helen."— Ed. 
3  This  thin  quarto  was  published  by  Messrs.    Man  lers  aiit 
Miller  of  Edinburgh. — Ed. 


ESSA1    ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


S&i 


sufficient  to  exclude  a  provincial  writer  from  com- 
petition. However  different  my  success  might 
have  been,  had  I  been  fortunate  enough  to  have 
led  the  way  in  the  general  scramble  for  prece- 
dence, my  efforts  sunk  unnoticed  when  launched  at 
the  same  time  with  those  of  Mr.  Taylor  (upon 
whose  property  I  had  committed  the  kind  of  pi- 
racy already  noticed,  and  who  generously  forgave 
me  the  invasion  of  his  rights )  •  of  my  ingenious 
and  amiable  friend  of  many  years,  William  Robert 
Spenser ;  of  Mr.  Pye,  *&ft  L*».urea'e  of  the  day,  and 
many  others  besides  Jn  a  word,  my  adventure, 
where  so  many  pusW  off  +o  sea,  proved  a  dead 
loss,  and  a  great  p«vl  of  the  edition  was  con- 
demned to  the  ser^ce  of  the  trunk-maker.  Nay, 
so  complete  was  ihe.  failure  of  the  unfortunate 
ballads,  that  the  v»ry  existence  of  them  was  soon 
forgotten ;  and,  in  a  newspaper,  in  which  I  very 
lately  repd,  to  rc^  no  small  horror,  a  most  appall- 
ing list  of  my  o^n  various  publications,  I  saw  this, 
«ry  fi"s*  offei^iti,  had  escaped  the  industrious  col- 
loot  )T  ff*t  whose  indefatigable  research  I  may  in 
£;rp/t'tuae  wish  a  better  object.1 

The  failure  of  my  first  publication  did  not  ope- 
rate, in  any  unpleasant  degree,  either  on  my  feel- 
ings or  spirits.  I  was  coldly  received  by  strangers, 
but  my  reputation  began  rather  to  increase  among 
ray  own  friends,  and,  on  the  whole,  I  was  more 
bent  to  show  the  world  that  it  had  neglected' 
Bomething  worth  notice,  than  to  be  affronted  by 
its  indifference.  Or  rather,  to  speak  candidly,  I 
found  pleasure  in  the  literary  labor  in  which  I  had, 
almost  by  accident,  become  engaged,  and  labored, 
less  in  the  hope  of  pleasing  others,  though  certain- 
ly without  despair  of  doing  so,  than  in  the  pursuit 
of  a  new  and  agreeable  amusement  to  myself.  I 
pursued  the  German  language  keenly,  and,  though 
far  from  being  a  correct  scholar,  became  a  bold 
and  daring  reader,  nay,  even  translator,  of  various 
dramatic  pieces  from  that  tongue.2 

The  want  of  books  at  that  time  (about  1796), 
was  a  great  interruption  to  the  rapidity  of  my 
movements ;  for  the  young  do  not  know,  and  per- 
haps my  own  contemporaries  may  have  forgotten, 
the  difficulty  with  which  publications  were  then 
procured  from  the  continent.  The  worthy  and 
excellent  friend,  of  whom  I  gave  a  sketch  many 
years  afterwards  in  the  person  of  Jonathan  Old- 
buck,3  procured  me  Adelung's  Dictionary,  through 
the  mediation  of  Father  Pepper,  a  monk  of  the 
Scotch  College  of  Ratisbon.     Other  wants  of  the 


i  The  ?  >c  here  referred  to  was  drawn  up  and  inserted  in  the 
Caledonian  Mercury,  by  Mr.  Jamss  Shaw,  for  nearly  forty 
/ears  past  in  the  house  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  publishers, 
Messrs.  Constable  and  Cadell,  of  Edinburgh.— Ed.  (See  it  in 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  x.  pp.  269-27G.) 

3  Sir  Walter  Scott's  second  publication  was  a  translation  of 
Goethe's  ilr»«»«.  of  Goetz  of  Berlichingen  with  the  Iron  Hand, 


same  nature  were  supplied  by  Mrs.  Scott  of  Har 
Jeo,  whose  kindness  in  a  similar  instance  I  have 
had  already  occasion  to  acknowledge.  Through 
this  lady's  connections  on  the  continent,  I  obtained 
copies  of  Burger,  Schiller,  Goethe,  and  other  stan- 
dard German  works ;  and  though  the  obligation  be 
of  a  distant  date,  it  still  remains  impressed  on  my 
memory,  after  a  life  spent  in  a  constant  inter- 
change of  friendship  and  kindness  with  that  family, 
winch  is,  according  to  Scottish  ideas,  the  head  of 
my  house. 

Being  thus  furnished  with  the  necessary  origi- 
nals, I  began  to  translate  on  all  sides,  certainly 
without  any  thing  like  an  accurate  knowledge  of 
the  language ;  and  although  the  dramas  of  Goethe, 
Schiller,  and  others,  powerfully  attracted  one 
whose  early  attention  to  the  German  had  been 
arrested  by  Mackenzie's  Dissertation,  and  the  play 
of  "  The  Robbers,"  yet  the  ballad  poetry,  in  which 
I  had  made  a  bold  essay,  was  still  my  favorite.  I 
was  yet  more  delighted  on  finding,  that  the  old 
English,  and  especially  the  Scottish  language,  were 
so  nearly  similar  to  the  German,  not  in  sound 
merely,  but  in  the  turn  of  phrase,  that  they  were 
capable  of  being  rendered  line  for  line,  with  very 
little  variation.4 

By  degrees,  I  acquired  sufficient  confidence  tt 
attempt  the  imitation  of  what  I  admired.  The 
ballad  called  "  Glenfinlas"  was,  I  think,  the  first 
original  poem  which  I  ventured  to  compose.  As 
it  is  supposed  to  be  a  translation  from  the  Gaelic, 
I  considered  myself  as  liberated  from  imitating 
the  antiquated  language  and  rude  rhythm  of  the 
Minstrel  ballad.  A  versification  of  an  Ossianic 
fragment  came  nearer  to  the  idea  I  had  formed  of 
my  task ;  for  although  controversy  may  have 
arisen  concerning  the  authenticity  of  these  poems 
yet  I  never  heard  it  disputed,  by  those  whom  an 
accurate  knowledge  of  the  Gaelic  rendered  com- 
petent judges,  that  in  their  spirit  and  diction  they 
nearly  resemble  fragments  of  poetry  extant  in  that 
language,  to  the  genuine  antiquity  of  which  no 
doubt  can  attach.  Indeed,  the  celebrated  dispute 
on  that  subject  is  something  like  the  more  bloody, 
though  scarce  fiercer  controversy,  about  the  Popish 
Plot  in  Charles  the  Second's  time,  concerning 
which  Dryden  has  said — 

"  Succeeding  times  will  equal  folly  call, 
Believing  nothing,  or  believing  all." 

The  Celtic  people  of  Erin  and  Albyn  had  in 

which  appeared  in  1799.  He  about  the  same  time  tranp- 
lated  several  other  German  plays,  which  yet  remain  in  MS.— 
Ed. 

»  The  late  George  Constable,  Esq.  See  Introduction  to  tlw 
Antiquary,  Waverley  Novels,  vol.  v.  p.  iv. — Ed- 

4  See  Appendix  Note  O. 


568 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


short,  a  style  of  poetry  properly  called  national, 
though  MacPherson  was  rather  an  excellent  poet 
than  a  faithful  editor  and  translator.  Tliis  style 
and  fashion  of  poetry,  existing  in  a  different  lan- 
guage, was  supposed  to  give  the  original  of  "  Glen- 
finlas,"  and  the  author  was  to  pass  for  one  who 
had  used  his  best  command  of  English  to  do  the 
Gaelic  model  justice.  In  one  point,  the  incidents 
of  the  poem  were  irreconcilable  with  the  costume 
of  the  times  in  which  they  were  laid.  The  ancient 
Highland  chieftains,  when  they  had  a  mind  to 
"  hunt  the  dun  deer  down,"  did  not  retreat  into 
solitary  bothies,  or  trust  the  success  of  the  chase 
to  their  own  unassisted  exertions,  without  a  single 
gillie  to  help  them ;  they  assembled  their  clan, 
and  all  partook  of  the  sport,  forming  a  ring,  or  en- 
closure, called  the  Tinchell,  and  driving  the  prey 
towards  the  most  distinguished  persons  of  the 
hunt.  This  course  would  not  have  suited  me,  so 
Ronald  and  Moy  were  cooped  up  in  their  solitary 
wigwam,  like  two  moorfowl-shooters  of  the  present 
day. 

After  "  Glenfinlas,"  I  undertook  another  ballad, 
called  "  The  Eve  of  St.  John."  The  incidents,  ex- 
cept the  hints  alluded  to  in  the  marginal  notes, 
are  entirely  imaginary,  but  the  scene  was  that  of 
my  early  childhood.  Some  idle  persons  had  of 
late  years,  during  the  proprietor's  absence,  torn 
the  iron-grated  door  of  Smailholm  Tower  from  its 
hinges,  and  thrown  it  down  the  rock.  I  was  an 
earnest  suitor  to  my  friend  and  kinsman,  Mr.  Scott 
of  Harden,  already  mentioned,  that  the  dilapida- 
tion might  be  put  a  stop  to,  and  the  mischief  re- 
paired. This  was  readily  promised,  on  condition 
that  I  should  make  a  ballad,  of  which  the  scene 
should  lie  at  Smailholm  Tower,  and  among  the 
crags  where  it  is  situated.1  The  ballad  was  ap- 
proved of,  as  well  as  its  companion  "  Glenfinlas  ;" 
and  I  remember  that  they  procured  me  many 
marks  of  attention  and  kindness  from  Duke  John 
of  Roxburghe,  who  gave  me  the  unlimited  use  of 
that  celebrated  collection  of  volumes  from  which 
the  Roxburghe  Club  derives  its  name. 

Thus  I  was  set  up  for  a  poet,  like  a  pedlar  who 
has  got  two  ballads  to  begin  the  world  upon,  and 
I  hastened  to  make  the  round  of  all  my  acquaint- 
ances, showing  my  precious  wares,  and  requesting 
criticism — a  boon  which  no  author  asks  in  vain. 
For  it  may  be  observed,  that,  in  the  fine  arts, 
those  who  are  in  no  respect  able  to  produce  any 
specimens  themselves,  hold  themselves  not  the 
less  entitled  to  decide  upon  the  works  of  others  ; 
and,  no  doubt,  with  justice  to  a  certain  degree ; 


i  This  is  of  little  consequence,  except  in  as  far  as  it  contra- 
dicts a  story  which  I  have  seen  in  print,  averring  that  Mr. 
rcott  of  Harden  was  himself  about  to  destroy  this  ancient 
huiUing  :  than  which  nothing  can  be  more  inaccurate. 


for  the  merits  of  composition  produced  for  the  ex- 
press purpose  of  pleasing  the  world  at  large,  can 
only  be  judged  of  by  the  opinion  of  individuals, 
and  perhaps,  as  in  the  case  of  Moliere's  old  woman, 
the  less  sophisticated  the  person  consulted  so  much 
the  better.2  But  I  was  ignorant,  at  the  time  I 
speak  of,  that  though  the  applause  of  the  many 
may  justly  appreciate  the  general  merits  of  a  piece, 
it  is  not  so  safe  to  submit  such  a  performance  to 
the  more  minute  criticism  of  the  same  individuals, 
when  each,  in  turn,  having  seated  himself  in  the 
censor's  chair,  has  placed  his  mind  in  a  critical  at- 
titude, and  delivers  his  opinion  sententiously  and 
ex  cathedra.  General  applause  was  in  almost 
every  case  freely  tendered,  but  the  abatements  in 
the  way  of  proposed  alterations  and  corrections, 
were  cruelly  puzzling.  It  was  in  vain  the  young 
author,  listening  with  becoming  modesty,  and  with 
a  natural  wish  to  please,  cut  and  carved,  tinkered 
and  coopered,  upon  his  unfortunate  ballads — it  wae 
in  vain  that  he  placed,  displaced,  replaced,  and 
misplaced ;  every  one  of  liis  advisers  was  displeased 
with  the  concessions  made  to  his  co-assessors,  and 
the  author  was  blamed  by  some  one,  in  almost 
every  case,  for  having  made  two  holes  in  attempt- 
ing to  patch  up  one. 

At  last,  after  thinking  seriously  on  the  subject, 
I  wrote  out  a  fair  copy  (of  Glenfinlas,  I  think),  and 
marked  all  the  various  corrections  which  had  been 
proposed.  On  the  whole,  I  found  that  I  had  been 
required  to  alter  every  verse,  almost  every  fine, 
and  the  only  stanzas  of  the  whole  ballad  which  es- 
caped criticism  were  two  which  could  neither  be 
termed  good  nor  bad,  speaking  of  them  as  poetry, 
but  were  of  a  mere  commonplace  character,  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  conducting  the  business  of  the 
tale.  This  unexpected  result,  after  about  a  fort- 
night's anxiety,  led  me  to  adopt  a  rule  from  which 
I  have  seldom  departed  during  more  than  thirty 
years  of  literary  life.  When  a  friend,  whose  judg 
nient  I  respect,  has  decided,  and  upon  good  ad- 
visement told  me,  that  a  manuscript  was  worth 
nothing,  or  at  least  possessed  no  redeeming  quali 
ties  sufficient  to  atone  for  its  defects,  I  have  gen- 
erally cast  it  aside  ;  but  I  am  little  in  the  custom 
of  paying  attention  to  minute  criticisms,  or  of 
offering  such  to  any  friend  who  may  do  me  the 
honor  to  consult  me.  I  am  convinced,  that,  in 
general,  in  removing  even  errors  of  a  trivial  or 
venial  kind,  the  character  of  originality  is  lost, 
which,  upon  the  whole,  may  be  that  winch  is  most 
valuable  hi  the  production. 

About  the  time  that  I  shook  hands  with  criti- 


2  See  the  account  of  a  conversation  between  Sir  Waltei 
Scott  and  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  in  "  Cunningham's  Lives  o 
British  Painters,"  &c.  vol.  vi.  p.  236. — Ed 


ESSAY  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


56$ 


cism,  and  reduced  my  ballads  back  to  the  original 
form,  stripping  them  without  remorse  of  those 
"  lendings"  which  I  had  adopted  at  the  suggestion 
of  others,  an  opportunity  unexpectedly  offered  of 
introducing  to  the  world  what  had  hitherto  been 
confined  to  a  circle  of  friends.  Lewis  had  an- 
nounced a  collection,  first  intended  to  bear  the 
title  of  "  Tales  of  Terror,"  and  afterwards  pub- 
shed  under  that  of  "  Tales  of  Wonder."  As  this 
was  to  be  a  collection  of  tales  turning  on  the  pre- 
ternatural, there  were  risks  in  the  plan  of  which 
the  ingenious  editor  was  not  aware.  The  super- 
natural, though  appealing  to  certain  powerful  emo- 
tions very  widely  and  deeply  sown  amongst  the 
human  race,  is,  nevertheless,  a  spring  which  is  pe- 
culiarly apt  to  lose  its  elasticity  by  being  too  much 
pressed  on,  and  a  collection  of  ghost  stories  is  not 
more  likely  to  be  terrible,  than  a  collection  of  jests 
to  be  merry  or  entertaining.  But  although  the 
very  title  of  the  proposed  work  carried  in  it  an 
obstruction  to  its  effect,  this  was  far  from  being 
suspected  at  the  time,  for  the  popularity  of  the 
editor,  and  of  his  compositions,  seemed  a  warrant 
for  his  success.  The  distinguished  favor  with 
which  the  "  Castle  Spectre"  was  received  upon  the 
stage,  seemed  an  additional  pledge  for  the  safety 
of  his  new  attempt.  I  readily  agreed  to  con- 
tribute the  ballads  of  "  Glenfinlas"  and  of  ■  The 
Eve  of  Saint  John,"  with  one  or  two  others  of  less 
merit ;  and  my  friend  Dr.  Leyden  became  also  a 
contributor.  Mr.  Southey,  a  tower  of  strength, 
added  "  The  Old  Woman  of  Berkeley,"  *  Lord 
William,"  and  several  other  interesting  ballads  of 
the  same  class,  to  the  proposed  collection. 

In  the  mean  time,  my  friend  Lewis  found  it  no 
easy  matter  to  discipline  his  northern  recruits. 
He  was  a  martinet,  if  I  may  so  term  him,  in  the 
accuracy  of  rhymes  and  of  numbers  ;  I  may  add, 
he  had  a  right  to  be  so,  for  few  persons  have  ex- 
hibited more  mastery  of  rhyme,  or  greater  com- 
mand over  the  melody  of  verse.  He  was,  there- 
fore, rigid  in  exacting  similar  accuracy  from  others, 
and  as  I  was  quite  unaccustomed  to  the  me- 
chanical part  of  poetry,  and  used  rhymes  which 
were  merely  permissible,  as  readily  as  those  which 
were  legitimate,  contests  often  arose  amongst  us, 
which  were  exasperated  by  the  pertinacity  of  my 
Mentor,  who,  as  all  who  knew  him  can  testify, 
was  no  granter  of  propositions.  As  an  instance  of 
the  obstinacy  with  which  I  had  so  lately  adopted 
a  tone  of  defiance  to  criticism,  the  reader  will  find 
2n  the  Appendix1  a  few  specimens  of  the  lectures 
which  I  underwent  from  my  friend  Lewis,  and 
which  did  not  at  the  time  produce  any  effect  on 
my  inflexibility,  though  I  did  not  forget  them  at  a 
future  period. 


72 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 


The  proposed  publication  of  the  "  Tales  of 
Wonder"  was,  from  one  reason  or  another,  post- 
poned till  the  year  1801,  a  circumstance  by  which, 
of  itself,  the  success  of  the  work  was  considerably 
impeded  ;  for  protracted  expectation  always  leads 
to  disappointment.  But  besides,  there  were  cir- 
cumstances of  various  kinds  which  contributec 
to  its  depreciation,  some  of  which  were  imputa- 
ble to  the  editor,  or  author,  and  some  to  the 
bookseller. 

The  former  remained  insensible  of  the  passion 
for  ballads  and  ballad-mongers  having  been  for 
some  time  on  the  wane,  and  that  with  such  altera- 
tion in  the  public  taste,  the  chance  of  success  in 
that  line  was  diminished.  What  had  been  at  first 
received  as  simple  and  natural,  was  now  sneered 
at  as  puerile  and  extravagant.  Another  objec- 
tion was,  that  my  friend  Lewis  had  a  high  but  mis- 
taken opinion  of  his  own  powers  of  humor.  The 
truth  was,  that  though  he  could  throw  some  gayety 
into  his  fighter  pieces,  after  the  manner  of  the 
French  writers,  his  attempts  at  what  is  called 
pleasantry  in  English  wholly  wanted  the  quality 
of  humor,  and  were  generally  failures.  But  this 
he  would  not  allow  ;  and  the  "  Tales  of  Wonder'' 
were  filled,  in  a  sense,  with  attempts  at  comedy, 
which  might  be  generally  accounted  abortive. 

Another  objection,  which  might  have  been 
more  easily  foreseen,  subjected  the  editor  to  a 
change  of  which  Mat  Lewis  was  entirely  ineapa 
ble, — that  of  collusion  with  his  publisher  in  an 
undue  attack  on  the  pockets  of  the  public.  The 
"  Tales  of  Wonder"  formed  a  work  in  royal 
octavo,  and  were,  by  large  printing,  driven  out,  aa 
it  is  technically  termed,  to  two  volumes,  which 
were  sold  at  a  high  price.  Purchasers  murmured 
at  finding  that  this  size  had  been  attained  by  the 
insertion  of  some  of  the  best  known  pieces  of  the 
English  language,  such  as  Dryden's  "  Theodore 
and  Honoria,"  Parnell's  "  Hermit,"  Lisle's  "  Por- 
senna  King  of  Russia,"  and  many  other  popular 
poems  of  old  date,  and  generally  known,  which 
ought  not  in  conscience  to  have  made  part  of  a 
set  of  tales,  "  written  and  collected"  by  a  modern 
author.  His  bookseller  was  also  accused  in  the 
public  prints,  whether  truly  or  not  I  am  uncer- 
tain, of  having  attempted  to  secure  to  himself 
the  entire  profits  of  the  large  sale  which  he  ex- 
pected, by  refusing  to  his  brethren  the  alio  *  an- 
ces  usually,  if  not  in  all  cases,  made  to  the  retail 
trade. 

Lewis,  one  of  the  most  liberal  as  well  as  benev- 
olent of  mankind,  had  not  the  least  participation 
in  these  proceedings  of  his  bibliopohst ;  but  his 
work  sunk  under  the  obloquy  which  was  heaped 
on  it  by  the  offended  parties.  The  book  was 
termed  "  Tales  of  Plunder,"  was  censured  by 
reviewers,  and  attacked  in  newspapers  and  maga- 


570 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


zines.  A  very  clever  parody  was  made  on  the 
style  and  the  person  of  the  author,  and  the 
world  laughed  as  willingly  as  if  it  had  never  ap- 
plauded. 

Thus,  owing  to  the  failure  of  the  vehicle  I  had 
chosen,  my  efforts  to  present  myself  before  the 
public  as  an  original  writer  proved  as  vain  as 
those  by  which  I  had  previously  endeavored  to 
distinguish  myself  as  a  translator.  Like  Lord 
Home,  however,  at  the  battle  of  Flodden,  I  did  so 
for  well,  that  I  was  able  to  stand  and  save  my- 
self; and  amidst  the  general  depreciation  of  the 
"  Tales  of  Wonder,"  my  small  share  of  the  ob- 
noxious publication  was  dismissed  without  much 
censure,  and  in  some  cases  obtained  praise  from 
the  critics. 

The  consequence  of  my  escape  made  me  nat- 
urally more  daring,  and  I  attempted,  in  my  own 
name,  a  collection  of  ballads  of  various  kinds,  both 
ancient  and  modern,  to  be  connected  by  the  com- 
mon tie  of  relation  to  the  Border  districts  in 
which  I  had  gathered  the  materials.  The  origi- 
nal preface  explains  my  purpose,  and  the  assist- 
ance of  various  kinds  which  I  met  with.  The 
edition  was  curious,  as  being  the  first  work  printed 
by  my  friend  and  school-fellow,  Mr.  James  Bal- 
lantyne,  who,  at  that  period,  was  editor  of  a 
provincial  newspaper,  called  "The   Kelso  Mail" 


When  the  book  came  out,  in  1802,  the  imprint, 
Kelso,  was  read  with  wonder  by  amateurs  oi 
typography,  who  had  never  heard  of  such  a  place, 
and  were  astonished  at  the  example  of  hand- 
some printing  which  so  obscure  a  town  produced. 

As  for  the  editorial  part  of  the  task,  my  at- 
tempt to  imitate  the  plan  and  style  of  Bishop 
Percy,  observing  only  more  strict  fidelity  concern- 
ing my  originals,  was  favorably  received  by  the 
public,  and  there  was  a  demand  within  a  short 
space  for  a  second  edition,  to  which  I  proposed  to 
add  a  third  volume.  Messrs.  Cadell  and  Davie*, 
the  first  publishers  of  the  work,  declined  the  pub 
lication  of  this  second  edition,  which  was  under- 
taken, at  a  very  liberal  price,  by  the  well-known 
firm  of  Messrs.  Longman  and  Rees  of  Paternoster 
Row.  My  progress  in  the  literary  career,  in  which 
I  might  now  be  considered  as  seriously  engaged, 
the  reader  will  find  briefly  traced  in  anlntroduc 
tion  prefixed  to  the  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel." 

In  the  mean  time,  the  Editor  has  accomplished 
his  proposed  task  of  acquainting  the  reader  with 
some  particulars  respecting  the  modern  imitations 
of  the  Ancient  Ballad,  and  the  circumstances  which 
gradually,  and  almost  insensibly,  engaged  himself 
in  that  species  of  literary  employ m3nt. 

W.  S. 

Abbotsfoed,  April,  18S0. 


r 


APPENDIX  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


57! 


APPENDIX, 


Note  A. 

The  production  or  Modern  as  Ancient  Ballads. — 

P.  558. 
This  failure  applies  to  the  repairs  and  rifacimentos  of  old  bal- 
lads, as  well  as  to  complete  imitations.  In  the  beautiful  and 
simple  ballad  of  Gil  Morris,  some  affected  person  has  stuck  in 
;ne  or  two  factitious  verses,  which,  like  vulgar  persons  in  a 
dra  *tng-room,  betray  themselves  by  their  over  finery.  Thus, 
after  the  simple  and  affecting  verse  which  prepares  the  readers 
for  the  coming  tragedy, 

"  Gil  Morrice  sat  in  good  green  wood, 
He  whistled  and  he  sang  ; 
'  O,  what  mean  a'  yon  folk  coming, 
My  mother  tarries  lang  V  " 

iomesueh  "  vicious  intromitter"  as  we  have  described  (to  use 
a  barbarous  phrase  for  a  barbarous  proceeding),  has  inserted 
the  following  quintessence  of  affectation  : — 

"  His  locks  were  like  the  threads  of  gold 
Drawn  from  Minerva's  loom  ; 
His  lips  like  roses  drapping  dew, 
His  breath  was  a'  perfume. 

"  His  brow  was  like  the  mountain  snow, 
Gilt  by  the  morning  beam  ; 
His  cheeks  like  living  roses  blow, 
His  een  like  azure  stream. 

•'  The  boy  was  clad  in  robes  of  green, 
Sweet  as  the  infant  spring  ; 
And,  like  the  mavis  on  the  bush, 
~.  jirt  the  valleys  ring." 


Note  B. 

M.  G.  Lewis.— 564. 

In  justice  to  a  departed  friend,  1  have  subjoined  his  own 
defence  against  an  accusation  so  remorselessly  persisted  in. 
The  following  is  an  extract  of  a  letter  to  his  father  : — 

"  My  dear  Father,  Feb.  23,  1798. 

"  Though  certain  that  the  clamor  raised  against  '  The  Monk' 
cannot  have  given  you  the  smallest  doubt  of  the  rectitude  of 
my  intentions,  or  the  purity  of  my  principles,  yet  I  am  con- 
scious that  it  must  have  grieved  you  to  find  any  doubts  on  the 
subject  existing  in  the  minds  of  other  people.  To  express  my 
sorrow  for  having  given  you  pain  is  my  motive  for  now  ad- 
dressing you,  and  also  to  assure  you,  that  you  shall  not  feel 
that  pain  a  second  time  on  my  account.  Having  made  you 
feel  it  at  all,  would  be  a  sufficient  reason,  had  I  no  others,  to 
make  me  regret  having  published  the  first  edition  of  '  The 
AJonk  ;'  but  1  have  others,  weaker,  indeed,  than  the  one  men- 
Honed,  but  still  sufficiently  strong.  I  perceive  that  I  have  put 
loo  much  confidence  in  the  accuracy  of  my  own  judgment ; 
Nhat  convinced  of  my  object  being  uaexcej-ionable,  I  did  not 


sufficiently  examine  whether  the  means  by  which  I  attainei 
that  object  were  equally  so  ;  and  that,  upon  maty  accounts,  J 
have  to  accuse  myself  of  high  imprudence.  Let  me,  however, 
observe,  that  twenty  is  not  the  age  at  which  prudence  is  most 
to  be  expected.  Inexperience  prevented  my  distinguishing 
what  would  give  offence  ;  but  as  soon  as  I  found  that  offence 
was  given,  I.  made  the  only  reparation  in  my  power— I  care- 
fully revised  the  work,  and  expunged  every  syllable  on  which 
could  be  grounded  the  slightest  construction  of  immorality. 
This,  indeed,  was  no  difficult  task  ;  for  the  objections  rested 
entirely  on  expressions  too  strong,  and  words  carelessly  chosen, 
not  on  the  sentiments,  characters,  or  general  tendency  of  the 
work  ; — that  the  latter  is  undeserving  densure,  Addison  will 
vouch  for  me.  The  moral  and  outline  of  my  story  are  taket 
from  an  allegory  inserted  by  him  in  the  '  Guardian,'  and  which 
he  commends  highly  for  ability  of  invention,  and  'propriety 
of  object.'  Unluckily,  in  working  it  up,  I  thought  that  the 
stronger  my  colors,  the  more  effect  would  my  picture  produce  ; 
and  it  never  struck  me,  that  the  exhibition  of  vice  in  her  tem- 
porary triumph,  might  possibly  do  as  much  harm,  as  her  final 
exposure  and  punishment  could  do  good.  To  do  much  good, 
indeed,  was  more  than  I  expected  of  my  book  ;  having  alway? 
believed  that  our  conduct  depends  on  our  own  hearts  and 
characters,  not  on  the  books  we  read,  or  the  sentiments  we 
hear.  But  though  I  did  not  hope  much  benefit  to  arise  from 
the  peruial  of  a  trifling  romance,  written  by  a  youth  of  twen- 
ty, I  was  in  my  own  mind  convinced,  that  no  harm  could  be 
produced  by  a  work  whose  subject  was  furnished  by  one  of 
our  best  moralists,  and  in  the  composition  of  which,  I  did  nol 
introduce  a  single  incident,  or  a  single  character,  without 
meaning  to  illustrate  some  maxim  universally  allowed.  It  was 
then  with  infinite  surprise,  that  I  heard  the  outcry  raised 
against  the"  ******** 
[I  regret  that  the  letter,  though  once  perfect,  now  only  ex- 
ists in  my  possession  as  a  fragment.] 


Note  0. 

German  Ballads. — P.  567. 

Among  the  popular  Ballads,  or  Volkslieder,  of  the  celebra- 
ted Herder,  is  (take  one  instance  out  of  many)  a  version  of  the 
old  Scottish  song  of  "  Sir  Patrick  Spence,"  in  which,  but  foi 
difference  of  oithog:aphy,  the  two  languages  can  be  scarcely 
distinguished  from  each  other      For  example — 

"  The  King  sits  in  Duzfermlingtown, 

Drinking  the  blood-red  wine  ; 

*  Where  will  I  get  a  good  skipper 

To  sail  this  ship  of  mine  V  " 

"  Der  Koenig  sitzt  in  Dnmfermling  Schloss : 
Er  trinkt  blutrothen  Wein  ; 
1  O  wo  triff*  ich  einen  Segler  gut 
Dies  Schiffzu  seglen  mein  V  " 

In  like  manner,  the  opening  stanza  of  "  Child  Waters,"  ano 
many  other  Scottish  ballads,  fall  as  naturally  and  easily  into 


572 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


the  German  habits  and  forms  of  speech,  as  if  they  had  origi- 
nally been  composed  in  that  language  : 

"  About  Yule,  when  the  wind  was  cule, 
And  the  round  tables  began, 
O  there  is  come  to  our  king's  court 
Mony  weel  favor'd  man." 

"  In  Christmessfest,  in  winter  kalt, 
Als  Tafel  rund  began, 
Da  kam  zu  Konig's  Hoffand  Hall 
Manch  wackrer  Ritter  an." 

ll,  requires  only  a  smattering  of  both  languages,  to  see  at 
.vhat  cheap  expense,  even  of  vocables  and  rhymes,  the  popu- 
lar poetry  of  the  one  may  be  transferred  to  the  other.  Hardly 
any  thing  is  more  flattering  to  a  Scottish  student  of  German  ; 
it  resembles  the  unexpected  discovery  of  an  old  friend  in  a 
foreign  land. 


Note  D. 

EXTRACTS    FROM   THE    CORRESPONDENCE    OF   M.    G.    LEWIS. 

—P.  569. 

My  attention  was  called  to  this  subject,  which  is  now  of  an 
old  date,  by  reading  the  following  passage  in  Medwin's  "  Ac- 
count of  Some  Passages  in  Lord  Byron's  later  Years."  Lord 
Byron  is  supposed  to  speak.  "  When  Walter  Scott  began  to 
write  poetry,  which  was  not  at  a  very  early  age,  Monk  Lewis 
corrected  his  verse  :  he  understood  little  then  of  the  mechani- 
cal part  of  the  art.  The  Fire  King,  in  the  '  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border,'  was  almost  all  Lewis's.  One  of  the  ballads 
in  that  work,  and,  except  some  of  Leyden's,  perhaps  one  of 
the  best,  was  made  from  a  story  picked  up  in  a  stage-coach  ; 
[  mean  that  of '  Will  Jones.' 

'  They  boil'd  Will  Jones  within  the  pot, 
And  not  much  fat  had  Will.' 

"  I  hope  Walter  Scott  did  not  write  the  review  on  '  Christa- 
bel ;'  for  he  certainly,  in  common  with  many  of  us,  is  indebted 
to  Coleridge.  But  for  him,  perhaps,  '  The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel'  would  never  have  been  thought  of.     The  line, 

•  Jesu  Maria  shield  thee  well  1' 
is  word  for  word  from  Coleridge." 

There  are  some  parts  of  this  passage  extremely  mistaken 
and  exaggerated,  as  generally  attends  any  attempt  to  record 
what  passes  in  casual  conversation,  which  resembles,  in  diffi- 
culty, the  experiments  of  the  old  chemists  for  fixing  quick- 
silver. 

The  following  is  a  specimen  of  my  poor  friend  Lewis's  criti- 
cism on  my  juvenile  attempts  at  ballad  poetry  ;  severe  enough, 
perhaps,  but  for  which  I  was  much  indebted  to  him,  as  forcing 
jpon  the  notice  of  a  young  and  careless  author  hints  which 
•he  said  author's  vanity  made  him  unwilling  to  attend  to,  but 
which  were  absolutely  necessary  to  any  hope  of  his  ultimate 
success. 

Supposed  1799. 

"  Thank  you  for  your  revised  '  Glenfinlas.'  1  grumble,  but 
say  no  more  on  this  subject,  although  I  hope  you  will  not  be 
bo  inflexible  on  that  of  your  other  Ballads  ;  for  I  do  not  despair 
of  convincing  you  in  time,  that  a  bad  rhyme  is,  in  fact,  no 
rhyme  at  all.  You  desired  me  to  point  out  my  objections, 
leaving  you  at  liberty  to  make  use  of  them  or  not ;  and  so 
have  at  '  Frederic  and  Alice.'  Stanza  1st,  '  hies1  and  '  joys'1 
are  not  rhymes;  the  1st  stanza  ends  with  'joys ;'  the  2d  be- 
gins with  'joying.'  In  the  4th  there  is  too  sudden  a  change 
of  tenses,  'flows'  and  '  rose.'  6th,  7th,  and  8th,  I  like  much. 
9th,  Does  rot  '  ring  his  ears'  sound  ludicrous  in  yours  1    The 


first  idea  that  presents  itself  is,  that  his  ears  were  pulled  ;  but 
even  the  ringing  oftheea.rs  does  not  please.  12th,  'Shower' 
and  'roar,'  not  rhymes.  *  Soil'  and  'aisle,'  in  the  13th,  are 
not  much  better;  but  'head'  and  '  descried'  are  execrable. 
In  the  14th,  *  bar'  and  '  stair'  are  ditto  ;  and  'groping'  is  a 
nasty  word.  Vide  Johnson,  '  He  gropes  his  breeches  with  a 
monarch's  air.'  In  the  15th,  you  change  your  metre,  which 
has  always  an  unpleasant  effect ;  and  '  safe'  and  '  receive' 
rhyme  just  about  as  well  as  Scott  and  Lewis  would.  16th, 
'within'  and  'strain'  are  not  rhymes.  17th,  'hear'  and 
'air.'  not  rhymes.  18th,  Two  metres  are  mixed  ;  the  same 
objection  to  the  third  line  of  the  19th.  Observe  that,  in  the 
Ballad.  I  do  not  always  object  to  a  variation  of  metre ;  but 
then  it  ought  to  increase  the  melody,  whereas,  in  my  opinion, 
in  these  instances,  it  is  diminished. 

"  The  Chase.— 12th,  The  2d  line  reads  very  harshly  ;  and 
1  choir'  and  '  lore'  are  not  rhymes.  13th,  '  Rides'  and  '  ii.de' 
are  not  rhymes.  30th,  'Pour'  and  '  obscure,'  not  rhymes. 
40th,  '  Spreads'  and  «  invades'  are  not  rhymes.  46th,  '  Reads' 
and  '  ascend'  are  not  rhymes. 

"  William  and  Helen. — In  order  that  I  may  bring  it 
nearer  the  original  title,  pray  introduce,  in  the  first  stanza,  the 
name  of  Ellenora,  instead  of  Ellen.  '  Crusade'  and  '  sped,' 
not  rhymes  in  the  2d.  3d,  '  Made'  and  '  shed'  are  not  rhymes  ; 
and  if  they  were,  come  too  close  to  the  rhymes  in  the  2d.  In 
the  4th,  'Joy'  and  'victory'  are  not  rhymes.  7th,  The  first 
line  wants  a  verb,  otherwise  is  not  intelligible.  13th,  '  Grace' 
and  'bliss'  are  not  rhymes.  14th,  'Bale'  and  ' hell'  are  not 
rhymes.  18th,  '  Vain'  and  'fruitless'  is  tautology  ;  and  as 
a  verb  is  wanted,  the  line  will  run  better  thus,  '  And  vain  is 
every  prayer.'  19th,  Is  not  4  to  her'  absolutely  necessary  in 
the  4th  line  ?  20th,  '  Grace'  and  '  bliss,'  not  rhymes.  21st, 
'  Bale'  and  'hell,'  not  rhymes.  22d,  I  do  not  like  the  word 
'spent.'  23d,  '  O'er'  and  'star'  are  vile  rhymes.  26th,  A 
verb  is  wanted  in  the  4th  line  ;  better  thus,  '  Then  whispers 
thus  a  voice.'  28th,  Is  not  '  Is't  thou,  my  love  V  better  than 
'  My  love  !  my  love!'  31st,  If  '  wight'  means,  as  I  conjec- 
ture, 'enchanted,'  does  not  this  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag? 
Ought  not  the  spur  to  be  sharp  rather  than  bright  ?  In  the 
4th  line,  '  Stay'  and  '  day'  jingle  together :  would  it  not  be 
better,  '  I  must  be  gone  e'er  day  V  32d,  '  Steed'  and  '  bed' 
are  not  rhymes.  34th,  '  Bride'  and  'bed,'  not  rhymes.  35th, 
'  Seat'  and  '  await,'  not  rhymes.  39th,  '  Keep  hold'  and  «  git 
fast'  seem  to  my  ear  vulgar  and  prosaic.  40th,  The  4th  line 
is  defective  in  point  of  English,  and,  indeed,  I  do  not  quite 
understand  the  meaning.  43d,  'Arose'  and  '  mirsues'  are 
not  rhymes.  45th,  I  am  not  pleased  wiui  me  epithet  '  savr 
age  ;'  and  the  latter  partof  the  stanza  is,  to  me,  unintelligible. 
49th,  Is  it  not  closer  to  the  original  in  line  3d  to  say,  '  Swift 
ride  the  dead  f»  50th,  Does  the  rain  '  whistle  V  55th,  line  3d, 
Does  it  express,  '  Is  Helen  afraid  of  them  V  59th,  '  Door' 
and  'flower'  do  not  rhyme  together.  60th,  'Scared'  and 
'heard' are  not  rhymes.  63d,  'Bone'  and  'skeleton,'  not 
rhymes.  64th,  The  last  line  sounds  ludicrous  ;  one  fancies  the 
heroine  coming  down  with  a  plump,  and  sprawling  upon  hei 
bottom.  I  have  now  finished  my  severe  examination,  and 
pointed  out  every  objection  which  I  think  can  be  suggested." 

6th  January,  1799. 

"  Wellwyn,— 99. 
"  Dear  Scott, 

"  Your  last  Ballad  reached  me  just  as  I  was  stepping  into 
my  chaise  to  go  to  Brocket  Hall  (Lord  Melbourne's),  so  I  took 
it  with  me,  and  exhibited  both  that  and  Glenfinlas  with 
great  success.  I  must  not,  however,  conceal  from  yon,  that 
nobody  understood  the  Lady  Flora  of  Glengyle  to  be  a  dis- 
guised demon  till  the  catastrophe  arrived  ;  and  that  the  opin- 
ion was  universal,  that  some  previous  stanzas  ought  to  be  in- 
troduced descriptive  of  the  nature  and  office  of  the  wayward 
Ladies  ef  the  Wood.     William  Lambe,1  too  (who  writes  good 

1  Now  Lord  Melbourne. — Ed. 


APPENDIX  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


573 


verses  himself,  and,  therefore,  may  be  allowed  to  judge  those 
of  other  people),  was  decidedly  for  the  omission  of  the  last 
stanza  but  one.  These  were  the  only  objections  started.  I 
thought  it  as  well  that  you  should  know  them,  whether  you 
attend  to  them  or  not.  With  regard  to  St.  Jo/m's  Eve,  I  like 
it  much,  and,  instead  of  finding  fault  with  its  broken  metre,  I 
approve  of  it  highly.  I  think,  in  this  last  ballad,  you  have 
hit  off  the  ancient  manner  better  than  in  your  former  ones. 
Glenfinlas,  for  example,  is  more  like  a  polished  tale,  than  an 
old  Ballad.  But  why,  in  verse  6th,  is  the  Baron's  helmet 
hacked  and  hewed,  if  (as  we  are  given  to  understand)  he  had 
assassinated  his  enemy  ?  Ought  not  tore  to  be  torn  ?  Tore 
seems  to  me  not  English.  In  verse  16th,  the  last  line  is  word 
for  word  from  OU  Morrice.  21st,  '  Floor1  and  '  bower''  are 
not  rhymes,"  &c.  &c.  &c. 

The  gentleman  noticed  in  the  following  letter,  as  partaker  in 
the  author's  heresies  respecting  rhyme,  had  the  less  occasion 
to  justify  such  license,  as  his  own  have  been  singularly  accu- 
rate. Mr.  Smythe  is  now  Professor  of  Modern  History  at  Cam- 
bridge. 

"  London,  January  24,  1799. 
"  I  must  not  omit  telling  you,  for  your  own  comfort,  and 
that  of  all  such  persons  as  are  wicked  enough  to  make  bad 
rhymes,  that  Mr.  Smythe  (a  very  clever  man  at  Cambridge) 
took  great  pains  the  other  day  to  convince  me,  not  merely  that 
a  bad  rhyme  might  pass,  but  that  occasionally  a  bad  rhyme 
was  better  than  a  good  one  !!!!!!  I  need  not  tell  you  that 
he  left  me  as  great  an  infidel  on  this  subject  as  he  found  me. 
"Ever  yours, 

"M.  G.  Lewis." 

The  next  letter  respects  the  Ballad  called  the  "  Fire  King," 
stated  by  Captain  Medwin  to  be  almost  all  Lewis's.  This  is 
an  entire  misconception.  Lewis,  who  was  very  fond  of  his 
idea  of  four  elementary  kings,  had  prevailed  on  me  to  supply 
a  Fire  King.  After  being  repeatedly  urged  to  the  task,  I  sat 
down  one  day  after  dinner,  and  wrote  the  "  Fire  King,"  as  it 
was  published  in  the  "  Tales  of  Wonder."  The  next  extract 
gives  an  account  of  the  manner  in  which  Lewis  received  it, 
which  was  not  very  favorable  ;  but  instead  of  writing  the  greater 
part,  he  did  not  write  a  single  word  of  it.  Dr.  Leyden,  now 
no  more,  and  another  gentleman  who  still  survives,  were  sit- 
ting at  my  side  while  I  wrote  it ;  nor  did  my  occupation  pre- 
vent the  circulation  of  the  bottle. 

Leyden  wrote  a  Ballad  for  the  Cloud  King,  which  is  men- 
tioned in  the  ensuing  extract.     But  it  did  not  answer  Mat's 


ideas,  either  in  the  color  of  the  wings,  or  some  point  of  costnro* 
equally  important ;  so  Lewis,  who  was  otherwise  fond  oi  the 
Ballad,  converted  it  into  the  Elfin  King,  and  wrote  a  C/Cud 
King  himself,  to  finish  the  hierarchy  in  the  way  desired. 

There  is  a  leading  mistake  in  the  passage  from  Captain  MeJ- 
win.  "  The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Border"  is  spoken  of,  but  what 
is  meant  is  the  "  Tales  of  Wonder."  The  former  work  con 
tains  none  of  the  Ballads  mentioned  by  Mr.  Medwin — the  lat- 
ter has  them  all.  Indeed,  the  dynasty  of  Elemental  Kings 
were  written  entirely  for  Mr.  Lewis's  publication. 

My  intimate  friend,  William  Clerk,  Esq.,  was  the  person  who 
heard  the  legend  of  Bill  Jones  told  in  a  mail-coach  by  a  sea 
captain,  who  imagined  himself  to  have  seen  the  ghost  to  which 
it  relates.  The  tale  was  versified  by  Lewis  himself.  I  forget 
where  it  was  published,  but  certainly  in  no  miscellany  or  publi- 
cation of  mine. 

I  have  only  to  add,  in  allusion  to  the  passage  I  have  quoted', 
that  I  never  wrote  a  word  parodying  either  Mr.  Coleridge  or 
any  one  else,  which,  in  that  distinguished  instance,  it  would 
have  been  most  ungracious  in  me  to  have  done  ;  for  which  the 
reader  will  see  reasons  in  the  Introduction  to  "  The  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel." 

"  London,  3d  February,  1800. 
"Dear  Scott, 

"  I  return  you  many  thanks  for  your  Ballad,  and  the  Ex- 
tract, and  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to  your  friend  for  the 
'  Cloud  King.'  I  must,  however,  make  one  criticism  upon  the 
Stanzas  which  you  sent  me.  The  Spirit,  being  a  wicked  one, 
must  not  have  such  delicate  wings  as  pale  blue  ones.  He  has 
nothing  to  do  with  Heaven  except  to  deface  it  with  storms  ; 
and  therefore,  in  '  The  Monk,'  I  have  fitted  him  with  a  pair  of 
sable  pinions,  to  which  I  must  request  your  friend  to  adapt  his 
Stanza.  With  the  others  I  am  much  pleased,  as  I  am  with 
your  Fire  King  ;  but  every  body  makes  the  same  objection  to 
it,  and  expresses  a  wish  that  you  had  conformed  your  Spirit  to 
the  description  given  of  him  in  '  The  Monk,'  where  his  office 
is  to  play  the  Will  o'  the  Wisp,  and  lead  travellers  into  bogs, 
&c.  It  is  also  objected  to,  his  being  removed  from  his  native 
land,  Denmark,  to  Palestine ;  and  that  the  office  assigned  to 
him  in  your  Ballad  has  nothing  peculiar  to  the  '  Fire  King,' 
but  would  have  suited  Arimanes,  Beelzebub,  or  any  othet 
evil  spirit,  as  well.  However,  the  Ballad  itself  I  think  very 
pretty.  I  suppose  you  have  heard  from  Bell  respecting  the 
copies  of  the  Ballads.  I  was  too  much  distressed  ai  the  tima 
to  write  myself,"  &c.  &c. 

"M.  G.  L" 


574 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CONTRIBUTIONS 


TO 


MINSTRELSY  OF  THE  SCOTTISH  BORDER 


JmitatiouB  of  %  indent  Ballafr. 


®|joma0  >%  lltytmur. 


IN  THREE  PARTS. 


PART  FIRST. ANCIENT. 


Few  personages  are  so  renowned  in  tradition  as 
Fhomas  of  Ercildoune,  known  by  the  appellation  of 
The  Rhymer.  Uniting,  or  supposing  to  unite,  in 
his  person,  the  powers  of  poetical  composition,  and 
of  vaticination,  his  memory,  even  after  the  lapse  of 
five  hundred  years,  is  regarded  with  veneration  by 
his  countrymen.  To  give  any  thing  like  a  certain 
history  of  this  remarkable  man  would  be  indeed 
difficult ;  but  the  curious  may  derive  some  satis- 
faction from  the  particulars  here  brought  together. 

It  is  agreed  on  a*ll  hands,  that  the  residence,  and 
probably  the  birthplace,  of  this  ancient  bard,  was 
Ercildoune,  a  village  situated  upon  the  Leader, 
two  miles  above  its  junction  with  the  Tweed. 
The  ruins  of  an  ancient  tower  are  still  pointed  out 
as  the  Rhymer's  castle.  The  uniform  tradition 
bears,  that  his  surname  was  Lermont,  or  Learmont ; 
and  that  the  appellation  of  The  Rhymer  was  con- 
ferred on  him  iii  consequence  of  his  poetical  com- 
positions. There  remains,  nevertheless,  some  doubt 
upon  the  subject.  In  a  charter,  which  is  subjoined 
at  length,1  the  son  of  our  poet  designed  himself 
u  Thomas  of  Ercildoun,  son  and  heir  of  Thomas 
Rymour  of  Ercildoun,"  which  seems  to  imply  that 
the  father  did  not  bear  the  hereditary  name  of 
Learmont ;  or,  at  least,  was  better  known  and  dis- 
tinguished by  the  epithet,  which  he  had  acquired 
by  lus  personal  accomplishments.  I  must,  how- 
ever, remark,  that,  down  to  a  very  late  period,  the 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

2  The  lines  alluded  to  are  these  . — 


practice  of  distinguishing  the  parties,  even  in  for 
mal  writings,  by  the  epithets  which  had  been  be- 
stowed on  them  from  personal  circumstances,  in- 
stead of  the  proper  surnames  of  their  families,  was 
common,  and  indeed  necessary,  among  the  Border 
clans.  So  early  as  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury, when  surnames  were  hardly  introduced  in 
Scotland,  this  custom  must  have  been  universal. 
There  is,  therefore,  nothing  inconsistent  in  suppos- 
ing our  poet's  name  to  have  been  actually  Lear- 
mont, although,  in  this  charter,  he  is  distinguished 
by  the  popular  appellation  of  The  Rhymer. 

We  are  better  able  to  ascertain  the  period  at 
which  Thomas  of  Ercildoune  lived,  being  the  latter 
end  of  the  thirteenth  century.  I  am  inclined  to 
place  his  death  a  little  farther  back  than  Mr.  Pink- 
erton,  who  supposes  that  he  was  alive  in  1300 
(List  of  Scottish  Poets),  which  is  hardly,  I  think, 
consistent  with  the  charter  already  quoted,  by 
which  his  son,  in  1299,  for  himself  and  his  heirs, 
conveys  to  the  convent  of  the  Trinity  of  Soltra, 
the  tenement  which  he  possessed  by  inheritance 
(hereditarie)  in  Ercildoune,  with  all  claim  which  he 
or  his  predecessors  could  pretend  thereto.  From 
tliis  we  may  infer,  that  the  Rhymer  was  now  dead, 
since  we  rind  the  son  disposing  of  the  family  prop- 
erty. Still,  however,  the  argument  of  the  learned 
historian  will  remain  unimpeached  as  to  the  time 
of  the  poet's  birth.  For  if,  as  we  learn  from  Bar- 
bour, his  prophecies  were  held  in  reputation*  as 
early  as  1306,  when  Bruce  slew  the  Red  Cummin, 
the  sanctity,  and  (let  me  add  to  Mr.  Pinkerton's 
words)  the  uncertainty  of  antiquity,  must  have 
already  involved  his  character  and  writings.  In 
a  charter  of  Peter  de  Haga  de  Bemersyde,  which 
unfortunately  wants  a  date,  the  Rhymer,  a  near 

"  I  hope  that  Thomas's  prophecie, 
Of  Erceldoun,  shall  truly  be. 
In  him,"  &c. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


•7  5 


neighbor,  afid,  if  we  may  trust  tradition,  a  friend 
of  the  family,  appears  as  a  witness. — Chartulary 
of  Melrose. 

It  cannot  be  doubted,  that  Thomas  of  Ercil- 
doune  was  a  remarkable  and  important  person  in 
his  own  time,  since,  very  shortly  after  his  death, 
we  find  him  celebrated  as  a  prophet  and  as  a  poet. 
Whether  he  himself  made  any  pretensions  to  the 
first  of  these  characters,  or  whether  it  was  gra- 
tuitously conferred  upon  him  by  the  credulity  of 
posterity,  it  seems  difficult  to  decide.  If  we  may 
believe  Mackenzie,  Learmont  only  versified  the 
prophecies  delivered  by  Eliza,  an  inspired  nun  of 
a  convent  at  Haddington.  But  of  this  there  seems 
not  to  be  the  most  distant  proof.  On  the  contra- 
ry, all  ancient  authors,  who  quote  the  Rhymer's 
prophecies,  uniformly  suppose  them  to  have  been 
emitted  by  himself.    Thus,  in  Winton  s  Chronicle — 

"Of  this  fycht  quilum  spak  Thomas 
Of  Ersyldoune,  that  sayd  in  derne, 
There  suld  meit  stalwartly,  starke  and  sterne. 
He  sayd  it  in  his  prophecy  ; 
But  how  he  wist  it  wasfcrly." 

Book  viii.  chap.  32. 

There  could  have  been  no  ferly  (marvel)  in 
Winton's  eyes  at  least,  how  Thomas  came  by  his 
knowledge  of  future  events,  had  he  ever  heard  of 
the  inspired  nun  of  Haddington,  which,  it  cannot 
be  doubted,  would  have  been  a  solution  of  the 
mystery,  much  to  the  taste  of  the  Prior  of  Loch- 
leven.1 

"Whatever  doubts,  however,  the  learned  might 
have,  as  to  the  source  of  the  Rhymer's  prophetic 
skill,  the  vulgar  had  no  hesitation  to  ascribe  the 
whole  to  the  intercourse  between  the  bard  and 
the  Queen  of  Faery.  The  popular  tale  bears,  that 
Thomas  was  carried  off,  at  an  early  age,  to  the 
Fairy  Land,  where  he  acquired  all  the  knowledge, 
which  made  him  afterwards  so  famous.  After 
seven  years'  residence,  he  was  permitted  to  return 
to  the  earth,  to  enlighten  and  astonish  his  country- 
man by  his  prophetic  powers ;  still,  however,  re- 
maining bound  to  return  to  his  royal  mistress, 
when  she  should  intimate  her  pleasure.2  Accord- 
ingly, while  Thomas  was  making  merry  with  his 

i  Henry  the  Minstrel,  who  introduces  Thomas  into  the  his- 
tory of  Wallace,  expresses  the  same  doubt  as  to  the  source  of 
lis  prophetic  knowledge: — 

"  Thomas  Rhymer  into  the  faile  was  than 
With  the  minister,  which  was  a  worthy  man. 
He  used  oft  to  that  religious  place  ; 
The  people  deemed  of  wit  he  meikle  can, 
And  so  he  told,  though  that  they  bless  or  ban, 
In  rule  of  war  whether  they  tint  or  wan : 


friends  in  the  Tower  of  Ercildoune,  a  person  cam« 
running  in,  and  told,  with  marks  of  fear  and  aston- 
ishment, that  a  hart  and  hind  had  left  the  neigh- 
boring forest,  and  were,  composedly  and  slowly, 
parading  the  street  of  the  village.3  The  prophet 
instantly  arose,  left  his  habitation,  and  followed 
the  wonderful  animals  to  the  forest,  whence  he 
was  never  seen  to  return.  According  to  the  pop- 
ular belief,  he  still  "drees  his  weird"  in  Fairy 
Land,  and  is  one  day  expected  to  revisit  earth 
In  the  mean  while,  his  memory  is  held  in  the  most 
profound  respect.  The  Eildon  Tree,  from  beneath 
the  shade  of  which  he  delivered  his  prophecies, 
now  no  longer  exists ;  but  the  spot  is  marked  by 
a  large  stone,  called  Eildon  Tree  Stone.  A  neigh- 
boring rivulet  takes  the  name  of  the  Bogle  Burn 
(Goblin  Brook)  from  the  Rhymer's  supernatural  vis- 
itants. The  veneration  paid  to  his  dwelling-place 
even  attached  itself  in  some  degree  to  a  person, 
who,  within  the  memory  of  man,  chose  to  set  up 
his  residence  in  the  ruins  of  Learmont's  tower. 
The  name  of  this  man  was  Murray,  a  kind  of 
herbalist ;  who,  by  dint  of  some  knowledge  in  sim- 
ples, the  possession  of  a  musical  clock,  an  electrical 
machine,  and  a  stuffed  alligator,  added  to  a  sup- 
posed communication  with  Thomas  the  Rhymer, 
lived  for  many  years  in  very  good  credit  as  a 
wizard. 

It  seemed  to  the  Editor  unpardonable  to  dis- 
miss a  person  so  important  in  Border  tradition  a9 
the  Rhymer,  without  some  farther  notice  than  a 
simple  commentary  upon  the  following  ballad.  It 
is  given  from  a  copy,  obtained  from  a  lady  residing 
not  far  from  Ercildoune,  corrected  and  enlarged 
by  one  in  Mrs.  Brown's  MSS.  The  former  copy, 
however,  as  might  be  expected,  is  far  more  minute 
as  to  local  description.  To  this  Aid  tale  the  Editor 
has  ventured  to  add  a  Second  Part,  consisting  of  a 
kind  of  cento,  from  the  printed  prophecies  vulgarly 
ascribed  to  the  Rhymer;  and  a  Third  Part,  en- 
tirely modern,  founded  upon  the  tradition  of  his 
having  returned  with  the  hart  and  hind,  to  the 
Land  of  Faery.  To  make  his  peace  with  the 
more  severe  antiquaries,  the  Editor  has  prefixed 
to  the  Second  Part  some  remarks  on  Learmont's 
prophecies. 

Which  happened  sooth  in  many  divers  ?\se  ' 

[  cannot  say  by  wrong  or  righteousness. 

It  may  be  deemed  by  division  of  grace,"  &c. 

History  of  Wallace,  Book  li. 

2  See  the  Dissertation  on  Fairies,  prefixed  to  Tamlane,  Bor~ 
der  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  254. 

3  There  is  a  singular  resemblance  betwixt  this  tradition,  and 
an  incident  occurring  in  the  life  of  Merlin  Caledonius,  whicfc 
the  reader  will  find  a  few  pages  onwards. 


57t> 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


©I)omct0  %  Horner. 


PART    FIRST. 


True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank  ;* 

A  ferlie  lie  spied  wi'  his  ee ; 
And  there  he  saw  a  ladye  bright, 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  Tree. 

Her  shirt  was  o'  the  grass-green  silk, 

Her  mantle  o'  the  velvet  fyne  ; 
At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse's  mane, 

Hung  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine. 

True  Thomas,  he  pull'd  aff  his  cap, 
And  louted  low  down  to  his  knee, 

u  All  hail,  thou  mighty  Queen  of  Heaven  ! 
For  thy  peer  on  earth  I  never  did  see." — 

"  0  no,  0  no,  Thomas,"  she  said, 

"  That  name  does  not  belang  to  me ; 

1  am  but  the  Queen  of  fair  Elfland, 
That  am  hither  come  to  visit  thee. 

"  Harp  and  carp,  Thomas,"  she  said ; 

"  Harp  and  carp  along  wi'  me ; 
And  if  ye  dare  to  kiss  my  lips, 

Sure  of  your  bodie  I  will  be." — 

"  Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  woe, 

That  weird  shall  never  daunton  me." — a 

Syne  he  has  kiss'd  her  rosy  lips, 
All  underneath  the  Eildon  Tree. 

"  Now,  ye  maun-  go  wi'  me,"  she  said ; 

"  True  Thomas,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me ; 
And  ye  maun  serve  me  seven  years, 

Through  weal  or  woe  as  may  chance  to  be." 

She  mounted  on  her  milk-white  steed ; 

She's  ta'en  true  Thomas  up  behind ; 
And  aye,  whene'er  her  bridle  rung, 

The  steed  flew  swifter  than  the  wind. 

0  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on; 

The  steed  gaed  swifter  than  the  wind ; 
Until  they  reach'd  a  desert  wide, 

And  li7ing  land  was  left  beliind. 

"  Light  down,  light  down,  now,  true  Thomas, 
And  lean  your  head  upon  my  knee  ; 

-  Huntly  Bank,  and  the  adjoining  ravine,  called,  from  imme- 
morial tradition,  the  Rymcr's  Glen,  were  ultimately  included 
In  the  domain  of  Abbotsford.  The  scenery  of  this  glen  forms 
the  background  of  Edwin  Landseer's  portrait  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  painted  in  1833.— Ed. 

•  That  weird,  <$-c. — That  destiny  shall  never  frighten  me. 


Abide  and  rest  a  little  space, 

And  I  will  shew  you  ferlies  three. 

"  O  see  ye  not  yon  narrow  road, 

So  thick  beset  with  thorns  and  briers? 

That  is  the  path  of  righteousness, 
Though  after  it  but  few  enquires. 

"  And  see  ye  not  that  braid  braid  road, 

That  lies  across  that  lily  leven  ? 
That  is  the  path  of  wickedness, 

Though  some  call  it  the  .road  to  heaven. 

"  And  see  not  ye  that  bonny  road, 
That  winds  about  the  fernie  brae  ? 

That  is  the  road  to  fair  Elfland, 

Where  thou  and  I  this  night  maun  gae. 

"  But,  Thomas,  ye  maun  hold  your  tongue, 

Whatever  ye  may  hear  or  see  ; 
For,  if  ye  speak  word  in  Elflyn  land, 

Ye'll  ne'er  get  back  to  your  ain  countrie." 

0  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on, 

And  they  waded  thro'  rivers  aboon  the  knee 
And  they  saw  neither  sun  nor  moon, 
But  they  heard  the  roaring  of  the  sea. 

It  was  mirk  mirk  night,  and  there  was  nae  stern 
light, 

And  they  waded  thro'  red  blude  to  the  knee ; 
For  a'  the  blude  that's  shed  on  earth 

Bins  thro'  the  springs  o'  that  countrie. 

Syne  they  came  on  to  a  garden  green, 
And  she  pu'd  an  apple  frae  a  tree — 3 

"  Take  this  for  thy  wages,  true  Thomas ; 

It  will  give  thee  the  tongue  that  can  never 
lie."— 

"  My  tongue  is  mine  ain,"  True  Thomaj  md ; 
"  A  gudely  gift  ye  wad  gie  to  me  ! 

1  neither  dought  to  buy  nor  sell, 

At  fair  or  tryst  where  I  may  be. 

"I  dought  neither  speak  to  prince  or  peer, 
Nor  ask  of  grace  from  fair  ladye." — 

"  Now  hold  thy  peace  !"  the  lady  said, 
"  For  as  I  say,  so  must  it  be.'" — 

He  has  gotten  a  coat  of  the  even  cloth, 
And  a  pair  of  shoes  of  velvet  green ; 

And  till  seven  years  were  gane  and  past, 
True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen 4 

3  The  traditional  commentary  upon  this  ballad  informs  ns 
that  the  apple  was  the  produce  of  the  fatal  Tree  of  Know  ledge, 
and  that  the  garden  was  the  terrestrial  paradise.  The  repug- 
nance of  Thomas  to  be  debarred  the  use  of  falsehood  when  he 
might  find  it  convenient,  has  a  comic  effect. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


577 


Stomas  tlje  Hfygtmr. 


PART   SECOND. 


ALTERED  FROM  ANCIENT  PROPHECIES. 

The  prophecies,  ascribed  to  Thomas  of  Ercil- 
doune, have  been  the  principal  means  of  securing 
to  him  remembrance  "amongst  the  sons  of  his 
people."  The  author  of  Sir  Tristrem  would  long 
ago  have  joined,  in  the  vale  of  oblivion,  "  Clerk  of 
Tranent,  who  wrote  the  adventure  of  Schir  Ga- 
wain"  if,  by  good  hap,  the  same  current  of  ideas 
respecting  antiquity,  which  causes  Virgil  to  be 
regarded  as  a  magician  by  the  Lazzaroni  of  Na- 
ples, had  not  exalted  the  bard  of  Ercildoune  to  the 
prophetic  character.  Perhaps,  indeed,  he  himself 
affected  it  during  his  life.  We  know,  at  least,  for 
certain,  that  a  belief  in  his  supernatural  knowledge 
was  current  soon  after  his  death.  His  prophecies 
are  alluded  to  by  Barbour,  by  Winton,  and  by 
Henry  the  Minstrel,  or  Blind  Harry,  as  he  is  usu- 
ally termed.  None  of  these  authors,  however,  give 
the  words  of  any  of  the  Rhymer's  vaticinations, 
but  merely  narrate,  historically,  his  having  pre- 
dicted the  events  of  which  they  speak.  The  ear- 
liest of  the  prophecies  ascribed  to  him,  which  is 
now  extant,  is  quoted  by  Mr.  Pinkerton  from  a 
MS.  It  is  supposed  to  be  a  response  from  Thomas 
of  Ercildoune  to  a  question  from  the  heroic  Count- 
ess of  March,  renowned  for  the  defence  of  the 
Castle  of  Dunbar  against  the  English,  and  termed, 
in  the  familiar  dialect  of  her  time,  Black  Agnes  of 
Dunbar.  This  prophecy  is  remarkable,  in  so  far 
as  it  bears  very  little  resemblance  to  any  verses 
published  in  the  printed  copy  of  the  Rhymer's 

supposed  prophecies.    The  verses  are  as  follows : — 
\ 

"  La  Countesse  de  Donbar  demande  a  Thomas  de  Esse- 
doune  quant  la  guerre  dy  Escoce  prendreit  fyn.  E  yl  Va 
repoundy  et  dyt. 

When  man  is  mad  a  kyng  of  a  capped  man  ; 

When  man  is  levere  other  mones  tliyng  than  his  owen  ; 

When  londe  thouys  forest,  ant  forest  is  felde  ; 

When  hares  kendles  o'  the  her'stane  ; 

When  Wyt  and  Wille  werres  togedere  ; 

When  mon  makes  stables  of  kyrkes,  and  steles  castels  with 
stye  ; 

When  Rokesboronghe  nys  no  burgh  ant  market  is  at  Forwy- 
leye; 

When  Bambourne  is  donged  with  dede  men  ; 

Wiien  men  ledes  men  in  ropes  to  huyen  and  to  sellen  ; 

When  a  quarter  of  whaty  whete  is  channged  for  a  colt  of  ten 
markes ; 

When  prude  (pride)  prikes  and  pees  is  leyd  in  prisoun ; 

When  a  Scot  ne  me  hym  hndo  ase  hare  in  forme  that  the  En- 
glish ne  shall  hym  fynde  ; 

When  rycht  ant  wronge  astente  the  togedere  ; 

When  laddes  weddeth  lovedies  ; 

When  ocottes  flen  so  faste,  that,  for  faute  of  shep,  hy  drown- 
eth  hemselve  ; 

When  shal  this  be  ? 

Nouther  in  thine  tyme  ne  in  mine  ; 

73  i 


Ah  comen  ant  gone 

Withinne  twenty  winter  ant  one." 

Pinkerton's  Poems,  /rom  Maitland's  JtfSS.  quoting 
from  Uarl.  Lib.  2253,  F.  127. 

As  I  have  never  seen  the  MS.  from  which  Mr. 
Pinkerton  makes  this  extract,  and  as  the  date  of 
it  is  fixed  by  him  (certainly  one  of  the  most  able 
antiquaries  of  our  age)  to  the  reign  of  Edward  I. 
or  IL,  it  is  with  great  diffidence  that  I  hazard  a 
contrary  opinion.  There  can,  however,  I  lelie/-e. 
be  little  doubt,  that  these  prophetic  verses  are  u 
forgery,  and  not  the  production  of  our  Thomas  the 
Rhymer.  But  I  am  inclined  to  believe  them  of  a 
later  date  than  the  reign  of  Edward  I.  or  II. 

The  gallant  defence  of  the  castle  of  Dunbar,  by 
Black  Agnes,  took  place  in  the  year  1337.  The 
Rhymer  died  previous  to  the  year  1299  (see  the 
charter,  by  bis  son,  in  the  Appendix).  It  seems, 
therefore,  very  improbable,  that  the  Countess  of 
Dunbar  could  ever  have  an  opportunity  of  consult- 
ing Thomas  the  Rhymer,  since  that  would  infer 
that  she  was  married,  or  at  least  engaged  in  state 
matters,  previous  to  1299  ;  whereas  she  is  de 
scribed  as  a  young,  or  a  middle-aged  woman,  at 
the  period  of  her  being  besieged  in  the  fortress, 
which  she  so  well  defended.  If  the  editor  might 
indulge  a  conjecture,  he  would  suppose,  that  the 
prophecy  was  contrived  for  the  encouragement  of 
the  English  invaders,  during  the  Scottish  wars ; 
and  that  the  names  of  the  Countess  of  Dunbar 
and  of  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  were  used  for  the 
greater  credit  of  the  forgery.  According  to  this 
hypothesis,  it  seems  likely  to  have  been  composed 
after  the  siege  of  Dunbar,  which  had  made  the 
name  of  the  Countess  well  known,  and  consequently 
in  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  The  whole  tendency 
of  the  prophecy  is  to  aver,  that  there  shall  be  no 
end  of  the  Scottish  war  (concerning  which  the 
question  was  proposed),  till  a  final  conquest  of  the 
country  by  England,  attended  by  all  the  usual  se- 
verities of  war.  "  When  the  cultivated  country 
shall  become  forest,"  says  the  prophecy  ; — "  when 
the  wild  animals  shall  inhabit  the  abode  of  men ; — 
when  Scots  shall  not  be  able  to  escape  the  English, 
should  they  crouch  as  hares  in  their  form" — all 
these  denunciations  seem  to  refer  to  the  time  of 
Edward  III.,  upon  whose  victories  the  prediction 
was  probably  founded.  The  mention  of  the  ex- 
change betwixt  a  colt  worth  ten  marks,  and  a 
quarter  of  "  whaty  [indifferent]  wheat,"  seems  to 
allude  to  the  dreadful  famine,  about  the  year  1388. 
The  independence  of  Scotland  was,  howevei,  as 
impregnable  to  the  mines  of  superstition,  as  to  the 
steel  of  our  more  powerful  and  more  wealthy  neigh- 
bors. The  war  of  Scotland  is,  thank  God,  at  an 
end ;  but  it  is  ended  without  her  people  having 
either  crouched  like  hares  in  their  form,  or  being 
drowned  in  their  flight,  "  for  faute  of  ships," — thank 


5  78 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOKKS. 


God  for  that  too. — The  prophecy,  quoted  in  the 
preceding  page,  is  probably  of  the  same  date,  and 
intended  for  the  same  purpose. 

A  minute  search  of  the  records  of  the  time 
would,  probably,  throw  additional  light  upon  the 
illusions  contained  in  these  ancient  legends. 
Among  various  rhymes  of  prophetic  import,  which 
ire  at  this  day  current  amongst  the  people  of 
Teviotdale,  is  one,  supposed  to  be  pronounced  by 
Thomas  the  Rhymer,  presaging  the  destruction  of 
Ids  habitation  and  family  : 

"  The  hare  sail  kittle  [litter]  on  my  hearth  stane, 
And  there  will  never  be  a  Laird  Learmont  again." 

The  first  of  these  lines  is  obviously  borrowed  from 
that  in  the  MS.  of  the  Harl.  Library.— "  When 
hares  kendles  o'  the  her' stane" — an  emphatic  im- 
age of  desolation.  It  is  also  inaccurately  quoted 
in  the  prophecy  of  Waldhave,  published  by  Andro 
Hart,  1618: 

"  This  is  a  true  talking  that  Thomas  of  tells, 
The  hare  shall  hirple  on  the  hard  [hearth]  stane." 

Spottiswoode,  an  honest,  but  credulous  historian, 
seems  to  have  been  a  firm  believer  in  the  authen- 
ticity of  the  prophetic  wares,  vended  in  the  name 
of  Thomas  of  Ercildoune.  "The  prophecies,  yet 
extant  in  Scottish  rhymes,  whereupon  he  was  com 
monly  called  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  may  justly  be 
admired ;  having  foretold,  so  many  ages  before  the 
union  of  England  and  Scotland  in  the  ninth  degree 
of  the  Bruce's  blood,  with  the  succession  of  Bruce 
himself  to  the  crown,  being  yet  a  child,  and  other 
divers  particulars,  which  the  event  hath  ratified 
and  made  good.  Boethius,  in  his  story,  relateth 
his  prediction  of  King  Alexander's  death,  and  that 
he  did  foretell  the  same  to  the  Earl  of  March,  the 
day  before  it  fell  out;  saying,  'That  before  the 
next  day  at  noon,  such  a  tempest  should  blow,  as 
Scotland  had  not  felt  for  many  years  before.'  The 
next  morning,  the  day  being  clear,  and  no  change 
appearing  in  the  air,  the  nobleman  did  challenge 
Thomas  of  his  saying,  calling  him  an  impostor.  He 
replied,  that  noon  was  not  yet  passed.  About 
which  time  a  post  came  to  advertise  the  earl  of 
the  king  his  sudden  death.  '  Then,'  said  Thomas, 
this  is  the  tempest  I  foretold;  and  so  it  shall 
prove  to  Scotland.'  Whence,  or  how,  he  had  this 
knowledge,  can  hardly  be  affirmed ;  but  sure  it  is, 
that  he  did  divine  and  answer  truly  of  many  things 
to  come." — Spottiswoode,  p.  47.  Besides  that  no- 
table voucher,  Master  Hector  Boece,  the  good 
archbishop  might,  had  he  been  so  minded,  have 
referred  to  Fordun  for  the  prophecy  of  King  Alex- 
ander's death.  That  historian  calls  our  bard  "  ru- 
ralis  ille  vates." — Fordun,  lib.  x.  cap.  40. 

What  Spottiswoode  calls  "the  prophecies  ex- 
\mt  in  Scottish  rhyme,"  are  the  metrical  produc- 


tions ascribed  to  the  seer  of  Ercildoune,  which, 
with  many  other  compositions  of  the  same  nature 
bearing  the  names  of  Bede  Merlin,  Gildas,  ana 
other  approved  soothsayers,  are  contained  in  one 
small  volume,  published  by  Andro  Hart,  at  Edin- 
burgh, 1615.  Nisbet  the  herald  (who  claims  the 
prophet  of  Ercildoune  as  a  brother-professor  of  his 
art,  founding  upon  the  various  allegorical  and  em- 
blematical allusions  to  heraldry)  intimates  the  ex- 
istence of  some  earlier  copy  of  his  prophecies  than 
that  of  Andro  Hart,  which,  however,  he  does  not 
pretend  to  have  seen.1  The  late  excellent  Lord 
Hailes  made  these  compositions  the  subject  of  a 
dissertation,  published  in  his  Remarks  on  the  His- 
tory of  Scotland.  His  attention  is  chiefly  directed 
to  the  celebrated  prophecy  of  our  bard,  mentioned 
by  Bishop  Spottiswoode,  bearing  that  the  crowns 
of  England  and  Scotland  should  be  united  in  the 
person  of  a  King,  son  of  a  French  Queen,  and  re- 
lated to  the  Bruce  in  the  ninth  degree.  Lord 
Hailes  plainly  proves,  that  this  prophecy  is  per- 
verted from  its  original  purpose,  in  order  to  apply 
it  to  the  succession  of  James  VI.  The  groundwork 
of  the  forgery  is  to  be  found  in  the  prophecies  of 
Berlington,  contained  in  the  same  collection,  and 
runs  thus* 

"  Of  Bruce's  left  side  shall  spring  out  a  leafe, 
As  neere  as  the  ninth  degree  ; 
And  shall  be  fleemed  of  faire  Scotland, 
In  France  farre  beyond  the  sea. 
And  then  shall  come  again  ryding, 
With  eyes  that  many  men  may  see. 
At  Aberladie  he  shall  light, 
With  hempen  helteres  and  horse  of  tre. 


However  it  happen  for  to  fall, 

The  lyon  shall  be  lord  of  all  ; 

The  French  Quen  shall  bearre  the  sonne, 

Shall  rule  all  Britainne  to  the  sea  ; 

Ane  from  the  Bruce's  blood  shal  cO<ne  abw, 

As  neer  as  the  ninth  degree. 

Yet  shal  there  come  a  keene  knight  over  the  r-alt  jc*., 
A  keene  man  of  courage  and  bold  man  o»  krm'jn  ; 
A  duke's  son  dowbled  [t,  e.  dubbed],  a  borr  mu  in  France 
That  shall  our  mirths  augment,  and  mend  all  our  harries  ; 
After  the  date  of  our  Lord  1513,  and  thrice  three  thereafter; 
Which  shall  brooke  all  the  broad  isle  to  himself, 
Between  thirteen  and  thrice  three  the  threip  shall  be  ended, 
The  Saxons  shall  never  recover  after." 

There  cannot  be  any  doubt  that  this  piophecy 
was  intended  to  excite  the  confidence  of  the  Scot- 
tish nation  in  the  Duke  of  Albany,  regent  of  Scot- 
land, who  arrived  from  France  in  1515,  two  years 
after  the  death  of  James  IV.  in  the  fatal  field  of 
Flodden.  The  Regent  was  descended  of  Bruce  by 
the  left,  i.  e.  by  the  female  side,  within  the  ninth 
degree.  His  mother  was  daughter  of  the  Earl  of 
Boulogne,  his  father  banished  from  his  country — 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


57t 


1  fleemit  of  fair  Scotland."  His  arrival  must  ne- 
cessarily be  by  sea,  and  his  landing  was  expected 
at  Aberlady,  in  the  Frith  of  Forth.  He  was  a 
duke's  son,  dubbed  knight ;  and  nine  years,  from 
1513,  are  allowed  him  by  the  pretended  prophet 
for  the  accomplishment  of  the  salvation  of  his  coun- 
try, and  the  exaltation  of  Scotland  over  her  sister 
and  rival.  All  this  was  a  pious  fraud,  to  excite 
the  confidence  and  spirit  of  the  country. 

The  prophecy,  put  in  the  name  of  our  Thomas 
the  Rhymer,  as  it  stands  in  Hart's  book,  refers  to 
a  later  period.  The  narrator  meets  the  Rhymer 
upon  a  land  beside  a  lee,  who  shows  him  many  em- 
blematical visions,  described  in  no  mean  strain  of 
poetry.  They  chiefly  relate  to  the  fields  of  Flod- 
den  and  Pinkie,  to  the  national  distress  which 
followed  these  defeats,  and  to  future  halcyon  days, 
which  are  promised  to  Scotland.  One  quotation 
rr*  two  will  be  sufficient  to  establish  this  fully : — 

"  Our  Scottish  King  sal  come  ful  keene, 
The  red  lyon  beareth  he  ; 
A  feddered  arrow  sharp,  I  ween, 
Shall  make  him  winke  and  warre  to  see. 
Out  of  the  field  he  shall  be  led, 
When  he  is  bludie  and  woe  for  blood  ; 
Yet  to  his  men  shall  he  say, 
4  For  God's  love  turn  you  againe, 
And  give  yon  sutherne  folk  a  frey ! 
Why  should  I  lose,  the  right  is  mine? 
My  date  is  not  to  die  this  day.'  " 

Who  can  doubt,  for  a  moment,  that  this  refers 
to  the  battle  of  Flodden,  and  to  the  popular  re- 
ports concerning  the  doubtful  fate  of  James  IV.  ? 
Allusion  is  immediately  afterwards  made  to  the 
death  of  George  Douglas,  heir  apparent  of  Angus, 
who  fought  and  fell  with  his  sovereign : — 

"  The  sternes  three  that  day  shall  die, 
That  bears  the  harte  in  silver  sheen." 

The  well-known  arms  of  the  Douglas  family  are 
the  heart  and  three  stars.  In  another  place,  the 
battle  of  Pinkie  is  expressly  mentioned  by  name : — 

"  At  Pinken  Cluch  there  shall  be  spilt 
Much  gentle  blood  that  day  ; 
There  shall  the  bear  lose  the  guilt, 
And  the  eagill  bear  it  away." 

To  the  end  of  all  this  allegorical  and  mystical 
rhapsody,  is  interpolated,  in  the  later  edition  by 
Andro  Hart,  a  new  edition  of  Berlington's  verses, 
before  quoted,  altered  and  manufactured,  so  as  to 
bear  reference  to  the  accession  of  James  VI,  which 
had  just  then  taken  place.  The  insertion  is  made 
with  a  peculiar  degree  of  awkwardness,  betwixt  a 
question,  put  by  the  narrator,  concerning  the  name 
and  abode  of  the  person  who  showed  him  these 
strange  matters,  and  the  answer  of  the  prophet  to 
that  question : — 

u  Then  to  the  Beirne  could  I  say, 

Where  dwells  thou,  or  in  what  countrie  1 
[Or  who  shall  rule  the  isle  of  Britane, 


From  the  north  .     the  south  sey  1 

A  French  queene  shall  bear  the  sonne, 

Shall  rule  all  Britaine  to  the  sea  ; 

Which  of  the  Bruce's  blood  shall  come, 

As  neere  as  the  nint  degree  : 

I  frained  fast  what  was  his  name, 

Where  that  he  came,  from  what  country.] 

In  Erslingtoun  I  dwell  at  hame, 

Thomas  Rymour  men  cals  me." 

There  is  surely  no  one,  who  will  not  conclude, 
with  Lord  Hailes,  that  the  eight  lines,  enclosed  in 
brackets,  are  a  clumsy  interpolation,  borrowed 
from  Berlington,  with  such  alterations  as  might 
render  the  supposed  prophecy  applicable  to  the 
union  of  the  crowns. 

While  we  are  on  this  subject,  it  may  be  propei 
briefly  to  notice  the  scope  of  some  of  the  other 
predictions,  in  Hart's  Collection.  As  the  prophecy 
of  Berlington  was  intended  to  raise  the  spirits  of 
the  nation,  during  the  regency  of  Albany,  so  those 
of  Sybilla  and  Eltraine  refer  to  that  of  the  Earl  oi 
Arran,  afterwards  Duke  of  Chatelherault,  during 
the  minority  of  Mary,  a  period  of  similar  calamity 
This  is  obvious  from  the  following  verses  : — 

"  Take  a  thousand  in  calculation, 
And  the  longest  of  the  lyon, 
Four  crescents  under  one  crowne, 
With  Saint  Andrew's  croce  thrise, 
Then  threescore  and  thrise  three  : 
Take  tent  to  Merling  truely, 
Then  shall  the  wars  ended  be, 
And  never  again  rise. 
In  that  yere  there  shall  a  king, 
A  duke,  and  no  crown'd  king  : 
Becaus  the  prince  shall  be  yong, 
And  tender  of  yeares." 

The  date,  above  hinted  at,  seems  to  be  1549, 
when  the  Scottish  Regent,  by  means  of  some  suc- 
cors derived  from  France,  was  endeavoring  to  re- 
pair the  consequences  of  the  fatal  battle  of  Pinkie. 
Allusion  is  made  to  the  supply  given  to  the  "  Mold- 
warte  [England]  by  the  fained  hart"  (the  Earl  of 
Angus).  The  Regent  is  described  by  his  bearing 
the  antelope ;  large  supplies  are  promised  from 
France,  and  complete  conquest  predicted  to  Scot- 
land and  her  allies.  Thus  was  the  same  hack- 
neyed stratagem  repeated,  whenever  the  interest 
of  the  rulers  appeared  to  stand  in  need  of  it.  The 
Regent  was  not,  indeed,  till  after  this  period,  cre- 
ated Duke  of  Chatelherault ;  but  that  honor  was 
the  object  of  his  hopes  and  expectations. 

The  name  of  our  renowned  soothsayer  is  liber- 
ally used  as  an  authority,  throughout  all  the 
prophecies  published  by  Andro  Hart.  Besides 
those  expressly  put  in  his  name,  Gildas,  another 
assumed  personage,  is  supposed  to  derive  hia 
knowledge  from  him ;  for  he  concludes  thus ! — 
"  True  Thomas  me  told  in  a  troublesome  time, 
In  a  harvest  morn  at  Eldoun  hills." 

The  Prophecy  of  Gildas 


580 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   YVOKKS. 


In  the  prophecy  of  Berlington,  already  quoted, 
we  are  told, 

"  Marvellous  Merlin,  that  many  men  of  tells, 
And  Thomas's  sayings  comes  all  at  once." 

"While  I  am  upon  the  subject  of  these  prophe- 
cies, may  I  be  permitted  to  call  the  attention  of 
antiquaries  to  Merdwynn  Wyllt,  or  Merlin  the 
Wild,  in  whose  name,  and  by  no  means  in  that  of 
Ambrose  Merlin,  the  friend  of  Arthur,  the  Scot- 
tish prophecies  are  issued  ?  That  this  personage 
resided  at  Drummelziar,  and  roamed,  like  a  second 
Nebuchadnezzar,  the  woods  of  Tweeddale,  in  re- 
morse for  the  death  of  his  nephew,  we  learn  from 
Fordun.  In  the  Seotichronicon ,  lib.  3.  cap.  31,  is 
an  account  of  au  interview  betwixt  St.  Kentigern 
and  Merlin,  then  in  this  distracted  and  miserable 
state.  He  is  said  to  have  been  called  Lailoken, 
from  his  mode  of  life.  On  being  commanded  by 
the  saint  to  give  an  accouut  of  himself,  he  says, 
that  the  penance  which  he  performs  was  imposed 
on  him  by  a  voice  from  heaven,  during  a  bloody 
contest  betwixt  Lidel  and  Carwanolow,  of  which 
battle  he  had  been  the  cause.  According  to  his 
own  prediction,  he  perished  at  once  by  wood,  earth, 
and  water ;  for,  being  pursued  with  stones  by  the 
rustics,  he  fell  from  a  rock  into  the  river  Tweed, 
and  was  transfixed  by  a  sharp  stake,  fixed  there 
for  the  purpose  of  extending  a  fishing-net : — 

"  Sude  pcrfossus,  lapidc  percvssus,  et  unda, 
Hcbc  tria  Merlinum  fertur  inirc  neccm. 
Sicque  ruit,  mersus  que  fait  lignoque  prchensus, 
Et  fecit  vatcmper  tenia  pericula  verum." 

But,  in  the  metrical  history  of  Merlin  of  Cale- 
donia, compiled  by  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  from 
the  traditions  of  the  Welsh  bards,  this  mode  of 
death  is  attributed  to  a  page,  whom  Merlin's  sis- 
ter, desirous  to  convict  the  prophet  of  falsehood, 
because  he  had  betrayed  her  intrigues,  introduced 
to  him,  under  three  various  disguises,  inquiring 
each  time  in  what  manner  the  person  should  die. 
To  the  first  demand  Merlin  answered,  the  party 
should  perish  by  a  fall  from  a  rock ;  to  the  second, 
that  he  should  die  by  a  tree  ;  and  to  the  third,  that 
he  should  be  drowned.  The  youth  perished,  while 
hunting,  in  the  mode  imputed  by  Fordun  to  Mer- 
lin himself. 

Fordun,  contrary  to  the  French  authorities,  con- 
founds this  person  with  the  Merlin  of  Arthur ;  but 
concludes  by  informing  us,  that  many  believed 
him  to  be  a  different  person.  The  grave  of  Mer- 
lin is  pointed  out  at  Drummelziar,  in  Tweeddale, 
beneath  an  aged  thorn-tree.  On  the  east  side  of 
the  churchyard,  the  brook,  called  Pausayl,  falls 
into  the  Tweed ;  and  the  following  prophecy 
is  said  to  have  been  current  concerning  their 
nrion : — 


When  Tweeil  and  Pausayl  join  at  Merlin's  grave, 
Scotland  and  England  shall  one  monarch  have.' 


On  the  dav  of  the  coronation  of  J s 


VI.,  tin 


Tweed  accordingly  overflowed,  and  joined  tin; 
Pausayl  at  the  prophet's  grave. — Pennycuick's 
History  of  Tweeddale,  p.  26.  These  circumstances 
would  seem  to  infer  a  communication  betwixt  the 
southwest  of  Scotland  and  Wales,  of  a  nature  pe- 
culiarly intimate  ;  for  I  presume  that  Merlin  would 
retain  sense  enough  to  choose  for  the  scene  of  his 
wanderings,  a  country  having  a  language  and  man 
ners  similar  to  his  own. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  memory  of  Merlin  Sylves- 
ter, or  the  Wild,  was  fresh  among  the  Scots  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  James  V.  Waldhave,'  under 
whose  name  a  set  of  prophecies  was  published, 
describes  himself  as  lying  upon  Lomond  Law ;  he 
hears  a  voice,  which  bids  him  stand  to  his  defence" 
he  looks  around,  and  beholds  a  flock  of  hares  and 
foxes2  pursued  over  the  mountain  by  a  savage 
figure,  to  whom  he  can  hardly  give  the  name  oi 
man.  At  the  sight  of  Waldhave,  the  apparition 
leaves  the  objects  of  his  pursuit,  and  assaults  him 
with  a  club.  Waldhave  defends  himself  with  his 
sword,  throws  the  savage  to  the  earth,  and  r 
to  let  him  arise  till  he  swear,  by  the  law  and  lead 
he  lives  upon,  "  to  do  him  no  harm."  This  done, 
he  permits  him  to  arise,  and  marvels  at  his  strange 
appearance : — 

"  He  was  formed  like  a  freike  [man]  all  his  four  quarters  ; 
And  then  his  chin  and  his  face  haired  so  thick, 
With  haire  growing  so  grime,  fearful  to  see." 

He  answers  briefly  to  Waldhave's  inquiry  con- 
cerning his  name  and  nature,  that  he  "  drees  his 
weird,"  i.  e.  does  penance  in  that  wood ;  and,  hav- 
ing hinted  that  questions  as  to  his  own  state  are 
offensive,  he  pours  forth  an  obscure  rhapsody  con- 
cerning futurity,  and  concludes. — 

"  Go  musing  upon  Merlin  if  thon  wilt : 
For  I  mean  no  more,  man,  at  this  time." 

This  is  exactly  similar  to  the  meeting  betwixt 
Merlin  and  Kentigern  in  Fordun.  These  prophe- 
cies of  Merlin  seem  to  have  been  in  request  in  the 
minority  of  James  V. ;  for,  among  the  amusements 
with  which  Sir  David  Lindsay  diverted  that  prince 
during  his  infancy,  are, 

"  The  prophecies  of  Rymer,  Bede,  and  Merlin." 

Sir  David  Lindsay's  Epistle  to  the  Kivg. 

And  we  find,  in  Waldhave,  at  least  one  allusion 

i  I  do  not  know  whether  the  person  here  meant  be  Wald 
have,  an  abbot  of  Melrose,  whe  died  in  the  odor  of  sanctity 
about  1160. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 


CONTKLJiUTlOJNiS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


u8: 


to  the  very  ancient  prophecy,  addressed  to  the 
Countess  of  Dunbar : — 

**  This  is  a  true  token  that  Thomas  of  tells, 

When  a  ladde  with  a  ladye  shall  go  over  the  fields." 

The  original  stands  thus : — 

"  When  laddes  weddeth  lovedies." 

Another  prophecy  of  Merlin  seems  to  have  been 
cum  nt  about  the  tune  of  the  Regent  Morton's 
execution.  When  that  nobleman  was  committed 
to  the  charge  of  his  accuser,  Captain  James  Stew- 
art, newly  created  Earl  of  Arran,  to  be  conducted 
to  his  trial  at  Edinburgh,  Spottiswoode  says,  that 
he  asked,  "  f  Who  was  Earl  of  Arran  ?'  and  being 
answered  that  Captain  James  was  the  man,  after 
a  short  pause,  he  said, '  And  is  it  so  ?  I  know  then 
what  I  may  look  for  ?'  meaning,  as  was  thought, 
that  the  old  prophecy  of  the  '  Falling  of  the  heart1 
by  the  mouth  of  Arran,'  should  then  be  fulfilled. 
Whether  this  was  his  mind  or  not,  it  is  not  known ; 
but  some  spared  not,  at  the  time  when  the  Ham- 
iltons  were  banished,  in  which  business  he  was 
held  too  earnest,  to  say  that  he  stood  in  fear  of 
that  prediction,  and  went  that  course  only  to  dis- 
appoint it.  But  if  so  it  was,  he  did  find  himself 
now  deluded ;  for  he  fell  by  the  mouth  of  another 
Arran  than  he  imagined." — Spottiswoode,  313. 
The  fatal  words  alluded  to  seem  to  be  these  in 
the  prophecy  of  Merlin : — 

"  In  the  mouthe  of  Arrane  a  selcouth  shall  fall, 
Two  bloodie  hearts  shall  be  taken  with  a  false  traine, 
And  derfly  dung  down  without  any  dome." 

To  return  from  these  desultory  remarks,  into 
which  I  have  been  led  by  the  celebrated  name  of 
Merlin,  the  style  of  all  these  prophecies,  published 
by  Hart,  is  very  much  the  same.  The  measure 
is  alliterative,  and  somewhat  similar  to  that  of 
Pierce  Plowman's  Visions  ;  a  circumstance  which 
might  entitle  us  to  ascribe  to  some  of  them  an 
earlier  date  than  the  reign  of  James  V.,  did  we 
not  know  that  Sir  Galloran  of  Galloway  and  Ga- 
waine  and  Gologras,  two  romances  rendered  al- 
most unintelligible  by  the  extremity  of  affected 
alliteration,  are  perhaps  not  prior  to  that  period. 
Indeed,  although  we  may  allow  that,  during  much 
earlier  times,  prophecies,  under  the  names  of  those 
celebrated  soothsayers,  have  been  current  in  Scot- 
land, yet  those  published  by  Hart  have  obviously 
been  so  often  vamped  and  re-vamped,  to  serve  the 
political  purposes  of  different  periods,  that  it  may 
be  shrewdly  suspected,  that,  as  in  the  case  of  Sir 
John  Cutler's  transmigrated  stockings,  very  little 
oS  the  original  materials  now  remains.  I  cannot 
refrain  from  indulging  my  readers  with  the  pub- 

i  The  heart  was  the  cognizance  of  Morton, 
a  The  Rev.  R.  Fleming,  pastor  of  a  Scotch  congregation  in 
London,  puplished  in  1701,  "  Discourses  on  the  Rise  and  Fall 


lisher's  title  to  the  last  prophecy,  as  it  contains 
certain  curious  information  concerning  the  Queen 
of  Sheba,  who  is  identified  with  the  Cumaean 
Sibyl:  "Here  followeth  a  prophecie,  pronounced 
by  a  noble  queene  and  matron,  called  Sybilla, 
Regina  Austri,  that  came  to  Solomon.  Through 
the  which  she  compiled  four  bookes,  at  the  in- 
stance of  the  said  King  Sol,  and  others  divers: 
and  the  fourth  book  was  directed  to  a  noble  king, 
called  Baldwine,  King  of  the  broad  isle  of  Britain 
in  the  which  she  maketh  mention  of  two  noiblf 
princes  and  emperours,  the  which  is  called  Leones. 
How  these  two  shall  subdue  and  overcome  all 
earthlie  princes  to  their  diademe  and  crowne,  and 
also  be  glorified  and  crowned  in  the  heaven  among 
saints.  The  first  of  these  two  is  Constantinus 
Magnus ;  that  was  Leprosus,  the  son  of  Saint  He- 
lena, that  found  the  croce.  The  second  is  the  sixt 
king  of  the  name  of  Steward  of  Scotland,  the 
which  is  our  most  noble  king."  With  such  editors 
and  commentators,  what  wonder  that  the  text  be- 
came unintelligible,  even  beyond  the  usual  oracu 
lar  obscurity  of  prediction  ? 

If  there  still  remain,  therefore,  among  these  pre 
dictions,  any  verses  having  a  claim  to  real  antiqui- 
ty, it  seems  now  impossible  to  discover  them  from 
those  which  are  comparatively  modern.  Never- 
theless, as  there  are  to  be  found,  in  these  composi- 
tions, some  uncommonly  wild  and  masculine  ex 
pressions,  the  Editor  has  been  induced  to  throw  a 
few  passages  together,  into  the  sort  of  ballad  to 
which  this  disquisition  is  prefixed.  It  would,  in- 
deed, have  been  no  difficult  matter  for  him,  by  a 
judicious  selection,  to  have  excited,  in  favor  ot 
Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  a  share  of  the  admiration 
bestowed  by  sundry  wise  persons  upon  Mass  Rob- 
ert Fleming.2     For  example  : — 

"  But  then  the  lilye  shal  be  loused  when  they  least  think  ; 
Then  clear  king's  blood  shal  quake  for  fear  of  death  ; 
For  churls  shall  chop  off  heads  of  their  chief  beirns, 
And  carfe  of  the  crowns  that  Christ  hath  appointed. 

Thereafter,  on  every  side,  sorrow  shal  arise  ; 
The  barges  of  clear  barons  down  shal  be  sunken  ; 
Seculars  shall  sit  in  spiritual  seats, 
Occupying  offices  anointed  as  they  were." 

Taking  the  lily  for  the  emblem  of  France,  can 
there  be  a  more  plain  prophecy  of  the  murder  of 
her  monarch,  the  destruction  of  her  nobility,  and 
the  desolation  of  her  hierarchy  ? 

But,  without  looking  farther  into  the  signs  ot 
the  times,  the  Editor,  though  the  least  of  all  the 
prophets,  cannot  help  thinking,  that  every  true 
Briton  will  approve  of  his  application  of  the  last 
prophecy  quoted  in  the  ballad. 

of  Papacy,"  in  which  he  expressed  his  belief,  founded  on  a 
text  in  the  Apocalypse,  that  the  French  Monarchy  would  un- 
dergo some  remarkable  humiliation  about  1794.— Ed. 


f>82 


SCOTf'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Hart's  collection  of  prophecies  was  frequently 
reprinted  during  the  last  century,  probably  to  fa- 
vor the  pretensions  of  the  unfortunate  family  of 
Stuart.  For  the  prophetic  renown  of  Gildas  and 
Bede,  see  Fordun,  lib.  hi. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  Thomas's  predic- 
tions, it  may  be  noticed,  that  sundry  rhymes, 
passing  for  his  prophetic  effusions,  are  still  current 
among  the  vulgar.  Thus,  he  is  said  to  have 
prophesied  of  the  very  ancient  family  of  Haig  of 
Bemerside, 

"Betide,  betide,  whate'er  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  Haig  of  Bemerside." 

The  grandfather  of  the  present  proprietor  of 
Bemerside  had  twelve  daughters,  before  his  lady 
brought  him  a  male  heir.  The  common  people 
trembled  for  the  credit  of  their  favorite  soothsayer. 
The  late  Mr.  Haig  was  at  length  born,  and  then- 
belief  in  the  prophecy  confirmed  beyond  a  shadow 
of  doubt. 

Another  memorable  prophecy  bore,  that  the  Old 
Kirk  at  Kelso,  constructed  out  of  the  ruins  of  the 
Abbey,  should  "  fall  when  at  the  fullest."  At  a 
very  crowded  sermon,  about  thirty  years  ago,  a 
piece  of  lime  fell  from  the  roof  of  the  church.  The 
alarm,  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  words  of  the  seer, 
became  universal ;  and  happy  were  they  who 
were  nearest  the  door  of  the  predestined  edifice. 
The  church  was  in  consequence  deserted,  and  has 
never  since  had  an  opportunity  of  tumbling  upon 
a  full  congregation.  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  a 
beautiful  specimen  of  Saxo-Gothic  architecture, 
that  the  accomplishment  of  this  prophecy  is  far 
distant. 

Another  prediction,  ascribed  to  the  Rhymer, 
seems  to  have  been  founded  on  that  sort  of  insight 
into  futurity,  possessed  by  most  men  of  a  sound 
and  combining  judgment.     It  runs  thus  : — 

"  At  Eldon  Tree  if  you  shall  be, 
A  brigg  ower  Tweed  you  there  may  see." 

The  spot  in  question  commands  an  extensive 
prospect  of  the  course  of  the  river ;  and  it  was 
easy  to  foresee,  that  when  the  country  should  be- 
come in  the  least  degree  improved,  a  bridge  would 
be  somewhere  thrown  over  the  stream.  In  fact, 
you  now  see  no  less  than  three  bridges  from  that 
elevated  situation. 

Corspatrick  (Comes  Patrick),  Earl  of  March,  but 
more  commonly  taking  his  title  from  his  castle  of 
Dunbar,  acted  a  noted  part  during  the  wars  of 
Edward  I.  in  Scotland.  As  Thomas  of  Ercildoune 
js  said  to  have  delivered  to  him  his  famous  proph- 

i  An  exact  reprint  of  these  prophecies,  from  the  edition  of 
Waldegrave,  in  1603,  collated  with  Hart's,  of  1615,  from  the 
f«opy  U  the  Abbotsford  Library,  was  completed  for  the  Ban- 


ecy  of  King  Alexander's  death,  the  Editor  has 
chosen  to  introduce  him  into  the  following  ballad 
All  the  prophetic  verses  are  selected  from  Hart's 
publication.1 


Sljomaa  %  Bljgma:. 


PART    SECOND. 


When  seven  years  were  come  and  gane, 
The  sun  blink'd  fur  on  pool  and  stream ; 

And  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank, 
Like  one  awaken'd  from  a  dream. 

He  heard  the  trampling  of  a  steed, 

He  saw  the  flash  of  armor  flee, 
And  he  beheld  a  gallant  knight 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon-tree. 

He  was  a  stalwart  knight,  and  strong; 

Of  giant  make  he  'pear'd  to  be : 
He  stirr'd  his  horse,  as  he  were  wode, 

Wi'  gilded  spurs,  of  faushion  free. 

Says — "  Well  met,  well  met,  true  Thomas  I 
Some  uncouth  ferlies  show  to  me." — 

Says — "  Christ  thee  save,  Corspatrick  brave  ! 
Thrice  welcume,  good  Dunbar,  to  me  1 

"  Light  down,  light  down,  Corspatrick  brave ! 

And  I  will  show  thee  curses  three, 
Shall  gar  fair  Scotland  greet  and  grane, 

And  change  the  green  to  the  black  livery. 

"  A  storm  shall  roar  this  very  hour, 
From  Ross's  hills  to  Sol  way  sea." — 

"  Ye  lied,  ye  lied,  ye  warlock  hoar  ! 

For  the  sun  shines  sweet  on  fauld  and  lee.*-— 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  Earlie's  head  ; 

He  show'd  him  a  rock  beside  the  sea, 
Where  a  king  lay  stiff  beneath  his  steed,8 

And  steel-dight  nobles  wiped  their  ee. 

"  The  neist  curse  lights  on  Branxton  hills : 
By  Flodden's  high  and  heathery  side, 

Shall  wave  a  banner  red  as  blude, 

And  chieftains  throng  wi'  meikle  pride 

"  A  Scottish  King  shall  come  full  keen, 
The  ruddy  lion  beareth  he ; 

natyne   Club,   under  the  care  of  the  learned  antiquary,  Mi 
David  Laing  of  Edinburgh.— Ed.  1833. 

2  King  Alexander,  killed  by   a   fall    from  his    horse,  nea 
Kinghorn. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


583 


A.  feather'd  arrow  sharp,  I  ween, 
Shall  make  him  wink  and  warre  to  see. 

*  When  he  is  bloody,  and  all  to  bledde, 

Thus  to  his  men  he  still  shall  say — 
'For  God's  sake,  turn  ye  back  again, 

And  give  yon  southern  folk  a  fray  ! 
Why  should  I  lose,  the  right  is  mine  1 

My  doom  is  not  to  die  this  day.'1 

*  Yet  turn  ye  to  the  eastern  hand, 

And  woe  and  wonder  ye  sail  see  ; 
How  forty  thousand  spearmen  stand, 
Where  yon  rank  river  meets  the  sea. 

*  There  shall  the  lion  lose  the  gylte, 

And  the  libbards  bear  it  clean  away ; 
At  Pinkyn  Cleuch  there  shall  be  spilt 
Much  gentil  bluid  that  day." — 

u  Enough,  enough,  of  curse  and  ban ; 

Some  blessings  show  thou  now  to  me, 
Or,  by  the  faith  o'  my  bodie,"  Corspatrick  said, 

"  Ye  shall  rue  the  day  ye  e'er  saw  me  !" — 

u  The  first  of  blessings  I  shall  thee  show, 
Is  by  a  burn,  that's  call'd  of  bread  ;a 

Where  Saxon  men  shall  tine  the  bow, 
And  find  their  arrows  lack  the  head. 

"  Beside  that  brigg,  out  ower  that  burn, 

Where  the  water  bickereth  bright  and  sheen, 

Shall  many  a  fallen  courser  spurn, 
And  knights  shall  die  in  battle  keen. 

u  Beside  a  headless  cross  of  stone, 

The  libbards  there  shall  lose  the  gree  ; 

The  raven  shall  come,  the  erne  shall  go, 
And  drink  the  Saxon  bluid  sae  free. 

The  cross  of  stone  they  shall  not  know, 
So  thick  the  corses  there  shall  be." — 

"  But  tell  me  now,"  said  brave  Dunbar, 
"  True  Thomas,  tell  now  unto  me, 

What  man  shall  rule  the  isle  Britain, 

Even  from  the  north  to  the  southern  sea  ?" — 

M  A  French  Queen  shall  bear  the  son, 

Shall  rule  all  Britain  to  the  sea  ; 
He  of  the  Bruce's  blood  shall  come, 

As  near  as  in  the  ninth  degree. 

"  The  waters  worship  shall  his  race  ; 

Likewise  the  waves  of  the  farthest  sea ; 
For  they  shall  ride  over  ocean  wide, 

With  hempen  bridles,  and  horse  of  tree." 

i  The  uncertainty  which  long  prevailed  in  Scotland  con- 
cerning the  fate  of  James  IV.,  is  well  known. 

2  One  of  Thomas's  rhymes,  preserved  by  tradition,  run* 
>huf  ' — 


(Kljomas  %  Kljgmer. 


PART  THIRD. MODERN. 


BY  WALTER   SCOTT. 

Thomas  the  Rhymer  was  renowned  among  hi3 
contemporaries,  as  the  author  of  the  celebrated 
romance  of  Sir  Tristrem.  Of  this  once-admired  * 
poem  only  one  copy  is  now  known  to  exist,  which 
is  in  the  Advocates'  Library.  The  Editor,  in  1 804, 
published  a  small  edition  of  this  curious  work ; 
which,  if  it  does  not  revive  the  reputation  of  the 
bard  of  Ercildoune,  is  at  least  the  earliest  speci- 
men of  Scottish  poetry  hitherto  published.  Some 
account  of  this  romance  has  already  been  given  to 
the  world  in  Mr.  Ellis's  Specimens  of  Ancient 
Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  165,  hi.  p.  410;  a  work  to  which 
our  predecessors  and  our  posterity  are  alike  obli- 
ged ;  the  former,  for  the  preservation  of  the  best- 
selected  examples  of  their  poetical  taste  ;  and  the 
latter,  for  a  history  of  the  English  language,  which 
will  only  cease  to  be  interesting  with  the  exist- 
ence of  our  mother-tongue,  and  all  that  genius 
and  learning  have  recorded  in  it.  It  is  sufficient 
here  to  mention,  that  so  great  was  the  reputation 
of  the  romance  of  Sir  Tristrem,  that  few  were 
thought  capable  of  reciting  it  after  the  manner  of 
the  author — a  circumstance  alluded  to  by  Robert 
de  Brunne,  the  annalist : — 

"  I  see  in  song,  in  sedgeyng  tale, 
Of  Erceldoun,  and  of  Kendale, 
Now  thame  says  as  they  thame  wroght, 
And  in  thare  saying  it  semes  nocht. 
That  thou  may  here  in  Sir  Tristrem, 
Over  gestes  it  has  the  steme, 
Over  all  that  is  or  was  ; 
If  men  it  said  as  made  Thomas,"  &c. 

It  appears,  from  a  very  curious  MS.  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  penes  Mr.  Douce  of  London, 
containing  a  French  metrical  romance  of  Sir  Tris- 
trem, that  the  work  of  our  Thomas  the  Rhymer 
was  known,  and  referred  to,  by  the  minstrels  oi 
Normandy  and  Bretagne.  Having  arrived  at  a 
part  of  the  romance  where  reciters  were  -wont  to 
differ  in  the  mode  of  telling  the  story,  the  French 
bard  expressly  cites  the  authority  of  the  poet  oi 
Ercildoune : 

"  Plusurs  de  nos  granter  ne  volent, 
Co  que  del  naim  dire  se  solent, 
Ki  femme  Kaherdin  dut  aimer, 
Li  naim  redut  Tristram  narrer, 

"  The  burn  of  breid 
Shall  run  fow  reid." 
Bannock-bum  is  the  brook  here  meant.     The  Scots  give  tn« 
name  of  bannock  to  a  thick  round  cake  of  unleavened  bread. 


584 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


E  entvsche  par  grant  engin, 
Quant  il  afole  Kaherdin ; 
Pur  cest  plat  e  pur  cost  mat, 
Enveiad  Tristram  Ouvernal, 
En  Engletcrre  pur  Ysolt : 
Thomas  ico  granter  ne  volt, 
Et  si  volt  par  raisun  mostrer, 
Q«'  ico  ne  put  pas  esteer,"  &c. 

The  tale  of  Sir  Tristrein,  as  narrated  in  the 
Edinburgh  MS.,  is  totally  different  from  the  volu- 
minous romance  in  prose,  originally  compiled  on 
the  same  subject  by  Rusticien  de  Puise,  and 
analyzed  by  M.  de  Tressan ;  but  agrees  in  every 
essential  particular  with  the  metrical  performance 
just  quoted,  wliick  is  a»work  of  much  higher  an- 
tiquity. 

The  following  attempt  to  commemorate  the 
Rhymer's  poetical  fame,  and  the  traditional  ac- 
count of  his  marvellous  return  to  Fairy  Land, 
being  entirely  modern,  would  have  been  placed 
with  greater  propriety  among  the  class  of  Modern 
Ballads,  had  it  not  been  for  its  immediate  con- 
nection with  the  first  and  second  parts  of  the 
same  story. 


Stomas  tlje  Rljtjmcr. 


PART  THIRD. 


When  seven  years  more  were  come  and  gone, 
Was  war  through  Scotland  spread, 

And  Ruberslaw  show'd  high  Dunyon1 
His  beacon  blazing  red. 

Then  all  by  bonny  Coldingknow,9 
Pitch'd  palliouns  took  their  room, 

And  crested  helms,  and  spears  a-rowe, 
Glanced  gayly  through  the  broom. 

The  Leader,  rolling  to  the  Tweed, 

Resounds  the  ensenzie  ;s 
They  roused  the  deer  from  Caddenhead, 

To  distant  Torwoodlee.4 


i  Ruberslaw  and  Dunyon,  are  two  hills  near  Jedburgh. 

*  An  ancient  tower  near  Ercildoune,  belonging  to  a  family 
pf  the  name  of  Home.  One  of  Thomas's  prophecies  is  said 
o  have  run  thus  : — 

**  Vengeance  !  vengeance  !  when  and  where  ? 

On  the  house  of  Coldingknow,  now  and  ever  mair !" 

The  spot  is  rendered  classical  by  its  having  given  name 
to  the  beautiful  melody  called  the  Broom  o'  the  Cowden- 
knows. 

3  Ensenzie — War-cry,  or  gathering  word. 


The  feast  was  spread  in  Ercildoune, 
In  Learmont's  high  and  ancient  hall : 

And  there  were  knights  of  great  renown, 
And  ladies,  laced  in  pall. 

Nor  lacked  they,  while  they  sat  at  dine, 

The  music  nor  the  tale, 
Nor  goblets  of  the  blood-red  wine, 

Nor  mantling  quaighs6  of  ale. 

True  Thomas  rose,  with  harp  in  hand, 

When  as  the  feast  was  done : 
(In  minstrel  strife,  in  Fairy  Land, 

The  elfin  harp  he  won.) 

Hush'd  were  the  throng,  both  limb  and  tongue 

And  harpers  for  envy  pale ; 
And  armed  lords  lean'd  on  their  swords, 

And  hearken'd  to  the  tale. 

In  numbers  high,  the  witching  tale 

The  prophet  pour'd  along; 
No  after  bard  might  e'er  avail8 

Those  numbers  to  prolong. 

Yet  fragments  of  the  lofty  strain 

Float  down  the  tide  of  years, 
As,  buoyant  on  the  stormy  main, 

A  parted  wreck  appears.7 

He  sung  King  Arthur's  Table  Round: 

The  Warrior  of  the  Lake ; 
How  courteous  Gawaiue  met  the  wound,8 

And  bled  for  ladies'  sake. 

But  chief,  in  gentle  Tristrem's  praise, 

The  notes  melodious  swell ; 
Was  none  excell'd  in  Arthur's  days, 

The  knight  of  Lionelle. 

For  Marke,  his  cowardly  uncle's  right, 

A  venom'd  wound  he  bore ; 
When  fierce  Morholde  he  slew  in  fight, 

Upon  the  Irish  shore. 

No  art  the  poison  might  withstand ; 

No  medicine  could  be  found, 
Till  lovely  Isolde's  lily  hand 

Had  probed  the  rankling  wound. 

*  Torwoodlee  and  Caddenhead  are  places  in  Selkirkshire; 
both  the  property  of  Mr.  Pringle  of  Torwoodlee. 

6  Quaighs — Wooden  cups,  composed  of  staves  hooped  to- 
gether. 

e  See  Introduction  to  this  ballad. 

7  This  stanza  was  quoted  by  the  Edinburgh  Reviewer,  of 
1804,  as  a  noble  contrast  to  the  ordinary  humility  of  the  gen- 
uine ballad  diction.— Ed. 

8  See,  in  the  Fabliaux  of  Monsieur  le  Grand,  elegantlv  trans- 
lated by  the  late  Gregory  Way,  Esq.,  the  tale  of  the  Knight 
and  the  Sword.     [Vol.  ii.  p.  3.] 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY.                               58a 

With  gentle  hand  and  soothing  tongue 

She  bore  the  leech's  part ; 
And,  while  she  o'er  his  sick-bed  hung, 

He  paid  her  with  his  heart. 

On  Leader's  stream,  and  Learmont's  tower, 

The  mists  of  evening  close ; 
In  camp,  in  castle,  or  in  bower, 

Each  warrior  sought  repose. 

0  fatal  was  the  gift,  I  ween ! 

For,  doora'd  in  evil  tide, 
The  maid  must  be  rude  Cornwall's  queen, 

His  cowardly  uncle's  bride. 

Lord  Douglas,  in  Ins  lofty  tent, 
Dream'd  o'er  the  woeful  tale ; 

When  footsteps  light,  across  the  bent, 
The  warrior's  ears  assail 

Their  loves,  their  woes,  the  gifted  bard 

In  fairy  tissue  wove ; 
Where  lords,  and  knights,  and  laches  bright, 

In  gay  confusion  strove. 

He  starts,  he  wakes  ; — "  What,  Richard,  ho  I 

Arise,  my  page,  arise  ! 
What  venturous  wight,  at  dead  of  night, 

Dare  step  where  Douglas  lies !" — 

The  Garde  Joyeuse,  amid  the  tale, 
High  rear'd  its  glittering  head ; 

And  Avalon's  enchanted  vale 
In  all  its  wonders  spread. 

Then  forth  they  rush'd :  by  Leader's  tide, 

A  selcouth1  sight  they  see — 
A  hart  and  hind  pace  side  by  side, 

As  white  as  snow  on  Fairnalie.2 

Brangwainwas  there,  and  Segramore, 
And  fiend-born  Merlin's  gramarye  ; 

Of  that  famed  wizard's  mighty  lore, 
0  who  could  sing  but  he  ? 

Beneath  the  moon,  with  gesture  proud, 
They  stately  move  and  slow ; 

Nor  scare  they  at  the  gathering  crowd 
Who  marvel  as  they  go. 

Through  many  a  maze  the  winning  song 

In  changeful  passion  led, 
Till  bent  at  length  the  listening  throng 

O'er  Tristrem's  dying  bed. 

To  Learmont's  tower  a  message  sped, 
As  fast  as  page  might  run ; 

And  Thomas  started  from  his  bed. 
And  soon  his  clothes  did  on. 

His  ancient  wounds  their  scars  expand, 
With  agony  his  heart  is  wrung : 

0  where  is  Isolde's  lilye  hand, 
And  where  her  soothing  tongue  ? 

First  he  woxe  pale,  and  then  woxe  red , 
Never  a  word  he  spake  but  three  ;— 

."  My  sand  is  run ;  my  thread  is  spun ; 
This  sign  regardeth  me." 

She  comes !  she  comes ! — like  flash  of  flame 

Can  lovers'  footsteps  fly  : 
She  comes !  she  comes  ! — she  only  came 

To  see  her  Tristrem  die. 

The  elfin  harp  his  neck  around, 
In  minstrel  guise,  he  hung ; 

And  on  the  wind,  in  doleful  sound. 
Its  dying  accents  rung. 

She  saw  him  die  ;  her  latest  sigh 
Join'd  in  a  kiss  his  parting  breath ; 

The  gentlest  pair,  that  Britain  bare, 
United  are  in  death. 

Then  forth  he  wen+. ;  yet  turn'd  him  oft 

To  view  his  ancient  hall : 
On  the  gray  tower,  in  lustre  soft, 

The  autumn  moonbeams  fall ; 

There  paused  the  harp :  its  lingering  sound 

Died  slowly  on  the  ear ; 
The  silent  guests  still  bent  around, 

For  still  they  seem'd  to  hear. 

And  Leader's  waves,  like  silver  sheen, 
Danced  shimmering  in  the  ray  ; 

In  deepening  mass,  at  distance  seen, 
Broad»Soltra's  mountains  lay. 

Then  woe  broke  forth  in  murmurs  weak : 
Nor  ladies  heaved  alone  the  sigh ; 

But,  half  ashamed,  the  rugged  cheek 
Did  many  a  gauntlet  dry. 

"  Farewell,  my  fathers'  ancient  tower . 

A  long  farewell,"  said  he : 
"  The  scene  of  pleasure,  pomp,  or  power, 

Thou  never  more  shalt  be. 

J  Selcouth — Wondrous. 

2  An  ancient  seat  upon  the  Tweed,  in  Selkirkshire.     In  a 
popular  edition  of  the  first  part  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  the 
Pairy  Q,ueen  thus  addresses  him  : — 
74 

"  Gin  ye  wad  meet  wi'  me  again, 
Gang  to  the  bonny  banks  of  Fairnalie." 
Fairnalie  is  now  one  of  the  seats  of  Mr.  Pringle  of  Clifton 
M.  P.  for  Selkirkshire.    1833. 

;o.{>                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

"  To  Learmont's  name  no  foot  of  earth 

And  there,  before  Lord  Douglas'  face, 

Shall  here  again  belong, 

With  them  he  cross' d  the  flood. 

And,  on  thy  hospitable  hearth, 

The  hare  shall  leave  her  young. 

Lord  Douglas  leap'd  on  his  berry-brown  steed, 

And  spurr'd  him  the  Leader  o'er  ; 

"  Adieu !  adieu !"  again  he  cried, 

But,  though  he  rode  with  lightning  speed, 

All  as  he  turn'd  him  roun' — 

He  never  saw  them  more. 

"  Farewell  to  Leader's  silver  tide  ! 

Farewell  to  Ercildoune !" 

Some  said  to  lull,  and  some  to  glen, 

Their  wondrous  course  had  been ; 

The  hart  and  hind  approach'd  the  place, 

But  ne'er  in  haunts  of  living  men 

As  lingering  yet  he  stood ; 

Again  was  Thomas  seen. 

APPE 

NDIX.                                    J 

Note  A.— P.  514. 

Undir  nethe  a  dern  tre, 

I  was  war  of  a  lady  gay, 

From  the  Chartulary  of  the  Trinity  House  of  Soltra. 

Come  rydyng  ouyr  a  fairle: 

Advocates1  Library,  W.  4.  14. 

Zogh  I  suld  sitt  to  domysdaj , 

ERSYLTON. 

With  my  tong  to  wrabbe  and  wrj 

Certenly  all  hyr  aray, 

Omnibus  has  literas  visuris  vel  audituris  Thomas  de  Ercil- 

It  beth  neuyer  discryuyd  for  me. 

lloun  filius  et  heres  Thomae  Rymour  de  Ercikloun  salutem  in 

Hyr  palfra  was  dappyll  gray, 

Domino.,  Noveritis  me  per  fustem  et  baeulum  in  pleno  judi- 

Sycke  on  say  neuer  none ; 

cio  resignasse  ac  per  presentes  quietem  elamasse  pro  me  et  here- 

As  the  son  in  somers  day, 

dibus  meis  Magistro  domus  Sancta?  Trinitatis  de  Soltre  et  fra- 

All  abowte  that  lady  schone. 

tribus  ejusdem  domus  totam  terrain  raeain  cum  omnibus  per- 

Hyr  sadel  was  of  a  rewel  bone, 

tinentibus  suis  quam  in  tenemento  de  Ereiidoun  hereditarie 

A  semly  syglit  it  was  to  se, 

tenui  renunciarulo  de  toto  pro  me  et  heredibus  meis  omni  jure 

Bryht  with  mony  a  precyous  stone 

et  clameo  qua?  ego  seu  antecessores  mei  in  eadem  terra  alioque 

And  compasyd  all  with  crapste  ; 

tempore  de  perpetuo  habuimus  sive  de  futuro  habere  possumus. 

Stones  of  oryens,  gret  plente, 

[n  cujus  rei  tes-timonio  presentibus  his  sigillum  meum  apposui 

Her  hair  about  her  hede  it  hang, 

data  apud  Ereiidoun  die  Martis  proximo  post  festum  Sanctorum 

She  rode  ouer  the  farnyle, 

Apostolorum  Symonis  et  Jude  Anno  Domini  Millesimo  cc. 

A  while  she  blew,  a  while  she  sang, 

Nonagesimo  Nono. 

Her  girths  of  nobil  silke  they  were, 

Her  boculs  were  of  beryl  stone, 

Sadyll  and  brydil  war  -  - ; 

With  sylk  and  sendel  about  bedone, 

Note  B.— P.  576. 

Hyr  patyrel  was  of  a  pall  fyne, 

And  hyr  croper  of  the  arase, 

The  reader  is  here  presented,  from  an  old,  and  unfortunately 

Her  brydil  was  of  gold  fine, 

an  imperfect  MS  ,  with  the  undoubted  original  of  Thomas  the 

On  euery  syde  'brsothe  hang  bells  tbr 

Rhymer's  intrigue  with  the  Queen  of  Faery.     It  will  afford 

Her  brydil  reynes  -   -  - 

great  amusement  to  those  who  would  study  the  nature  of  tra- 

A semly  syzt   -  -   -   - 

ditional  poetry,  and  the  changes  effected  by  oral  tradition,  to 

Crop  and  patyrel  -   -   -  - 

compare  this  ancient  romance  with  the  foregoing  ballad.     The 

In  every  joynt   -   -   -   - 

same  incidents  are  narrated,  even  the  expression  is  often  the 

She  led  thre  grew  houndes  in  a  leash, 

same  ;  yet  the  poems  are  as  different  in  appearance,  as  if  the 

And  ratches  cowpled  by  her  ran  ; 

older  tale  bad  been  regularly  and  systematically  modernized  by 

She  bar  an  horn  about  her  halse, 

a  poet  of  the  present  day. 

And  undir  her  gyrdil  mene  flene. 

Thomas  lay  and  sa   -   -   - 

Incipit  Prophesia  Thomce  de  Erseldoun. 

In  the  bankes  of  -   -   -   - 

In  alande  as  I  was  lent, 

He  sayd  Yonder  is  Mary  of  Might, 

In  the  gryking  of  the  day, 

That  bar  the  child  that  died  for  me, 

Ay  alone  as  I  went, 

Certes  bot  I  may  speke  with  that  lady  briglh, 

Iu  H untie  bankys  me  for  to  play  ; 

Myd  my  hert  will  breke  in  three  ; 

I  saw  the  throstyl,  and  the  jay, 

I  schal  me  hye  with  all  my  might, 

Ye  mawes  movyde  of  her  song, 

Hyr  to  mete  at  Eldyn  Tre. 

Ye  wodwale  sange  notes  gay, 

Thomas  rathly  up  her  rase, 

That  al  the  wod  about  range. 

And  ran  ouer  mountayn  hye, 

In  that  longyng  as  I  lay, 

If  it  he  sothe  the  story  says, 

CONTRIBUTIONS 

TO  MINSTRELSY.                                58V 

Ha  met  her  euyn  at  Eldyn  Tre. 

The  figge  and  als  fy  Jbert  tre  ; 

Thomas  knelyd  down  on  his  kne 

The  nyghtyngale  bredyng  in  her  neste, 

Undir  nethe  the  grenewood  spray, 

The  papigaye  about  gan  fie, 

And  sayd,  Lovely  lady,  thou  rue  on  me, 

The  throstyk'oek  sang  wald  hafe  no  rest. 

Queen  of  Heaven  as  you  may  well  be. 

He  pressed  to  pulle  fruyt  with  his  hand, 

But  I  am  a  lady  of  another  countrie, 

As  man  for  faute  that  was  faynt ; 

If  I  be  pareld  most  of  prise, 

She  seyd,  Thomas,  lat  al  stand, 

I  ri«le  after  the  wild  fee, 

Or  els  the  deuyl  wil  the  ataynt. 

My  ratches  rinnen  at  my  devys. 

Sche  seyd,  Thomas,  I  the  hyzt, 

.f  thou  be  pareld  most  of  prise, 

To  lay  thi  hede  upon  my  kne, 

And  rides  a  lady  in  Strang  foly, 

And  thou  shalt  see  fayrer  syght, 

Lovely  lady,  as  thou  art  wise, 

Than  euyr  sawe  man  in  their  kintre. 

Giue  you  me  leue  to  lige  ye  by. 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yon  fayr  way, 

Do  way,  Thomas,  that  were  foly, 

That  lyggs  ouyr  yone  fayr  playn  1 

I  pray  ye,  Thomas,  late  me  be, 

Yonder  is  the  way  to  heuyn  for  ay, 

That  sin  will  fordo  all  my  bewtie. 

Whan  synful  sawles  haf  derayed  their  payne. 

Lovely  lad  ye,  rewe  on  me, 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yon  secund  way, 

And  euer  more  I  shall  with  ye  dwell, 

That  lygges  lawe  undir  the  ryse  1 

Here  my  trowth  I  plyght  to  thee, 

Streight  is  the  way,  sothly  to  say, 

Where  you  belieues  in  heuin  or  hell. 

To  the  joyes  of  paradyce. 

Thomas,  and  you  myght  lyge  me  by, 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yonthyrd  way, 

Undir  nethe  this  grene  wode  spray, 

That  lygges  ouyr  yone  how  ? 

Thou  would  tell  full  hastely, 

Wide  is  the  way,  sothly  to  say, 

That  thou  had  layn  by  a  lady  gay. 

To  the  brynyng  fyres  of  helle. 

Lady,  mote  I  lyge  by  the, 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yone  fayr  castell, 

Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  tre, 

That  standes  ouyr  yone  fair  hill  ? 

For  all  the  gold  in  chrystenty, 

Of  town  and  tower  it  beereth  the  belle, 

Suld  you  neuer  be  wryede  for  me. 

In  middell  erth  is  none  like  theretill. 

Man  on  molde  you  will  me  marre, 

Whan  thou  comyst  in  yone  castell  gaye, 

And  yet  hot  you  may  haf  your  will, 

I  pray  thee  curteis  man  to  be  ; 

Trow  you  well,  Thomas,  you  eheuyst  ye  warre 

What  so  any  man  to  you  say, 

For  all  my  bewtie  wilt  you  spill. 

Loke  thu  answer  none  but  me. 

Down  lyghted  that  lady  bryzt, 

My  lord  is  servyd  at  yehe  messe, 

Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  spray, 

With  xxx  kniztes  feir  and  fre  ; 

And  as  ye  story  sayth  full  ryzt, 

I  shall  say  syttyng  on  the  dese, 

Seuyn  tymes  by  her  he  lay. 

I  toke  thy  speche  beyone  the  le. 

She  sayd,  Man,  you  lyst  thi  play. 

Thomas  stode  as  still  as  stone, 

What  berde  in  bouyr  may  dele  with  thee, 

And  behelde  that  ladye  gaye  ; 

That  maries  me  all  this  long  day  ; 

Than  was  sche  fayr,  and  ryche  anone, 

I  pray  ye,  Thomas,  let  me  be. 

And  also  ryal  on  hir  palfreye. 

Thomas  stode  up  in  the  stede, 

The  grewhoundes  had  fylde  thaim  on  the  dew, 

And  behelde  the  lady  gay, 

The  raches  coupled,  by  my  fay, 

Her  heyre  hang  down  about  hyr  hede, 

She  blewe  her  borne  Thomas  to  chere, 

The  tane  was  blak,  the  other  gray, 

To  the  castell  she  went  her  way. 

Her  eyn  semyt  onte  before  was  gray, 

The  ladye  into  the  hall  went, 

Her  gay  clethyng  was  all  away, 

Thomas  folowyd  at  her  hand  ; 

That  he  before  had  sene  in  that  stede 

Thar  kept  her  mony  a  lady  gent, 

Hyr  body  as  blow  as  ony  bede. 

With  curtasy  and  lawe. 

Thomas  sighede,  and  sayd,  Alias, 

Harp  and  fedyl  both  he  fande, 

Me  thynke  this  a  dullfu'.!  syght, 

The  getem  and  the  sawtry, 

That  thou  art  fadyd  in  the  face, 

Lut  and  rybid  ther  gon  gan, 

iefore  you  shone  as  son  so  bryzt. 

Thair  was  al  maner  of  mynstralsy, 

Tak  thy  leue,  Thomas,  at  son  and  mone 

The  most  fertly  that  Thomas  thoght, 

At  gresse,  and  at  euery  tre, 

When  he  com  emyddes  the  More, 

This  twel month  sail  you  with  me  gone 

Fourty  hertes  to  quarry  were  broght, 

Medyl  erth  you  sail  not  se. 

That  had  been  befor  both  long  and  store. 

Alas,  he  seyd,  ful  wo  is  me, 

Lymors  lay  lappyng  blode, 

[  trow  my  dedes  will  werke  me  care, 

And  kokes  standyng  with  dressyng  knyfe, 

Jesu,  my  sole  tak  to  ye, 

And  dressyd  dere  as  thai  wer  wode, 

Whedir  so  euyr  my  body  sal  fare. 

And  rewell  was  thair  wonder. 

She  rode  furth  with  all  her  myzt, 

Knyghtes  dansyd  by  two  and  thre, 

Undir  nethe  the  derne  lee, 

All  that  leue  long  day. 

It  was  as  derke  as  at  midnizt, 

Ladyes  that  were  gret  of  gre, 

And  euyr  in  water  unto  the  kne  ; 

Sat  and  sang  of  rych  array. 

Through  the  space  of  days  thre, 

Thomas  sawe  much  more  in  that  plac*, 

He  herde  but  swowyng  of  a  flode  ; 

Than  I  can  descryve, 

Thomas  sayd,  Ful  wo  is  me, 

Til  on  a  day,  alas,  alas, 

Now  I  spyll  for  fawte  of  fode  ; 

My  lovelye  ladye  sayd  to  me, 

To  a  garden  she  lede  him  tyte, 

Busk  ye,  Thomas,  you  must  agayn, 

There  was  fruyte  in  grete  plente, 

Here  you  may  no  longer  be  : 

Peyres  and  appless  ther  were  rype, 

Hy  then  zerne  that  you  were  at  hame, 

The  date  and  the  damese, 

1  sal  ye  bryng  to  Eldy^  Tre 

688 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Thomas  answerd  with  heuy 

And  said,  Lowely  ladye,  lat  ma  he, 

For  I  say  ye  certenly  here 

Hail  be  bot  the  space  of dayes  three. 

Sothly,  Thomas,  as  I  telle  ye, 

You  hath  ben  here  thre  yeres, 

And  here  you  may  no  longer  be  ; 

And  I  sal  tele  ye  a  skele, 

To-morrow  of  helle  ye  foule  fende 

Amang  our  folke  shall  chuse  his  fee  ; 

For  you  art  a  larg  man  and  an  hende, 

Trowe  you  wele  he  will  chuse  thee. 

Fore  all  the  golde  that  may  be, 

Fro  hens  unto  the  worldes  ende, 

Sail  you  not  be  betrayed  by  me, 

And  thairforsall  you  hens  wende. 

She  broght  hym  euyn  to  Eldyn  Tre, 

Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  spray, 

In  Huntle  bankes  was  fayr  to  be, 

Ther  breddes  syng  both  nyzt  and  day. 

Ferre  ouyr  yon  inontayns  gray, 

Ther  hathe  my  faeon  ; 

Fare  wele,  Thomas,  I  wende  my  way. 


The  Elfin  Queen,  after  restoring  Thomas  to  earth,  pours 
forth  a  string  of  prophecies,  in  which  we  distinguish  references 
to  the  events  and  personages  of  the  Scottish  wars  of  Edward 
III.  The  battles  of  Dupplin  and  Halidon  are  mentioned,  and 
also  Black  Agnes,  Countess  of  Dunbar.  There  is  a  copy  of 
this  poem  in  the  Museum  of  the  Cathedral  of  Lincoln,  an* 
other  in  the  collection  in  Peterborough,  but  unfortunately  they 
are  all  in  an  imperfect  state.  Mr.  Jamieson,  in  his  curious 
Collection  of  Scottish  Ballads  and  Songs,  has  an  entire  copy 
of  this  ancient  poem,  with  all  the  collations.  The  lacuna  of 
the  former  editions  have  been  supplied  from  his  copy. 


Note  C. 


ALLUSIONS    TO    HERALDRY.— P.  578. 

"  The  muscle  is  a  square  figure  like  a  lozevge,  but  it  is  al- 
ways voided  of  the  field.  They  are  carried  as  principal  figures 
by  the  name  of  Learmont.  Learmont  of  Earlstoun,  in  the 
Merss,  carried  or  on  a  bend  azure  three  muscles ;  of  which 
family  was  Sir  Thomas  Lparmont,  who  is  well  known  by  the 
name  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  because  he  wrote  his  prophecies 
in  rhime.  This  prophetick  herauld  lived  in  the  days  of  King 
Alexander  the  Third,  and  prophesied  of  his  death,  and  of  many 
other  remarkable  occurrences ;  particularly  of  the  union  of 
Scotland  with  England,  which  was  not  accomplished  until  the 
reign  of  James  the  Sixth,  some  hundred  years  after  it  was  fore- 
told by  this  gentleman,  whose  prophecies  are  much  esteemed 
by  many  of  the  vulgar  even  at  this  day.  I  was  promised  by  a 
friend  a  sight  of  his  prophecies,  of  which  there  is  everywhere 
to  be  had  an  epitome,  which,  I  suppose,  is  erroneous,  and  dif- 
fers in  many  things  from  the  original,  it  having  been  oft  re- 
printed by  some  unskilful  persons.  Thus  many  things  are 
amissing  in  the  small  book  which  are  to  be  met  with  in  the 
original,  particularly  these  two  lines  concerning  his  neighbour, 
Bemersiue : — 

•  Tyde  what  may  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  laird  of  Bemerside.' 

And  indeed  his  prophecies  concerning  that  ancient  family  have 
hitherto  been  true  ;  for,  since  that  time  to  this  day,  the  Haigs 
have  been  lairds  of  that  place.  They  carrie,  Azure  a  saltier 
cantoned  with  two  stars  in  chief  and  in  base  argent,  as  many 
crescents  in  the  flanques  or ;  and  for  crest  a  rock  proper, 
with  this  motto,  taken  from  the  above  written  rhyme — '  Tide 
what  may.'  " — Nisbet  on   Marks  of  Cadency,  p.  158. — He 


adds,  "that  Thomas'  meaning  maybe  understood  by  heraulds 
when  he  speaks  of  kingdoms  whose  insignia  seldom  vary,  but 
that  individual  families  cannot  be  discovered,  either  because 
they  have  altered  their  bearings,  or  because  they  are  poirted 
out  by  their  crests  and  exterior  ornaments,  which  are  charged 
at  the  pleasure  of  the  bearer."  Mr.  Nisbet,  however,  com- 
forts himself  for  this  obscurity,  by  reflecting,  that  "we  may 
certainly  conclude,  from  his  writings,  that  herauldry  was  in 
good  esteem  in  his  days,  and  well  known  to  the  vulgar." — 
Ibid.  p.  ICO. — It  may  be  added,  that  the  publication  of  pre- 
dictions, either  printed  or  hieroglyphical,  in  which  noble  fami- 
lies were  pointed  out  by  their  armorial  bearings,  was,  in  vhe 
time  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  extremely  common  ;  and  the  influ- 
ence of  such  predictions  on  the  minds  of  the  common  people 
was  so  great  as  to  occasion  a  prohibition,  by  statute,  of  proph- 
ecy by  reference  to  heraldic  emblems.  Lord  Henry  Howard 
also  (afterwards  Earl  of  Northampton)  directs  against  this 
practice  much  of  the  reasoning  in  his  learned  treatise,  entitled, 
"  A  Defensation  against  the  Poyson  of  pretended  Prophecies." 


Note  D.— P.  580. 

The  strange  occupation  in  which  Waldiiave  beholds  Merlir 
engaged,  derives  some  illustration  from  a  curious  passage  ii 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth's  life  of  Merlin,  above  quoted.  The 
poem,  after  narrating  that  the  prophet  had  fled  to  the  forest 
in  a  state  of  distraction,  proceeds  to  mention,  that,  looking 
upon  the  stars  one  clear  evening,  he  discerned  from  his  astro- 
logical knowledge,  that  his  wife,  Guendolen,  had  resolved, 
upon  the  next  morning,  to  take  another  husband.  As  he  had 
presaged  to  her  that  this  would  happen,  and  had  promised 
her  a  nuptial  gift  (cautioning  her,  however,  to  keep  the  bride- 
groom out  of  his  sight),  he  now  resolved  to  make  good  lug 
word.  Accordingly,  he  collected  all  the  stags  and  lessei 
game  in  his  neighborhood  ;  and,  having  seated  himself  upon  a 
buck,  drove  the  herd  before  him  to  the  capital  of  Cumberland, 
where  Guendolen  resided.  But  her  lover's  curiosity  leading 
him  to  inspect  too  nearly  this  extraordinary  cavalcade  Mer- 
lin's rage  was  awakened,  and  he  slew  him  with  the  stroke  ol 
an  antler  of  the  stag.     The  original  runs  thus  : — 

"  Dixerat :  et  silvas  et  saltus  circuit  omnes, 
Cervorumque  grcgcs  agmen  collegitin  unum, 
Et  damns,  capreasque  simul ;  cervoque  resedit, 
Et,  veniente  die,  compellens  agmina  prce  se, 
Festinans  vadit  quo  nvbit  Ouendolwna, 
Postquam  venit  eo,  parienter  ipse  coegit 
Cervos  ante  fores,  proclamans,  '  Ouendolmna, 
Quendolcena,  veni,  te  talia  munera  spectant. 
Ocius  ergo  venit  subridens  Quendolcena, 
Qestarique  virum  cervo  miratur,  et  ilium 
Sic  parere  viro,  tantum  quoque  posse  ferarum 
Uniri  numerum  quas  pro:  se  solus  agebat, 
Sicut  pastor  oves,  quas  ducere  suevit  ad  herbas. 
Stabat  ab  excelsa  sponsus  spectando  fenestra, 
In  solio  mirans  cquitem,  ris unique  movebat. 
Ast  ubi  vidit  earn  vates,  animoque  quis  esset 
Calluit,  exlemplo  divulsit  cornua  cervo 
Quo  gestabatur,  vibrataquejccit  in  ilium, 
Et  caput  illius  penitus  contrivit,  eumque 
Reddidit  exanimem,  vitamque  fugavit  in  auras  ; 
Ocius  inde  suum,  talorum  verbere,  ccrvum 
Diffugiens  egit,  silvasque  redire paravit." 

For  a  perusal  of  this  curious  poem,  accurately  copied  from 
a  MS.  in  the  Cotton  Library,  nearly  coeval  with  the  author,  I 
was  indebted  to  my  learned  friend,  the  late  Mr.  Ritson.  There 
is  an  excellent  paraphrase  of  it  in  the  curious  and  entertain" 
ing  Specimens  of  Early  English  Romances,  published  b» 
Mr.  Ellis. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


589 


OHenfinlajs  ; 


OR, 


LORD   RONALD'S   CORONACH 


The  simple  tradition,  upon  which  the  following 
stanzas  are  founded,  runs  thus  :  While  two  High- 
land hunters  were  passing  the  night  in  a  solitary 
bothy  (a  hut,  built  for  the  purpose  of  hunting),  and 
making  merry  over  their  venison  and  whisky,  one 
of  them  expressed  a  wish  that  they  had  pretty 
lasses  to  complete  their  party.  The  words  were 
scarcely  uttered,  when  two  beautiful  young  wo- 
men, habited  in  green,  entered  the  hut,  dancing 
and  singing.  One  of  the  hunters  was  seduced  by 
the  siren  who  attached  herself  particularly  to  him, 
to  leave  the  hut:  the  other  remained,  and,  suspi- 
cious of  the  fair  seducers,  continued  to  play  upon 
a  trump,  or  Jew's-harp,  some  strain,  consecrated 
to  the  Virgin  Mary.  Day  at  length  came,  and  the 
temptress  vanished.  Searching  in  the  forest,  he 
found  the  bones  of  his  unfortunate  friend,  who  had 
been  torn  to  pieces  and  devoured  by  the  fiend  into 
whose  toils  he  had  fallen.  The  place  was  from 
thence  called  the  Glen  of  the  Green  Women. 

Glenfinlas  is  a  tract  of  forest-ground,  lying  in  the 
Highlands  of  Perthshire,  not  far  from  Callender  in 
Menteith.  It  was  formerly  a  royal  forest,  and  now 
belongs  to  the  Earl  of  Moray.  This  country,  as 
well  as  the  adjacent  district  of  Balquidder,  was, 
in  times  of  yore,  chiefly  inhabited  by  the  Mac- 
gregors.  To  the  west  of  the  Forest  of  Glenfinlas 
lies  Loch  Katrine,  and  its  romantic  avenue,  called 
the  Troshachs.  Benledi,  Benmore,  and  Benvoir- 
lich,  are  mountains  in  the  same  district,  and  at  no 
great  distance  from  Glenfinlas.  The  river  Teith 
passes  Callender  and  the  Castle  of  Doune,  and 
joins  the  Forth  near  Stirling.  The  Pass  of  Lenny 
is  immediately  above  Callender,  and  is  the  princi- 
pal access  to  the  Highlands,  from  that  town. 
Glenartney  is  a  forest,  near  Benvoirlich.  The 
whole  forms  a  sublime  tract  of  Alpme  scenery. 

This  ballad  first  appeared  in  the  Tales  of  Won- 
der? 

l  Coronach  is  the  lamentation  for  a  deceased  warrior,  snng 
by  the  aged  of  the  clan. 

a  In  1801.  See  ante,  p.  567.— The  scenery  of  this,  the  au- 
thor's first  serious  attempt  in  poetry,  reappears  in  the  Lady  of 
he  Lake,  in  Waverley,  and  in  Rob  Roy. — Ed. 


©Unfinlaa, 


ou, 


LORD  RONALD'S  CORONACH. 


"  For  them  the  viewless  forms  of  air  obey, 

Their  bidding  heed,  and  at  their  beck  repair ; 
They  know  what  spirit  brews  the  stormful  day,        ^ 

And  heartless  oft,  like  moody  madness  stare, 
To  see  the  phantom-train  their  secret  work  prepare." 

Collin* 


"  0  hone  a  rie' !  0  hone  a  rie'  !s 

The  pride  of  Albin's  line  is  o'er, 
And  fall'n  Glenartney's  stateliest  tree  ; 

We  ne'er  shall  see  Lord  Ronald  more  !" — 

0,  sprung  from  great  Macgillianore, 
The  chief  that  never  fear'd  a  foe, 

How  matchless  was  thy  broad  claymore, 
How  deadly  thine  unerring  bow ! 

Well  can  the  Saxon  widows  tell,4 

How,  on  the  Teith's  resounding  shore, 

The  boldest  Lowland  warriors  fell, 
As  down  from  Lenny's  pass  you  bore. 

But  o'er  his  hills,  in  festal  day, 

How  blazed  Lord  Ronald's  beltane-tree,5 
While  youths  and  maids  the  fight  strathspey 

So  nimbly  danced  with  Highland  glee  I 

Cheer'd  by  the  strength  of  Ronald's  shell, 

E'en  age  forgot  his  tresses  hoar ; 
But  now  the  loud  lament  we  swell, 

0  ne'er  to  see  Lord  Ronald  more  1 

3  O  hone  a  rie'  signifies  — "  Alas  for  the  prince  ct 
chief." 

*  The  term  Sassenach,  or  Saxon,  is  applied  by  the  Highland 
ers  to  their  Low-Country  neighbors. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  A 


590                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

From  distant  isles  a  chieftain  came, 
The  joys  of  Ronald's  halls  to  find, 

And  chase  with  him  the  dark-brown  game, 
That  bounds  o'er  Albin's  hills  of  wind. 

"  What  lack  we  here  to  crown  our  bliss, 
While  thus  the  pulse  of  joy  beats  high? 

What,  but  fair  woman's  yielding  kiss, 
Her  panting  breath  and  melting  eye  ? 

'Twas  Moy ;  whom  in  Columba's  isle 
The  seer's  prophetic  spirit  found,1 

As,  with  a  minstrel's  fire  the  while, 
He  waked  his  harp's  harmonious  sound. 

"  To  chase  the  deer  of  yonder  shades, 
This  morning  left  their  father's  pile 

The  fairest  of  our  mountain  maids, 
The  daughters  of  the  proud  Glengyle. 

Full  many  a  spell  to  him  was  known, 
Which  wandering  spirits  shrink  to  hear ; 

And  many  a  lay  of  potent  tone, 
Was  never  meant  for  mortal  ear. 

"  Long  have  I  sought  sweet  Mary's  heart, 
And  dropp'd  the  tear,  and  heaved  the  sigh 

But  vain  the  lover's  wily  art, 
Beneath  a  sister's  watchful  eye. 

For  there,  'tis  said,  in  mystic  mood, 

High  converse  with  the  dead  they  hold, 

And  oft  espy  the  fated  shroud, 

That  shall  the  future  corpse  enfold. 

"  But  thou  mayst  teach  that  guardian  fair, 
While  far  with  Mary  I  am  flown, 

Of  other  hearts  to  cease  her  care, 
And  find  it  hard  to  guard  her  own. 

0  so  it  fell,  that  on  a  day, 

To  rouse  the  red  deer  from  their  den, 
The  Chiefs  have  ta'en  their  distant  way, 
"And  scour'd  the  deep  Glenfinlas  glen. 

"  Touch  but  thy  harp,  thou  soon  shalt  see 

The  lovely  Flora  of  Glengyle, 
Unmindful  of  her  charge  and  me, 

Hang  on  thy  notes,  'twixt  tear  and  smile. 

No  vassals  wait  their  sports  to  aid, 

To  watch  their  safety,  deck  their  board ; 

Their  simple  dress,  the  Highland  plaid, 
Their  trusty  guard,  the  Highland  sword. 

"  Or,  if  she  choose  a  melting  tale, 

All  underneath  the  greenwood  bough, 

Will  good  St.  Oran's  rule  prevail,2 

Stern  huutsman  of  the  rigid  brow  ?" — 

Three  summer  days,  through  brake  and  dell, 
Their  whistling  shafts  successful  flew ; 

And  still,  when  dewy  evening  fell, 
The  quarry  to  their  hut  they  drew. 

"  Since  Enrick's  fight,  since  Morna's  death, 
No  more  on  me  shall  rapture  rise, 

Responsive  to  the  panting  breath, 
Or  yielding  kiss,  or  melting  eyes. 

In  gray  Glenfinlas'  deepest  nook 

The  solitary  cabin  stood, 
Fast  by  Moneira's  sullen  brook, 

Which  murmurs  through  that  lonely  wood. 

"  E'en  then,  when  o'er  the  heath  of  woe, 
Where  sunk  my  hopes  of  love  and  fame, 

I  bade  my  harp's  wild  wailings  flow, 
On  me  the  Seer's  sad  spirit  came. 

Soft  fell  the  night,  the  sky  was  calm, 
When  three  successive  days  had  flown ; 

And  summer  mist  in  dewy  balm 

Steep'd  heathy  bank,  and  mossy  stone. 

"  The  last  dread  curse  of  angry  heaven, 
With  ghastly  sights  and  sounds  of  woe, 

To  dash  each  glimpse  of  joy  was  given — 
The  gift,  the  future  ill  to  know. 

The  moon,  half-hid  in  silvery  flakes, 
Afar  her  dubious  radiance  shed, 

Quivering  on  Katrine's  distant  lakes, 
And  resting  on  Benledi's  head. 

"  The  bark  thou  saw'st,  yon  summer  morn, 
So  gayly  part  from  Oban's  bay, 

My  eye  beheld  her  dash'd  and  torn, 
Far  on  the  rocky  Colonsay. 

Now  in  their  hut,  in  social  guise, 
Their  silvan  fare  the  Chiefs  enjoy ; 

A.nd  pleasure  laughs  in  Ronald's  eyes, 
As  many  a  pledge  he  quaffs  to  Moy 

"  Thy  Fergus  too — thy  sister's  son, 

Thou  saw'st,  with  pride,  the  gallant's  power 
As  marching  'gainst  the  Lord  of  Downe, 

He  left  the  skirts  of  huge  Benmore. 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 

CONTRIBUTIONS 

TO  MINSTRELSY.                                591 

-  Thou  only  saw'st  their  tartans1  "wave, 
As  iown  Benvoirlich's  side  they  wound, 

Heard'st  but  the  pibroch,2  answering  brave 
To  many  a  target  clanking  round. 

And  by  the  watch-fire's  glimmering  light, 
Close  by  the  minstrel's  side  was  seen 

A  huntress  maid,  in  beauty  bright, 
All  dropping  wet  her  robes  of  green. 

'  I  neard  the  groans,  I  mark'd  the  tears, 
I  saw  the  wound  his  bosom  bore, 

When  on  the  serried  Saxon  spears 
lie  pour'd  his  clan's  resistless  roar. 

All  dropping  wet  her  garments  seem ; 

Chill' d  was  her  cheek,  her  bosom  bare, 
As,  bending  o'er  the  dying  gleam, 

She  wrung  the  moisture  from  her  hair. 

"  And  thou,  who  bidst  me  think  of  bliss, 
And  bidst  my  heart  awake  to  glee, 

And  court,  like  thee,  the  wanton  kiss — 
That  heart,  0  Ronald,  bleeds  for  thee  ! 

With  maiden  blush,  she  softly  said, 
"  0  gentle  huntsman,  hast  thou  seen, 

In  deep  Glenfinlas'  moonlight  glade, 
A  lovely  maid  in  vest  of  green : 

"I  see  the  death-damps  chill  thy  brow  ; 

I  hear  thy  Warning  Spirit  cry ;           [now . . . 
The    corpse-lights    dance  —  they're    gone,   and 

No  more  is  given  to  gifted  eye !" 

"  With  her  a  Chief  in  Highland  pride ; 

His  shoulders  bear  the  hunter's  bow, 
The  mountain  dirk  adorns  his  side, 

Far  on  the  wind  his  tartans  flow  ?" — 

"  Alone  enjoy  thy  dreary  dreams, 

Sad  prophet  of  the  evil  hour  ! 
Say,  should  we  scorn  joy's  transient  beams, 

Because  to-morrow's  storm  may  lour  ? 

"  And  who  art  thou  ?  and  who  are  they  ?" 
All  ghastly  gazing,  Moy  replied : 

"  And  why,  beneath  the  moon's  pale  ray, 
Dare  ye  thus  roam  Glenfinlas'  side  ?" — 

"  Or  false,  or  sooth,  thy  words  of  woe, 
Clangillian's  Chieftain  ne'er  shall  fear ; 

His  blood  shall  bound  at  rapture's  glow, 
Though  doom'd  to  stain  the  Saxon  spear. 

"  Where  wild  Loch  Katrine  pours  her  tide, 
Blue,  dark,  and  deep,  round  many  an  isle, 

Our  father's  towers  o'erhang  her  side, 
The  castle  of  the  bold  Glengyle. 

"  E'en  now,  to  meet  me  in  yon  dell, 
My  Mary's  buskins  brush  the  dew." 

He  spoke,  nor  bade  the  Chief  farewell, 
But  call'd  his  dogs,  and  gay  withdrew. 

"  To  chase  the  dun  Glenfinlas  deer, 

Our  woodland  course  this  morn  we  bore 

And  haply  met,  while  wandering  hem 
The  son  of  great  Macgillianore. 

Within  an  hour  return'd  each  hound ; 

In  rush'd  the  rousers  of  the  deer ; 
They  howl'd  in  melancholy  sound, 

Then  closely  couch'd  beside  the  Seer. 

"  0  aid  me,  then,  to  seek  the  pair, 
Whom,  loitering  in  the  woods,  I  lost ; 

Alone,  I  dare  not  venture  there, 

Where  walks,  they  say,  the  shrieking  ghost  "— 

No  Ronald  yet ;  though  midnight  came, 
And  sad  were  Moy's  prophetic  dreams, 

As,  bending  o'er  the  dying  flame, 
He  fed  the  watch-fire's  quivering  gleams. 

"  Yes,  many  a  shrieking  ghost  walks  there ; 

Then,  first,  my  own  sad  vow  to  keep, 
Here  will  I  pour  my  midnight  prayer, 

Which  still  must  rise  when  mortals  sleep." — 

Sudden  the  hounds  erect  their  ears, 
And  sudden  cease  their  moaning  howl ; 

Close  press'd  to  Moy,  they  mark  their  fears 
By  shivering  limbs  and  stifled  growl. 

"  0  first,  for  pity's  gentle  sake, 

Guide  a  lone  wanderer  on  her  way ! 

For  I  must  cross  the  haunted  brake, 

And  reach  my  father's  towers  ere  day." — 

Untouch'd,  the  harp  began  to  ring, 
As  softly,  slowly,  oped  the  door ; 

And  shook  responsive  every  string, 
As  light  a  footstep  press'd  the  floor. 

"  First,  three  times  tell  each  Ave-bead, 
And  thrice  a  Pater-noster  say ; 

Then  kiss  with  me  the  holy  rede ; 
So  shall  we  safely  wend  our  way." — 

1  Tartans— The  full  Highland  dress,  made  of  the  checkered 
tfuffso  termed. 

2  Pibroch— A  piece  of  martial  music,  adapted  to  the  High- 
land bagpipe. 

592 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


u  0  shame  to  knighthood,  strange  and  foul 
Go,  doff  the  bonnet  from  thy  brow, 

And  shroud  thee  in  the  monkish  cowL 
Which  best  befits  thy  sullen  vow. 

"  Not  so,  by  high  Dunlathmon's  fire, 
Thy  heart  was  froze  to  love  and  joy, 

When  gayly  rung  thy  raptur'd  lyre 
To  wanton  Morna's  melting  eye." 

Wild  stared  the  minstrel's  eyes  of  flame, 

And  high  his  sable  locks  arose, 
And  quick  his  color  went  and  came, 

As  fear  and  rage  alternate  rose. 

"And  thou  !  when  by  the  blazing  oak 

I  lay,  to  her  and  love  resign'd, 
Say,  rode  ye  on  the  eddying  smoke, 

Or  sail'd  ye  on  the  midnight  wind  ? 

*  Not  thine  a  race  of  mortal  blood, 
Nor  old  Glengyle's  pretended  line  ; 

Thy  dame,  the  Lady  of  the  Flood — 
Thy  sire,  the  Monarch  of  the  Mine." 

He  mutter'd  thrice  St.  Oran's  rhyme, 
And  thrice  St.  Fillan's  powerful  prayer ; 

Then  turn'd  him  to  the  eastern  clime, 
And  sternly  shook  his  coal-black  hair. 

And,  bending  o'er  his  harp,  he  flung 
His  wildest  witch-notes  on  the  wind ; 

And  loud,  and  high,  and  strange,  they  rung, 
As  many  a  magic  change  they  find. 

Tall  wax'd  the  Spirit's  altering  form, 
Till  to  the  roof  her  stature  grew ; 

Then,  mingling  with  the  rising  storm, 
With  one  wild  yell  away  she  flew. 

Rain  beats,  hail  rattles,  whirlwinds  tear : 
The  slender  hut  in  fragments  flew ; 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

"  Lewis's  collection  produced  also  what  Scott  justly  calls 
his  '  first  serious  attempts  in  verse  ;'  and  of  these  the  earliest 
appears  to  have  been  the  Glenfinlas.  Here  the  scene  is  laid  in 
the  most  favorite  district  of  his  favorite  Perthshire  Highlands  ; 
and  the  Gaelic  tradition  on  which  it  was  founded  was  far  more 
likely  to  draw  out  the  secret  strength  of  his  genius,  as  well  as 
to  arrest  the  feelings  of  his  countrymen,  than  any  subject  with 
woich  the  stores  of  German  diablerie  could  have  supplied 


But  not  a  lock  of  Moy's  loose  hair 
Was  waved  by  wind,  or  wet  by  dew. 

Wild  mingling  with  the  howling  gale, 
Loud  bursts  of  ghastly  laughter  rise  ; 

High  o'er  the  minstrel's  head  they  sail, 
And  die  amid  the  northern  skies. 

The  voice  of  thunder  shook  the  wood, 
As  ceased  the  more  than  mortal  yell ; 

And,  spattering  foul,  a  shower  of  blood 
Upon  the  hissing  firebrands  fell. 

Next  dropp'd  from  high  a  mangled  arm  ; 

The  fingers  strain'd  a  half-drawn  blade : 
And  last,  the  life-blood  streaming  warm, 

Torn  from  the  trunk,  a  gasping  head. 

Oft  o'er  that  head,  in  battling  field, 

Stream'd  the  proud  crest  of  high  Benmore ; 

That  arm  the  broad  claymore  could  wield, 
Which  dyed  the  Teith  with  Saxon  gore. 

Woe  to  Moneira's  sullen  rills ! 

Woe  to  Glenfinlas'  dreary  glen  ! 
There  never  son  of  Albin's  hills 

Shall  draw  the  hunter's  shaft  a^en  1 

E'en  the  tired  pilgrim's  burning  feet 
At  noon  shall  shun  that  sheltering  den, 

Lest,  journeying  in  their  rage,  he  meet 
The  wayward  Laches  of  the  Glen. 

And  we — behind  the  Chieftain's  shield, 
No  more  shall  we  in  safety  dwell ; 

None  leads  the  people  to  the  field — 
And  we  the  loud  lament  must  swell. 

0  hone  a  rie' !  0  hone  a  rie' ! 

The  pride  of  Albin's  line  is  o'er ! 
And  fall'n  Glenartney's  stateliesl  tree ; 

We  ne'er  shall  see  Lord  Ronald  more  ! 

him.  It  has  been  alleged,  however,  that  the  poet  makes  a 
German  use  of  his  Scottish  materials  ;  that  the  legend,  a» 
briefly  told  in  the  simple  prose  of  his  preface,  is  more  affecting 
than  the  lofty  and  sonorous  stanzas  themselves ;  that  the 
vague  terror  of  the  original  dream  loses,  instead  of  gaining,  by 
the  expanded  elaboration  of  the  detail  There  may  be  some- 
thing in  these  objections  :  but  no  man  can  pretend  to  be  ai 
impartial  critic  of  the  piece  which  first  awoke  his  own  childish 
ear  to  the  power  of  poetry  and  the  melody  of  verse.  ' — Life  cj 
Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  25. 


— . 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


593 


APPENDIX 


Note  A. 

Hi  J  Wzied  Lord  Ronald's  beltane-tree. — P.  589. 

The  fire*  .ighted  by  the  Highlanders,  on  the  first  of  May,  in 
compliance  with  a  custom  derived  from  the  Pagan  times,  are 
termed  The  Beltane-tree.  It  is  a  festival  celebrated  with  va- 
rious superstitious  rites,  both  in  the  north  of  Scotland  and 
in  Wales. 


NOTE   B. 


The  seer's  prophetic  spirit  found. — P.  590. 

I  can  only  describe  the  second  sight,  by  adopting  Dr.  John- 
son's definition,  who  calls  it  "  An  impression,  either  by  the 
mind  upon  the  eye,  or  by  the  eye  upon  the  mind,  by  which 
things  distant  and  future  are  perceived  and  seen  as  if  they  were 
present."  To  which  I  would  only  add,  that  the  spectral  ap- 
pearances, thus  presented,  usually  presage  misfortune  ;  that  the 
faculty  is  painful  to  those  who  suppose  they  possess  it ;  and 
that  they  usually  acquire  it  while  themselves  under  the  pres- 
sure of  melancholy. 


Note  0. 


Will  good  St.  Oran's  rule  prevail  ?— P.  591. 

St.  Oran  was  a  friend  and  follower  of  St.  Columba,  and  was 
buried  at  Icolmkill.  His  pretensions  to  be  a  saint  were  rather 
dubious.  According  to  the  legend,  he  consented  to  be  buried 
alive,  in  order  to  propitiate  certain  demons  of  the  soil,  who  ob- 
structed the  attempts  of  Columba  to  build  a  chapel.  Columba 
caused  the  body  of  his  friend  to  be  dug  up,  after  three  days 
had  elapsed  ;  when  Oran,  to  the  horror  and  scandal  of  the  as- 
sistants, declared,  that  there  was  neither  a  God,  a  judgment, 
nor  a  future  «tate  1  He  had  no  time  to  make  further  discov- 
eries, for  Columba  caused  the  earth  once  more  to  be  shovelled 
over  him  with  the  utmost  despatch.  The  chapel,  however,  and 
the  cemetery,  was  called  Relig  Ouran  ;  and,  in  memory  of  his 
rigid  celibacy,  no  female  was  permitted  to  pay  her  devotions, 
or  be  buried  in  that  place.  This  is  the  rule  alluded  to  in  tb* 
poem. 

75 


Note  D. 
And  thrice  St.  Fillan's  powerful  prayer. — P.  592. 

St.  Fillan  has  given  his  name  to  many  chapels,  holy  foun- 
tains, &c,  in  Scotland.  He  was,  according  to  Camerarius,  an 
Abbot  of  Pittenweem,  in  Fife  ;  from  which  situation  he  re- 
tired, and  died  a  hermit  in  the  wilds  of  Glenurchy,  A.  D.  649. 
While  engaged  in  transcribing  the  Scriptures,  his  left  hand 
was  observed  to  send  forth  such  a  splendor,  as  to  afford  light 
to  that  with  which  he  wrote  ;  a  miracle  which  saved  many 
candles  to  the  convent,  as  St.  Fillan  used  to  spend  whole  nights 
in  that  exercise.  The  9th  of  January  was  dedicated  to  this 
saint,  who  gave  his  name  to  Kilfillan,  in  Renfrew,  and  St, 
Phillans,  or  Forgend,  in  Fife.  Lesley,  lib.  7,  tells  us,  that 
Robert  the  Bruce  was  possessed  of  Fillan's  miraculous  and 
luminous  arm,  which  he  enclosed  in  a  silver  shrine,  and  had  it 
carried  at  the  head  of  his  army.  Previous  to  the  Battle  of 
Bannockburn,  the  king's  chaplain,  a  man  of  little  faith,  ab- 
stracted the  relic,  and  deposited  it  in  a  place  of  security,  lest  it 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  English.  But,  lo  !  while  Rob- 
ert was  addressing  his  prayers  to  the  empty  casket,  it  was  ob- 
served to  open  and  shut  suddenly  ;  and,  on  inspection,  th» 
saint  was  found  to  have  himself  deposited  his  arm  in  the  shrine 
as  an  assurance  of  victory.  Such  is  the  tale  of  Lesley.  But 
though  Bruce  little  needed  that  the  arm  of  St.  Fillan  should 
assist  his  own,  he  dedicated  to  him,  in  gratitude,  a  priory  at 
Killin,  npon  Loch  Tay. 

In  the  Scots  Magazine  for  July,  1802,  there  is  a  copy  of  a 
very  curious  crown  grant,  dated  11th  July,  1487,  by  which 
James  III.  confirms,  to  Malice  Doire,  an  inhabitant  of  Strath- 
fillan,  in  Perthshire,  the  peaceable  exercise  and  enjoyment  of  a 
relic  of  St.  Fillan,  being  apparently  the  head  of  a  pastoral 
staff"  called  the  duegrich,  wbi»*i  he  and  his  predecessors  are 
said  to  have  possessed  since  the  days  of  Robert  Bruce.  As  the 
duegrich  was  used  to  cure  diseases,  this  document  is  probably 
the  most  ancient  patent  ever  granted  for  a  quack  medicine. 
The  ingenious  correspondent,  by  whom  it  is  furnished,  farther 
observes,  that  additional  particulars,  concerning  St.  Fillan,  are 
to  be  found  in  Bellenden's  Boece,  Book  4,  folio  ccxiii.,  and 
in  Pennant's  Tour  in  Scotland,  1772,  pp.  11,  15. 

See  a  note  on  the  lines  in  the  first  canto  of  Marmion.      .  , 

"  Thence  to  St.  Fillan's  blessed  well, 
Whose  spring  can  phrensied  dreams  dispel, 
And  the  crazed  brain  restore,"  &c— Ed 


694 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


®l)£  <&vt  of  0t  #o[)n. 


Smaylho'me,  or  Smallholm  Tower,  the  scene  of 
the  following  ballad,  is  situated  on  the  northern 
boundary  of  Roxburghshire,  among  a  cluster  of 
wild  rocks,  called  Sandiknowx-Crags,  the  property 
of  Hugh  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Harden  [now  Lord  Pol- 
war  th].  The  tower  is  a  high  square  building,  sur- 
rounded by  an  outer  wall,  now  ruinous.  The  cir- 
cuit of  the  outer  court,  being  defended  on  three 
sides,  by  a  precipice  and  morass,  is  accessible  only 
from  the  west,  by  a  steep  and  rocky  path.  The 
apartments,  as  is  usual  in  a  Border  keep,  or  for- 
tress, are  placed  one  above  another,  and  commu- 
nicate by  a  narrow  stair ;  on  the  roof  are  two  bar- 
tizans, or  platforms,  for  defence  or  pleasure.  The 
inner  door  of  the  tower  is  wood,  the  outer  an  iron 
gate  ;  the  distance  between  them  being  nine  feet, 
the  thickness,  namely,  of  the  wall.  From  the  ele- 
vated situation  of  Smaylho'me  Tower,  it  is  seen 
many  miles  in  every  direction.  Among  the  crags 
by  which  it  is  surrounded,  one,  more  eminent,  is 
called  the  Watch/old,  and  is  said  to  have  been  the 
station  of  a  beacon,  in  the  times  of  war  with  Eng- 
land. Without  the  tower-court  is  a  ruined  chapel. 
Brotherstone  is  a  heath,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Smaylho'me  Tower. 

This  ballad  was  first  printed  in  Mr.  Lewis's 
Tales  of  Wonder.  It  is  here  publislijed,  with  some 
additional  illustrations,  particularly  an  account  of 
the  battle  of  Ancram  Moor ;  which  seemed  proper 
in  a  work  upon  Border  antiquities.  The  catastro- 
phe of  the  tale  is  founded  upon  a  well-known  Irish 
tradition.2  This  ancient  fortress  and  its  vicinity 
formed  the  scene  of  the  Editor's  infancy,  and 
seemed  to  claim  from  him  this  attempt  to  cele- 
brate them  in  a  Border  tale.3 


i  "This  place1  is  rendered  interesting  to  poetical  readers, 
bv  its  having  been  the  residence,  in  early  life,  of  Mr.  Walter 
Scott,  who  has  celebrated  it  in  his  '  Eve  of  St.  John.'  To  it 
he  probably  alludes  in  the  introduction  to  the  third  canto  of 
Marmion. 

'  Then  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tower, 
Which  charmed  my  fancy's  wakening  hour.'  " 

Scots  Mag.  March,  1809. 

2  The  following  passage,  in  Dr.  Henry  Core's  Appendix 
to  the  Antidote  against  Atheism,  relates  to  a  similar  phenom- 
enon : — "  I  confess,  that  the  bodies  of  devils  may  not  be  only 
warm,  but  sindgingly  hot,  as  it  was  in  him  that  took  one  of 
Melancthon's  relations  by  the  hand,  and  so  scorched  her,  that 

1  The  farm-house  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Smailholm. 


&I)e  €vt  of  0t.  lofjn. 

The  Baron  of  Smaylho'me  rose  with  day, 

He  spurr'd  his  courser  on, 
Without  stop  or  stay,  down  the  rocky  way, 

That  leads  to  Brotherstone. 


He  went  not  with  the  bold  Buccleuch, 

His  banner  broad  to  rear ; 
He  went  not  'gainst  the  English  yew, 

To  lift  the  Scottish  spear. 

Yet  his  plate-jack4  was  braced,  and  his  helmet 
was  laced, 

And  his  vaunt-brace  of  proof  he  wore  ; 
At  his  saddle-gerthe  was  a  good  steel  sperthe, 

Full  ten  pound  weight  and  more. 

The  Baron  return'd  in  three  days  space, 

And  his  looks  were  sad  and  sourf 
And  weary  was  his  courser's  paco, 

As  he  reach'd  his  rocky  tower. 

He  came  not  from  where  Ancram  Moor6 

Ran  red  with  English  blood ; 
Where  the  Douglas  true,  and  the  bold  Buccleuch, 

'Gainst  keen  Lord  Evers  stood. 

Yet  was  his  helmet  hack'd  and  hew'd, 

His  acton  pierced  and  tore, 
His  axe  and  his  dagger  with  blood  imbrued, — 

But  it  was  not  English  gore. 

He  lighted  at  the  Chapellage, 
He  held  him  close  and  still ; 

she  bare  the  mark  of  it  to  her  dying  day.  But  the  examptea 
of  cold  are  more  frequent ;  as  in  that  famous  story  of  Cuntius, 
when  he  touched  the  arm  of  a  certain  woman  of  Pentoch,  as 
she  lay  in  her  bed,  he  felt  as  cold  as  ice  ;  and  so  did  the  spirit' 
claw  to  Anne  Styles."— Ed.  1662,  p.  135. 
s  See  the  Introduction  to  the  third  canto  of  Marmion.  .  . 

"  It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild, 
Where  naked  cliffs  were  rudely  piled  ; 
But  ever  and  anon  between 
Lay  velvet  tufts  of  softest  greei» ; 
And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 
Recesses  where  the  wallflower  grew,"  &c— Ld. 

*  The  plate-jack  is  coat-armor;  the  vaunt-brace,  or  warn- 
brace,  armor  for  the  body  ;  the  sperthe,  a  ba.tle-axe. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MiJNSTKELSi. 


591 


And  he  whistled  thrice  for  his  little  foot-page 
His  name  was  English  Will. 

"  Come  thou  hither,  my  little  foot-page, 
"  Come  hither  to  my  knee  ; 
Though  thou  art  young,  and  tender  of  age, 
I  think  thou  art  true  to  me. 

''  Come,  tell  me  all  that  thou  hast  seen, 

And  look  thou  tell  me  true  ! 
Since  I  from  Smaylho'me  tower  have  been, 

What  did  thy  lady  do  ?"— 

"  My  lady,  each  night,  sought  the  lonely  light, 
That  burns  on  the  wild  Watchfold  ; 

For,  from  height  to  height,  the  beacons  bright 
Of  the  English  foemen  told* 

"  The  bittern  clamor'd  from  the  moss, 

The  wind  blew  loud  and  shrill ; 
Yet  the  craggy  pathway  she  did  cross 

To  the  eiry  Beacon  Hill. 

*  I  watch'd  her  steps,  and  silent  came 

Where  she  sat  her  on  a  stone  ; 
No  watchman  stood  by  the  dreary  flame, 
It  burned  all  alone. 

u  The  second  night  I  kept  her  in  sight, 

Till  to  the  fire  she  came, 
And,  by  Mary's  might !  an  Armed  KnlgM; 

Stood  by  the  lonely  flame. 

4  And  many  a  word  that  warlike  lord 

Did  speak  to  my  lady  there  : 
But  the  rain  fell  fast,  and  loud  blew  the  blast, 

And  I  heard  not  what  they  were. 

*  The  third  night  there  the  sky  was  fair, 

And  the  mountain-blast  was  still, 
As  again  I  watch'd  the  secret  pair, 
On  the  lonesome  Beacon  HilL 

"  And  I  heard  her  name  the  midnight  hour, 

And  name  this  holy  eve  ; 
And  say, '  Come  this  night  to  thy  lady's  bower : 

Ask  no  bold  Baron's  leave. 

" '  He  lifts  his  spear  -vith  the  bold  Buccleuch  ; 

His  lady  is  all  alone ; 
The  door  she'll  undo,  to  her  knight  so  true, 

On  the  eve  of  good  St.  John.' — 


i  The  Waek-rcod  of  Melrose  was  a  crucifix  of  black  marble, 
and  of  superior  saactity. 

*  Dr-jQrgh  Abbe/  is  beautifully  siVnated  on  the  banks  of  the 
Tweed.  After  its  dissolution,  it  became  the  property  of  the 
Ualliburtons  of  Newmaios,  and  ig  now  the  seat  of  the  Right 


"  '  I  cannot  come  ;  I  must  not  come  ; 

I  dare  not  come  to  thee  ; 
On  the  eve  of  St.  John  I  must  wander  alone  : 

In  thy  bower  I  may  not  be.' — 

" '  Now,  out  on  thee,  faint-hearted  knight  1 

Thou  shouldst  not  say  me  nay ; 
For  the  eve  is  sweet,  and  when  lovers  meet, 

Is  worth  the  whole  summer's  day. 

" '  And  I'll  chain  the  blood-hound,  and  the  warder 
shall  not  sound, 
And  rushes  shall  be  strew' d  on  the  stair ; 
So,    by  the  black   rood-stone,1   and  by  holy  St. 
John, 
I  conjure  thee,  my  love,  to  be  there  !' — 

" '  Though  the  blood-hound  be  mute,  and  the  rush 
beneath  my  foot, 
And  the  warder  his  bugle  should  not  blow, 
Yet  there  sleepeth  a  priest  in  the  chamber  to  the 
east, 
And  my  footstep  he  would  know.' — 

" }  0  fear  not  the  priest,  who  sleepeth  to  the  east ; 

For  to  Dryburgh2  the  way  he  has  ta'en ; 
And  there  to  say  mass,  till  three  days  do  pass, 

For  the  soul  of  a  knight  that  is  slayne.' — 

"  He  turn'd  him  around,  and  grimly  he  frown'd ; 

Then  he  laugh'd  right  scornfully — 
'  He  who  says  the  mass-rite  for  the  soul  of  that 
knight, 

May  as  well  say  mass  for  me  : 

"  *  At  the  lone  midnight  hour,  when  bad  spirits 
have  power, 

In  thy  chamber  will  I  be.' — 
With  that  he  was  gone,  and  my  lady  left  alone, 

And  no  more  did  I  see." 

Then  changed,  I  trow,  was  that  bold  Baron's  brow, 
From  the  dark  to  the  blood-red  high. 

"  Now,  tell  me  the  mien  of  the  knight  thou  hasl 
seen, 
For,  by  Mary,  he  shall  die  !" — 

"  His  arms  shone  full  bright,  in  the  beacon's  red 
light;  _ 

His  plume  it  was  scarlet  and  blue  ; 
On  his  shield  was  a  hound,  in  a  silver  leash  bound, 

And  his  crest  was  a  branch  of  the  yew." — 


Honorable  the  Earl  of  Buchan.  It  belonged  to  the  order  ol 
Premonstratenses. — [The  ancient  Barons  of  Newmains  were 
ultimately  represented  by  Pir  Walter  Scott,  whose  remains  now 
repose  in  the  cemetery  at  Drvburgh.— Ed.] 


596 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


■  Thou  liest,  thou  liest,  thou  little  foot-page, 

And  oft  to  himself  he  said, — 

Loud  dost  thou  lie  to  me  ! 

"The  worms  around  him  creep,  and  lus  blood} 

For  that  knight  is  cold,  and  low  laid  in  the  mould, 

grave  is  deep 

All  under  the  Eildon-tree." — 1 

It  cannot  give  up  the  dead !" — 

''  Yet  hear  but  my  word,  my  noble  lord  ! 

It  was  near  the  ringing  of  matin-bell, 

For  I  heard  her  name  his  name  ; 

The  night  was  wellnigh  done, 

A.nd  that  lady  bright,  she  called  the  knight 

When  a  heavy  sleep  on  that  Baron  fell 

Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghame." — 

On  the  eve  of  good  St.  John. 

The  bold  Baron's  brow  then  changed,  I  trow. 

The  lady  look'd  through  the  chamber  fair, 

From  high  blood-red  to  pale — 

By  the  light  of  a  dying  flame ; 

"  The  grave  is  deep  and  dark — and  the  corpse  is 

And  she  was  aware  of  a  knight  stood  there — 

stiff  and  stark — 

Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghame ! 

So  I  may  not  trust  thy  tale. 

"  Alas !  away,  away  !"  she  cried, 

"  Where  fair  Tweed  flows  round  holy  Melrose, 

"  For  the  holy  Virgin's  sake  !" — 

And  Eildon  slopes  to  the  plain, 

"  Lady,  I  know  who  sleeps  by  thy  side ; 

Full  three  nights  ago,  by  some  secret  foe, 

But,  lady,  he  will  not  awake. 

That  gay  gallant  was  slain. 

u  By  Eildon-tree,  for  long  nights  three, 

"  The  varying  light  deceived  thy  sight, 

In  bloody  grave  have  I  lain  ; 

And  the  wild  winds  drown'd  the  name ; 

The  mass  and  the  death-prayer  are  said  for  me, 

For  the  Dryburgh  bells  ring,  and  the  white  monks 
do  sing, 
For  Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghame  !" 

But,  lady,  they  are  said  in  vain. 

" By  the  Baron's  brand,  near  Tweeds  fair  strand 

Most  foully  slain,  I  fell ; 

He  pass'd  the  court-gate,  and  he  oped  the  tower- 

And  my  restless  sprite  on  the  beacon's  height, 

And  he  mounted  the  narrow  stair,              [gate, 

For  a  space  is  doom'd  to  dwell 

To  the  bartizan-seat,  where,  with  maids  that  on 

her  wait, 

"  At  our  trysting-place,3  for  a  certain  space, 

He  found  his  lady  fair. 

I  must  wander  to  and  fro ; 

But  I  had  not  had  power  to  come  to  thy 

That  lady  sat  in  mournful  mood ; 

bower, 

Look'd  over  hill  and  vale ; 

Had'st  thou  not  conjured  me  so." — 

Over  Tweed's  fair  flood,  and  Mertoun's*  wood, 

And  all  down  Teviotdale. 

Love  master'd  fear — her  brow  she  cross'd ; 

"  How,  Richard,  hast  thou  sped  ? 

■  Now  hail,  now  hail,  thou  lady  bright !" — 

And  art  thou  saved,  or  art  thou  lost  ?" — 

"  Now  hail,  thou  Baron  true  ! 

The  vision  shook  his  head ! 

What  news,  what  news,  from  Ancram  fight  ? 

What  news  from  the  bold  Buccleuch  ?" — 

"  Who  spilleth  life,  shall  forfeit  life  ; 

So  bid  thy  lord  believe  : 

"  The  Ancram  Moor  is  red  with  gore, 

That  lawless  love  is  guilt  above, 

For  many  a  southron  fell ; 

This  awful  sign  receive." 

And  Buccleuch  has  charged  us,  evermore, 

To  watch  our  beacons  well." — 

He  laid  liis  left  palm  on  an  oaken  beam ; 

His  right  upon  her  hand ; 

The  lady  blush'd  red,  but  nothing  she  said : 

The  lady  shrunk,  and  fainting  sunk, 

Nor  added  the  Baron  a  word : 

For  it  scorch'd  like  a  fiery  brand. 

Then  she  stepp'd  down  the  stair  to  her  chamber  fair, 

And  so  did  her  moody  lord. 

The  sable  score,  of  fingers  four, 

Remains  on  that  board  impress'd ; 

In  sleep  the  lady  mourn'd,  and  the  Baron  toss'd 

And  for  evermore  that  lady  wore 

and  turn'd, 

A  covering  on  her  wrist. 

1  Eildon  is  a  high  hill,  terminating  in  three  conical  summits, 

where  Thomas  the  Rhymer  uttered  his  prophecies.    See  p.  571 

directly  above  the  town  of  Melrose,  where  are  the  admired  ruins 

'■»  Mertoun  is  the  beautiful  seat  of  Lord  Polwarth. 

of  a  magnificent  monastery      Eildon-tree  is  said  to  be  the  spot 

3  Trysting-place — Place  of  rendezvous. 

CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


597 


There  is  a  nun  in  Dryburgh  bower, 

Ne'er  looks  upon  the  sun ; 
There  is  a  monk  in  Melrose  tower, 

He  speaketh  word  to  none. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

"  The  next  of  these  compositions  was,  I  believe,  the  Eve  of 
St  John,  in  which  Scott  re-peoples  the  tower  of  Smailholm, 
the  awe-inspiring  haunt  of  his  infancy  ;  and  here  he  touches, 
for  the  first  time,  the  one  superstition  which  can  still  be  ap- 
pealed to  with  full  and  perfect  effect  ;  the  only  one  which  lin- 
gers in  minds  long  since  weaned  from  all  sympathy  with  the 
Machinery  of  witches  and  goblins.  And  surely  this  mystery 
was  never  touched  with  more  thrilling  skill  than  in  that  noble 


That  nun,  who  ne'er  beholds  the  day,1 

That  monk,  who  speaks  to  none — 
That  nun  was  Smaylho'me's  Lady  gay, 

That  monk  the  bold  Baron. 

ballad,  ft  is  the  first  of  his  original  pieces,  too,  in  which  he 
uses  the  measure  of  his  own  favorite  Minstrels  ;  a  measure 
which  the  monotony  of  mediocrity  had  long  and  successfully 
been  laboring  to  degrade,  but  in  itself  adequate  to  the  expres- 
sion of  tke  highest  thoughts,  as  well  as  the  gentlest  emotions ; 
and  capable,  in  fit  hands,  of  as  rich  a  variety  of  music  as  any 
other  of  modern  times.  This  was  written  at  Mfrtoun-houae 
in  the  autumn  of  1799."— Life  of  Scott,  vol.  li.  p.  26.  See 
ante,  p.  568. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

BATTLE  OF  ANCRAM  MOOR. — P.  594. 

Lord  Evkrs,  and  Sir  Brian  Latoun,  during  the  year  1544, 
committed  the  most  dreadful  ravages  upon  the  Scottish  fron- 
tiers, compelling  most  of  the  inhabitants,  and  especially  the 
men  of  Liddesdale,  to  take  assurance  under  the  King  of  Eng- 
land. Upon  the  17th  November,  in  that  year,  the  sum  total 
of  their  depredations  stood  thus,  in  the  bloody  ledger  of  Lord 
Evere : — 

Towns,  towers,  barnekynes,  paryshe  churches,  bastill 

houses,  burned  and  destroyed,     .  .  .  192 

Scots  slain,  .....  403 

Prisoners  taken,  .....  816 

Nolt  (cattle) 10,386 

Shepe, 12,492 

Nags  and  geldings,  ....  1,296 

Gayt, 200 

Boils  of  corn,         .....  850 

Insight  gear,  &c.  (furniture)  an  incalculable  quantity. 

Murdin's  State  Papers,  vol.  i.  p.  51. 
For  these  services  Sir  Ralph  Evers  was  made  a  Lord  of  Par- 
liament.    See  a  strain  of  exulting  congratulation  upon  his  pro- 
motion poured  forth  by  some  contemporary  minstrel,  in  vol.  i. 
p.  417. 

The  King  of  England  had  promised  to  these  two  barons  a 
feudal  grant  of  the  country,  which  they  had  thus  reduced  to  a 
desert;  upon  hearing  which,  Archibald  Douglas,  the  seventh 
Earl  of  Angus,  is  said  to  have  sworn  to  write  the  deed  of  in- 
vestiture upon  their  skins,  with  sharp  pens  and  bloody  ink,  in 
rwentment  for  their  having  defaced  the  tombs  of  his  ancestors 
at  Melrose. — Oodscroft.  In  1545,  Lord  Evers  and  Latoun 
again  entered  Scotland,  with  an  army  consisting  of  3000  mer- 
cenaries, 1500  English  Borderers,  and  700  assured  Scottish 
men,  chiefly  Armstrongs,  Turnbulls,  and  other  broken  clans. 
In  this  second  incursion,  the  English  generals  even  exceeded 
their  former  cruelty.  Evers  burned  the  tower  of  Broomhouse, 
fcrith  its  lady  (a  noble  and  aged  woman,  says  Lesley),  and  her 


1  The  editor  has  found  no  instance  upon  record,  of  this  family  having 
taken  assurance  with  England.  Hence  they  usually  suffered  dreadfully 
from  the  English  forays.  In  August,  1544  (the  year  preceding  the  battle), 
the  whole  lands  belonging  to  Buccleuch,  in  West  Teviotdale,  were  harried 
by  Evers;  the  outworks,  or  barmkin,  of  the  tower  of  Branxholm  burned; 
*ight  Scotts  slain,  thirty  made  prisoners,  and  an  imn.ense  prey  of  horses, 


whole  family.  The  English  penetrated  as  far  as  Melrose, 
which  they  had  destroyed  last  year,  and  which  they  now  again 
pillaged.  As  they  returned  towards  Jedburgh,  they  were  fol- 
lowed by  Angus  at  the  head  of  1000  horse,  who  was  shortly 
after  joined  by  the  famous  Norman  Lesley,  with  a  body  of 
Fife-men.  The  English,  being  probably  unwilling  to  cross  the 
Teviot  while  the  Scots  hung  upon  their  rear,  halted  upon  An- 
cram  Moor,  above  the  village  of  that  name  ;  and  the  Scottish 
general  was  deliberating  whether  to  advance  or  retire,  when 
Sir  Walter  Scott,'  of  Buccleuch,  came  up  at  full  speed  with  a 
small  but  chosen  body  of  his  retainers,  the  rest  of  whom  were 
near  at  hand.  By  the  advice  of  this  experienced  warrior  (to 
whose  conduct  Pitscottie  and  Buchanan  ascribe  the  success  of 
the  engagement),  Angus  withdrew  from  the  height  which  he 
occupied,  and  drew  up  his  forces  behind  it,  upon  a  piece  of 
low  flat  ground,  called  Panier-hengh,  or  Paniel-heugh.  The 
spare  horses  being  sent  to  an  eminence  in  their  rear,  appeared 
to  the  English  to  be  the  main  body  of  the  Scots  in  the  act  of 
flight.  Under  this  persuasion,  Evers  and  Latoun  hurried  pre- 
cipitately forward,  and  having  ascended  the  hill,  which  their 
foes  had  abandoned,  were  no  less  dismayed  than  astonished  to 
find  the  phalanx  of  Scottish  spearmen  drawn  up,  in  firm  array, 
upon  the  flat  ground  below.  The  Scots  in  their  turn  became 
the  assailants.  A  heron,  roused  from  the  marshes  by  the  tu- 
mult, soared  away  betwixt  the  encountering  armies:  "O!" 
exclaimed  Angus,  "  that  1  had  here  my  white  goss-hawk,  that 
we  might  all  yoke  at  once!" — Oodscroft.  The  English, 
breathless  and  fatigued,  having  the  setting  sun  and  wind  full 
in  their  faces,  were  unable  to  withstand  the  resolute  and  des- 
perate charge  of  the  Scottish  lances.  No  sooner  had  they  be- 
gun to  waver,  than  their  own  allies,  the  assured  Borderers, 
who  had  been  waiting  the  event,  threw  aside  their  red  crosses, 
and,  joining  their  countrymen,  made  a  most  merciless  slaughter 
among  the  English  fugitives,  the  pursuers  calling  upon  each 
other  to  "  remember  Broomhouse !" — Lesley,  p.  478. 

In  the  battle  fell  Lord  Evers,  and  his  son,  together  with  Sil 
Brian  Latoun,  and  800  Englishmen,  many  of  whom  were  per- 
sons of  rank.  A  thousand  prisoners  were  taken.  Among 
these  was  a  patriotic  alderman  of  London,  Read  by  name 
who,  having  contumaciously  refused  to  pay  his  portion  of  a 


cattle,  and  sheep,  carried  off.  The  lands  upon  Kale  Water,  belonging  to 
the  same  chieftain,  were  also  plundered,  and  much  spoil  obtained  ;  thirty 
Scotts  slain,  and  the  Moss  Tower  (a  fortress  near  Eckford)  smoked  oerj 
sore.  Thus  Buccleuch  had  a  long  account  to  settle  at  Ancram  Moor.— 
Murdin's  State  Papers,  pp.  45,46. 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


benevolence,  demanded  from  the  city  by  Henry  VIII.,  was 
sent  by  royal  authority  to  serve  against  the  Scots.  These,  at 
tettling  his  ransom,  he  found  still  more  exorbitant  in  their 
exactions  than  the  monarch. — Redpath's  Border  History, 
p.  563. 

Evers  was  much  regretted  by  King  Henry,  who  swore  to 
avenge  his  death  upon  Angus,  against  whom  he  conceived 
himself  to  have  particular  grounds  of  resentment,  on  account 
of  favors  received  by  the  earl  at  his  hands.  The  answer  of 
Angus  was  worthy  of  a  Douglas  :  "  Is  our  brother-in-law  of- 
fended,"1 said  he,  "  that  I,  as  a  good  Scotsman,  have  avenged 
my  ravaged  country,  and  the  defaced  tombs  of  my  ancestors, 
upon  Ralph  Evers?  They  were  better  men  than  he,  and  I 
was  bound  to  do  no  less — and  will  he  take  my  life  for  that  1 
Little  knows  King  Henry  the  skirts  of  Kirnetable  ;2  I  can  keep 
myself  there  against  all  his  English  host." — Godscroft. 

Such  was  the  noted  battle  of  Ancram  Moor.  The  spot,  on 
which  it  was  fought,  is  called  Lilyard's  Edge,  from  an  Ama- 
zonian Scottish  woman  of  that  name,  who  is  reported,  by  tra- 
dition, to  have  distinguished  herself  in  the  same  manner  as 
Squire  Witherington.3  The  old  people  point  out  her  monu- 
ment, now  broken  and  defaced.  The  inscription  is  said  to  have 
been  legible  within  this  century,  and  to  have  run  thus  : 

"  Fair  maiden  Lylliard  lies  under  this  stane, 
Little  was  her  stature,  but  great  was  her  fame  ; 
Upon  the  English  louns  she  laid  mony  thumps, 
And,  when  her  legs  were  cutted  off,  she  fought  upon  her 
stumps." 

Vide  Account  of  the  Parish  of  Melrose. 

It  appears,  from  a  passage  in  Stowe,  that  an  ancestor  of 
Lord  livers  held  also  a  grant  of  Scottish  lands  from  an  English 
monarch.  "I  have  seen,"  says  the  historian,  "  under  the 
broad-seale  of  the  said  King  Edward  1.,  a  manor,  called  Ket- 
nes,  m  the  county  of  Forfare,  in  Scotland,  and  neere  the  fur- 
thest part  of  the  same  nation  northward,  given  to  John  Ure 
ana  his  heires,  ancestor  to  the  Lord  Ure,  that  now  is,  for  his 
NH'taf  done  in  these  partes,  with  market,  &c,  dated  at  Laner- 


cost,  the  20th  day  of  October,  anno  regis,  34." — Stows 's 
Annals,  p.  210.  This  grant,  like  that  of  Henry,  must  have 
been  dangerous  to  the  receiver. 


;n"ote  b. 

That  nun  who  ne  er  beholds  the  day. — P.  597. 

The  circumstance  of  the  nun,  "  who  never  saw  the  day,"  is 
not  entirely  imaginary.  About  fifty  years  ago,  an  unfortunate 
female  wanderer  took  up  her  residence  in  a  dark  vault,  among 
the  ruins  of  Dryburgh  Abbey,  which,  during  the  day,  she 
never  quitted.  When  night  fell,  she  issued  from  this  miserable 
habitation,  and  went  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Haliburton  of  New- 
mains,  the  Editor's  great-grandfather,  or  to  that  of  Mr.  Ers- 
kine  of  Sheilfield,  two  gentlemen  of  the  neighborhood.  From 
their  charity,  she  obtained  such  necessaries  as  she  could  be 
prevailed  upon  to  accept.  At  twelve,  each  night,  she  lighted 
her  candle,  and  returned  to  her  vault,  assuring  her  friendly 
neighbors,  that,  during  her  absence,  her  habitation  was  ar- 
ranged by  a  spirit,  to  whom  she  gave  the  uncouth  name  of 
Fatlips  ;  describing  hiin  as  a  little  man,  wearing  heavy  iron 
shoes,  with  which  he  trampled  the  clay  floor  of  the  vault,  to 
dispel  the  damps.  This  circumstance  caused  her  to  be  regard- 
ed, by  the  well-informed,  with  compassion,  as  deranged  in  her 
understanding  ;  anil  by  the  vulgar,  with  some  degree  of  terror. 
The  cause  of  her  adopting  this  extraordinary  mode  of  life  she 
would  never  explain.  It  was,  however,  believed  to  have  been 
occasioned  by  a  vow,  that,  during  the  absence  of  a  man  to 
w horn  she  was  attached,  she  would  never  look  upon  the  sun. 
Her  lover  never  returned.  He  fell  during  the  civil  war  of 
1745-6,  and  she  never  more  would  behold  the  light  of  day. 

The  vault,  or  rather  dungeon,  in  which  this  unfortunate  wo- 
man lived  and  died,  passes  still  by  the  name  of  the  supernatu- 
ral being,  with  which  its  gloom  was  tenanted  by  her  disturbed 
imagination,  and  few  of  the  neighboring  peasants  dare  enter  it 
by  night.— 1803. 


1  Angus  had  married  the  widow  of  James  IV.,  sister  to  King  Henry       of  Douglasdale.    [Seo  notes  to  Castle  Dangerous,  Waverley  Novels,  vol. 
VIJI.  I   xlvii.] 

2  Kirnetable,  now  called  Cairntable,  is  a  mountainous  tract  at  the  head  3  See  Chevy  Chase. 


<&ab})ovo    Castle, 


The  ruins  of  Cadyow,  or  Cadzow  Castle,  the  afi- 
cient  baronial  residence  of  the  family  of  Hamilton, 
are  situated -upon  the  precipitous  banks  of  the 
river  Evan,  about  two  miles  above  its  junction 
with  the  Clyde.  It  was  dismantled,  in  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  Civil  Wars,  during  the  reign  of  the  un- 
fortunate Mary,  to  whose  cause  the  house  of  Ham- 
ilton devoted  themselves  with  a  generous  zeal, 
which  occasioned  their  temporary  obscurity,  and, 
very  nearly,  their  total  ruin.  The  situation  of  the 
ruins,  embosomed  in  wood,  darkened  by  ivy  and 
creeping  shrubs,  and  overhanging  the  brawling 
torrent,  is  romantic  in  the  highest  degree.  In  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  Cadyow  is  a  grove  of  im- 
mense oaks,  the  remains  of  the  Caledonian  Forest, 


which  anciently  extended  through  the  south  of 
Scotland,  from  the  eastern  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
Some  of  these  trees  measure  twenty -five  feet,  and 
upwards,  in  circumference ;  and  the  state  of  decay, 
in  which  they  now  appear,  shows  that  they  have 
witnessed  the  rites  of  the  Druids.  The  whole 
scenery  is  included  in  the  magnificent  and  exten- 
sive park  of  the  Duke  of  Hamilton.  There  was 
long  preserved  in  this  forest  the  breed  of  the  Scot- 
tish wild  cattle,  until  their  ferocity  occasioned  their 
being  extirpated,  about  forty  years  ago.1  Their 
appearance  was  beautiful,  being  milk-white,  with 

i  The  breed  had  not  been  entirely  extirpated.  There  re- 
mained certainly  a  magnificent  herd  of  these  cat*''1  in  Cadyow 
Forest  within  these  few  years.     1833  — Ej>. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


599 


black  muzzles,  horns,  and  hoofs.  The  bulls  are  de- 
scribed by  ancient  authors  as  having  white  manes ; 
but  those  of  latter  days  had  lost  that  peculiarity, 
perhaps  by  intermixture  with  the  tame  breed.1 

In  detailing  the  death  of  the  Regent  Murray, 
which  is  made  the  subject  of  the  following  ballad, 
it  would  be  injustice  to  my  reader  to  use  other 
words  than  those  of  Dr.  Robertson,  whose  account 
of  that  memorable  event  forms  a  beautiful  piece 
of  historical  painting. 

"Hamilton  of  Bothwellhaugh  was  the  person 
who  committed  this  barbarous  action.  He  had 
been  condemned  to  death  soon  after  the  battle  of 
Langside,  as  we  have  already  related,  and  owed 
his  life  to  the  Regent's  clemency.  But  part  of  his 
estate  had  been  bestowed  upon  one  of  the  Re- 
gent's favorites,2  who  seized  his  house,  and  turned 
out  his  wife,  naked,  in  a  cold  night,  into  the  open 
fields,  where,  before  next  morning,  she  became 
furiously  mad.  This  injury  made  a  deeper  im- 
pression on  him  than  the  benefit  he  had  received, 
and  from  that  moment  he  vowed  to  be  revenged 
of  the  Regent.  Party  rage  strengthened  and  in- 
flamed his  private  resentment.  His  kinsmen,  the 
Hamiltons,  applauded  the  enterprise.  The  max- 
ims of  that  age  justified  the  most  desperate  course 
he  could  take  to  obtain  vengeance.  He  followed 
the  Regent  for  some  time,  and  watched  for  an  op- 
portunity to  strike  the  blow.  He  resolved  at  last 
to  wait  till  his  enemy  should  arrive  at  Linlithgow, 
through  which  he  was  to  pass  in  his  way  from  Stir- 
ling to  Edinburgh.  He  took  his  stand  in  a  wooden 
gallery,3  which  had  a  window  towards  the  street ; 
spread  a  feather-bed  on  the  floor  to  hinder  the  noise 
of  his  feet  from  being  heard ;  hung  up  a  black  cloth 
behind  him,  that  his  shadow  might  not  be  observed 
from  without ;  and,  after  all  this  preparation, 
calmly  expected  the  Regent's  approach,  who  had 
lodged,  during  the  night,  in  a  house  not  far  distant. 
Some  indistinct  information  of  the  danger  winch 
threatened  him  had  been  conveyed  to  the  Regent, 
and  he  paid  so  much  regard  to  it,  that  he  resolved 
to  return  by  the  same  gate  through  which  he  had 
entered,  and  to  fetch  a  compass  round  the  town. 
But  as  the  crowd  about  the  gate  was  great,  and 
he  himself  unacquainted  with  fear,  he  proceeded 
dhv».t!y  along  the  street ;  and  the  throng  of  peo- 
ple obliging  him  to  move  very  slowly,  gave  the 
assassin  time  to  take  so  true  an  aim,  that  he  shot 
him,  with  a  single  bullet,  through  the  lower  part 
of  his  belly,  and  killed  the  horse  of  a  gentleman 


i  They  were  formerly  kept  in  the  park  at  Drumlanrig,  and 
are  still  to  be  seen  at  Chillingham  Castle,  in  Northumberland. 
For  their  nature  and  ferocity,  see  Notes. 

a  This  was  Sir  James  Bellenden,  Lord  Justice-Clerk,  whose 
•hameful  and  inhuman  rapacity  occasioned  the  catastrophe  in 
the  text. — Spottiswoode. 

This  projecting  gallery  is  still  showD.     The  house  to  which 


who  rode  on  his  other  side.  His  followers  m 
stantly  endeavored  to  break  into  the  house  whence 
the  blow  had  come ;  but  they  found  the  door 
strongly  barricadoed,  and,  before  it  could  be  forced 
open,  Hamilton  had  mounted  a  fleet  horse,4  which 
stood  ready  for  him  at  a  back  passage,  and  was  got 
far  beyond  their  reach.  The  Regent  died  the  same 
night  of  his  wound." — History  of  Scotland,  book  v 

Bothwellhaugh  rode  straight  to  Hamilton,  where 
he  was  received  in  triumph  ;  for  the  ashes  of  the 
houses  in  Clydesdale,  which  had  been  burned  by 
Murray's  army,  were  yet  smoking ;  and  party  pre- 
judice, the  habits  of  the  age,  and  the  enormity  ol 
the  provocation,  seemed  to  his  kinsmen  to  justify 
the  deed.  After  a  short  abode  at  Hamilton,  this 
fierce  and  determined  man  left  Scotland,  and 
served  in  France,  under  the  patronage  of  the  fam- 
ily of  Guise,  to  whom  he  was  doubtless  recom- 
mended by  having  avenged  the  cause  of  their 
niece,  Queen  Mary,  upon  her  ungrateful  brother. 
De  Thou  has  recorded,  that  an  attempt  was  made 
to  engage  him  to  assassinate  Gaspar  de  Coligni, 
the  famous  Admiral  of  France,  and  the  buckler  of 
the  Huguenot  cause.  But  the  character  of  Both 
wellhaugh  was  mistaken.  He  was  no  mercenary 
trader  in  blood,  and  rejected  the  offer  with  con- 
tempt and  indignation.  He  had  no  authority,  he 
said,  from  Scotland  to  commit  murders  in  France ; 
he  had  avenged  his  own  just  quarrel,  but  he  would 
neither,  for  price  nor  prayer,  avenge  that  of  an- 
other man. — Thuanus,  cap.  46. 

The  Regent's  death  happened  23d  January, 
1569.  It  is  applauded  or  stigmatized,  by  contem- 
porary historians,  according  to  their  religious  or 
party  prejudices.  The  triumph  of  Blackwood  is 
unbounded.  He  not  only  extols  the  pious  feat  of 
Bothwellhaugh,  "who,"  he  observes,  "satisfied, 
with  a  single  ounce  of  lead,  him  whose  sacrilegious 
avarice  had  stripped  the  metropolitan  church  of 
St.  Andrews  of  its  covering  ;"  but  he  ascribes  it  to 
immediate  divine  inspiration,  and  the  escape  of 
Hamilton  to  little  less  than  the  miraculous  inter 
ference  of  the  Deity. — Jebb,  vol.  ii.  p.  263.  With 
equal  injustice,  it  was,  by  others,  made  the  ground 
of  a  general  national  reflection ;  for,  when  Mather 
urged  Berney  to  assassinate  Burleigh,  and  quoted 
the  examples  of  Poltrot  and  Bothwellhaugh,  the 
other  conspirator  answered,  "  that  neyther  Poltrot 
nor  Hambleton  did  attempt  their  enterpryse,  with- 
out some  reason  or  consideration  to  lead  them  to 
it ;  as  the  one,  by  hyre,  and  promise  of  preferment 


it  was  attached  was  the  property  of  the  Archbishop  of  St.  An- 
drews, a  natural  brother  to  the  Duke  oi  *Jhatelherault,  and 
uncle  to  Bothwellhaugh.  This,  among  other  circumstances, 
seems  to  evince  the  aid  which  Bothwellhaugh  received  *'rom 
his  clan  in  effecting  his  purpose. 

4  The  girt  of  Lord  John  Hamilton,  Commendator  of  A* 
broath 


dOO                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 

or  rewarde ;  the  other,  upon  desperate  mind  of  re- 
venge, for  a  iyttle  wrong  done  unto  him,  as  the 
report  goethe,  according  to  the  vyle  trayterous 
lysposysyon  of  the  hoole  natyon  of  the  Scottes." 
— Murdin's  State  Papers,  voL  i.  p.  197. 

'Tis  night — the  shade  of  keep  and  spire 
Obscurely  dance  on  Evan's  stream ; 

And  on  the  wave  the  warder's  fire 
Is  checkering  the  moonlight  beam. 

Fades  slow  their  light ;  the  east  is  gray ; 

The  weary  warder  leaves  his  tower ; 
Steeds  snort ;  uncoupled  stag-hounds  bay, 

And  merry  hunters  quit  the  bower. 

ADDRESSED   TO 
THE    RIGHT    HONORABLE 

LADY    ANNE    HAMILTON. i 

The  drawbridge  falls — they  hurry  out — 
Clatters  each  plank  and  swinging  chain, 

As,  dashing  o'er,  the  jovial  rout 

Urge  the  shy  steed,  and  slack  the  rein 

When  princely  Hamilton's  abode 
Ennobled  Cadyow's  Gothic  towers, 

The  song  went  round,  the  goblet  flow'd, 
And  revel  sped  the  laughing  hours. 

First  of  his  troop,  the  Chief  rode  on  ;a 
His  shouting  merry -men  throng  behind; 

The  steed  of  princely  Hamilton 

Was  fleeter  than  the  mountain  wind. 

Then,  thrilling  to  the  harp's  gay  sound, 
So  sweetly  rung  each  vaulted  wall, 

And  echoed  light  the  dancer's  bound, 
As  mirth  and  music  cheer 'd  the  hall. 

From  the  thick  copse  the  roebucks  bound, 
The  startled  red-deer  scuds  the  plain, 

For  the  hoarse  bugle's  warrior-sound 
Has  roused  their  mountain  haunts  again. 

But  Cadyow's  towers,  in  ruins  laid, 
And  vaults,  by  ivy  mantled  o'er, 

Thrill  to  the  music  of  the  shade, 
Or  echo  Evan's  hoarser  roar. 

Tluough  the  huge  oaks  of  Evandale, 

Whose  limbs  a  thousand  years  have  worn, 

Wliat  sullen  roar  comes  down  the  gale, 
And  drowns  the  hunter's  pealing  horn  ? 

Yet  still,  of  Cadyow's  faded  fame, 
You  bid  me  tell  a  minstrel  tale, 

And  tune  my  harp,  of  Border  frame, 
On  the  wild  banks  of  Evandale. 

Mightiest  of  all  the  beasts  of  chase, 

That  roam  in  woody  Caledon, 
Crashing  the  forest  in  his  race, 

The  Mountain  Bull  comes  thundering  on. 

For  thou,  from  scenes  of  courtly  pride, 
From  pleasure's  lighter  scenes,  canst  turn, 

To  draw  oblivion's  pall  aside, 

And  mark  the  long-forgotten  urn. 

Fierce,  on  the  hunter's  quiver'd  band, 
He  rolls  his  eyes  of  swarthy  glow, 

Spurns,  with  black  hoof  and  horn,  the  sand, 
And  tosses  high  his  mane  of  snow. 

Then,  noble  maid  !  at  thy  command, 
Again  the  crumbled  halls  shall  rise ; 

Lo !  as  on  Evan's  banks  we  stand, 
The  past  returns — the  present  flies. 

Aim'd  well,  the  Clueftain's  lance  has  flown ; 

Struggling  in  blood  the  savage  lies ; 
His  roar  is  sunk  in  hollow  groan — 

Sound,  merry  huntsmen  !  sound  the  pryse  I* 

Where,  with  the  rock's  wood-cover'd  side, 
Were  blended  late  the  ruins  green, 

Use  turrets  in  fantastic  pride, 
And  feudal  banners  flaunt  between : 

'Tis  noon — against  the  knotted  oak 
The  hunters  rest  the  idle  spear ; 

Curls  through  the  trees  the  slender  smoke, 
Where  yeomen  dight  the  woodland  cheer. 

Where  the  rude  torrent's  brawling  course 
Was  shagg'd  with  thorn  and  tangling  sloe. 

The  ashler  buttress  braves  its  force, 
And  ramparts  frown  in  battled  row. 

Proudly  the  Chieftain  mark'd  his  clan, 
On  greenwood  lap  all  careless  thrown, 

Yet  miss'd  his  eye  the  boldest  man 
That  bore  the  name  of  Hamilton. 

'  Eldest  daughter  of  Archibald,  ninth  Duke  of  Hamilton. 
-Ed. 

2  The  head  of  the  family  of  Hamilton,  at  this  period,  was 
James,  Earl  of  Arran,  Duke  of  Chatelherault,  in  France,  and 

1 

first  peer  of  the  Scottish  realm.     In  1569,  he  was  appointed 
by  Queen  Mary  her  lieutenant-general  in  Scotland,  under  th# 
singular  title  of  her  adopted  father. 
3  See  Appendix  Note  A 

CONTRIBUTIONS 

TO  MINSTRELSY.                                 60) 

"  Why  fills  not  Bothwellhaugh  his  place, 

And,  reeking  from  the  recent  deed, 

Still  wont  our  weal  and  woe  to  share  ? 

He  dash'd  his  carbine  on  the  ground. 

Why  comes  he  not  our  sport  to  grace  ? 

Why  shares  he  not  our  hunter's  fare  ?" — 

Sternly  he  spoke — "  'Tis  sweet  to  hear 

In  good  greenwood  the  bugle  blown, 

Stern  Claud  replied,1  with  darkening  face 

But  sweeter  to  Revenge's  ear, 

(Gray  Paisley's  haughty  lord  was  he), 

To  drink  a  tyrant's  dying  groan. 

"  At  merry  feast,  or  buxom  chase, 

No  more  the  warrior  wilt  thou  see. 

*  Your  slaughter'd  quarry  proudly  trode, 

At  dawning  morn,  o'er  dale  and  down, 

fc  Few  suns  have  set  since  Woodhouselee2 

But  prouder  base-born 'Murray  rode 

Saw  Bothwellhaugh's  bright  goblets  foam, 

Through  old  Linlithgow's  crowded  town. 

When  to  his  hearths,  in  social  glee, 

The  war-worn  soldier  turn'd  him  home. 

"  From  the  wild  Border's  humbled  side,6 

In  haughty  triumph  marched  he, 

u  There,  wan  from  her  maternal  throes, 

While  Knox  relax'd  his  bigot  pride, 

His  Margaret,  beautiful  and  mild, 

And  smiled,  the  traitorous  pomp  to  see 

Sate  in  her  bower,  a  pallid  rose, 

And  peaceful  nursed  her  new-born  child. 

"  But  can  stern  Power,  with  all  his  vaunt, 

Or  Pomp,  with  all  her  courtly  glare, 

"  0  change  accursed !  past  are  those  days 

The  settled  heart  of  Vengeance  daunt, 

False  Murray's  ruthless  spoilers  came, 

Or  change  the  purpose  of  Despair  ? 

And,  for  the  hearth's  domestic  blaze, 

Ascends  destruction's  volumed  flame. 

"  With  hackbut  bent,8  my  secret  stand, 

Dark  as  the  purposed  deed,  I  chose, 

*  What  sheeted  phantom  wanders  wild, 

And  mark'd,  where,  mingling  in  his  band, 

Where  mountain  Eske  through  woodland  flows, 

Troop'd  Scottish  pikes  and  English  bows. 

Her  arms  enfold  a  shadowy  child — 

Oh !  is  it  she,  the  pallid  rose  ? 

"  Dark  Morton,7  girt  with  many  a  spear, 

Murder's  foul  minion,  led  the  van ; 

"  The  wilder'd  traveller  sees  her  glide, 

And  clash'd  their  broadswords  in  the  rear 

And  hears  her  feeble  voice  with  awe — 

The  wild  Macfarlanes'  plaided  clan." 

'  Revenge,'  she  cries, '  on  Murray's  pride  1 

And  woe  for  injured  Bothwellhaugh !' " 

"  Glencairn  and  stout  Parkhead9  were  nigh, 

Obsequious  at  their  Regent's  rein, 

He  ceased — and  cries  of  rage  and  grief 

And  haggard  Lindesay's  iron  eye, 

Burst  mingling  from  the  kindred  band, 

That  saw  fair  Mary  weep  in  vain.10 

And  half  arose  the  kindling  Chief, 

And  half  unsheathed  his  Arran  brand. 

"  'Mid  pennon'd  spears,  a  steely  grove, 

Proud  Murray's  plumage  floated  high ; 

But  who,  o'er  bush,  o'er  stream  and  rock, 

Scarce  could  lus  trampling  charger  move, 

Rides  headlong,  with  resistless  speed, 

So  close  the  minions  crowded  nigh.11 

Whose  bloody  poniard's  frantic  stroke 

Drives  to  the  leap  his  jaded  steed  ;s 

"  From  the  raised  vizor's  shade,  his  eye, 

Dark-rolling,  glanced  the  ranks  along, 

Whose  cheek  is  pale,  whose  eyeballs  glare, 

And  Ins  steel  truncheon,  waved  on  high, 

As  one  some  vision'd  sight  that  saw, 

Seem'd  marshalling  the  iron  throng. 

Whose  hands  are  bloody,  loose  his  hair  ? — 

'Tis  he  1  'tis  he  1  'tis  Bothwellhaugh. 

"  But  yet  his  sadden'd  brow  confess'd 

A  passing  shade  ot  doubt  and  awe  • 

From  gory  selle,4  and  reeling  steed, 

Some  fiend  was  whispering  in  his  breadt ; 

Sprung  the  fierce  horseman  with  a  bound, 

1  Beware  of  injured  Bothwellhaugh !' 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  B.                 a  Ibid.  Note  C. 

7  Of  this  noted  person,  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  he  was  ao> 

8  Ibid.  Note  D. 

tive  in  the  murder  of  David  Rizzio,  and  at  least  privy  to  tha 

«  Selle — Saddle.    A  word  used  by  Spenser,  and  other  an- 

of Darnley. 

cient  authors. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

o  Ibid.  Note  H. 

6Ibid  Note  F. 
76 

w  Ibid.  Note  I.                        "  Ibid.  Note  K. 

602 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


u  The  death-shot  parts — the  charger  springs — 
Wild  »-ises  tumult's  startling  roar ! 

And  Murray's  plumy  helmet  rings — 
— Rings  on  the  ground,  to  rise  no  more. 

"  What  joy  the  raptured  youth  can  feel, 
To  hear  \y<st  love  the  loved  one  tell — 

Or  he,  who  broaches  on  his  steel 
The  wolf,  by  whom  his  infant  fell ! 

"  6ut  dearer  to  my  injured  eye 
To  see  in  dust  proud  Murray  roll ; 

And  mine  was  ten  times  trebled  joy, 
To  hear  him  groan  his  felon  soul. 

"  My  Margaret's  spectre  glided  near ; 

With  pride  her  bleeding  victim  saw ; 
And  shriek'd  in  his  death-deafen'd  ear, 

'  Remember  injured  Bothwellhaugh !' 

"  Then  speed  thee,  noble  Chatlerault ! 

Spread  to  the  wind  thy  banner'd  tree  I1 
Each  warrior  bend  his  Clydesdale  bow  ! — 

Murray  is  fall'n,  and  Scotland  free !" 

1  An  oak,  half-sawn,  with  the  motto  through,  is  an  ancient 
cognizance  of  the  family  of  Hamilton. 

"  Scott  spent  the  Christmas  of  1801  at  Hamilton  Palace,  in 
Lanarkshire.  To  Lady  Anne  Hamilton  he  had  been  intoo- 
luced  by  her  friend,  Lady  Charlotte  Campbell,  and  both  the 
iate  and  the  present  Dukes  of  Hamilton  appear  to  have  par- 
taken of  Lady  Anne's  admiration  for  Glenfinlas,  and  the  Eve 
of  St.  John.  A  morning's  ramble  to  the  majestic  ruins  of  the 
old  baronial  castle  on  the  precipitous  banks  of  the  Evan,  and 
among  the  adjoining  remains  of  the  primeval  Caledonian  for- 
est, suggested  to  him  a  ballad,  not  inferior  in  execution  to  any 
that  he  had  hitherto  produced,  and.  especially  interesting  as  the 
first  in  which  he  grapples  with  the  world  of  picturesque  inci- 
dent unfolded  in  the  authentic  annals  of  Scotland.  With  the 
magnificent  localities  before  him,  he  skilfully  interwove  the 
daring  assassination  of  the  Regent  Murray  by  one  of  the  clans- 
men of  'the  princely  Hamilton.'  Had  the  subject  been  ta- 
ken up  in  after  years,  we  might  have  had  another  Marmion  or 
Heart  of  Mid-Lothian  ;  for  in  Cadyow  Castle  we  have  the  ma- 
terials and  outline  of  more  than  one  of  the  noblest  ballads. 

u  About  two  years  before  this  piece  began  to  be  handed  about 
sn  Edinburgh,  Thomas  Campbell  had  made  his  appearance 


Vaults  every  warrior  to  his  steed ; 

Loud  bugles  join  their  wild  acclaim — 
"  Murray  is  fall'n,  and  Scotland  freed  ! 

Couch,  Arran !  couch  thy  spear  of  flame  !" 

But,  see  !  the  minstrel  vision  fails — 

The  glimmering  spears  are  seen  no  snore ; 

The  shouts  of  war  die  on  the  gales, 
Or  sink  in  Evan's  lonely  roar. 

For  the  loud  bugle,  pealing  high, 

The  blackbird  whistles  down  the  vale, 

And  sunk  in  ivied  ruins  lie 

The  banner'd  towers  of  Evandale. 

For  Chiefs,  intent  on  bloody  deed, 

And  Vengeance  shouting  o'er  the  slain, 

Lo !  high-born  Beauty  rules  the  steed, 
Or  graceful  guides  the  silken  rein. 

And  long  may  Peace  and  Pleasure  own 
The  maids  who  list  the  minstrel's  tale ; 

Nor  e'er  a  ruder  guest  be  known 
On  the  fair  banks  of  Evandale  ! 

there,  and  at  once  seized  a  high  place  in  the  literary  world  bj 
his  '  Pleasures  of  Hope.'  Among  the  most  eager  to  welcome 
him  had  been  Scott ;  and  I  find  the  brother-bard  thus  express- 
ing himself  concerning  the  MS.  of  Cadyow  : — 

"  '  The  verses  of  Cadyow  Castle  are  perpetually  ringing  in 
my  imagination — 

*  Where,  mightiest  of  the  beasts  of  chase 

That  roam  in  woody  Caledon, 
Crashing  the  forest  in  his  race, 

The  mountain  bull  comes  thundering  on' — 

and  the  arrival  of  Hamilton,  when 

*  Reeking  from  the  recent  deed, 

He  dash'd  his  carbine  on  the  ground. ' 

I  have  repeated  these  lines  so  often  on  the  North  Bridge,  that 
the  whole  fraternity  of  coachmen  know  me  by  tongue  as  I  pass. 
To  be  sure,  to  a  mind  in  sober,  serious  street-walking  humor,  it 
must  bear  an  appearance  of  lunacy  when  one  stamps  with  tho 
hurried  pace  and  fervent  shake  of  the  head,  which  strong,  pith 
poetry  excites.'  " — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  77. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

— — sound  theprysc ! — P.  600. 

Pryse — The  note  blown  at  the  death  of  the  game. — In  Ca- 
ledonia olim  frequens  erat  sylvestris  quidam  bos,  mine  vero 
rarior,qui,  colore  candidissimo,  jubam  densamet  demissam 
instar  leonis  gestat,  truculentus  ac  fcrus  ab  humano  genere 
abhorrens,  ut  qucecunque  homines  vcl  manibus  contrectdrint, 
vel  halitu  perflavcrint,  ab  Us  multos  post  dies  omnino  absti- 
nuerunt.     Ad  hoc  tanta  audacia  huic  bovi  indita  erat,  ut 


non  solum  irritatus  equites  furenter  prosterneret,  sed  no 
tantillum  laces  situs  omnes  promiscue  homines  cornUius  ac 
ungulis  peter  it ;  ac  canum,  qui  apud  nos  ferocissimi  sunt, 
impetus  plane  contemneret.  Ejus  carnes  cartilaginosce,  sed 
saporis  suavissimi.  Erat  is  olim  per  illam  vastissimam 
Caledonice  sylvam  frequens,  sed  humana  ingluvie  jam  as' 
sumptus  tribus  tantum  locis  est  reliquus,  Striviliiigii,  Cum* 
bernaldice,  et  Kincarnice. — I.esljeus,  Scotia  Descriptio,  p. 
13. — [See  a  note  on  Castle  Dangerous,  Waverley  Novels, 
vol.  xlvii. — Ed  ] 


r 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


603 


Note  B. 
Stern  Claud  replied—?.  601. 

ijord  Claud  Hamilton,  second  son  of  the  Duke  of  Chatel- 
herault,  antl  commendator  of  the  Abbey  of  Paisley,  acted  a 
distinguished  part  during  the  troubles  of  Queen  Mary's  reign, 
and  reir*  n°d  unalterably  attached  to  the  cause  of  that  un- 
forluiiAte  princess.  He  led  the  van  of  her  army  at  the  fatal 
Dottle  of  Langside,  and  was  one  of  the  commanders  at  the 
Raid  of  Stirling,  which  had  so  nearly  given  complete  success 
t")  the  Queen's  faction.  He  was  ancestor  of  the  present  Mar- 
quis of  Abercorn 


Note  C. 
Woodhouselee.—P.  601. 
This  barony,  stretching  along  the  banks  of  the  Esk,  near 
Auchendinny,  belonged  to  Bothwellhaugh,  in  right  of  his 
wife.  The  ruins  of  the  mansion,  from  whence  she  was  expel- 
led in  the  brutal  manner  which  occasioned  her  death,  are  still 
to  be  seen  in  a  hollow  glen  beside  the  river.  Popular  report 
tenants  them  with  the  restless  ghost  of  the  Lady  Bothwell- 
haugh ;  whom,  however,  it  confounds  with  Lady  Anne  Both- 
well,  whose  Lament  is  so  popular.  This  spectre  is  so  tenacious 
of  he*  rights,  that  a  part  of  the  stones  of  the  ancient  edifice 
having  been  employed  in  building  or  repairing  the  present 
Woodhou«elee,  she  has  deemed  it  a  part  of  her  privilege  to 
haunt  that  house  also  ;  and,  even  of  very  late  years,  has  ex- 
cited considerable  disturbance  and  terror  among  the  domestics. 
This  is  a  more  remarkable  vindication  of  the  rights  of  ghosts, 
as  the  present  Woodhouslee,  which  gives  his  title  to  the  Hon- 
orable Alexander  Fraser  Tytler,  a  senator  of  the  College  of 
Justice,  is  situated  on  the  slope  of  the  Pentland  hills,  distant 
at  least  four  miles  from  her  proper  abode.  She  always  ap- 
pears in  white,  and  with  her  child  in  her  arms. 


Note  D. 
Drives  to  the  leap  his  jaded  steed. — P.  601. 
Birrel  informs  us,  that  Bothwellhaugh,  being  closely  pur- 
lued,  "  after  that  spur  and  wand  had  failed  him,  he  drew  forth 
his  dagger,  and  strocke  his  horse  behind,  whilk  caused  the 
horse  to  leap  a  very  brode  stanke  [i.  e.  ditch],  by  whilk  means 
he  escapit,  and  gat  away  from  all  the  rest  of  the  horses." — 
Birrkl's  Diary,  p.  18. 


Note  E. 

From  the  wild  Border's  humbled  side. — P.  601. 
Murray's  death  took  place  shortly  after  an  expedition  to  the 
Borders ;  which  is  thus  commemorated  by  the  author  of  his 
Elegy  : — 
"  Sc  having  stablischt  all  things  in  this  sort, 
To  Liddisdaill  agane  he  did  resort. 
Throw  Ewisdail,  Eskdail,  and  all  the  daills  -ode  he, 
And  also  lay  three  nights  in  Cannabie, 
Whair  na  prince  lay  thir  hundred  yeiris  before. 
Nae  thief  durst  stir,  they  did  him  feir  sa  sair  ; 
And,  that  thay  suld  na  mair  thair  thift  allege, 
Threescore  and  twelf  he  brocht  of  thame  in  pledge, 
Syne  wardit  thame,  whilk  maid  the  rest  keep  ordour  ; 
Than  mycht  the  rasch-bus  keep  ky  on  the  Border." 

Scottish  Poems,  16th  century,  p.  232. 


Note  F. 

With  hackbut  lent.—?.  601. 

Hackbut  bent— Gun  cock'd.     The  carbine,  with  which  the 

Regent  was  shot,  is  preserved  at  Hamilton  Palace.     It  is  a 


brass  piece,  of  a  middling  length,  very  small  in  the  bore,  and, 
what  is  rather  extraordinary,  appears  to  have  been  rifled  on 
indented  in  the  barret.  It  had  a  matchlock,  for  which  a  mod- 
ern firelock  has  been  injudiciouslv  substituted. 


Note  G-. 


The  wildMacfarlanes'  plaided  clan. — P.  601. 

This  clan  of  Lennox  Highlanders  were  attached  to  the  Re 
gent  Murray.  Hollinshed,  speaking  of  the  battle  of  Langside, 
says,  "  In  this  batayle  the  valiancie  of  an  Heiland  gentleman, 
named  Macfarlane,  stood  the  Regent's  part  in  great  steede ; 
for,  in  the  hottest  brunte  of  the  fighte,  he  came  up  witli  twe 
hundred  of  his  friendes  and  countrymen,  and  so  manfully  gave 
in  upon  the  flankes  of  the  Queen's  people,  that  he  was  a  great 
cause  of  the  disordering  of  them.  This  Macfarlane  had  been 
lately  before,  as  I  have  heard,  condemned  to  die,  for  some  out- 
rage by  him  committed,  and  obtayning  pardon  through  suyte 
of  the  Countess  of  Murray,  he  recompensed  that  clemencie  by 
this  piece  of  service  now  at  this  batayle."  Calderwood's  ac- 
count is  less  favorable  to  the  Macfarlanes.  He  states  that 
"  Macfarlane,  with  his  Highlandmen,  fled  from  the  wing 
where  they  were  set.  The  Lord  Lindsay,  who  stood  nearest 
to  them  in  the  Regent's  battle,  said,  '  Let  them  go  !  I  shall  fill 
their  place  better:'  and  so,  stepping  forward,  with  a  company 
of  fresh  men,  charged  the  enemy,  whose  spears  were  now 
spent,  with  long  weapons,  so  that  they  were  driven  back  by 
force,  being  before  almost  overthrown  by  the  avaunt-guard  and 
harquebusicrs,  and  so  were  turned  to  flight." — Calderwood's 
MS.  apud  Keith,  p.  480.  Melville  mentions  the  flight  of  the 
vanguard,  but  states  it  to  have  been  commanded  by  Morton/ 
and  composed  chiefly  of  commoners  of  the  barony  of  Renfrew. 


Note  H. 

Olencairn  and  stout  Parkhead  were  nigh. — P.  601. 

The  Earl  of  Glencairn  was  a  steady  adherent  of  the  Regent. 
George  Douglas  of  Parkhead  was  a  natural  brother  of  the  Earl 
of  Morton,  whose  horse  was  killed  by  the  same  ball  by  which 
Murray  fell. 


Note  I. 

haggard  Lindesay's  iron  eye, 

That  saw  fair  Mary  weep  in  vain. — P.  601. 

Lord  Lindsay,  of  the  Byres,  was  the  most  ferocious  and 
brutal  of  the  Regent's  faction,  and,  as  such,  was  employed  to 
extort  Mary's  signature  to  the  deed  of  resignation  presented  to 
her  in  Lochleven  castle.  He  discharged  his  commission  with 
the  most  savage  rigor  ;  and  it  is  even  said,  that  when  the 
weeping  captive,  in  the  act  of  signing,  averted  her  eyes  from 
the  fatal  deed,  he  pinched  her  arm  with  the  grasp  of  his  iron 
glove. 


Note  K 


So  close  the  minions  crowded  nigh. — P.  601. 

Not  only  had  the  Regent  notice  of  the  intended  attempt 
upon  his  life,  but  even  of  the  very  house  from  which  it  way 
threatened.  With  that  infatuation  at  which  men  wonder, 
after  such  events  have  happened,  he  deemed  it  would  be  a 
sufficient  precaution  to  ride  briskly  past  the  dangerous  spot. 
But  even  this  was  prevented  by  the  crowd  :  so  that  Bothwell 
haugh  had  time  to  take  a  deliberate  aim. — Spottisvvoodb 
p.  233.     Buchanan. 


604 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


&\)t  (Stag  Brctljer. 


A    FRAGMENT. 


The  imperfect  state  of  this  ballad,  which  was 
written  several  years  ago,  is  not  a  circumstance 
affected  for  the  purpose  of  giving  it  that  peculiar 
interest  which  is  often  found  to  arise  from  ungrati- 
fied  curiosity.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  the  Editor's 
intention  to  have  completed  the  tale,  if  he  had 
found  himself  able  to  succeed  to  his  own  satisfac- 
tion. Yielding  to  the  opinion  of  persons,  whose 
judgment,  if  not  biassed  by  the  partiality  of  friend- 
ship, is  entitled  to  deference,  he  has  preferred 
Inserting  these  verses  as  a  fragment,  to  his  inten- 
tion of  entirely  suppressing  them. 

The  tradition,  upon  which  the  tale  is  founded, 
regards  a  house  upon  the  barony  of  Gilmerton, 
near  Lasswade,  in  Mid-Lothian.  This  building, 
now  called  Gilmerton  Grange,  was  originally 
named  Burndale,  from  the  following  tragic  adven- 
ture. The  barony  of  Gilmerton  belonged,  of  yore, 
to  a  gentleman  named  Heron,  who  had  one  beau- 
tiful daughter.  This  young  lady  was  seduced  by 
the  Abbot  of  ISTewbattle,  a  richly  endowed  abbey, 
upon  the  banks  of  the  South  Esk,  now  a  seat  of  the 
Marquis  of  Lothian.  Heron  came  to  the  knowledge 
of  this  circumstance,  and  learned  also,  that  the 
lovers  carried  on  their  guilty  intercourse  by  the 
connivance  of  the  lady's  nurse,  who  lived  at  this 
house  of  Gilmerton  Grange,  or  Burndale.  He 
formed  a  resolution  of  bloody  vengeance,  unde- 
terred by  the  supposed  sanctity  of  the  clerical 
character,  or  by  the  stronger  claims  of  natural 
affection.  Choosing,  therefore,  a  dark  and  windy 
night,  when  the  objects  of  his  vengeance  were 
engaged  in  a  stolen  interview,  he  set  fire  to  a 
stack  of  dried  thorns,  and  other  combustibles, 
which  he  had  caused  to  be  piled  against  the  house, 
and  reduced  to  a  pile  of  glowing  ashes  the  dwell- 
ing, with  all  its  inmates.1 

The  scene  with  which  the  ballad  opens,  was 
suggested  by  the  following  curious  passage,  ex- 
tracted from  the  Life  of  Alexander  Peden,  one  of 
the  wandering  and  persecuted  teachers  of  the  sect 
of  Cameronians,  during  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  and 
his  successor,  James.  This  person  was  supposed 
by  his  followers,  and,  perhaps,  really  believed  liim- 

i  This  tradition  was  communicated  to  me  by  John  Clerk, 
Esq.,  of  Eldin,  author  of  an  Essay  upon  Naval  Tactics,  who 
will  be  remembered  by  posterity,  as  having  taught  the  Genius 


self,  to  be  possessed  of  supernatural  gifts ;  for  tho 
wild  scenes  which  they  frequented,  and  the  con- 
stant dangers  which  were  incurred  through  their 
proscription,  deepened  upon  their  minds  the  gloom 
of  superstition,  so  general  in  that  age. 

"  About  the  same  time  he  [Peden]  came  to  An- 
drew Normand's  house,  in  the  parish  of  Alloway, 
in  the  shire  of  Ayr,  being  to  preach  at  night  in  his 
barn.  After  he  came  in,  he  halted  a  little,  leaning 
upon  a  chair-back,  with  his  face  covered ;  when  he 
lifted  up  his  head,  he  said,  •  They  are  in  this  house 
that  I  have  not  one  word  of  salvation  unto ;'  he 
halted  a  little  again,  saying,  '  This  is  strange,  that 
the  devil  will  not  go  out,  that  we  may  begin  our 
work !'  Then  there  was  a  woman  went  out,  ill- 
looked  upon  almost  all  her  life,  and  to  her  dying 
hour,  for  a  witch,  with  many  presumptions  of  the 
same.  It  escaped  me,  in  the  former  passages, 
what  Jolin  Muirhead  (whom  I  have  often  men- 
tioned) told  me,  that  when  he  came  froth  Ireland 
to  Galloway,  he  was  at  family -worship,  and  giving 
some  notes  upon  the  Scripture  read,  when  a  very 
ill-looking  man  came,  and  sat  down  witliin  the 
door,  at  the  back  of  the  kalian  [partition  of  the 
cottage]  :  immediately  he  halted  and  said,  '  There 
is  some  unhappy  body  just  now  come  into  this 
house.  I  charge  him  to  go  out,  and  not  stup  my 
mouth !'  This  person  went  out,  and  he  insisted 
[went  on],  yet  he  saw  him  neither  come  in  nor  go 
out." — The  Lift  and  Prophecies  of  Mr.  Alexander 
Peden,  late  Minister  of  the  Gospel  at  New  Glenluce, 
in  Galloway,  part  ii.  §  26. 

A  friendly  correspondent  remarks,  "that  the 
incapacity  of  proceeding  in  the  performance  of  a 
religious  duty,  when  a  contaminated  person  is 
present,  is  of  much  higher  antiquity  than  the  era 
of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Alexander  Peden." — Vide 
Hygini  Fabidas,  cap.  26.  "Medea  Corintho  exul, 
Athenas,  ad  jEgewn  Pandionis  filiunx  devenit  in 
hospitium,  eique  nupsit. 

"  Postea  sacerdos  DiancB  Medeam  exagi- 

tare  ccepit,  regique  negabat  sacra  caste  facere  posse, 
eo  quod  in  ea  civitate  esset  mulier  venefica  et  scele* 
raia  ;  tunc  ezulatur." 

of  Britain  to  concentrate  her  thunders,  and  to  launch  them 
against  her  foes  with  an  unerring  aim. 


CONTRIBUTIONS 

TO  MINSTRELSY.                                60d 

STlje  ©ra£  Brother. 

His  unblest  feet  his  native  seat, 
'Mid  Eske's  fair  woods,  regain ; 

The  Pope  he  was  saying  the  high,  high  mass, 

Thro'  woods  more  fair  no  stream  more  sweet 

All  on  Saint  Peter's  day, 

Rolls  to  the  eastern  main. 

With  the  power  to  him  given,  by  the  saints  in 

heaven, 

And  lords  to  meet  the  pilgrim  came, 

To  wash  men's  sins  away. 

And  vassals  bent  the  knee  ; 

For  all  'mid  Scotland's  chiefs  of  fame, 

The  Pope  he  was  saying  the  blessed  mass, 

Was  none  more  famed  than  he. 

And  the  people  kneel'd  around, 

And  from  each  man's  soul  his  sins  did  pass, 

And  boldly  for  his  country,  still, 

As  he  kiss'd  the  holy  ground. 

In  battle  he  had  stood, 

Ay,  even  when  on  the  banks  of  Till 

And  all,  among  the  crowded  throng, 

Her  noblest  pour'd  their  blood. 

Was  still,  both  limb  and  tongue, 

While,  through  vaulted  roof  and  aisles  aloof, 

Sweet  are  the  paths,  0  passing  sweet ! 

The  holy  accents  rung. 

By  Eske's  fair  streams  that  run, 

O'er  airy  steep,  through  copsewood  deep, 

At  the  holiest  word  he  quiver'd  for  fear, 

Impervious  to  the  sun. 

And  falter'd  in  the  sound — 

And,  when  he  would  the  chalice  rear, 

There  the  rapt  poet's  step  may  rove, 

He  dropp'd  it  to  the  ground. 

And  yield  the  muse  the  day ; 

There  Beauty,  led  by  timid  Love, 

"  The  breath  of  one  of  evil  deed 

May  shun  the  tell-tale  ray ; 

Pollutes  our  sacred  day ; 

He  has  no  portion  in  our  creed, 

From  that  fair  dome,  where  suit  is  paid 

No  part  in  what  I  say. 

By  blast  of  bugle  free,1 

To  Auchendinny's  hazel  glade,2 

"  A  being,  whom  no  blessed  word 

And  haunted  Woodhouselee.3 

To  ghostly  peace  can  bring ; 

A  wretch,  at  whose  approach  abhorr'd, 

Who  knows  not  Melville's  beechy  grove  * 

Recoils  each  holy  thing. 

And  Roslin's  rocky  glen,6 

Dalkeith,  which  all  the  virtues  love,8 

"  Up,  up,  unhappy !  haste,  arise  ! 

And  classic  Hawthornden  V 

My  adjuration  fear  1 

I  charge  thee  not  to  stop  my  voice, 

Yet  never  a  path,  from  day  to  day, 

Nor  longer  tarry  here  1" — 

The  pilgrim's  footsteps  range, 

Save  but  the  solitary  way 

Amid  them  all  a  pilgrim  kneel'd, 

To  Burndale's  ruin'd  grange. 

In  gown  of  sackcloth  gray ; 

1 

Far  journeying  from  his  native  field, 

A  woeful  place  was  that,  I  ween, 

He  first  saw  Rome  that  day. 

As  sorrow  could  desire ; 

For  nodding  to  the  fall  was  each  crumbling 

For  forty  days  and  nights  so  drear, 

wall, 

I  ween  he  had  not  spoke, 

And  the  roof  was  scathed  with  fire. 

And,  save  with  bread  and  water  clear, 

His  fast  he  ne'er  had  broke. 

It  fell  upon  a  summer's  eve, 

While,  on  Carnethy's  head, 

Amid  the  penitential  flock, 

The  last  faint  gleams  of  the  sun's  low  beams 

Seem'd  none  more  bent  to  pray ; 

Had  streak'd  the  gray  with  red ; 

But,  when  the  Holy  Father  spoke, 

He  rose  and  went  his  way. 

And  the  convent  bell  did  vespers  tell, 

Newbattle's  oaks  among, 

Again  unto  his  native  land 

And  mingled  with  the  solemn  knell 

His  weary  course  he  drew, 

Our  Ladye's  evening  song : 

To  Lothian's  fair  and  fertile  strand, 

And  Pentland's  mountains  blue. 

- 

*  See  Appendix,  Notes  1  to  7 

S06 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  heavy  knell,  the  choir's  faint  swell, 

Came  slowly  down  the  wind, 
And  on  the  pilgrim's  ear  they  fell, 

As  his  wonted  path  he  did  find. 

D<»ep  sunk  in  thought,  I  ween,  he  was, 

Nor  ever  raised  his  eye, 
Until  he  came  to  that  dreary  place, 

"Which  did  all  in  ruins  lie. 

lie  gazed  on  the  walls,  so  scathed  with  fire, 

With  many  a  bitter  groan — 
And  there  was  aware  of  a  Gray  Friar, 

Resting  him  on  a  stone. 

■  Now,  Christ  thee  save  I"   said  the  Gray  Bro- 
ther ; 

"  Some  pilgrim  thou  seemest  to  be." 
But  in  sore  amaze  did  Lord  Albert  gaze, 

Nor  answer  again  made  he. 

"  0  come  ye  from  east,  or  come  ye  from  west, 
Or  bring  reliques  from  over  the  sea ; 

Or  come  ye  from  the  shrine  of  St.  James  the 
divine, 
Or  St.  John  of  Beverley  ?"— 

1  The  contemporary  criticism  on  this  nohle  hallad  was  all 
feeble,  hut  laudatory,  with  the  exception  of  the  following  re- 
mark : — "  The  painter  is  justly  blamed,  whose  figures  do  not 
correspond  with  his  landscape — who  assembles  banditti  in  an 
Elysium,  or  bathing  loves  in  a  lake  of  storm.  The  same  adap- 
tation of  parts  is  expedient  in  the  poet.     The  stanzas — 

'  Sweet  are  thy  paths,  O  passing  sweet !' 
to 

'  And  classic  Hawthornden,' 

disagreeably  contrast  with  the  mysterious,  gloomy  character 
of  the  ballad.  Were  these  omitted,  it  would  merit  high  rank 
for  the  terrific  expectation  it  excites  by  the  majestic  intro- 
duction, and  the  awful  close." — Critical  Review,  November, 
1803.— Ed. 


"  I  come  not  from  the  shrine  of  St.  James  the 
divine, 

Nor  bring  reliques  from  over  the  sea ; 
I  bring  but  a  curse  from  our  father,  the  Pope, 

Which  for  ever  will  cling  to  me." — 

"  Now,  woeful  pilgrim,  say  not  so ! 

But  kneel  thee  down  to  me, 
And  shrive  thee  so  clean  of  thy  deadly  sin, 

That  absolved  thou  mayst  be." — 

"  And  who  art  thou,  thou  Gray  Brother, 

That  I  should  shrive  to  thee,       [and  heaven 

When  He,  to  whom  are  given  the  keys  of  eartt 
Has  no  power  to  pardon  me  ?" — 

"01  am  sent  from  a  distant  clime, 

Five  thousand  miles  away, 
And  all  to  absolve  a  foul,  foul  crime, 

Done  here  'twixt  night  and  day." 

The  pilgrim  kneel'd  him  on  the  sand, 

And  thus  began  his  saye — 
When  on  his  neck  an  ice-cold  hand 

Did  that  Gray  Brother  laye.1 


"  Then  came  The  Gray  Brother,  founded  op.  another  eaoer- 
stition,  which  seems  to  have  been  almost  as  ancient  as  the  be- 
lief  in  ghosts  :  namely,  that  the  holiest  service  of  trie  aha* 
cannot  go  on  in  the  presence  of  an  unclean  person — a  heinous 
sinner  unconfessed  and  unabsolved.  The  fragmentary  form  ol 
this  poem  greatly  heightens  the  awfulness  of  its  impression  ; 
and  in  construction  and  metre,  the  verses  which  real'y  belong 
to  the  story  appear  to  me  "the  happiest  that  have  ever  been 
produced  expressly  in  imitation  of  the  ballad  of  the  middle 
age.  In  the  stanzas,  previously  quoted,  on  the  scer.ery  of  the 
Esk,  however  beautiful  in  themselves,  and  however  interest- 
ing now  as  marking  the  locality  of  the  compos-'.loii,  be  must 
be  allowed  to  have  lapsed  into  another  strain,  an^  ttrodv.zd  a 
p annus  purpureas  which  interferes  with  a^-1  mars  *hcgene;<i) 
texture." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  26. 


APPENDIX 


Notes  1  to  7. 

SCENERY  OF  THE  ESK. — P.  605. 

1  The  barony  of  Pennycuik,  the  property  of  Sir  George  Clerk, 
Bart.,  is  held  by  a  singular  tenure  ;  the  proprietor  being  bound 
to  sit  upon  a  large  rocky  fragment  called  the  Buckstane,  and; 
wind  three  blasts  of  a  horn,  when  the  King  shall  come  to  hunt 
on  the  Borough  Muir,  near  Edinburgh.  Hence  the  family 
Have  adopted  as  their  crest  a  demi-forester  proper,  winding  a 


horn,  with  the  motto,  Free  for  a  Blast.  The  beautiful  man 
sion-house  of  Pennycuik  is  much  admired,  both  on  account  oi 
the  architecture  and  surrounding  scenery. 

2  Auchendinny,  situated  upon  the  Eske,  below  Pennycuik, 
the  present  residence  of  the  ingenious  H.  Mackenzie,  Esq. 
author  of  the  Man  of  Feeling,  &rc. — Edition  1803. 

3  "  Haunted  Woodhouselee."— For  the  traditions  connected 
with  this  ruinous  mansion,  see  Ballad  of  Cadyow  Castle,  Notei, 
p.  603. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


60T 


4  Melville  Castle,  the  seat  of  the  Right  Honorable  Lord 
Melville,  to  whom  it  gives  the  title  of  Viscount,  is  delightfully 
situated  upon  the  Eske,  rear  Lasswade. 

6  The  ruins  of  Roslin  Castle,  the  baronial  residence  of  the 
ancient  family  of  St.  Clair.  The  Gothic  chapel,  which  is  still 
in  beautiful  preservation,  with  the  romantic  and  woody  dell 
in  which  they  are  situated,  belong  to  the  Right  Honorable 
the  Earl  of  Rosslyn,  the  representative  of  the  former  Lords  of 
Roslin. 

«  The  village  and  castle  of  Dalkeith  belonged  of  old  to  the 
'anions  Earl  of  Morton,  but  is  now  the  residence  of  the  noble 
family  of  Buccleuch.  The  park  extends  along  the  Eske, 
which  is  there  joined  by  its  sister  stream  of  the  same  name. 

t  Havvthornden,  the  residence  of  the  poet  Drummond.  A 
house  of  more  modern  date  is  enclosed,  as  it  were,  by  the 
ruins  of  the  ancient  castle,  and  overhangs  a  tremendous  preci- 


pice upon  thelbanks  of  the  Eske,  perforated  by  winding  caves, 
which  in  former  times  were  a  refuge  to  the  oppressed  patriots 
of  Scotland.  Here  Drummond  received  Ben  Jonson,  who 
journeyed  from  London  on  foot  in  order  to  visit  him.  The 
beauty  of  this  striking  scene  has  been  much  injured  of  late 
years  by  the  indiscriminate  use  of  the  axe.  Tiie  traveller  now 
looks  in  vain  for  the  leafy  hower, 

"  Where  Jonson  sat  in  Drummond's  social  shade." 

Upon  the  whole,  tracing  the  Eske  from  its  source  till  it  joins 
the  sea  at  Musselhurgh,  no  stream  in  Scotland  can  boast,  such 
a  varied  succession  of  the  most  interesting  objects,  as  well  as 

of  the  most  romantic  and  beautiful  scenery.     1803 

— The  beautiful  scenery  of  Hawthornden  has,  since  the  above 
note  was  written,  recovered  all  its  proper  ornament  of  wood 
1831. 


iDar-Song 


ROYAL   EDINBURGH  LIGHT   DRAGOONS, 


"  Nenvius.  Is  not  peace  the  end  of  arms  1 

"  Caratach.  Not  where  the  cause  implies  a  general  conquest. 
Had  we  a  difference  with  some  petty  isle, 
Or  with  our  neighbors,  Britons,  for  our  landmarks, 
The  taking  in  of  some  rebellious  lord, 
Or  making  head  against  a  slight  commotion, 
After  a  day  of  blood,  peace  might  be  argued  : 
But  where  we  grapple  for  the  land  we  live  on, 
The  liberty  we  hold  more  dear  than  life, 
The  gods  we  worship,  and,  next  these,  our  honors, 
And.  with  those,  swords  that  know  no  end  of  battle — ■ 
Those  men,  beside  themselves,  allow  no  neighbor, 
Those  minds,  that,  where  the  day  is,  claim  inheritance, 
And,  where  the  sun  makes  ripe  the  fruit,  their  harvest, 
And.  where  they  march,  but  measure  out  more  ground 

To  add  to  Rome 

It  must  not  be — No  !  as  they  are  our  foes, 

Let's  use  the  peace  of  honor — that's  fair  dealing  ; 

But  in  our  hands  our  swords.     The  hardy  Roman, 

That  thinks  to  graft  himself  into  my  stock, 

Must  first  begin  his  kindred  nnder  ground, 

And  be  allied  in  ashes." Bonduca. 


The  following  "War-Song  was  written  during  the 
apprehension  of  an  invasion.1  The  corps  of  volun- 
teers to  which  it  was  addressed,  was  raised  in 
1797,  consisting  of  gentlemen,  mounted  and  armed 
at  their  own  expense.  It  still  subsists,  as  the 
Right  Troop  of  the  Royal  Mid-Lothian  Light  Cav- 
alry, commanded  by  the  Honorable  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Dundas.3     The  noble  and  constitutional 

The  song  originally  appeared  in  the  Scots  Magazine  for 
802.— Ed 


measure  of  arming  freemen  in  defence  of  their  own 
rights,  was  noAvhere  more  successful  than  in  Edin- 
burgh, which  furnished  a  force  of  3000  armed  and 
disciplined  volunteers,  including  a  regiment  of 
cavalry,  from  the  city  and  county,  and  two  corps 
of  artillery,  each  capable  observing  twelve  guns. 
To  such  a  force,  above  all  others,  might,  in  similar 
circumstances,  be  applied  the  exhortation  of  our 
ancient  Galgacus  :  "  Proinde  ituri  in  aciem,  et  ma- 
jores  vestros  et  posteros  cogitate."     1812. 


to  ar^0onj 


ROYAL  EDINBURGH  LIGHT  DRAGOONS, 

To  horse  1  to  horse !  the  standard  me? 

The  bugles  sound  the  call ; 
The  Gallic  navy  stems  the  seas, 
The  voice  of  battle's  on  the  breeze, 

Arouse  ye,  one  and  Ul  1 

From  high  Dunedin's  towers  we  come, 

A  band  of  brothers  true  ; 
Our  casques  the  leopard's  spoils  surround, 
With  Scotland's  hardy  tlustle  crown'd ; 

We  boast  the  red  and  blue.3 

a  Now  Viscount  Melville.— 1831. 
8  The  royal  colors. 


i    i      .   .—....,-.,■...,... ,~.. — ,,. 


608 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Though  tamely  crouch  to  Gallia's  frown 

Dull  Holland's  tardy  train ; 
Their  ravish'd  toys  though  Romans  mourn ; 
Though  gallant  Switzers  vainly  spurn, 

And,  foaming,  gnaw  the  chain ; 

Oh !  had  they  mark'd  the  avenging  call1 

Their  brethren's  murder  gave, 
Disunion  ne'er  their  ranks  had  mown, 
Nor  patriot  valor,  desperate  grown, 

Sought  freedom  in  the  grave ! 

Shall  we,  too,  bend  the  stubborn  head, 

In  Freedom's  temple  born, 
Dress  our  pale  cheek  in  timid  smile, 
To  hail  a  master  in  our  isle, 

Or  brook  a  victor's  scorn  ? 

No !  though  destruction  o'er  the  land 

Come  pouring  as  a  flood, 
The  sun,  that  sees  our  falling  day, 
Shall  mark  our  sabres'  deadly  sway, 

And  set  that  night  in  blood. 

i  The  allusion  is  to  the  massacre  of  the  Swiss  Guards,  on  the 
fatal  10th  August,  1792.  It  is  painful,  but  not  useless,  to  re- 
mark, ,that  the  passive  temper  with  which  the  Swiss  regarded 
the  death  of  their  bravest  countrymen,  mercilessly  slaughtered 
in  discharge  of  their  duty,  encouraged  and  authorized  the 
progressive  injustice,  by  which  the  Alps,  once  the  seat  of  the 


For  gold  let  Gallia's  legions  fight, 

Or  plunder's  bloody  gain ; 
Unbribed,  unbought,  our  swords  we  draw. 
To  guard  our  king,  to  fence  our  law, 

Nor  shall  their  edge  be  vain. 

If  ever  breath  of  British  gale 

Shall  fan  the  tri-color, 
Or  footstep  of  invader  rude, 
With  rapine  foul,  and  red  with  blood, 

Pollute  our  happy  shore, — 

Then  farewell  home  !  and  farewell  friends  1 

Adieu  each  tender  tie  ! 
Resolved,  we  mingle  in  the  tide. 
"Where  charging  squadrons  furious  ride. 

To  conquer  or  to  die. 

To  horse  !  to  horse  !  the  sabres  gleam ; 

High  sounds  our  bugle-call ; 
Combined  by  honor's  sacred  tie, 
Our  word  is  Laws  and  Liberty  ! 

March  forward,  one  and  all  I3 

most  virtuous  and  free  people  upon  the  Continent,  have,  at 
length,  been  converted  into  the  citadel  of  a  foreign  and  military 
despot.     A  state  degraded  is  half  enslaved. — 1812. 

2  Sir  Walter  Scott  was,  at  the  time  when  he  wrote  thii 
song,  Quartermaster  of  the  Edinburgh  Light  Cavalry.  Se« 
one  of  the  Epistles  Introductory  to  Marmion. — Ed. 


END  OF  CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY  OF  THE  SCOTTISH  BORDER. 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


609 


Ballad, 


TRANSLATED,  OR  IMITATED,  FROM  THE  GERMAN,  &c. 


tDUliam  anir  §den. 


[1796.1] 


IMirATED  FROM  THE  " LENORE   OF  BURGER. 


The  Author  had  resolved  to  omit  the  following 
version  of  a  well-known  Poem,  in  any  collection 
which  he  might  make  of  his  poetical  trifles.  But 
the  publishers  having  pleaded  for  its  admission, 
the  Author  has  consented,  though  not  unaware  of 
the  disadvantage  at  which  this  youthful  essay  (for 
it  was  written  in  1795)  must  appear  with  those 
which  have  been  executed  by  much  more  able 
hands,  in  particular  that  of  Mr.  Taylor  of  Norwich, 
and  that  of  Mr.  Spencer. 

The  following  Translation  was  written  long  be- 
fore the  Author  saw  any  other,  and  originated  in 
the  following  circumstances : — A  lady  of  high  rank 
in  the  literary  world  read  this  romantic  tale,  as 
translated  by  Mr.  Taylor,  in  the  house  of  the  cele- 
brated Professor  Dugald  Stewart  of  Edinburgh. 
The  Author  was  not  present,  nor  indeed  in  Edin- 
burgh at  the  time ;  but  a  gentleman  who  had  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  the  ballad,  afterwards  told 
him  the  story,  and  repeated  the  remarkable  cho- 


"  Tramp  !  tramp  !  across  the  land  they  speede, 
Splash  !  splash  !  across  the  sea  ; 
Hurrah  !  The  dead  can  ride  apace  ! 
Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me  f" 

In  attempting  a  translation,  then  intended  only 
to  circulate  among  friends,  the  present  Author  did 
not  hesitate  to  make  use  of  this  impressive  stanza ; 
for  which  freedom  he  has  since  obtained  the  for- 
giveness of  the  ingenious  gentleman  to  whom  it 
properly  belongs. 

i  The  Chase  and  William  and  Helen  ;  Two  Ballads, 
from  the  German  of  Gottfried  Augustus  Burger.  Edinburgh  : 
Printed  by  Mundell  and  Son,  Royal  Bank  Close,  for  Manners 
and  Miller,  Parliament  Square  ;  and  sold  by  T.  Cadell,  Jan., 


WILLIAM  AND  HELEN 

L 

From  heavy  dreams  fair  Helen  rose, 
And  eyed  the  dawning  red : 

"  Alas,  my  love,  thou  tarriest  long ! 
0  art  thou  false  or  dead  ?" — 

II. 

With  gallant  Fred'rick's  princely  powei 
He  sought  the  bold  Crusade ; 

But  not  a  word  from  Judah's  wars 
Told  Helen  how  he  sped 

III. 
With  Paynim  and  with  Saracen 

At  length  a  truce  was  made, 
And  every  knight  return'd  to  dry 

The  tears  his  love  had  shed. 

IV. 
Our  gallant  host  was  homeward  bound 

With  many  a  song  of  joy; 
Green  waved  the  laurel  in  each  plume, 

The  badge  of  victory. 


And  old  and  young,  and  sire  and  son, 
To  meet  them  crowd  the  way, 

With  shouts,  and  mirth,  and  melody, 
The  debt  of  love  to  pay. 

YL 

Full  many  a  maid  her  true-love  met, 

And  sobb'd  in  his  embrace, 
And  flutt'ring  joy  in  tears  and  smiles 

Array'd  full  many  a  face. 

and  W.  Davies,  in  the  Strand,  London.  1796.  4to.- 
"  Essay  on  Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad,"  ante,  p. 
and  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i.  chapters  7  and  8. 


3m 


610                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

VIL 

XVII. 

Nor  joy  nor  smile  for  Helen  sad ; 

She  sought  the  host  in  vain ; 
For  none  could  tell  her  William's  fate, 

If  faithless,  or  if  slain. 

"No  sacrarrent  can  quench  tliis  fire 
Or  slake  this  scorching  pain  ; 

No  sacrament  can  bid  the  dead 
Arise  and  live  again. 

VIIL 

XVIII. 

The  martial  band  is  past  and  gone  ; 

She  rends  her  raven  hair, 
And  in  distraction's  bitter  mood 

She  weeps  with  wild  despair. 

"  0  break,  my  heart, — 0  break  at  once ! 

Be  thou  my  god,  Despair ! 
Heaven's  heaviest  blow  has  fallen  on  me, 

And  vain  each  fruitless  prayer." — 

IX. 

XIX. 

"  0  rise,  my  child,"  her  mother  said, 
"  Nor  sorrow  thus  in  vain ; 

A  perjured  lover's  fleeting  heart 
No  tears  recall  again." — 

"  0  enter  not  in  judgment,  Lord, 

With  thy  frail  child  of  clay ! 
She  knows  not  what  her  tongue  has  spoke ; 

Impute  it  not,  I  pray ! 

X. 

XX. 

"  0  mother,  what  is  gone,  is  gone, 
What's  lost  for  ever  lorn : 

Death,  death  alone  can  comfort  me ; 
0  had  I  ne'er  been  born! 

"  Forbear,  my  child,  this  desperate  woe, 
And  turn  to  God  and  grace ; 

Well  can  devotion's  heavenly  glow 
Convert  thy  bale  to  bliss." — 

XL 

XXI. 

"  0  break,  my  heart, — 0  break  at  once  ! 

Drink  my  life-blood,  Despair ! 
No  joy  remains  on  earth  for  me, 

For  me  in  heaven  no  share." — 

"  0  mother,  mother,  what  is  bliss  ? 

0  mother,  what  is  bale  ? 
Without  my  William  what  were  heaven, 

Or  with  him  what  were  hell  V — 

XII. 

XXII. 

"O  enter  not  in  judgment,  Lord  !" 

The  pious  mother  prays ; 
"Impute  not  guilt  to  thy  frail  child ! 

She  knows  not  what  she  says. 

Wild  she  arraigns  the  eternal  doom, 
Upbraids  each  sacred  power, 

Till,  spent,  she  sought  her  silent  room, 
All  in  the  lonely  tower. 

XIII. 

XXIII. 

"  0  say  thy  pater  noster,  child ! 

0  turn  to  God  and  grace  ! 
His  will,  that  turn'd  thy  bliss  to  bale, 

Oan  change  thy  bale  to  bliss." — 

She  beat  her  breast,  she  wrung  her  hands, 

Till  sun  and  day  were  o'er, 
And  through  the  glimmering  lattice  shone 

The  twinkling  of  the  star. 

XIV. 

XXIV. 

•  0  mother,  mother,  what  is  bliss  ? 

0  mother,  what  is  bale  ? 
My  William's  love  was  heaven  on  earth, 

Without  it  earth  is  helL 

Then,  crash !  the  heavy  drawbridge  fell 
That  o'er  the  moat  was  hung ; 

And,  clatter !  clatter !  on  its  boards 
The  hoof  of  courser  rung. 

XV. 

XXV. 

"  Why  should  I  pray  to  ruthless  Heaven, 
Since  my  loved  William's  slain  ? 

I  only  pray'd  for  William's  sake, 
And  all  my  prayers  were  vain." — 

The  clank  of  echoing  steel  was  heard 
As  off  the  rider  bounded ; 

And  slowly  on  the  winding  stair 
A  heavy  footstep  sounded. 

XVI. 

XXVI. 

*  0  take  the  sacrament,  my  child, 
And  check  these  tears  that  flow ; 

By  resignation's  humble  prayer, 
0  hallow'd  be  thy  woe  1" — 

And  hark !  and  hark !  a  knock — Tap !  tap  1 

A  rustling,  stifled  noise ; — 
Door-latch  and  tinkling  staples  ring ; — 

At  length  a  whispering  voice. 

BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


6U 


XXVII. 

Awake,  awake,  arise,  my  love  1 

How,  Helen,  dost  thou  fare  ?  [weep'st  ? 

Wak'st   thou,   or   sleep'st  ?    laugh'st  thou,   or 

Hait  thought  on  me,  my  fair  ?" — 

XXVIII. 
"  My  love !  my  love  ! — so  late  by  night ! — 

I  waked,  I  wept  for  thee : 
Much  have  I  borne  since  dawn  of  morn ; 

Where,  William,  couldst  thou  be  ?" — 

XXIX. 

"  We  saddle  late — from  Hungary 

I  rode  since  darkness  fell ; 
And  to  its  bourne  we  both  return 

Before  the  matin-bell." — 

XXX. 

"  0  rest  this  night  within  my  arms, 

And  warm  thee  in  their  fold  ! 
Chill  howls  through  hawthorn  bush  the  wind : — 

My  love  is  deadly  cold." — 

XXXI. 

"  Let  the  wind  howl  through  hawthorn  bush ! 

This  night  we  must  away ; 
The  steed  is  wight,  the  spur  is  bright ; 

I  cannot  stay  till  day. 

XXXII. 

"  Busk,  busk,  and  boune !  Thou  mount'st  behind 

Upon  my  black  barb  steed : 
O'er  stock  and  stile,  a  hundred  miles, 

We  haste  to  bridal  bed." — 

XXXIII. 

"  To-night — to-night  a  hundred  miles ! — 

0  dearest  William,  stay ! 
The  bell  strikes  twelve — dark,  dismal  hour ! 

0  wait,  my  love,  till  day  !" — 

XXXIV. 

"  Look  here,  look  here — the  moon  shines  clear — 

Full  fast  I  ween  we  ride ; 
Mount  and  away  !  for  ere  the  day 

We  reach  our  bridal  bed. 

XXXV. 

M  The  black  barb  snorts,  the  bridle  rings  ; 

Haste,  busk,  and  boune,  and  seat  thee  1 
The  feast  is  made,  the  chamber  spread, 

The  bridal  guests  await  thee." —  / 

XXXVI. 
Strong  love  prevail'd :  She  busks,  she  bounes, 

She  mounts  the  barb  behind, 
And  round  her  darling  William's  waist 

Her  lily  arms  she  twined. 


XXXVII. 

And,  hurry  !  hurry !  off  they  rode, 

As  fast  as  fast  might  be ; 
Spurn' d  from  the  courser's  thundering  heels 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

XXXVIII. 
And  on  the  right,  and  on  the  left, 

Ere  they  could  snatch  a  view, 
Fast,  fast  each  mountain,  mead,  and  plain, 

And  cot,  and  castle,  flew. 

XXXIX. 

"  Sit  fast — dost  fear  ? — The  moon  shines  clear- 
Fleet  goes  my  barb — keep  hold  1 

Fear'st  thou  ?" — "  0  no !"  she  faintly  said  ; 
"  But  why  so  stern  and  cold  ? 

XL. 

"  What  yonder  rings  ?  what  yonder  sings  ? 

Why  shrieks  the  owlet  gray  ?" — 
"  'Tis  death-bells'  clang,  'tis  funeral  song, 

The  body  to  the  clay. 

XLI. 

"  With  song  and  clang,  at  morrow's  dawn, 

Ye  may  inter  the  dead : 
To-night  I  ride,  with  my  young  bride, 

To  deck  our  bridal  bed. 

XLII. 

"  Come  with  thy  choir,  thou  coffin'd  guest, 

To  swell  our  nuptial  song ! 
Come,  priest,  to  bless  our  marriage  feast ! 

Come  all,  come  all  along !" — 

XLIII. 
Ceased  clang  and  song ;  down  sunk  the  bier ; 

The  shrouded  corpse  arose : 
And,  hurry !  hurry  !  all  the  train 

The  thundering  steed  pursues. 

XLIV. 

And,  forward !  forward !  on  they  go ; 

High  snorts  the  straining  steed ; 
Thick  pants  the  rider's  laboring  breath, 

As  headlong  on  they  speed. 

XLV. 
"  0  William,  why  this  ravage  haste  ? 

And  where  thy  bridal  bed  ?" — 
"  'Tis  distant  far,  low,  damp,  and  chill, 

And  narrow,  trustless  maid." — 

XLVI. 
"  No  room  for  me  ?" — "  Enough  for  both ; — 

Speed,  speed,  my  barb,  thy  course !" — 
O'er  thundering  bridge,  through  boiling  surge^ 

He  drove  the  furious  horse. 


:>12 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 


XLVII. 

Tramp  !  tramp !  along  the  land  they  rode, 

Splash !  splash  !  along  the  sea ; 
The  scourge  is  wight,  the  spur  is  bright, 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

XLVIII. 

Fled  past  on  right  and  left  how  fast 

Each  forest,  grove,  and  bower  I 
On  right  and  left  fled  past  how  fast 

Each  city,  town,  and  tower ! 

XLIX. 

"  Dost  fear  ?  dost  fear  ?     The  moon  shines  clear, 

Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me  ? — 
Hurrah !  hurrah  !  the  dead  can  ride !" — 

"  0  William,  let  them  be  !— 


*  See  there,  see  there  !     What  yonder  swings 
And  creaks  'mid  whistling  rain  ?" — 

"  Gibbet  and  steel,  th'  accursed  wheel ; 
A  murderer  in  his  chain. — 

LI. 
"  Hollo !  thou  felon,  follow  here  : 

To  bridal  bed  we  ride  ; 
And  thou  shalt  prance  a  fetter  dance 

Before  me  and  my  bride." — 

LII. 

And,  hurry  1  hurry !  clash,  clash,  clash  ! 

The  wasted  form  descends  ; 
And  fleet  as  wind  through  hazel  bush 

The  wild  career  attends. 

LIII. 
Tramp !  tramp !  along  the  land  they  rode, 

Splash  !  splash !  along  the  sea ; 
The  scourge  is  red,  the  spur  drops  blood, 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

LIV. 
How  fled  what  moonshine  faintly  show'd ! 

How  fled  what  darkness  hid ! 
How  fled  the  earth  beneath  their  feet, 

The  heaven  above  their  head  ! 

LV. 
"  Dost  fear  ?  dost  fear  ?    The  moon  shines  clear, 

And  well  the  dead  can  ride ; 
Does  faithful  Helen  fear  for  them  ?" — 

■  0  leave  in  peace  the  dead !" — 

LVI. 
■  Barb !  Barb  1  methinks  I  hear  the  cock 

The  sand  will  soon  be  run : 
Barb !  Barb  1  I  smell  the  morning  air  ; 

The  race  is  wellnigh  done." — 


LVII. 
Tramp !  tramp !  along  the  land  they  rode, 

Splash !  splash  !  along  the  sea ; 
The  scourge  is  red,  the  spur  drops  blood, 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

LVIII. 
"  Hurrah !   hurrah !   well  ride  the  dead  ; 

The  bride,  the  bride  is  come ; 
And  soon  we  reach  the  bridal  bed, 

For,  Helen,  here's  my  home." — 

LIX. 

Reluctant  on  its  rusty  hinge 

Revolved  an  iron  door, 
And  by  the  pale  moon's  setting  beam 

Were  seen  a  church  and  tower. 

LX. 

With  many  a  shriek  and  cry  -whiz  round 
The  birds  of  midnight,  scared ; 

And  rustling  like  autumnal  leaves 
Unhallow'd  ghosts  were  heard. 

LXL 

O'er  many  a  tomb  and  tombstone  pale 

He  spurr'd  the  fiery  horse, 
Till  sudden  at  an  open  grave 

He  check'd  the  wondrous  course. 

LXII. 

The  falling  gauntlet  quits  the  rein, 
Down  drops  the  casque  of  steel, 

The  cuirass  leaves  his  shrinking  side, 
The  spur  his  gory  heel. 

LXIII. 

The  eyes  desert  the  naked  skull, 
The  mould'ring  flesh  the  bone, 

Till  Helen's  lily  arms  entwine 
A  ghastly  skeleton. 

LXIV. 

The  furious  barb  snorts  fire  and  foam, 

And,  with  a  fearful  bound, 
Dissolves  at  once  in  empty  air, 

And  leaves  her  on  the  ground. 

LXV. 
Half  seen  by  fits,  by  fits  half  heard, 

Pale  spectres  flit  along, 
Wheel  round  the  maid  in  dismal  dance, 

And  howl  the  funeral  song ; 

LXVI. 
"  E'en  when  the  heart's  with  anguish  clett* 

Revere  the  doom  of  Heaven, 
Her  soul  is  from  her  body  reft ; 

Her  spirit  be  forgiven  I" 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


615 


Stye.  tDitfr  fijtmtsman. 

This  is  a  translation,  or  rather  an  imitation,  of 
the  Wilde  Jager  of  the  German  poet  Burger.  The 
tradition  upon  which  it  is  founded  bears,  that  for- 
merly a  Wildgrave,  or  keeper  of  a  royal  forest, 
aamed  Faulkenburg,  was  so  much  addicted  to  the 
pleasures  of  the  chase,  and  otherwise  so  extremely 
profligate  and  cruel,  that  he  not  only  followed  this 
unhallowed  amusement  on  the  Sabbath,  and  other 
days  consecrated  to  religious  duty,  but  accompa- 
nied it  with  the  most  unheard-of  oppression  upon 
the  poor  peasants,  who  were  under  his  vassalage. 
WTien  this  second  Nimrod  died,  the  people  adopted 
a  superstition,  founded  probably  on  the  many  va- 
rious uncouth  sounds  heard  in  the  depth  of  a  Ger- 
man forest,  during  the  silence  of  the  night.  They 
conceived  they  still  heard  the  cry  of  the  Wild- 
grave's  hounds ;  and  the  well-known  cheer  of  the 
deceased  hunter,  the  sounds  of  his  horses'  feet,  and 
.he  rustling  of  the  branches  before  the  game,  the 
pack,  and  the  sportsmen,  are  also  distinctly  dis- 
criminated ;  but  the  phantoms  are  rarely,  if  ever, 
visible.  Once,  as  a  benighted  Chasseur  heard  this 
infernal  chase  pass  by  him,  at  the  sound  of  the 
halloo,  with  which  the  Spectre  Huntsman  cheered 
his  hounds,  he  could  not  refrain  from  crying, 
"  Oluck  zu  Falkenburgh  /"  [Good  sport  to  ye, 
Falkenburgh !]  "  Dost  thou  wish  me  good  sport  ?" 
answered  a  hoarse  voice ;  "  thou  shalt  share  the 
game ;"  and  there  was  thrown  at  him  what  seemed 
to  be  a  huge  piece  of  foul  carrion.  The  daring 
Chasseur  lost  two  of  his  best  horses  soon  after,  and 
never  perfectly  recovered  the  personal  effects  of 
this  ghostly  greeting.  This  tale,  though  told  with 
some  variations,  is  universally  believed  all  over 
Germany. 

The  French  had  a  similar  tradition  concerning 
an  aerial  hunter,  who  infested  the  forest  of  Foun- 
tainbleau.  He  was  sometimes  visible ;  when  he 
appeared  as  a  huntsman,  surrounded  with  dogs,  a 
tall  grisly  figure.  Some  account  of  him  may  be 
found  in  "  Sully's  Memoirs,"  who  says  he  was  called 
Le  Grand  Veneur.  At  one  time  he  chose  to  hunt 
so  near  the  palace,  that  the  attendants,  and,  if  I 
mistake  not,  Sully  himself,  came  out  into  the 
court,  supposing  it  was  the  sound  of  the  king  re- 
turning from  the  chase.  This  phantom  is  else- 
where called  Saint  Hubert. 

The  superstition  seems  to  have  been  very  gen- 
eral, as  appears  from  the  following  fine  poetical 
description  of  this  phantom  chase,  as  it  was  heard 
in  the  wilds  of  Ross-shire. 

11  Ere  since  of  old,  the  haughty  thanes  of  Ross, — 
So  to  the  simple  swain  tradition  tells, — 
Were  wont  with  clans,  and  ready  vassals  throng'd, 
To  wake  the  bounding  stag,  or  guilty  wolf, 


There  oft  is  heard,  at  midnight,  or  at  noon, 

Beginning  faint,  but  rising  still  more  loud, 

And  nearer,  voice  of  hunters,  and  of  hounds, 

And  horns,  hoarse  winded,  blowing  far  and  keen:— 

Forthwith  the  hubbub  multiplies  ;  the  gale 

Labors  with  wilder  shrieks,  and  rifer  din 

Of  hot  pursuit ;  the  broken  cry  of  deer 

Mangled  by  throttling  dogs  ;  the  shouts  of  men, 

And  hoofs,  thick  beating  on  the  hollow  hill. 

Sudden  the  grazing  heifer  in  the  vale 

Starts  at  the  noise,  and  both  the  herdsman's  ears 

Tingle  with  inward  dread.     Aghast,  he  eyes 

The  mountain's  height,  and  all  the  ridges  round, 

Yet  not  one  trace  of  living  wight  discerns, 

Nor  knows,  o'erawed,  and  trembling  as  he  stands, 

To  what,  or  whom,  he  owes  his  idle  fear, 

To  ghost,  to  witch,  to  fairy,  or  to  fiend  ; 

But  wonders,  and  no  end  of  wondering  finds." 

Albania— reprinted  in  Scottish  Descriptive  Poemt, 
pp.  167,  168. 

A  posthumous  miracle  of  Father  Lesley,  a  Scot- 
tish capuchin,  related  to  his  being  buried  on  a  hill 
haunted  by  these  unearthly  cries  of  hounds  and 
huntsmen.  After  his  sainted  relics  had  been  de 
posited  there,  the  noise  was  never  heard  more. 
The  reader  will  find  this,  and  other  miracles,  re- 
corded in  the  life  of  Father  Bonaventura,  which  if 
written  in  the  choicest  Italian. 


THE  WILD  HUNTSMAN. 
[1796.1] 

The  Wildgrave  winds  his  bugle-horn, 
To  horse,  to  horse  1  halloo,  halloo ! 

His  fiery  courser  snuffs  the  morn, 

And  thronging  serfs  their  lord  pursue. 

The  eager  pack,  from  couples  freed, 

Dash  through  the  bush,  the  brier,  the  brake 

While  answering  hound,  and  horn,  and  steed, 
The  mountain  echoes  startling  wake. 

The  beams  of  God's  own  hallow'd  day 
Had  painted  yonder  spire  with  gold, 

And,  calling  sinful  man  to  pray, 

Loud,  long,  and  deep  the  bell  had  tcil'd 

But  still  the  Wildgrave  onward  rides ; 

Halloo,  halloo !  and,  hark  again ! 
When,  spurring  from  opposing  sides, 

Two  Stranger  Horsemen  join  the  train. 

Who  was  each  Stranger,  left  and  right, 
Well  may  I  guess,  but  dare  not  tell ; 

The  right-hand  steed  was  silver  white, 
The  left,  the  swarthy  hue  of  hell. 


i  Published  (1796)  with  William  and  Helen,  ard  entit  i 
"Thk  Chace." 


614                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  right-hand  horseman,  young  and  fair, 
His  smile  was  like  the  morn  of  May  ; 

The  left,  from  eye  of  tawny  glare, 
Shot  midnight  lightning's  lurid  ray. 

Earnest  the  right-hand  Stranger  pleads, 
The  left  still  cheering  to  the  prey ; 

The  impetuous  Earl  no  warning'  heeds, 
But  furious  holds  the  onward  way. 

He  waved  his  huntsman's  cap  on  high, 
Cried,  "  Welcome,  welcome,  noble  lord  1 

What  sport  can  earth,  or  sea,  or  sky, 
To  match  the  princely  chase,  afford  ?" — 

"  Away,  thou  hound  !  so  basely  born, 
Or  dread  the  scourge's  echoing  blow !" — 

Then  loudly  rung  his  bugle-horn, 
"  Hark  forward,  forward,  holla,  ho  1" 

"  Cease  thy  loud  bugle's  changing  knell," 
Cried  the  fair  youth,  with  silver  voice ; 

"  And  for  devotion's  choral  swell, 
Exchange  the  rude  unhallow'd  noise. 

So  said,  so  done : — A  single  bound 

Clears  the  poor  laborer's  humble  pale ; 

Wild  follows  man,  and  horse,  and  hound, 
Like  dark  December's  stormy  gale. 

"  To-day,  the  ill-omen'd  chase  forbear, 
Yon  bell  yet  summons  to  the  fane ; 

To-day  the  Warning  Spirit  hear, 

To-morrow  thou  mayst  mourn  in  vain." — 

And  man  and  horse,  and  hound  and  horn. 

Destructive  sweep  the  field  along ; 
While,  joying  o'er  the  wasted  corn, 

Fell  Famine  marks  the  maddening  throng 

"  Away,  and  sweep  the  glades  along  1" 
The  Sable  Hunter  hoarse  replies ; 

"  To  muttering  monks  leave  matin-song, 
And  bells,  and  books,  and  mysteries." 

Again  uproused,  the  timorous  prey 

Scours  moss  and  moor,  and  holt  and  hill 

Hard  run,  he  feels  his  strength  decay, 
And  trusts  for  life  his  simple  skill. 

The  Wildgrave  spurr'd  his  ardent  steed, 
And,  launching  forward  with  a  bound, 

"  Who,  for  thy  drowsy  priestlike  rede, 
Would  leave  the  jovial  horn  and  hound  ? 

Too  dangerous  solitude  appear'd ; 
He  seeks  the  shelter  of  the  crowd ; 
„     Amid  the  flock's  domestic  herd 

His  harmless  head  he  hopes  to  shroud. 

"  Hence,  if  our  manly  sport  offend ! 

With  pious  fools  go  chant  and  pray : — 
Well  hast  thou  spoke,  my  dark-brow'd  friend ; 

Halloo,  halloo !  and,  hark  away !" 

O'er  moss  and  moor,  and  holt  and  hill, 
His  track  the  steady  blood-hounds  trace ; 

O'er  moss  and  moor,  unwearied  still, 
The  furious  Earl  pursues  the  chase. 

The  Wildgrave  spurr'd  his  courser  light, 
O'er  moss  and  moor,  o'er  holt  and  hill ; 

And  on  the  left  and  on  the  right, 
Each  Stranger  Horseman  followed  stilt 

Full  lowly  did  the  herdsman  fall ; — 
"  0  spare,  thou  noble  Baron,  spare 

These  herds,  a  widow's  little  all ; 

These  flocks,  an  orphan's  fleecy  care !" — 

Up  springs,  from  yonder  tangled  thorn, 
A  stag  more  white  than  mountain  snow ; 

And  louder  rung  the  Wildgrave's  horn, 
"  Hark  forward,  forward !  holla,  ho  1" 

Earnest  the  right-hand  Stranger  pleads, 
The  left  still  cheering  to  the  prey ; 

The  Earl  nor  prayer  nor  pity  heeds, 
But  furious  keeps  the  onward  way. 

A  heedless  wretch  has  cross'd  the  way ; 

He  gasps  the  thundering  hoofs  below ; 
But,  live  who  can,  or  die  who  may, 

Still,  "  Forward,  forward !"  on  they  go. 

"  Unmanner'd  dog !     To  stop  my  sport 
Vain  were  thy  cant  and  beggar  whine, 

Though  human  spirits,  of  thy  sort, 

Were  tenants  of  these  carrion  kine !" — 

See,  where  yon  simple  fences  meet, 

A  field  with  Autumn's  blessings  crown'd; 

See,  prostrate  at  the  Wildgrave's  feet, 
A  husbandman  with  toil  embrown'd  : 

Again  he  winds  his  bugle-horn, 

"  Hark  forward,  forward,  holla,  ho  f 

And  tlirough  the  herd,  in  ruthless  scorn, 
He  cheers  Ins  furious  hounds  to  gc. 

"  0  mercy,  mercy,  noble  lord ! 

Spare  the  poor's  pittance,"  was  his  cry, 
*  Earu'd  by  the  sweat  these  brows  ha'e  pour'd, 

In  scorching  hour  of  fierce  July." 

In  heaps  the  throttled  victims  fall ; 

Down  sinks  their  mangled  herdsman  near , 
The  murderous  cries  the  stag  appal, — 

Again  he  starts,  new-nerved  by  fear. 

BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN.                                   61C 

With  blood  besmear' d,  and  white  with  foam, 

And,  from  a  cloud  of  swarthy  red, 

While  big  the  tears  of  anguish  pour, 

The  awful  voice  of  thunder  spoke. 

He  seeks,  amid  the  forest's  gloom, 

The  humble  hermit's  hallow'd  bower, 

"  Oppressor  of  creation  fair ! 

Apostate  Spirits'  harden'd  tool ! 

But  man  and  horse,  and  horn  and  houni, 

Scorner  of  God  1     Scourge  of  the  poor  1 

Fast  rattling  on  his  traces  go ; 

The  measure  of  thy  cup  is  fulL 

The  sacred  chapel  rung  around 

With,  "  Hark  away  !  and,  holla,  ho  1" 

"  Be  chased  for  ever  through  the  wood ; 

For  ever  roam  the  affrighted  wild ; 

All  mild,  amid  the  rout  profane, 

And  let  thy  fate  instruct  the  proud, 

The  holy  hermit  pour'd  his  prayer ; 

God's  meanest  creature  is  his  child." 

"  Forbear  with  blood  God's  house  to  stain ; 

Revere  his  altar,  and  forbear  1 

'Twas  hush'd : — One  flash,  of  sombre  glare, 

With  yellow  tinged  the  forests  brown ; 

"  The  meanest  brute  has  rights  to  plead, 

Uprose  the  Wildgrave's  bristling  hair, 

Which,  wrong'd  by  cruelty,  or  pride, 

And  horror  chill'd  each  nerve  and  bono. 

Draw  vengeance  on  the  ruthless  head : — 

Be  warn'd  at  length,  and  turn  aside." 

Cold  pour'd  the  sweat  in  freezing  rill , 

A  rising  wind  began  to  sing ; 

Still  the  Fair  Horseman  anxious  pleads ; 

And  louder,  louder,  louder  still, 

The  Black,  wild  whooping,  points  the  prey : — 

Brought  storm  and  tempest  on  its  wing 

Alas !  the  Earl  no  warning  heeds, 

But  frantic  keeps  the  forward  way. 

Earth  heard  the  call ; — her  entrails  rend ; 

From  yawning  rifts,  with  many  a  yell, 

"  Holy  or  not,  or  right  or  wrong, 

Mix'd  with  sulphureous  flames,  ascend 

Thy  altar,  and  its  rites,  I  spurn ; 

The  misbegotten  dogs  of  helL 

Not  sainted  martyrs'  sacred  song, 

Not  God  himself,  shall  make  me  turn !" 

What  ghastly  Huntsman  next  arose, 

Well  may  I  guess,  but  dare  not  tell ; 

He  spurs  his  horse,  he  winds  his  horn, 

His  eye  like  midnight  lightning  glows, 

"  Hark  forward,  forward,  holla,  ho !" — 

His  steed  the  swarthy  hue  of  hell. 

But  off,  on  whirlwind's  pinions  borne, 

The  stag,  the  hut,  the  hermit,  go. 

The  Wildgrave  flies  o'er  bush  and  thorn, 

With  many  a  shriek  of  helpless  woe ; 

And  horse  and  man,  and  horn  and  hound, 

Behind  him  hound,  and  horse,  and  horn, 

And  clamor  of  the  chase,  was  gone ; 

And,  "  Hark  away,  and  holla,  ho !" 

For  hoofs,  and  howls,  and  bugle-sound, 

A  deadly  silence  reign'd  alone. 

With  wild  despair's  reverted  eye, 

Close,  close  behind,  he  marks  the  throng, 

Wild  gazed  the  affrighted  Earl  around ; 

With  bloody  fangs  and  eager  cry ; 

He  strove  in  vain  to  wake  his  horn, 

In  frantic  fear  he  scours  along. — 

In  vain  to  call :  for  not  a  sound 

Could  from  his  anxious  lips  be  borne. 

Still,  still  shall  last  the  dreadful  chase, 

Till  time  itself  shall  have  an  end ; 

He  listens  for  his  trusty  hounds ; 

By  day,  they  scour  earth's  cavern'd  space, 

No  distant  baying  reach'd  his  ears : 

At  midnight's  witching  hour,  ascend. 

His  courser,  rooted  to  the  ground, 

The  quickening  spur  unmindful  bears. 

This  is  the  horn,  and  hound,  and  horse, 

That  oft  the  lated  peasant  hears ; 

Still  dark  and  darker  frown  the  shade  3, 

Appall'd,  he  signs  the  frequent  cross, 

Dark  as  the  darkness  of  the  grave ; 

When  the  wild  din  invades  his  ears 

And  not  a  sound  the  still  invades, 

Save  what  a  distant  torrent  gave. 

The  wakeful  priest  oft  drops  a  tear 

For  human  pride,  for  human  woe, 

High  o'er  the  sinner's  humbled  head 

When,  at  his  midnight  mass,  he  hears 

At  length  the  solemn  silence  broke 

The  infernal  cry  of,  "Holla,  hoi" 

616 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


tUffz  JFfre*Hfnfl. 


'  The  blessings  of  the  evil  Genii,  which  are  curses,  were 
upon  him." — Eastern  Tale. 

[1801.] 


This  ballad  was  written  at  the  request  of  Mr.  Lewis, 
to  be  inserted  in  his  "  Tales  of  Wonder."1  It  is 
the  third  in  a  series  of  four  ballads,  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Elementary  Spirits.  The  story  is,  how- 
ever, partly  historical ;  for  it  is  recorded,  that, 
during  the  struggles  of  the  Latin  kingdom  of 
Jerusalem,  a  Knight-Templar,  called Saint-Alban, 
deserted  to  the  Saracens,  and  defeated  the  Chris- 
tians in  many  combats,  till  he  was  finally  routed 
and  slain,  in  a  conflict  with  King  Baldwin,  un- 
«r  the  walls  of  Jerusalem. 


Bold  knights  and  fair  dames,  to  my  harp  give  an 

ear, 
Of  love,  and  of  war,  and  of  wonder  to  hear ; 
And  you  haply  may  sigh,  in  the  midst  of  your 

glee, 
At  the  tale  of  Count  Albert,  and  fair  Rosalie. 

0  see  you  that  castle,  so  strong  and  so  liigh  ? 
And  see  you  that  lady,  the  tear  in  her  eye  ? 
And  see  you  that  palmer,  from  Palestine's  land, 
The  shell  on  his  hat,  and  the  staff  in  liis  hand  ? — 

"  Now  palmer,  gray  palmer,  O  tell  unto  me, 
What  news  bring  you  home  from  the  Holy  Coun- 

trie? 
And  how  goes  the  warfare  by  Galilee's  strand  ? 
And    how   fare    our   nobles,   the    flower   of   the 

land  ?" — 

"  0  well  goes  the  warfare  by  Galilee's  wave, 
For  Gilead,  and  Nablous,  and  Ramah  we  have ; 
And  well  fare  our  nobles  by  Mount  Lebanon, 
For  the  Heathen  have  lost,  and  the  Christians  have 


A  fair  chain  of  gold  'mid  her  ringlets  there  hung ; 
O'er  the  palmer's  gray  locks  the  fair  chain  has  she 

flung: 
"  0  palmer,  gray  palmer,  this  chain  be  thy  fee, 
For  the  news  thou  hast  brought  from  the  Holy 

Countrie. 

"  And,  palmer,  good  palmer,  by  Galilee's  wave, 
0  saw  ye  Count  Albert,  the  gentle  and  brave  ? 

i  Published  in  1801.     See  arte,  p.  573. 


When  the  Crescent  went  back,  and  the  Red-cros« 

rush'd  on, 
0  saw  ye  him  foremost  on  Mount  Lebanon  ?" — 

"  0  lady,  fair  lady,  the  tree  green  it  grows ; 
O  lady,  fair  lady,  the  stream  pure  it  flows ; 
Your  castle  stands  strong,  and  your  hopes  soar  on 

high; 
But,  lady,  fair  lady,  all  blossoms  to  die. 

"  The  green  boughs  they  wither,  the  thunderbolt 

falls, 
It  leaves  of  your  castle  but  levin-scorch'd  walls ; 
The  pure  stream  runs  muddy;  the  gay  hope  is 

gone; 
Count  Albert  is  prisoner  on  Mount  Lebanon." 

0  she's  ta'en  a  horse,  should  be  fleet  at  her  speed ; 
And  she's  ta'en  a  sword,  should  be  sharp  at  her 

need ; 
And  she  has  ta'en  shipping  for  Palestine's  land, 
To  ransom  Count  Albert  from  Soldanrie's  hand. 

Small  thought  had  Count  Albert  on  fair  Rosalie, 
Small   thought   on   his  faith,  or  his   knighthood, 

had  he  ; 
A  heathenish  damsel  his  light  heart  had  won, 
The  Soldan's  fair  daughter  of  Mount  Lebanon. 

"  0  Christian,  brave  Christian,  my  love  wouldst 

thou  be ; 
Three  things  must  thou  do  ere  I  hearken  to  thee : 
Our   laws  and  our  worship   on   thee  shalt  thou 

take  ; 
And  this  thou  shalt  first  do  for  Zulema's  sake. 

"  And,  next,  in  the  cavern,  where  burns  evermore 
The  mystical  flame  which  the  Curdmans  adore, 
Alone,   and   in   silence,   three   nights   shalt   thou 

wake ; 
And  tins  thou  shalt  next  do  for  Zulema's  sake. 

"  And,  last,  thou  shalt  aid  us  with  counsel  and 

hand, 
To  drive  the  Frank  robber  from  Palestine's  land  ; 
For  my  lord  and  my  love  then  Count  Albert  I'll 

take, 
When  all  this  is  accomplish'd  for  Zulema's  sake." 

He  has  thrown  by  his  helmet,  and  cross-handled 

sword, 
Renouncing  his  knighthood,  denying  his  Lord ; 
He  has  ta'en  the  green  caftan,  and  turban  put  on, 
For  the  love  of  the  maiden  of  fair  Lebanon. 

And    in    the    dread    cavern,  deep,  deep   under 

ground, 
Which  fifty  steel  gates  and  steel  portals  surroundf 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


611 


He  has  watch'd  until  daybreak,  but  sight  saw  he 

none, 
Save  the  flame  burning  bright  on  its  altar  of  stone. 

Amazed  was  the  Princess,  the  Soldan  amazed, 
Sore  murmur'd  the  priests  as  on  Albert  they  gazed ; 
They  search'd   all  his  garments,  and,  under  his 

weeds, 
They  found,  and  took  from  him,  his  rosary  beads. 

Again  in  the  cavern,  deep,  deep  under  ground, 
He  watch'd  the  lone  night,  while  the  winds  whis- 
tled round ; 
Far  off  was  their  murmur,  it  came  not  more  nigh, 
The  flame  burn'd  unmoved,  and  naught  else  did 
he  spy. 

Loud  murmur'd  the  priests,  and  amazed  was  the 

King, 
"While  many  dark  spells  of  their  witchcraft  they 

sing; 
They  search'd  Albert's  body,  and,  lo !  on  his  breast 
Was  the  sign  of  the  Cross,  by  his  father  impress'd. 

The  priests  they  erase  it  with  care  and  with  pain, 
And  the  recreant  return'd  to  the  cavern  again ; 
But,  as  he  descended,  a  whisper  there  fell : 
It  was  his  good  angel,  who  bade  him  farewell  1 

High  bristled  his  hair,  his  heart  flutter'd  and  beat, 
And  he  turn'd  him  five  steps,  half  resolved  to 

retreat ; 
But  his  heart  it  was  harden' d,  his  purpose  was 

gone, 
When  he  thought  of  the  Maiden  of  fair  Lebanon. 

Scarce  pass'd  he  the  archway,  the  threshold  scarce 
trode, 

When  the  winds  from  the  four  points  of  heaven 
were  abroad, 

They  made  each  steel  portal  to  rattle  and  ring, 

And,  borne  on  the  blast,  came  the  dread  Fire- 
King. 

Full  sore  rock'd  the  cavern  whene'er  he  drew  nigh, 
The  fire  on  the  altar  blazed  bickering  and  high ; 
In  volcanic  explosions  the  mountains  proclaim 
The  dreadful  approach  of  the  Monarch  of  Flame. 

Unmeasured  in  height,  undistinguish'd  in  form, 
His  breath  it  was  lightning,  his  voice  it  was  storm ; 
I  ween  the  stout  heart  of  Count  Albert  was  tame, 
When  he  saw  in  his  terrors  the  Monarch  of  Flame. 

In  his  hand  a  broad  falchion  blue-glimmer'd  through 

smoke, 
And  Mount  Lebanon  shook  as  the  monarch  he 
•     spoke : 


"  With  this  brand  shalt  thou  conquer,  thus  lonp 

and  no  more, 
Till  thou  bend  to  the  Cross,  and  the  Virgin  adore.'' 

The  cloud-shrouded  Arm  gives  the  weapon ;  and 

see ! 
The  recreant  receives  the  charmed  gift  on  his  knee : 
The  thunders  growl  distant,  and  faint  gleam  the 

fires, 
As,  borne  on  the  whirlwind,  the  phantom  retires. 

Count  Albert  has  arm'd  him  the  Paynim  among, 
Though  his  heart  it  was  false,  yet  his  arm  it  was 

strong ; 
And  the  Red-cross  wax'd  faint,  and  the  Crescent 

came  on, 
From  the  day  he  commanded  on  Mount  Lebanon. 

From  Lebanon's  forests  to  Galilee's  wave, 

The  sands  of  Samaar  drank  the  blood  of  the  brave  * 

Till  the  Knights  of  the  Temple,  and  Knights  of 

Saint  John, 
With  Salem's  King  Baldwin,  against  him  came  on 

The  war-cymbals  clatter'd,  the  trumpets  replied, 
The  lances  were  couch'd,  and  they  closed  on  each 

side ; 
And  horsemen  and  horses  Count  Albert  o'erthrew 
Till  he  pierced  the  thick  tumult  King  Baldwin 

unto. 

Against  the  charm'd  blade  which  Count  Albert  did 

wield, 
The  fence  had  been  vain  of  the  King's  Red-crosp 

shield ; 
But  a  Page  thrust  him  forward  the  monarch  before, 
And  cleft  the  proud  turban  the  renegade  wore. 

So  fell  was  the  dint,  that  Count  Albert  stoop'd 

low 
Before  the  cross'd  shield,  to  his  steel  saddlebow ; 
And  scarce  had  he  bent  to  the  Red-cross  his  head, — 
"  Bonne  Grace,  Notre  Dame  /"  he  unwittingly  said. 

Sore  sigh'd  the  charm'd  sword,  for  its  virtue  was 

o'er, 
It  sprung  from  his  grasp,  and  was  never  seen  more ; 
But  true  men  have  said,  that  the  lightning's  ted 

wing 
Did  waft  back  the  brand  to  the  dread  Fire-King 

He  clench'd  his  set  teeth,  and  his  gaunfeted  hand ; 
He  stretch'd,  with  one  buffet,  that  Page  on  the 

strand ; 
As  back  from  the   stripling  the  broken  casque 

roll'd, 
You  might  see  the  blue  eyes,  and  the  ringlets  of 

gold. 


618 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Short  time  had  Count  Albert  in  horror  to  stare 
On    those    death-swimming   eyeballs,  and   blood- 
clotted  hair ; 
For  down  came  the  Templars,  like  Cedron  in  flood, 
And  dyed  their  long  lances  in  Saracen  blood. 

The  Saracens,  Curdmans,  and  Ishmaelites  yield 
To  the  scallop,  the  saltier,  and  crossleted  shield; 
Ana  the  eagles  were  gorged  with  the  infidel  dead, 
From  Bethsaida's  fountains  to  Naphthali's  head. 

The  battle  is  over  on  Bethsaida's  plain. — 

Oh,  who  is  you  Paynim  lies  stretch'd  'mid  the 

slain  5 
And  who  is  yon  Page  lying  cold  at  his  knee  ? — 
Oh,  who  but  Count  Albert  and  fair  Rosalie ! 

The  Lady  was  buried  in  Salem's  bless'd  bound, 
The  Count  he  was  left  to  the  vulture  and  hound : 
Her  soul  to  high  mercy  Our  Lady  did  bring ; 
His  went  on  the  blast  to  the  dread  Fire-King. 

Yet  many  a  minstrel,  in  harping,  can  tell, 

How  the  Red-cross  it  conquered,  the  Crescent  it 

fell: 
And  lords  and  gay  ladies  have  sigh'd,  'mid  their 

glee, 
At  the  tale  of  Count  Albert  and  fair  Rosalie. 


jFretierfcft   anti    &ltce. 


[1801.] 


This  tale  is  imitated,  rather  than  translated,  from 
a  fragment  introduced  in  Goethe's  "  Claudina  von 
Villa  Bella,"  where  it  is  sung  by  a  member  of  a 
gang  of  banditti,  to  engage  the  attention  of  the  fam- 
ily, while  his  companions  break  into  the  castle.  It 
owes  any  little  merit  it  may  possess  to  my  friend 
Ma.  Lewis,  to  whom  it  was  sent  in  an  extremely 
rude  state ;  and  who,  after  some  material  improve- 
ments, published  it  in  his  "  Tales  of  Wonder." 


Frederick  leaves  the  land  of  France, 
Homeward  hastes  his  steps  to  measure, 

Careless  casts  the  parting  glance 
On  the  scene  of  former  pleasure. 

Joying  in  his  prancing  steed, 

Keen  to  prove  his  untried  blade, 

Hope's  gay  dreams  the  soldier  lead 
Over  mountain,  moor,  and  glade. 


Helpless,  ruin'd,  left  forlorn, 

Lovely  Alice  wept  alone ; 
Mourn'd  o'er  love's  fond  contract  torn, 

Hope,  and  peace,  and  honor  flown. 

Mark  her  breast's  convulsive  throbs  1 
See,  the  tear  of  anguish  flows ! — 

Mingling  soon  with  bursting  sobs, 
Loud  the  laugh  of  phrensy  rose. 

Wild  she  cursed,  and  wild  she  pray'd ; 

Seven  long  days  and  nights  are  o'er ; 
Death  in  pity  brought  his  aid, 

As  the  village  bell  struck  four. 

Far  from  her,  and  far  from  France, 
Faithless  Frederick  onward  rides ; 

Marking,  blithe,  the  morning's  glance 
Mantling  o'er  the  mountain's  sides. 

Heard  ye  not  the  boding  sound, 
As  the  tongue  of  yonder  tower, 

Slowly,  to  the  hills  around, 

Told  the  fourth,  the  fated  hour  1 

Starts  the  steed,  and  snuffs  the  air, 
Yet  no  cause  of  dread  appears ; 

Bristles  high  the  rider's  hair, 

Struck  with  strange  mysterious  fears, 

Desperate,  as  his  terrors  rise, 
In  the  steed  the  spur  he  hides ; 

From  himself  in  vain  he  flies ; 
Anxious,  restless,  on  he  rides. 

Seven  long  days,  and  seven  long  nights, 
Wild  he  wander'd,  woe  the  while  ! 

Ceaseless  care,  and  causeless  fright, 
Urge  his  footsteps  many  a  mile. 

Dark  the  seventh  sad  night  descends  ; 

Rivers  swell,  and  rain-streams  pour ; 
While  the  deafening  thunder  lends 

All  the  terrors  of  its  roar. 

Weary,  wet,  and  spent  with  toil, 

Where  his  head  shall  Frederick  hide  i 

Where,  but  in  yon  ruin'd  aisle, 
By  the  lightning's  flash  descried  ? 

To  the  portal,  dank  and  low, 

Fast  his  steed  the  wanderer  bound . 

Down  a  ruin'd  staircase  slow, 

Next  his  darkling  way  he  wound. 

Long  drear  vaults  before  him  lie  ! 

Glimmering  lights  are  seen  to  glide  !— 
"  Blessed  Mary,  hear  my  cry  ! 

Deign  a  sinner's  steps  to  guide  1" 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


61S 


Often  lost  their  quivering  beam, 
Still  the  lights  move  slow  before, 

Till  they  rest  their  ghastly  gleam 
Right  against  an  iron  door. 

rimndering  voices  from  within, 
Mix'd  with  peals  of  laughter,  rose  ; 

As  they  fell,  a  solemn  strain 
Lent  its  wild  and  wondrous  close  ! 

Midst  the  din,  he  seem'd  to  hear 

Voice  of  friends,  by  death  removed  ;- 

Well  lie  knew  that  solemn  air, 
'Twas  the  lay  that  Alice  loved. — 

Hark  !  for  now  a  solemn  knell 

Four  times  on  the  still  night  broke  ; 

Four  times,  at  its  deaden'd  swell, 
Echoes  from  the  ruins  spoke. 

As  the  lengthen'd  clangors  die, 

Slowly  opes  the  iron  door  1 
Straight  a  banquet  met  his  eye, 

But  a  funeral's  form  it  wore  ! 

Coffins  for  the  seats  extend  ; 

All  with  black  the  board  was  spread : 
Girt  by  parent,  brother,  friend, 

Long  since  number'd  with  the  dead  ! 

Alice,  in  her  grave-clothes  bound, 
Ghastly  smiling,  points  a  seat ; 

All  arose,  with  thundering  sound  ; 
All  the  expected  stranger  greet. 

High  their  meagre  arms  they  wave, 
Wild  their  notes  of  welcome  swell : — 

"  Welcome,  traitor,  to  the  grave  ! 
Perjured,  bid  the  light  farewell  1" 


®I)c  Battle  ol  Sempacl). 


[1818.] 


These  verses  are  a  literal  translation  of  an  an- 
cient Swiss  ballad  upon  the  battle  of  Sempach, 
fought  9th  July,  1386,  being  the  victory  by  which 
the  Swiss  cantons  established  their  independence  ; 
the  author,  Albert  Tchudi,  denominated  the  Sou- 
ter,  from  his  profession  of  a  shoemaker.  He  was 
a  citizen  of  Lucerne,  esteemed  highly  among  his 
countrymen,  both  for  his  powers  as  a  Meister- 
Singer,  or  minstrel,  and  his  courage  as  a  soldier ; 
bo  that  he  might  share  the  praise  conferred  by 
Collins  on  iEschylus,  that — 


" Not  alone  he  nursed  the  poet's  flame, 

But  reach'd  from  Virtue's  hand  the  patriot  steel. 

The  circumstanco  of  their  being  written  by  a 
poet  returning  from  the  well-fought  field  he  de- 
scribes, and  in  which  his  country's  fortune  was 
secured,  may  confer  on  Tchudi's  verses  an  interest 
which  they  are  not  entitled  to  claim  from  their 
poetical  merit.  But  ballad  poetry,  the  more  lit- 
erally it  is  translated,  the  more  it  loses  its  simpli- 
city, without  acquiring  either  grace  or  strength ; 
and,  therefore,  some  of  the  faults  of  the  verses 
must  be  imputed  to  the  translator's  feeling  it  a 
duty  to  keep  as  closely  as  possible  to  his  original 
The  various  puns,  rude  attempts  at  pleasantry, 
and  disproportioned  episodes,  must  be  set  down 
to  Tchudi's  account,  or  to  the  taste  of  his  age. 

The  military  antiquary  will  derive  some  amuse- 
ment from  the  minute  particulars  which  the  mar- 
tial poet  has  recorded.  The  mode  in  which  the 
Austrian  men-at-arms  received  the  charge  of  the 
Swiss,  was  by  forming  a  phalanx,  which  they  de- 
fended with  their  long  lances.  The  gallant  Wink- 
elreid,  who  sacrificed  his  own  life  by  rushing  among 
the  spears,  clasping  in  his  arms  as  many  as  he 
could  grasp,  and  thus  opening  a  gap  in  those  iron 
battalions,  is  celebrated  in  Swiss  history.  When 
fairly  mingled  together,  the  unwieldy  length  o* 
their  weapons,  and  cumbrous  weight  of  their  de 
fensive  armor,  rendered  the  Austrian  men-at-arms 
a  very  unequal  match  for  the  light-armed  moun- 
taineers. The  victories  obtained  by  the  Swiss  over 
the  German  clnvalry,  hitherto  deemed  as  formi- 
dable on  foot  as  on  horseback,  led  to  important 
changes  in  the  art  of  war.  The  poet  describes  the 
Austrian  knights  and  squires  as  cutting  the  peaks 
from  their  boots  ere  they  could  act  upon  foot,  in 
allusion  to  an  inconvenient  piece  of  foppery,  often 
mentioned  in  the  middle  ages.  Leopold  IIL, 
Archduke  of  Austria,  called  "  The  handsome  man- 
at-arms,"  was  slain  in  the  Battle  of  Sempach,  with 
the  flower  of  Ins  chivalry. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH.1 

'Twas  when  among  our  linden-trees 

The  bees  had  housed  in  swarms 
(And  gray-hair'd  peasants  say  that  these 

Betoken  foreign  arms), 

Then  look'd  we  down  to  Willisow, 

The  land  was  all  in  flame  ; 
We  knew  the  Archduke  Leopold   • 

With  all  his  army  came. 

i  This  translation  first  appeared  in  Blackwood's  Edinburffh 
Magazine  for  February,  1818. — Ed. 


620                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  Austrian  nobles  made  their  vow, 

The  peaks  they  hew'd  from  their  boot-pointa 

So  hot  their  heart  and  bold, 

Might  wellnigh  load  a  wain.3 

''  On  Switzer  carles  we'll  trample  now, 

And  slay  both  young  and  old." 

And  thus  they  to  each  other  said, 

"  Yon  handful  down  to  hew 

With  clarion  loud,  and  banner  proud, 

Will  be  no  boastful  tale  to  tell, 

From  Zurich  on  the  lake, 

The  peasants  are  so  few." — 

In  martial  pomp  and  fair  array, 

Their  onward  march  they  make. 

The  gallant  Swiss  Confederates  there 

They  pray'd  to  God  aloud, 

"  Now  list,  ye  lowland  nobles  all — 

And  he  display'd  his  rainbow  fair 

Ye  seek  the  mountain  strand, 

Against  a  swarthy  cloud. 

Nor  wot  ye  what  shall  be  your  lot 

In  such  a  dangerous  land. 

Then  heart  and  pulse  throbb'd  more  and  mar* 

With  courage  firm  and  high, 

"  I  rede  ye,  shrive  ye  of  your  sins, 

And  down  the  good  Confederates  bore 

Before  ye  farther  go  : 

On  the  Austrian  chivalry. 

A  skirmish  in  Helvetian  hills 

May  send  your  souls  to  woe." — 

The  Austrian  Lion4  'gan  to  growl, 

And  toss  his  mane  and  tail ; 

"  But  where  now  shall  we  find, a  priest 

And  ball,  and  shaft,  and  crossbow  bolt, 

Our  shrift  that  he  may  hear  ?" — 

Went  whistling  forth  like  hail. 

"  The  Switzer  priest1  has  ta'en  the  field, 

He  deals  a  penance  drear. 

Lance,  pike,  and  halbert,  mingled  there, 

The  game  was  nothing  sweet ; 

"  Right  heavily  upon  your  head 

The  boughs  of  many  a  stately  tree 

He'll  lay  lus  hand  of  steel ; 

Lay  shiver'd  at  their  feet. 

And  with  his  trusty  partisan 

Your  absolution  deal." — 

The  Austrian  men-at-arms  stood  fast, 

So  close  their  spears  they  laid  ; 

'Twas  on  a  Monday  morning  then, 

It  chafed  the  gallant  Winkelreid, 

The  corn  was  steep'd  in  dew, 

Who  to  his  comrades  said — 

And  merry  maids  had  sickles  ta'en, 

When  the  host  to  Sempach  drew. 

u  I  have  a  virtuous  wife  at  hom'j, 

A  wife  and  infant  son ; 

The  stalwart  men  of  fair  Lucerne 

I  leave  them  to  my  country's  care, — 

Together  have  they  join'd ; 

This  field  shall  soon  be  won. 

The  pith  and  core  of  manhood  stern, 

Was  none  cast  looks  behind. 

"  These  nobles  lay  their  spears  right  thick, 

And  keep  full  firm  array, 

It  was  the  Lord  of  Hare-castle, 

Yet  shall  my  charge  their  order  break, 

And  to  the  Duke  he  said, 

And  make  my  brethren  way." 

"  Yon  little  band  of  brethren  true 

Will  meet  us  undismay'd." — 

He  rush'd  against  the  Austrian  band, 

In  desperate  career, 

*  0  Hare-castle,2  thou  heart  of  hare  1" 

And  with  his  body,  breast,  and  hand, 

Fierce  Oxenstern  replied. — 

Bore  down  each  hostile  spear. 

"  Shalt  see  then  how  the  game  will  fare," 

The  taunted  knight  replied. 

Four  lances  splinter'd  on  his  crest, 

Six  shiver'd  in  his  side ; 

There  was  lacing  then  of  helmets  bright, 

Still  on  the  serried  files  he  press'd — 

And  closing  ranks  amain ; 

He  broke  their  ranks,  and  died. 

i  All  the  Swiss  clergy  who  were  able  to  bear  arms  fought  m 

turned  upwards,  and  so  long,  that  in  some  cases  they  were 

Jils  patriotic  war. 

fastened  to  the  knees  of  the  wearer  with  small  chains.    When 

In  the  original,  Haasenstein,  or  Hare-stone. 

they  alighted  to  fight  upon  foot,  it  would  seem  that  the  Aus- 
trian gentlemen  found  it  necessary  to  cut  off  these  peaks,  that 

3  This  seems  to  allude  to  the  preposterous  fashion,  during 

they  might  move  with  the  necessary  activity. 

the  middle  age*    of  wearing  boots  with   the  points  or  peaks 

*  A  pun  on  the  Archduke's  name,  Leopold. 

BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN.                                  62 1 

This  patriot's  self-devoted  deed 
First  tamed  the  Lion's  mood, 

And  the  four  forest  cantons  freed 
From  thraldom  by  his  blood. 

The  fisher's  back  was  to  them  turn'd, 
The  squire  his  dagger  drew, 

Hans  saw  his  shadow  in  the  lake, 
The  boat  he  overthrew. 

Right  where  his  charge  had  made  a  lane, 

His  valiant  comrades  burst, 
"With  sword,  and  axe,  and  partisan, 

And  hack,  and  stab,  and  thrust. 

He  'whelm'd  the  boat,  and  as  they  strova, 
He  stunn'd  them  with  his  oar, 

"  Now,  drink  ye  deep,  my  gentle  sirs, 
You'll  ne'er  stab  boatman  more. 

The  daunted  Lion  'gan  to  whine, 
And  granted  ground  amain, 

The  Mountain  Bull1  he  bent  his  brows, 
And  gored  his  sides  again. 

"  Two  gilded  fishes  in  the  lake 
This  morning  have  I  caught, 

Their  silver  scales  may  much  avail, 
Their  carrion  flesh  is  naught." 

Then  lost  was  banner,  spear,  and  shield, 

At  Sempach  in  the  flight, 
The  cloister  vaults  at  Konig's-field 

Hold  many  an  Austrian  knight. 

It  was  a  messenger  of  woe 

Has  sought  the  Austrian  land : 

"  Ah !  gracious  lady,  evil  news  1 
My  lord  lies  on  the  strand. 

It  was  the  Archduke  Leopold 

So  lordly  would  he  ride, 
But  he  came  against  the  Switzer  churls, 

And  they  slew  him  in  his  pride. 

"  At  Sempach,  on  the  battle-field, 
His  bloody  corpse  lies  there." — 

"  Ah,  gracious  God !"  the  lady  cried, 
"  What  tidings  of  despair  1" 

The  heifer  said  unto  the  bull, 
"  And  shall  I  not  complain  ? 

There  came  a  foreign  nobleman 
To  milk  me  on  the  plain. 

Now  would  you  know  the  minstrel  wigh* 

Who  sings  of  strife  so  stern, 
Albert  the  Souter  is  he  hight, 

A  burgher  of  Lucerne. 

"  One  thrust  of  thine  outrageous  horn 
Has  gall'd  the  knight  so  sore, 

That  to  the  churchyard  he  is  borne, 
To  range  our  glens  no  more." 

A  merry  man  was  he,  I  wot, 
The  night  he  made  the  lay, 

Returning  from  the  bloody  spot, 
Where  God  had  judged  the  day. 

An  Austrian  noble  left  the  stour, 
And  fast  the  flight  'gan  take ; 

And  he  arrived  in  luckless  hour 
At  Sempach  on  the  lake. 

He  and  his  squire  a  fisher  call'd 
(His  name  was  Hans  Von  Rot), 

"  For  love,  or  meed,  or  charity, 
Receive  us  in  thy  boat !" 

Stye  3fobk  Jttcrinjer. 

AN  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE   GERMAN. 

Their  anxious  call  the  fisher  heard, 
And,  glad  the  meed  to  win, 

His  shallop  to  the  shore  he  steer'd, 
And  took  the  flyers  in. 

And  while  against  the  tide  and  wind 
Hans  stoutly  row'd  his  way, 

The  noble  to  his  follower  sign'd 
He  should  the  boatman  slay. 

[1819.2] 

The  original  of  these  verses  occurs  in  a  collection 
of  German  popular  songs,  entitled,  Sammlung 
Deutschen  Volkslieder,  Berlin,  1807,  published  by 
Messrs.  Busching  and  Vm  der  Hagen,  both,  and 
more  especially  the  last,  distinguished  for  theit 
acquaintance  with  tine  ancient  popular  r>  «try  and 
legendary  history  of  Germany. 

In  the  German  Editor's  notice  of  the  ballad,  it  is 

1  A  pun  on  the  Urus,  or  wild-bull,  which  gives  name  to 
'he  Canton  of  Uri. 

a  The  translation  of  the  Noble  Moringer  appeared  originally 
Vi  t^e  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  1816  (published  in 

1819).    It  was  composed  during  Sir  Walter  Scott's  severe  and 
alarming  illness  of  April,  1819,  and  dictated,  in  the  interval! 
of  exquisite  pain,  to  his  daughter  Sophia,  and  his  friend  Wi. 
liam  Laidlaw. — Ed.     See  Life  of  -Scott,  vol.  vi.  n  71 

622 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


etated  to  have  oeen  extracted  from  a  manuscript 
Chronicle  of  Nicolaus  Thomann,  chaplain  to  Saint 
Leonard  in  Weisenhorn,  which* bears  the  date  1538  ; 
and  the  song  is  stated  by  the  author  to  have  been 
generally  sung  in  the  neighborhood  at  that  early 
period.  Thomann,  as  quoted  by  the  German  Ed- 
itor, seems  faithfully  to  have  believed  the  event 
he  narrates.  He  quotes  tombstones  and  obituaries 
to  prove  the  existence  of  the  personages  of  the 
ballad,  and  discovers  that  there  actually  died,  on 
the  11th  May,  1349,  a  Lady  Von  Neuffen,  Count- 
ess of  Marstetten,  who  was,  by  birth,  of  the  house 
of  Moringer.  This  lady  he  supposes  to  have  been 
Moringer's  daughter,  mentioned  in  the  ballad.  He 
quotes  the  same  authority  for  the  death  of  Berck- 
hold  Von  Neuffen,  in  the  same  year.  The  editors, 
on  the  whole,  seem  to  embrace  the  opinion  of  Pro- 
fessor Smith  of  Ulm,  who,  from  the  language  of 
the  ballad,  ascribes  its  date  to  the  15th  century. 

The  legend  itself  turns  on  an  incident  not  pecu- 
liar to  Germany,  and  which,  perhaps,  was  not  un- 
likely to  happen  in  more  instances  than  one,  when 
crusaders  abode  long  in  the  Holy  Land,  and  their 
disconsolate  dames  received  no  tidings  of  their 
fate.  A  story,  very  similar  in  circumstances,  but 
without  the  miraculous  machinery  of  Saint  Thom- 
as, is  told  of  one  of  the  ancient  Lords  of  Haigh-hall 
in  Lancashire,  the  patrimonial  inheritance  of  the 
late  Countess  of  Balcarras ;  and  the  particulars  are 
represented  on  stained  glass  upon  a  window  in 
that  ancient  manor-house.1 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER. 

I. 

0,  will  you  hear  a  knightly  tale  of  old  Bohemian 

day, 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  in  wedlock  bed  he 

lay ; 

He  liaised  and  kiss'd  his  dearest  dame,  that  was 

as  sweet  as  May, 
And  said,  "Now,  lady  of  my  heart,  attend  the 

words  I  say. 

II. 

"Tis  I  have  vow'd  a  pilgrimage  unto  a  distant 
shrine, 

Aud  I  must  seek  Saint  Thomas-land,  and  leave 
the  land  that's  mine  ; 

Here  shalt  thou  dwell  the  while  in  state,  so  thou 
wilt  pledge  thy  fay, 

Tliat  thou  for  my  return  wilt  wait  seven  twelve- 
months and  a  day." 

i  See  Introduction  to  "  T  x%  Betrothed,"  Waverley  Novels, 
>dl.  zxxvii. 


III. 

Then  out  and  spoke  that  Lady  bright,  sore  troub 

led  in  her  cheer, 
"  Now  tell  me  true,  thou  noble  knight,  what  order 

takest  thou  here ; 
And  who  shall  lead  thy  vassal  band,  and  hold  thy 

lordly  sway, 
And  be  thy  lady's  guardian  true  when  thou  art  far 

away  ?" 

IV. 

Out  spoke  the  noble  Moringer,  "  Of  that  have  thou 

no  care, 
There's  many  a  valiant  gentleman  of  me  holds 

living  fair ;  [my  state, 

The  trustiest  shall  rule  my  land,  my  vassals  and 
And  be  a  guardian  tried  and  true  to  thee,  my 

lovely  mate. 

V. 
"As  Christian-man,  I  needs  must  keep  the  vow 

which  I  have  plight, 
When  I  am  far  in  foreign  land,  remember  thy  true 

knight ; 
And  cease,  my  dearest  dame,  to  grieve,  for  vain 

were  sorrow  now, 
But  grant  thy  Moringer  his  leave,  since  God  hath 

heard  his  vow." 

VI. 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  from  bed  he  made  him 

boune, 
And  met  him  there  his  Chamberlain,  with  ewer 

and  with  gown : 
He  flung  the  mantle  on  his  back,  'twas  furr'd  with 

miniver, 
He  dipp'd  Ins  hand  in  water  cold,  and  bathed  his 

forehead  fair. 

VII. 

"  Now  hear,"  he  said,  "  Sir  Chamberlain,  true  vas- 
sal art  thou  mine, 

And  such  the  trust  that  I  repose  in  that  proved 
worth  of  thine, 

For  seven  years  shalt  thou  rule  my  towers,  and 
lead  my  vassal  train, 

And  pledge  thee  for  my  Lady's  faith  till  I  return 
again." 

VIII. 

The  Chamberlain  was  blunt  and  true,  and  sturdily 

said  he, 
"  Abide,  my  lord,  and  rule  your  own,  and  take 

this  rede  from  me  ; 
That   woman's    faith's    a    brittle    trust  —  Seven 

twelve-months  didst  thou  say  ? 
I'll  pledge  me  for  no  lady's  truth  beyond  the 

seventh  fair  day." 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


623 


IX. 

The  noble  Baron  turn'd  him  round,  his  heart  "was 

fall  of  care, 
His  gallant  Esquire  stood  him  nigh,  he  was  Mars- 

tetten's  heir, 
To  whom  he  spoke  right  anxiously,  "  Thou  trusty 

squire  to  me, 
Wilt  thou  receive  this  weighty  trust  when  I  am 

o'er  the  sea  ? 

X. 

"To  watch  and  ward  my  castle  strong,  and  to 

protect  my  land, 
And  to  the  hunting  or  the  host  to  lead  my  vassal 

band ; 
And  pledge  thee  for  my  lady's  faith  till  seven 

long  years  are  gone, 
And  guard  her  as  Our  Lady  dear  was  guarded  by 

Saint  John  ?" 

XI. 

Marstetten's  heir  was  kind  and  true,  but  fiery,  hot, 
and  young, 

And  readily  he  answer  made  with  too  presump- 
tuous tongue ; 

1  My  noble  lord,  cast  care  away,  and  on  your  jour- 
ney vend,  [have  end. 

And  trust  th'i  charge  to  me  until  your  pilgrimage 

XII. 
xtely  upon  my  plighted  faith,  which  shall  be  truly 

tried, 
to  guard  your  lands,  and  ward  your  towers,  and 

with  your  vassals  ride  ; 
And  for  your  lovely  Lady's  faith,  so  virtuous  and 

so  dear, 
rll  gage  my  head  it  knows  no  change,  be  absent 
thirty  year." 

XIII. 
rhe   noble   Moringer   took    cheer  when  thus  he 

heard  him  speak, 
And  doubt  forsook  his  troubled  brow,  and  sorrow 

left  his  cheek ; 
A  long  adieu  he  bids  to  all — hoists  topsails,  and 


And  wanders  in  Saint  Thomas-land  seven  twelve- 
months and  a  day. 

XIV. 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  within  an   orchard 

When  r^x  the  Baron's  slumbering  sense  a  boding 

vision  crept ; 
And  whisper'd  in  his  ear  a  voice,  "  'Tis  time,  Sir 

Knight,  to  wake, 
Thy  lady  and  thy  heritage  another  master  take. 


XV. 

"Thy  tower  another  banner  knows,  thy  steedj 
another  rein, 

And  stoop  them  to  another's  will  thy  gallant  vas- 
sal train ; 

And  she,  the  Lady  of  thy  love,  so  faithful  onco 
and  fair. 

This  night  within  thy  fathers'  hall  she  weds  Mars 
tetten's  heir." 

XVI. 

It  is  ihe  noble  Moringer  starts  up  and  tears  his 

beard, 
"  Oh  would  that  I  had  ne'er  been  born !  what 

tidings  have  I  heard ! 
To  lose  my  lordship  and  my  lands  the  less  would 

be  my  care, 
But,  God  !  that  e'er  a  squire  untrue  should  wed 

my  Lady  fair. 

XVII. 
"  0  good   Saint  Thomas,  hear,"  he  pray'd,  "  my 

patron  Saint  art  thou, 
A  traitor  robs  me  of  my  land  even  while  I  pay  my 

vow !  [name, 

My  wife  he  brings  to  infamy  that  was  so  pure  of 
And  I  am  far  in  foreign  land,  and  must  endure  the 

shame." 

XVIII. 

It  was  the  good  Saint  Thomas,  then,  who  heard 
his  pilgrim's  prayer, 

And  sent  a  sleep  so  deep  and  dead  that  it  o'er- 
power'd  his  care  ; 

He  waked  in  fair  Bohemian  land  outstretch'd  be- 
side a  rill, 

High  on  the  right  a  castle  stood,  low  on  the  left  a 
mill. 

XIX. 

The  Moringer  he  started  up  as  one  from  spell  un- 
bound, 

And  dizzy  with  surprise  and  joy  gazed  wildly  all 
around ; 

"  I  know  my  fathers'  ancient  towers,  the  mill,  the 
stream  I  know, 

Now  blessed  be  my  patron  Saint  who  cheer'd  his 
pilgrim's  woe  !" 

XX. 

He  leant  upon  his  pilgrim  staff,  and  to  the  mill  he 

drew, 
So  alter'd  was  his  goodly  form  that  none  their 

master  knew ;  [charity, 

The  Baron  to  the  miller  said,  "  Good  friend,  for 
Tell  a  poor  palmer  in  your  land  what  tidings  maj 

there  be  ?" 


624 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XXL 

The  miller  answered  him  again,  "  He  knew  of  little 
news, 

Save  that  the  Lady  of  the  land  did  a  new  bride- 
groom choose ; 

Her  husband  died  in  distant  land,  such  is  the  con- 
stant word, 

His  death  sits  heavy  on  our  souls,  he  was  a  worthy 
Lord. 

XXII. 

■  Of  him  I  held  the  little  mill  which  wins  me  living 

free, 
God  rest  the  Baron  in  his  grave,  he  still  was  kind 

to  me  ! 
A.nd  when  Saint  Martin's  tide  comes  round,  and 

millers  take  their  toll, 
The  priest  that  prays  for  Moringer  shall  have  both 

cope  and  stole." 

XXIII. 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  to  climb  the  hill  began, 
And  stood   before   the  bolted  gate   a  woe  and 

weary  man ; 
"Now  help  me,  every  saint  in  heaven  that  can 

compassion  take, 
To  gain  the  entrance  of  my  hall  this  woeful  match 

to  break." 

XXIV. 

His  very  knock  it  sounded  sad,  his  call  was  sad 

and  slow, 
For  heart  and  head,  and  voice  and  hand,  were 

heavy  all  with  woe  ; 
And  to  the  warder  thus  he  spoke :  "  Friend,  to  thy 

Lady  say, 
A  pilgrim  from  Saint  Thomas-land  craves  harbor 

for  a  day. 

XXV. 

*  Tve  wander'd  many  a  weary  step,  my  strength 
is  wellnigh  done, 

And  if  she  turn  me  from  her  gate  Til  see  no  mor- 
row's sun ; 

I  rray,  for  sweet  Saint  Thomas'  sake,  a  pilgrim's 
bed  and  dole, 

And  for  the  sake  of  Moringer's,  her  once-loved 
husband's  soul." 

XXVI. 

It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then  he  came  his  dame 
before, 

"  A  pilgrim,  worn  and  travel-toil'd,  stands  at  the 
castle-door ; 

And  prays,  for  sweet  Saint  Thomas'  sake,  for  har- 
bor and  for  dole, 

And  for  the  sake  of  Moringer,  thy  noble  husband's 
souL" 


XXVII. 

The  Lady's  gentle  heart  was  moved,  "  Do  up  th« 
gate,"  she  said, 

"  And  bid  the  wanderer  welcome  be  to  banquet 
and  to  bed ; 

And  since  he  names  my  husband's  name,  so  that 
he  lists  to  stay, 

These  towers  shall  be  his  harborage  a  twelve- 
month and  a  day." 

XXVIII. 

It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then  undid  the  portal 

broad, 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  that  o'er  the  threshold 

strode ; 
"And  have  thou  thanks,  kind  heaven,"  he  said, 

"  though  from  a  man  of  sin, 
That  the   true  lord  stands  here   once  more   his 

castle-gate  within." 

XXIX. 
Then  up  the  halls  paced  Moringer,  his  step  was  sad 

and  slow ;  [Lord  to  know ; 

It  sat  full  heavy  on  his  heart,  none  seem'd  their 
He  sat  him  on  a  lowly  bench,  oppress'd  with  woe 

and  wrong, 
Short  space  he  sat,  but  ne'er  to  him  seem'd  little 

space  so  long. 

XXX. 

Now  spent  was  day,  and  feasting  o'er,  and  come 

was  evening  hour, 
The  time  was  nigh  when  new-made  brides  retire 

to  nuptial  bower ; 
"  Our  castle's  wont,"  a  brides-man  said,  "  hath  been 

both  firm  and  long, 
No  guest  to  harbor  in  our  halls  till  he  shall  chant 

a  song." 

XXXL 

Then  spoke  the  youthful  bridegroom  there  as  he 

sat  by  the  bride, 
"  My  merry  minstrel  folk,"  quoth  he,  "  lay  shalm 

and  harp  aside ; 
Our  pilgrim  guest  must  sing  a  lay,  the  castle's  rule 

to  hold, 
And  well  his  guerdon  will  I  pay  with  garment  and 

with  gold." — 

XXXII. 

"  Chill  flows  the  lay  of  frozen  age,"  'twas  thus  the 

pilgrim  sung, 
"  Nor  golden  meed  nor  garment  gay,  unlocks  hia 

heavy  tongue ; 
Once  did  I  sit,  thou  bridegroom  gay,  at  board  as 

rich  as  thine, 
And  by  my  side  as  fair  a  bride  with  all  her  charma 

was  mine. 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


625 


XXXIII. 

*  But  time  traced  furrows  on  my  face,  and  I  grew 
silver-hair'd, 

For  locks  of  brown,  and  cheeks  of  youth,  she  left 
this  brow  and  beard ; 

Once  rich,  but  now  a  palmer  poor,  I  tread  life's 
latest  stage, 

And  mingle  with  your  bridal  mirth  the  lay  of  fro- 
zen age." 

XXXIV. 

It  was  the  noble  Lady  there  this  woeful  lay  that 

hears, 
And  for  the  aged   pilgrim's   grief  her   eye  was 

dimm'd  with  tears ; 
She  bade  her  gallant  cupbearer  a  golden  beaker 

take, 
And  bear  it  to  the  palmer  poor  to  quaff  it  for  her 


XXXV. 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  that  dropp'd  amid  the 

wine 
A  bridal  ring  of  burning  gold  so  costly  and  so 

fine: 
Now  listen,  gentles,  to  my  song,  it  tells  you  but 

the  sooth, 
'Twas  with  that  very  ring  of  gold  he  pledged  his 

bridal  truth. 

XXXVI. 

Then  to  the  cupbearer  he  said,  "  Do  me  one  kindly 

deed, 
And  should  my  better  days  return,  full  rich  shall 

be  thy  meed ; 
Bear  back  the  golden  cup  again  to  yonder  bride  so 

gay, 

And  crave  her  of  her  courtesy  to  pledge  the  palm- 
er gray." 

XXXVII. 

The  cupbearer  was  courtly  bred,  nor  was  the  boon 
denied, 

The  golden  cup  he  took  again,  and  bore  it  to  the 
bride ; 

"  Lady,"  he  said,  "  your  reverend  guest  sends  this, 
and  bids  me  pray, 

That,  in  thy  noble  courtesy,  thou  pledge  the  palm- 
er gray." 

XXXVIII. 

The  ring  hath  caught  the  Lady's  eye,  she  views  it 
close  and  near, 

Then  you  might  hear  her  shriek  aloud, "  The  Mor- 
inger is  here  1" 
79 


Then  might  you  see  her  start  from  seat,  while  tears 

in  torrents  fell, 
But  whether  'twas  for  joy  or  woe,  the  ladies  best 

can  tell. 

XXXIX. 

But  loud  she  utter'd  thanks  to  Heaven,  and  every 

saintly  power, 
That  had  return'd  the  Moringer  before  the  mid 

night  hour ; 
And  loud  she  utter'd  vow  on  vow,  that  never  was 

there  bride, 
That  had  like  her  preserved  her  troth,  or  been  so 

sorely  tried. 

XL. 

"  Yes,  here  I  claim  the  praise,"  she  said,  "  to  con 

stant  matrons  due, 
Who  keep  the  troth  that  they  have  plight,  so  stead 

fastly  and  true ; 
For  count  the  term  howe'er  you  will,  so  that  you 

count  aright, 
Seven  twelve-months  and  a  day  are  out  when  bells 

toll  twelve  to-nisrht." 


XLI. 
It  was  Marstetten  then  rose  up,  his  falchion  there 

he  drew. 
He  kneel'd  before  the  Moringer,  and  down  his  wea 

pon  threw ; 
"  My  oath  and  knightly  faith  are  broke,"  these  were 

the  words  he  said, 
"  Then  take,  my  liege,  thy  vassal!s  sword,  and  take 

thy  vassal's  head." 


XLIL 

The  noble  Moringer  he  smiled,  and  then  aloud  did 
say, 

"  He  gathers  wisdom  that  hath  roam'd  seven  twelve- 
months and  a  day ; 

My  daughter  now  hath  fifteen  years,  fame  speaks 
her  sweet  and  fair, 

I  give  her  for  the  bride  you  lose,  and  name  her  foi 
my  heir. 

XLIII. 

"  The  young  bridegroom  hath  youthful  bride,  the 
old  bridegroom  the  old, 

Whose  faith  was  kept  till  term  and  tide  so  punc- 
tually were  told ; 

But  blessings  on  the  warder  kind  that  oped  my 
castle  gate, 

For  had  I  come  at  morrow  tide,  I  came  a  da\  too 
late." 


626 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


FKOM  THE  GERMAN  OF  GOETHE. 

(Tlie  Erf-King  is  a  goblin  that  haunts  the  Black 
Forest  in  Thuringia. — To  be  read  by  a  candle 
particularly  long  in  the  snuff.) 

0,  who  rides  by  night  thro'  the  -woodland  so  wild  ? 
It  is  the  fond  father  embracing  his  child ; 
And  close  the  boy  nestles  within  his  loved  arm, 
To  hold  himself  fast,  and  to  keep  himself  warm. 

"  0  father,  see  yonder !  see  yonder !"  he  says ; 
"  My  boy,  upon  what  dost  thou  fearfully  gaze  ?" — 
"  0,  'tis  the  Erl-King  with  his  crown  and  his  shroud." 
"  ~No,  my  son,  it  is  but  a  dark  wreath  of  the  cloud." 

(The  Erl-King  speaks.) 
"  0  come  and  go  with  me,  thou  loveliest  child ; 
By  many  a  gay  sport  shall  thy  time  be  beguiled ; 
My  mother  keeps  for  thee  full  many  a  fair  toy, 
And  many  a  fine  flower  shall  she  pluck  for  my  boy." 

"  O,  father,  my  father,  and  did  you  not  hear 
The  Erl-King  whisper  so  l«w  in  my  ear  ?" — 

1  1797.  "  To  Miss  Christian  Rutherford. — I  send  a  gob- 
lin story.  You  see  I  have  not  altogether  lost  the  faculty  of 
rhyming.    I  assure  you  there  is  no  small  impudence  in  attempt- 


"  Be  still,  my  heart's  darling — my  child,  be  at  ease ; 
It  was  but  the  wild  blast  as  it  sung  thro'  the  trees." 

Erl-King. 
"  0  wilt  thou  go  with  me,  thou  loveliest  boy  ? 
My  daughter  shall  tend  thee  with  care  and  with  joy ; 
She  shall  bear  thee  so  lightly  thro'  wet  and  thro' 

wild, 
And  press  thee,  and  kiss  thee,  and  sing  to  my  child  *' 

"  0  father,  my  father,  and  saw  you  not  plain, 
The  Erl-King's  pale  daughter  glide  past  tliro  the 

rain  ?" — 
"  0  yes,  my  loved  treasure,  I  knew  it  full  soon ; 
It  was  the  gray  willow  that  danced  to  the  moon." 

Erl-King. 
*  0  come  and  go  with  me,  no  longer  delay, 
Or  else,  silly  child,  I  will  drag  thee  away." — 
"  0  father  I  0  father  !  now,  now  keep  your  hold, 
The  Erl-King  has  seized  me — his  grasp  is  so  cold  1" 

Sore  trembled  the  father ;  he  spurr'd  thro'  the  wild 
Clasping  close  to  his  bosom  his  shuddering  cliild ; 
He  reaches  his  dwelling  in  doubt  and  in  dread, 
But,  clasp'd  to  his  bosom,  the  infant  was  deadF' 

ing  a  version  of  that  ballad,  as  it  has  been  translated  by  Lewi* 
.    .    .    .    W.  8."— Life,  vol.  i.  p  378. 


END  OF  BALLADS  FROM  THE  GERHAF 


1 


Cpructl   etn&   iHt0cellaneou0  pieces, 

W  THE  ORDER  OF  THEIR  COMPOSITION  OR  PUBLICATION. 


Subettfle  3Lftte». 

FROM  VIRGIL. 


1182.— ^ETAT.  11. 


"  Scott's  autobiography  tells  us  that  his  transla- 
tions in  verse  from  Horace  and  Virgil  were  often 
approved  by  Dr.  Adams  [Rector  of  the  High  School, 
Edinburgh].  One  of  these  little  pieces,  written  in 
a  weak  boyish  scrawl,  within  pencilled  marks  still 
visible,  had  been  carefully  preserved  by  his  moth- 
er ;  it  was  found  folded  up  in  a  cover,  inscribed 
by  the  old  lady — 'My  Walter's  first  lines,  1182."' 
— Lockhart,  IAfe  of  Scott,  vol.  i.  p.  129. 

In  awful  ruins  iEtna  thunders  nigh, 
And  sends  in  pitchy  whirlwinds  to  the  sky 
Black  clouds  of  smoke,  which,  still  as  they  aspire, 
From  their  dark  sides  there  bursts  the  glowing 

fire  ; 
At  other  times  huge  balls  of  fire  are  toss'd, 
That  lick  the  stars,  and  in  the  smoke  are  lost : 
Sometimes  the  mount,  with  vast  convulsions  torn, 
Emits  huge  rocks,  which  instantly  are  borne 
With  loud  explosions  to  the  starry  skies, 
The  stones  made  liquid  as  the  huge  mass  flies, 
Then  back  again  with  greater  weight  recoils, 
While  ^Etna  thundering  from  the  bottom  boils. 


©n  a  SBuntter  Storm. 


1783.— jEt.  12. 


"  In  Scott's  Introduction  to  the  Lay,  he  alludes 
lo  an  original  effusion  of  these  '  schoolboy  days,' 
prompted  by  a  thunder-storm,  which  he  says,  '  was 
much  approved  of,  until  a  malevolent  critic  sprung 


i  "  It  must,  I  think,  be  allowed  that  these  lines,  though 
»f  the  class  to  which  the  poet  himself  modestly  ascribes 
%em,  and  not  to  be  compared  with  the  efforts  of  Pope,  still 


up  in  the  shape  of  an  apothecary's  blue-buskined 
wife,'  <fec.  <fec.  These  lines,  and  another  short  piece 
4  On  the  Setting  Sun,'  were  lately  found  wrapped 
up  in  a  cover,  inscribed  by  Dr.  Adam,  *  Walter" 
Scott,  July,  1783.'" 

Loud  o'er  my  head  though  awful  thunders  roll, 
And  vivid  lightnings  flash  from  pole  to  pole, 
Yet  'tis  thy  voice,  my  God,  that  bids  them  fly, 
Thy  arm  directs  those  lightnings  through  the  sky 
Then  let  the  good  thy  mighty  name  revere, 
And  harden'd  sinners  thy  just  vengeance  fear. 


n  tje  Settfufl  Sun. 


1783. 


Those  evening  clouds,  that  setting  ray, 
And  beauteous  tints,  serve  to  display 

Their  great  Creator's  praise  ; 
Then  let  the  short-lived  thing  call'd  man, 
Whose  life's  comprised  within  a  span, 

To  Him  his  homage  raise. 

We  often  praise  the  evening  clouds, 

And  tints,  so  gay  and  bold, 
But  seldom  think  upon  our  God, 

Who  tinged  these  clouds  with  gold  I1 


Efje  ITfoUt, 


1797. 


It  appears  from  the  Life  of  Scott,  vol  L  p.  333, 
that  these  lines,  first  published  in  the  English 


less  of  Cowley  at  the  same  period,  show,  nevertheless,  praise- 
worthy dexterity  for  a  boy  of  twelve." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i. 
p.  131. 


028                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Minstrelsy,  1810,  were  written  in  1797,  on  occa- 

Wlien Clyde,  despite  his  sheltering  wood, 

sion  of  the  Poet's  disappointment  in  love. 

Must  leave  his  channel  dry  ; 

And  vainly  o'er  the  limpid  flood 

The  violet  in  her  green-wood  bower, 

The  angler  guides  his  fly  ; 

Where  birchen  boughs  with  hazels  mingle, 

May  boast  itself  the  fairest  flower 

If  chance  by  Bothwell's  lovely  braes 

In  glen,  or  copse,  or  forest  dingle. 

A  wanderer  thou  hast  been, 

Or  hid  thee  from  the  summer's  blaze 

Though  fair  her  gems  of  azure  hue, 

In  Blantyre's  bowers  of  green, 

Beneath  the  dew-drop's  weight  reclining ; 

I've  seen  an  eye  of  lovelier  blue, 

Full  where  the  copsewood  opens  wild 

More  sweet  through  wat'ry  lustre  shining. 

Thy  pilgrim  step  hath  staid, 

Where  Bothwell's  towers,  in  ruin  piled, 

The  summer  sun  that  dew  shall  dry, 

O'erlook  the  verdant  glade ; 

Ere  yet  the  day  be  past  its  morrow ; 

Nor  longer  in  my  false  love's  eye 

And  many  a  tale  of  love  and  fear 

Remain'd  the  tear  of  parting  sorrow. 

Hath  mingled  with  the  scene — 

Of  Bothwell's  banks  that  bloom'd  so  dear. 
And  Bothwell's  bonny  Jean. 

£o  a  SHaUp. 

0,  if  with  rugged  minstrel  lays 

WITH  FLOWERS  FROM  A  ROMAN  WALL. 

Unsated  be  thy  ear, 

And  thou  of  deeds  of  other  days 
Another  tale  wilt  hear, — 

Then  all  beneath  the  spreading  beech, 

1797. 

Written  in  1797,  on  an  excursion  from  Gillsland, 

in  Cumberland.    See  Life,  vol.  i.  p.  365. 

Flung  careless  on  the  lea, 

The  Gothic  muse  the  tale  shall  teach 

Take  these  flowers  which,  purple  waving, 

Of  Bothwell's  sisters  three. 

On  the  ruin'd  rampart  grew, 

Where,  the  sons  of  freedom  braving, 

Wight  Wallace  stood  on  Deckmont  head, 

Rome's  imperial  standards  flew. 

He  blew  his  bugle  round, 

Till  the  wild  bull  in  Cadyow  wood 

Warriors  from  the  breach  of  danger 

Has  started  at  the  sound. 

Pluck  no  longer  laurels  there ; 

They  but  yield  the  passing  stranger 

St.  George's  cross,  o'er  Bothwell  hung, 

Wild-flower  wreaths  for  Beauty's  hair. 

Was  waving  far  and  wide, 

And  from  the  lofty  turret  flung 

Its  crimson  blaze  on  Clyde  ; 
And  rising  at  the  bugle  blast 

jFragmenta. 

That  marked  the  Scottish  foe, 

Old  England's  yeomen  muster'd  fast, 

And  bent  the  Norman  bow. 

(1.)  BOTHWELL  CASTLE. 

Tall  in  the  midst  Sir  Aylmer1  rose, 
Proud  Pembroke's  Earl  was  he — 

1799. 

;Vhile" .... 

The  following  fragment  of  a  ballad  written  at 

'    Jiothwell  Castle,  in  the  autumn  of  1799,  was  first 
printed  in  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  28. 

When  fruitful  Clydesdale's  apple-bowers 

(2.)  THE  SHEPHERD'S  TALE.9 

1799. 

Are  mellowing  in  the  noon ; 

When  sighs  round  Pembroke's  ruin'd  towers 

"Another  imperfect  ballad,  in  which  he  had 

The  sultry  breath  of  June ; 

meant  to  blend  together  two  legends  familiar  to 

*  Sir  Aylmer  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  Edward  the 

tie,  the  ruins  of  which  attest  the  magnificence  of  the  invader 

First's  Governor  of  Scotland,  usually  resided  at  Bothwell  Cas- 

—Ed.                                 2  Life  ©f  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  31. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


629 


every  reader  of  Scottish  history  and  romance,  has 
been  found  in  the  same  portfolio,  and  the  hand- 
writing proves  it  to  be  of  the  same  early  date." — 

LoCKHABT,  VOl.  h.  p.  30. 


********* 

And  ne'er  but  once,  my  son,  he  says, 

Was  yon  sad  cavern  trod, 
In  persecution's  iron  days, 

When  the  land  was  left  by  God. 

From  Bewlie  bog,  -with  slaughter  red, 

A  wanderer  hither  drew, 
And  oft  he  stopt  and  turn'd  his  head, 

As  by  fits  the  night  wind  blew ; 

For  trampling  round  by  Cheviot  edge 

Were  heard  the  troopers  keen, 
And  frequent  from  the  Whitelaw  ridge 

The  death-shot  flash' d  between. 

The  moonbeams  through  the  misty  shower 
On  yon  dark  cavern  fell ;  [white, 

Through   the   cloudy  night  the  snow  gleam'd 
Which  sunbeam  ne'er  could  quelL 

"  Yon  cavern  dark  is  rough  and  rude, 

And  cold  its  jaws  of  snow  ; 
But  more  rough  and  rude  are  the  men  of  blood, 

That  hunt  my  life  below  1 

"  Yon  spell-bound  den,  as  the  aged  tell, 

Was  hewn  by  demon's  hands ; 
But  I  had  lourd1  melle  with  the  fiends  of  hell, 

Than  with  Clavers  and  his  band." 

He  heard  the  deep-mouth'd  bloodhound  bark, 

He  heard  the  horses  neigli, 
He  plunged  him  in  the  cavern  dark, 

And  downward  sped  his  way. 

Now  faintly  down  the  winding  path 
Came  the  cry  of  the  faulting  hound, 

And  the  mutter'd  oath  of  baulked  wrath 
Was  lost  in  hollow  sound. 

He  threw  him  on  the  fhnted  floor, 

And  held  his  breath  for  fear ; 
He  rose  and  bitter  cursed  his  foes, 

As  the  sounds  died  on  his  ear. 

u  0  bare  thine  arm,  thou  battling  Lord, 

For  Scotland's  wandering  band ; 
Dash  from  the  oppressor's  grasp  the  sword, 

And  sweep  him  from  the  land  1 

-    *  Lourd  ;  i.  e.  liefer — rather. 


"  Forget  not  thou  thy  people's  groans 

From  dark  Dunnotter's  tower, 
Mix'd  with  the  seafowl's  shrilly  moans, 

And  ocean's  bursting  roar  1 

"  0,  in  fell  Clavers'  hour  of  pride, 

Even  in  his  mightiest  day, 
As  bold  he  strides  through  conquest's  tide, 

0  stretch  him  on  the  clay  ! 

"  His  widow  and  his  little  ones, 

0  may  their  tower  of  trust 
Remove  its  strong  foundation  stones, 

And  crush  them  in  the  dust !" — 

"  Sweet  prayers  to  me,"  a  voice  replied, 
"  Thrice  welcome,  guest  of  mine  1" 

And  glimmering  on  the  cavern  side, 
A  light  -was  seen  to  shine. 

An  aged  man,  in  amice  brown, 

Stood  by  the  wanderer's  side, 
By  powerful  charm,  a  dead  man's  arm 

The  torch's  light  supplied. 

From  each  stiff  finger,  stretch'd  upright, 

Arose  a  ghastly  flame, 
That  waved  not  in  the  blast  of  night 

Which  through  the  cavern  came. 

0,  deadly  blue  was  that  taper's  hue, 

That  flamed  the  cavern  o'er, 
But  more  deadly  blue  was  the  ghastly  hue 

Of  his  eyes  who  the  taper  bore. 

He  laid  on  his  head  a  hand  like  lead, 

As  heavy,  pale,  and  cold — 
"  Vengeance  be  thine,  thou  guest  of  mine, 

If  thy  heart  be  firm  and  bold. 

"  But  if  faint  thy  heart,  and  caitiff  fear 

Thy  recreant  sinews  know, 
The  mountain  erne  thy  heart  shall  tear, 

Thy  nerves  the  hooded  crow." 

The  wanderer  raised  him  undismay'd : 

"  My  soul,  by  dangers  steel'd, 
Is  stubborn  as  my  border  blade, 

Which  never  knew  to  yield. 

"  And  if  thy  power  can  speed  the  hour 

Of  vengeance  on  my  foes, 
Theirs  be  the  fate,  from  bridge  and  gate 

To  feed  the  hooded  crows." 

The  Brownie  look'd  him  in  the  face, 
And  his  color  fled  with  speed — 

"  I  fear  me,"  quoth  he,  "  uneath  it  will  be 
To  match  thy  word  and  deed. 


t>30                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

"  In  ancient  days  when  English  bands 

The  casque  hung  near  each  cavalier ; 

Sore  ravaged  Scotland  fair, 

The  plumes  waved  mournfully 

The  sword  and  shield  of  Scottish  land 

At  every  tread  which  the  wanderer  made 

"Was  valiant  Halbert  Kerr. 

Through  the  hall  of  gramarye. 

"  A  warlock  loved  the  warrior  well, 

The  ruddy  beam  of  the  torches'  gleam 

Sir  Michael  Scott  by  name, 

That  glared  the  warriors  on, 

And  he  sought  for  Ins  sake  a  spell  to  make, 

Reflected  light  from  armor  bright, 

Should  the  Southern  foemen  tame. 

In  noontide  splendor  shone. 

" '  Look  thou,'  he  said, '  from  Cessford  head, 

And  onward  seen  in  lustre  sheen, 

As  the  July  sun  sinks  low, 

Still  lengthening  on  the  sight,    , 

And  when  glimmering  white  on  Cheviot's  height 

Through  the  boundless  hall  stood  steeds  in  stall 

Thou  shalt  spy  a  wreath  of  snow, 

And  by  each  lay  a  sable  knight. 

The  spell  is  complete  which  shall  bring  to  thy 

feet 

Still  as  the  dead  lay  each  horseman  dread, 

The  haughty  Saxon  foe.' 

And  moved  nor  limb  nor  tongue  ; 

Each  steed  stood  stiff  as  an  earthfast  cliff, 

"  For  many  a  year  wrought  the  wizard  here, 

Nor  hoof  nor  bridle  rung. 

In  Cheviot's  bosom  low, 

Till  the  spell  was  complete,  and  in  July's  heat 

No  sounds  through  all  the  spacious  hall 

Appear'd  December's  snow : 

The  deadly  still  divide, 

But  Cessford's  Halbert  never  came 

Save  where  echoes  aloof  from  the  vaulted  roof 

The  wondrous  cause  to  know. 

To  the  wanderer's  step  replied. 

"  For  years  before  in  Bowden  aisle 

At  length  before  his  wondering  eyes, 

The  warrior's  bones  had  lain, 

On  an  iron  column  borne, 

And  after  short  while,  by  female  guile, 

Of  antique  shape,  and  giant  size, 

Sir  Michael  Scott  was  slain. 

Appear'd  a  sword  and  horn. 

"  But  me  and  my  brethren  in  this  cell 

u  Now  choose  thee  here,"  quoth  his  leader, 

His  mighty  charms  retain, — 

"  Thy  venturous  fortune  try ; 

And  he  that  can  quell  the  powerful  spell 

Thy  woe  and  weal,  thy  boot  and  bale, 

Shall  o'er  broad  Scotland  reign." 

In  yon  brand  and  bugle  he." 

He  led  him  through  an  iron  door 

To  the  fatal  brand  he  mounted  his  hand, 

And  up  a  winding  stair, 

But  his  soul  did  quiver  and  quail ; 

And  in  wild  amaze  did  the  wanderer  gaze 

The  life-blood  did  start  to  his  shuddering  heart 

On  the  sight  which  open'd  there. 

And  left  him  wan  and  pale. 

Through  the  gloomy  night  flash'd  ruddy  light, — 

The  brand  he  forsook,  and  the  horn  he  took 

A  thousand  torches  glow ; 

To  'say  a  gentle  sound ; 

The  cave  rose  high,  like  the  vaulted  sky, 

But  so  wild  a  blast  from  the  bugle  brast, 

O'er  stalls  in  double  row. 

That  the  Cheviot  rock'd  around. 

In  every  stall  of  that  endless  hall 

From  Forth  to  Tees,  from  seas  to  seas, 

Stood  a  steed  in  barbing  bright ; 

The  awful  bugle  rung ; 

At  the  foot  of  each  steed,  all  arm'd  save  the  head, 

On  Carlisle  wall,  and  Berwick  withal, 

Lay  stretch'd  a  stalwart  knight. 

To  arms  the  warders  sprung. 

In  each  mail'd  hand  was  a  naked  brand  ; 

"With  clank  and  clang  the  cavern  rang, 

As  they  lay  on  the  black  bull's  hide, 

The  steeds  did  stamp  and  neigh ; 

Each  visage  stern  did  upwards  turn, 

And  loud  was  the  yell  as  each  warrior  fell 

With  eyeballs  fix'd  and  wide. 

Sterte  up  with  hoop  and  cry. 

A  launcegay  strong,  full  twelve  ells  long, 

"  "Woe,  woe,"  they  cried,  "  thou  caitiff  coward 

By  every  warrior  hung ; 

That  ever  thou  wert  born  ! 

At  each  pommel  there,  for  battle  yare, 

"Why  drew  ye  not  the  knightly  sword 

A  Jedwood  axe  was  e1ung. 

Before  ye  blew  the  horn  ?" 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


63 


The  morning  on  the  mountain  shone, 

And  on  the  bloody  ground 
Huii'd  from  the  cave  with  shiver'd  bone, 

The  mangled  wretch  was  found. 

And  still  beneath  the  cavern  dread, 

Among  the  glidders  gray, 
A  shapeless  stone  with  lichens  spread 

Marks  where  the  wanderer  lay.1 


(3.)  CHEVIOT. 


1199. 


****** 
Go  sit  old  Cheviot's  crest  below, 
And  pensive  mark  the  lingering  snow 

In  all  his  scaurs  abide, 
And  slow  dissolving  from  the  hill 
In  many  a  sightless,  soundless  rill, 

Feed  sparkling  Bowmont's  tide. 

Fair  shines  the  stream  by  bank  and  lea, 
As  wimpling  to  the  eastern  sea 

She  seeks  Till's  sullen  bed, 
Indenting  deep  the  fatal  plain, 
Where  Scotland's  noblest,  brave  in  vain, 

Around  their  monarch  bled. 

And  westward  hills  on  hills  you  see, 
Even  as  old  Ocean's  mightiest  sea 

Heaves  high  her  waves  of  foam, 
Dark  and  snow-ridged  from  Cutsfeld's  wold 
To  the  proud  foot  of  Cheviot  roll'd, 

Earth's  mountain  billows  come. 


»  "  The  reader  may  be  interested  by  comparing  with  this 
ballad  the  author's  prose  version  of  part  of  its  legend,  as  given 
in  one  of  the  last  works  of  his  pen.  He  says,  in  the  Letters 
on  Demonology  and  Witchcraft,  1830  : — '  Thomas  of  Ercil- 
downe,  during  his  retirement,  has  been  supposed,  from  time  to 
time,  to  be  levying  forces  to  take  the  field  in  some  crisis  of 
his  country's  fate.  The  story  has  often  been  told  of  a  daring 
horse-jockey  having  sold  a  black  horse  to  a  man  of  venerable 
and  antique  appearance,  who  appointed  the  remarkable  hil- 
lock upon  Eildon  hills,  called  the  Lucken-hare,  as  the  place 
where,  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  he  should  receive  the  price. 
He  came,  his  money  was  paid  in  ancient  coin,  and  he  was  in- 
vited by  his  customer  to  view  his  residence.  The  trader  in 
horses  followed  his  guide  in  the  deepest  astonishment  through 
several  long  ranges  of  stalls,  in  each  of  which  a  horse  stood 
motionless,  while  an  armed  warrior  lay  equally  still  at  the 
jnarger's  feet.  '  All  these  men,'  said  the  wizard  in  a  whisper, 
'  will  awaken  at  the  battle  of  Sherifl'muir.'  At  the  extremity 
of  this  extraordinary  depot  hung  a  sword  and  a  horn,  which 


(4.)  THE  REIVER'S  WEDDING. 


1802. 


In  "  The  Reiver's  Wedding,"  the  Poet  had  evi- 
dently designed  to  blend  together  two  traditional 
stories  concerning  his  own  forefathers,  the  Scots 
of  Harden,  which  are  detailed  in  the  first  chap 
ters  of  his  Life.  The  biographer  adds : — "  I  know 
not  for  what  reason,  Lochwood,  the  ancient  for- 
tress of  the  Johnstones  in  Annandale,  has  be«n 
substituted  for  the  real  locality  of  his  ancestor's 
drumhead  Wedding  Contract." — Life,  voL  ii.  p.  91. 


0  will  ye  hear  a  mirthful  bourd  ? 

Or  will  ye  hear  of  courtesie  ? 
Or  will  hear  how  a  gallant  lord 

Was  wedded  to  a  gay  ladye  ? 

•  Ca'  out  the  kye,"  quo'  the  village  herd, 

As  he  stood  on  the  knowe, 
"  Ca'  this  ane's  nine  and  that  ane's  ten, 

And  bauld  Lord  William's  cow." — 

"  Ah !  by  my  sooth,"  quoth  William  then, 

"  And  stands  it  that  way  now, 
When  knave  and  churl  have  nine  and  ten. 

That  the  Lord  has  but  his  cow  ? 

"  I  swear  by  the  light  of  the  Michaelmas  moon, 

And  the  might  of  Mary  high, 
And  by  the  edge  of  my  braidsword  brown, 

They  shall  soon  say  Harden's  kye." 

He  took  a  bugle  frae  his  side, 

With  names  carved  o'er  and  o'er — 

Full  many  a  chief  of  meikle  pride 
That  Border  bugle  bore — a 


the  prophet  pointed  out  to  the  horse-dealer  as  containing  the 
means  of  dissolving  the  spell.  The  man  in  confusion  took 
the  horn  and  attempted  to  wind  it.  The  horses  instantly 
started  in  their  stalls,  stamped,  and  shook  their  bridles,  the 
men  arose  and  clashed  their  armor,  and  the  mortal,  terrified  at 
the  tumult  he  had  excited,  dropped  the  horn  from  his  hand. 
A  voice  like  that  of  a  giant,  louder  even  than  the  tumult 
around,  pronounced  these  words  : — 

'  Woe  to  the  coward  that  ever  he  was  born, 
That  did  not  draw  the  sword  before  he  blew  the  horn.' 

A  whirlwind  expelled  the  horse-dealer  from  the  cavern,  the 
entrance  to  which  he  could  never  again  find.  A  moral  might 
be  perhaps  extracted  from  the  legend  namely,  that  it  is  bottei 
to  be  armed  against  danger  before  bidding  it  defiance." 

a  This  celebrated  horn  is  still  in  the  possession  ot  the  chiw 
of  the  Harden  family,  Lord  Polwarth. 


f'62 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


He  blew  a  note  baith  sharp  and  hie, 
Till  rock  and  water  rang  around — 

Three  score  of  moss-troopers  and  three 
Have  mounted  at  that  bugle  sound. 

The  Michaelmas  moon  had  enter'd  then, 

And  ere  she  wan  the  full, 
Ye  might  see  by  her  light  in  Harden  glen 

A  bow  o'  kye  and  a  bassen'd  bull. 

And  loud  and  loud  in  Harden  tower 
The  quaigh  gaed  round  wi'  meikle  glee  ; 

For  the  English  beef  was  brought  in  bower, 
And  the  English  ale  flow'd  merrilie. 

And  mony  a  guesj  from  Teviotside 
And  Yarrow's  Braes  were  there ; 

Was  never  a  lord  in  Scotland  wide 
That  made  more  dainty  fare. 

They  ate,  they  laugh'd,  they  sang  and  quaff 'd, 

Till  naught  on  board  was  seen, 
When  knight  and  squire  were  boune  to  dine, 

But  a  spur  of  silver  sheen. 

Lord  William  has  ta'en  his  berry  brown  steed — 

A  sore  shent  man  was  he ; 
"  Wait  ye,  my  guests,  a  little  speed — 

Weel  feasted  ye  shall  be." 

He  rode  him  down  by  Falsehope  burn, 

His  cousin  dear  to  see, 
With  him  to  take  a  riding  turn — 

Wat-draw -the-sword  was  he. 

And  when  he  came  to  Falsehope  glen, 

Beneath  the  trysting-tree, 
On  the  smooth  green  was  carved  plain,1 

"  To  Lochwood  bound  are  we." 

"  (J  if  they  be  gane  to  dark  Lochwood 

To  drive  the  Warden's  gear, 
Betwixt  our  names,  I  ween,  there's  feud ; 

I'll  go  and  have  my  share : 

*  For  little  reck  I  for  Johnstone's  feud, 

The  Warden  though  he  be." 
So  Lord  William  is  away  to  dark  Lochwood, 

With  riders  barely  three. 

The  Warden's  daughters  in  Lochwood  sate, 

Were  all  both  fair  and  gay, 
All  save  the  Lady  Margaret, 

And  she  was  wan  and  wae. 

1  "  At  Linton,  in  Roxburghshire,  there  is  a  circle  of  stones 
lurrouiuling  a  smooth  plot  of  turf,  called  the  Tryst,  or  place 
of  appointment,  which  tradition  avers  to  have  been  the  ren- 
dezvous of  the  neighboring  wan' ors.     The  name  of  the  leader 


The  sister,  Jean,  had  a  full  fair  skin, 
And  Grace  was  bauld  and  braw ; 

But  the  leal-fast  heart  her  breast  within 
It  weel  was  worth  them  a'. 

Her  father's  pranked  her  sisters  twa 

With  meikle  joy  and  pride ; 
But  Margaret  maun  seek  Dundrennan's  wa' 

She  ne'er  can  be  a  bride. 

On  spear  and  casque  by  gallants  gent 
Her  sisters'  scarfs  were  borne, 

But  never  at  tilt  or  tournament 
Were  Margaret's  colors  worn. 

Her  sisters  rode  to  Thirlstane  bower, 

But  she  was  left  at  hame 
To  wander  round  the  gloomy  tower, 

And  sigh  young  Harden's  name. 

"  Of  all  the  knights,  the  knight  most  fair, 

From  Yarrow  to  the  Tyne," 
Soft  sigh'd  the  maid,  "  is  Harden's  heir, 

But  ne'er  can  he  be  mine ; 

"  Of  all  the  maids,  the  foulest  maid 

From  Teviot  to  the  Dee, 
Ah !"  sighing  sad,  that  lady  said, 

"  Can  ne'er  young  Harden's  be." — 

She  looked  up  the  briery  glen, 

And  up  the  mossy  brae, 
And  she  saw  a  score  of  her  father's  men 

Yclad  hi  the  Johnstone  gray. 

0  fast  and  fast  they  downwards  sped 

The  moss  and  briers  among, 
And  hi  the  midst  the  troopers  led 

A  shackled  knight  along. 


Q\)z  aSarTTs  XncatttaUon 

WRITTEN   UNDER   THE    THREAT    OF   INVASION   I»    IBM 
AUTUMN  OF  1804. 

The  forest  of  Glenmore  is  drear, 

It  is  all  of  black  pine  and  the  dark  oak-tree ; 
And  the  midnight  wind,  to  the  mountain  deer, 

Is  whistling  the  forest  lullaby : 
The  moon  looks  through  the  drifting  storm, 
But  the  troubled  lake  reflects  not  her  form, 

was  cut  in  the  turf,  and  the  arrangement  of  ihe  letters  mi 
nounced  to  his  followers  the  course  which  he  had  taken."- 
Introduction  to  the  Minstrelsy,  p.  185. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


633 


For  the  waves  roll  whitening  to  the  land, 
And  dash  against  the  shelvy  strand. 
There  is  a  voice  among  the  trees, 

That  mingles  with  the  groaning  oak — 
That  mingles  with  the  stormy  breeze, 

And  the  lake-waves  dashing  against  the  rock ; — 
There  is  a  voice  within  the  wood, 
The  voice  of  the  bard  in  fitful  mood ; 
His  song  was  louder  than  the  blast, 
As  the  bard  of  Glenmore  through  the  forest  past. 

"  Wake  ye  from  your  sleep  of  death, 
Minstrels  and  bards  of  other  days ! 
For  the  midnight  wind  is  on  the  heath, 

And  the  midnight  meteors  dimly  blaze : 
The  Spectre  with  his  Bloody  Hand,1 
Is  wandering  through  the  wild  woodland ; 
The  owl  and  the  raven  are  mute  for  dread, 
And  the  time  is  meet  to  awake  the  dead ! 

■  Souls  of  the  mighty,  wake  and  say, 

To  what  high  strain  your  harps  were  strung, 

When  Lochlin  plow'd  her  billowy  way, 
And  on  your  shores  her  Norsemen  flung  ? 

Her  Norsemen  train'd  to  spoil  and  blood, 

Skill'd  to  prepare  the  Raven's  food, 

All,  by  your  harpings,  doom'd  to  die 

On  bloody  Largs  and  Loncarty.2 

"Mute  are  ye  all  ?    No  murmurs  strange 
Upon  the  midnight  breeze  sail  by ; 

Nor  through  the  pines,  with  whistling  change 
Mimic  the  harp's  wild  harmony ! 

Mute  are  ye  now  ? — Ye  ne'er  were  mute, 

When  Murder  with  his  bloody  foot, 

And  Rapine  with  his  iron  hand, 

Were  hovering  near  yon  mountain  strand. 

"  0  yet  awake  the  strain  to  tell, 

By  every  deed  in  song  enroll'd, 
By  every  chief  who  fought  or  fell, 

For  Albion's  weal  in  battle  bold : — 
From  Coilgach,3  first  who  roll'd  his  car 
Through  the  deep  ranks  of  Roman  war, 
To  him,  of  veteran  memory  dear, 
Who  victor  died  on  Aboukir. 

'*  By  all  thsir  swords,  by  all  their  scars, 

By  all  their  names,  a  mighty  spell ! 
By  all  their  wounds,  by  all  their  wars, 

Arise,  the  mighty  strain  to  tell ! 
For  fiercer  than  fierce  Hengist's  strain, 
More  impious  than  the  heathen  Dane, 
More  grasping  than  all-grasping  Rome, 
Gaul's  ravening  legions  hither  come  l" 


•  The  forest  of  Glenmore  is  haunted  by  a  spirit  called  Lham- 
•'•lurp  or  Red-hand. 
80 


The  wind  is  hush'd,  and  still  the  lake — 
Strange  murmurs  fill  my  tinkling  ears, 
Bristles  my  hair,  my  sinews  quake, 

At  the  dread  voice  of  other  years — 
"  When  targets  clash'd,  and  bugles  rung, 
And  bkdes  round  warriors'  heads  were  flung, 
The  fofemost  of  the  band  were  we, 
And  hymn'd  the  joys  of  Liberty  !" 


ellbellgn. 


1805. 


In  the  spring  of  1805,  a  young  gentleman  of  tal- 
ents, and  of  a  most  amiable  disposition,  perished 
by  losing  his  way  on  the  mountain  Hellvellyn. 
His  remains  were  not  discovered  till  three  months 
afterwards,  when  they  were  found  guarded  by  a 
faithful  terrier-bitch,  his  constant  attendant  du- 
ring frequent  solitary  rambles  through  the  wild* 
of  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland. 


I  climb'd  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Hellvellyn, 

Lakes  and  mountains  beneath  me  gleam'd  misty 

and  wide ;  [ling, 

All  was  still,  save  by  fits,  when  the  eagle  was  yel- 

And  starting  around  me  the  echoes  replied. 
On  the  right,  Striden-edge  round  the  Red-tarn  was 

bending, 
And  Catchedicam  its  left  verge  was  defending, 
One  huge  nameless  rock  in  the  front  was  ascending, 
When  I  mark'd  the  sad  spot  where  the  wan- 
derer had  died. 

Dark  green  was  that  spot  'mid  the  brown  moun- 
tain-heather, 
Where  the  Pilgrim  of  Nature  lay  stretch'd  in 
decay, 
Like  the  corpse  of  an  outcast  abandon'd  to  weather, 
Till  the  mountain  winds  wasted  the  tenantless 
clay. 
Nor  yet  quite  deserted,  though  lonely  extended 
For,  faithful  in  death,  his  mute  favorite  attended, 
The  much-loved  remains  of  her  master  defended, 
And  chased  the  hill-fox  and  the  raven  away. 

How  long  didst  thou  think  that  his  silence  was 
slumber  ? 
When  the  wind  waved  his  garment,  how  oft 
didst  thou  start  ? 


2  Where  the  Norwegian  invader  of  Scotland  received  two 
bloody  defeats.  s  The  Galgacus  of  Tacitus. 


634 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


flow  many  long  days  and  long  weeks  didst  thou 

number, 
Ere  he  faded  before   thee,  the   friend  of  thy 

heart  ? 
And,  oh,  was  it  meet,  that — no  requiem  read  o'er 

him — 
No  mother  to  weep,  and  no  friend  to  deplore  him, 
And  thou,  little  guardian,  alone  stretch'd  before 

him — 
Unhonor'd  the  Pilgrim  from  life  should  depart  ? 

When  a  Prince  to  the  fate   of  the   Peasant  has 
yielded, 
'The  tapestry  waves  dark  round  the  dim-lighted 
hall; 
With  scutcheons  of  silver  the  coffin  is  shielded, 
And  pages  stand  mute  by  the  canopied  pall : 
Through  the  courts,  at  deep  midnight,  the  torches 

are  gleaming ; 
In  the   proudly-arch'd   chapel   the   banners    are 

beaming, 
Far  adown  the  long  aisle  sacred  music  is  streaming, 
Lamenting  a  Chief  of  the  people  should  fall. 

But  meeter  for  thee,  gentle  lover  of  nature, 

To  lay  down  thy  head  like  the  meek  mountain 
lamb, 
When,  wilder'd,  he  drops  from  some  cliff  huge  in 
stature, 
And  draws  his  last  sob  by  the  side  of  his  dam. 
And  more  stately  thy  couch  by  this  desert  lake 

lying, 
Thy  obsequies  sung  by  the  gray  plover  flying, 
With  one  faithful  friend  but  to  witness  thy  dying, 
In  the  arms  of  Hellvellyn  and  Catchedicam. 


£$e  JBgfnfl  aSartt.1 


1806. 


Air — Daffydz  Gangwen. 
The  Welsh  tradition  bears,  that  a  Bard,  on  his 
death-bed,  demanded  his  harp,  and  played  the  air 
to  which  these  verses  are  adapted;    requesting 
that  it  might  be  performed  at  his  funeral. 


Din  as  Emlinn,  lament ;  for  the  moment  is  nigh, 
When  mute  in  the  woodlands  thine  echces  shall  die  : 

J  This  and  the  following  were  written  for  Mr.  George  Thom- 
son's Welsh  Airs,  and  are  contained  in  his  Select  Melodies, 
vol.  i. 


No  more  by  sweet  Teivi  Cadwallon  shall  rave, 
And  mix  his  wild  notes  with  the  wild   dashing 
wave. 

II. 

In  spring  and  in  autumn  thy  glories  of  shade 
Unhonor'd  shall  flourish,  unhonor'd  shall  fade ; 
For  soon  shall  be  lifeless  the  eye  and  the  tongue, 
That  view'd  them  with  rapture,  with  rapture  that 
sung. 

III. 
Thy  sons,  Dinas  Emlinn,  may  march  in  their  pride, 
And  chase  the  proud  Saxon  from  Prestatyn's  side ; 
But  where  is  the  harp  shall  give  life  to  their  name  ? 
And  where  is  the  bard  shall  give  heroes  their  fame  ? 

IV. 

And  oh,  Dinas  Emlinn !  thy  daughters  so  fair, 
Who  heave  the  white  bosom,  and  wave  the  dark 

hair; 
What  tuneful  enthusiast  shall  worship  their  eye, 
When  half  of  their  charms  with  Cadwallon  shall 

die? 


Then  adieu,  silver  Teivi !  I  quit  thy  loved  scene, 
To  join  the  dim  choir  of  the  bards  who  have  been 
With  Lewarch,  and  Meilor,  and  Merlin  the  Old, 
And  sage  Taliessin,  high  harping  to  hold. 

VI. 
And  adieu,  Dinas  Emlinn !  still  green  be  thy  shades, 
Unconquer'd    thy   warriors,    and   matchless    thy 

maids ! 
And  thou,  whose  faint  warblings  my  weakness  car: 

tell, 
Farewell,  my  loved  Harp !  my  last  treasure,  fare 

well! 


2T|)e  Korman  jfl£orse*»J)oe. 


1806. 


Air — The  War-Song  of  the  Men  of  Glamorgan. 

The  Welsh,  inhabiting  a  mountainous  country,  and 
possessing  only  an  inferior  breed  of  horses,  were 
usually  unable  to  encounter  the  shock  of  the 
Anglo-Norman  cavalry.  Occasionally,  however, 
they  were  successful  in  repelling  the  invaders ; 
and  the  following  verses  are  supposed  to  celebrate 
the  defeat  of  Clare,  Earl  of  Striguil  and  Pem- 
broke, and  of  Neville,  Baron  of  Chepstow, 
Lords-Marchers  of  Monmouthshire.  Rymny  is 
a  stream  which  divides  the  counties  of  Monmouth 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.                           o3o 

and  Glamorgan  :  Caerphill,  the  scene  of  the  sup- 

All as  a  fair  maiden,  bewilder'd  in  sorrow, 

posed  battle,  is  a  vale  upon  its  banks,  dignified  by 

Sorely  sigh'd  to  the  breezes,  and  wept  to  tlie 

the  ruins  of  a  very  ancient  castle. 

flood. 

■  0  saints  !  from  the  mansions  of  bliss  lowly  bend 
ing; 
Sweet  Virgin !  who  hearest  the  suppliant's  cry, 

I. 

Now  grant  my  petition,  in  anguish  ascending, 

Red  glows  the  forge  in  Striguil's  bounds, 

My  Henry  restore,  or  let  Eleanor  die  !" 

And  hammers  din,  and  anvil  sounds, 

And  armorers,  with  iron  toil, 

All  distant  and  faint  were  the  sounds  of  the  battle 

Barb  many  a  steed  for  battle's  broiL 

With  the  breezes  they  rise,  with  the  breezei 

Foul  fall  the  hand  which  bends  the  steel 

they  fail, 

Around  the  courser's  thundering  heel, 

Till  the  shout,  and  the  groan,  and  the  conflict's 

That  e'er  shall  dint  a  sable  wound 

dread  rattle, 

On  fair  Glamorgan's  velvet  ground ! 

And  the  chase's  wild  clamor,  came  loading  the 

gale. 

II. 

Breathless  she  gazed  on  the  woodlands  so  dreary ; 

From  Chepstow's  towers,  ere  dawn  of  morn, 

Slowly  approaching  a  warrior  was  seen ; 

Was  heard  afar  the  bugle-horn ; 

Life's  ebbing  tide  mark'd  his  footsteps  so  weary, 

And  forth,  in  banded  pomp  and  pride, 

Cleft  was  his  helmet,  and  woe  was  his  mien 

Stout  Clare  and  fiery  Neville  ride. 

They  swore,  their  banners  broad  should  gleam, 

"  0  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  our  armies  are  flying ' 

In  crimson  light,  on  RymDy'f  stream  ; 

0  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  thy  guardian  is  low  . 

They  vow'd,  Caerplnli's  sod  should  feel 

Deadly  cold  on  yon  heath  thy  brave  Henry  is  lying. 

The  Norman  charger's  spur  ing  heeL 

And  fast  through  the  woodland  approaches  the 
foe." 
Scarce  could  he  falter  the  tidings  of  sorrow, 

III. 

And  sooth  they  swore — the  sun  arose, 

And  scarce  could  she  hear  them,  benumb'd  with 

And  Rymny's  wave  with  crimson  glows ; 

despair ; 

For  Clare's  red  banner,  floating  wide, 

And  when  the  sun  sank  on  the  sweet  lake  of  Toro, 

Roll'd  down  the  stream  to  Severn's  tide ! 

For  ever  he  set  to  the  Brave  and  the  Fair  - 

And  sooth  they  vow'd — the  trampled  green 

Show'd  where  hot  Neville's  charge  had  been: 

In  every  sable  hoof-tramp  stood 

A  Norman  horseman's  curdling  blood ! 

IV. 
Old  Chepstow's  brides  may  curse  the  toil, 

2Tfje  palmer. 

1806 

That  arm'd  stout  Clare  for  Cambrian  broil ; 

Their  orphans  long  the  art  may  rue, 

u  0  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  show 

For  Neville's  war-horse  forged  the  shoe. 

Keen  blows  the  northern  wind ! 

No  more  the  stamp  of  armed  steed 

The  glen  is  white  with  the  drifted  snow. 

Shall  dint  Glamorgan's  velvet  mead ; 

And  the  path  is  hard  to  find. 

Nor  trace  be  there,  in  early  spring, 

Save  of  the  Fairies'  emerald  ring. 

"  No  outlaw  seeks  your  castle  gate, 

From  chasing  the  King's  deer, 

Though  even  an  outlaw's  wretched  state 

Might  claim  compassion  here. 

Efu  Jf&aflr  of  Soro.1 

"  A  weary  Palmer,  worn  and  weak, 
I  wander  for  my  sin ; 

1806. 

0  open,  for  Our  Lady's  sake  I 
A  pilgrim's  blessing  win  ! 

0,  low  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro, 

And  weak  were  the  whispers  that  waved  the 

"  I'll  give  you  pardons  from  the  Pope, 

dark  wood, 

And  reliques  from  o'er  the  sea : 

i  This,  and  the  three  following,  were  first  published  in  Ha- 

Or  if  for  these  you  will  not  ope 

dyn's  Collection  of  Scottish  Airs.     Edin.  1806. 

Yet  open  for  charity. 

036                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

"  The  hare  is  crouching  in  her  form, 

expecting  to  see  her  in  that  place,  rode  on  without 

The  hart  beside  the  hind  ; 

recognizing  her,  or  even  slackening  his  pace.    The 

An  aged  man,  amid  the  storm, 

lady  was  unable  to  support  the  shock  ;  and,  after 

No  shelter  can  I  find. 

a  short  struggle,  died  in  the  arms  of  het  attend- 

ants.    There  is  an  incident  similar  to  this  tradi' 

"  You  hear  the  Ettrick's  sullen  roar 

tional  tale  in  Count  Hamilton's  "  Fleur  d'Epine." 

Dark,  deep,  and  strong  is  he, 

And  I  must  ford  the  Ettrick  o'er, 
Unless  you  pity  me. 

0  lovers'  eyes  are  sharp  to  see, 

"  The  iron  gate  is  bolted  hard, 

And  lovers'  ears  in  hearing ; 

At  which  I  knock  in  vain ; 

And  love,  in  life's  extremity, 

The  owner's  heart  is  closer  barr'd, 

Can  lend  an  hour  of  cheering. 

Who  hears  me  thus  complain. 

Disease  had  been  in  Mary's  bower, 

And  slow  decay  from  mourning, 

"Farewell,  farewell!  and  Mary  grant, 

Though  now  she  sits  on  Neidpath's  tower, 

When  old  and  frail  you  be, 

To  watch  her  love's  returning. 

You  never  may  the  shelter  want, 

That's  now  denied  to  me." 

All  sunk  and  dim  her  eyes  so  bright, 

Her  form  decay'd  by  pining, 

The  Ranger  on  his  couch  lay  warm, 

Till  through  her  wasted  hand,  at  night, 

And  heard  him  plead  in  vain ; 

You  saw  the  taper  shining ; 

But  oft  amid  December's  storm, 

By  fits,  a  sultry  hectic  hue 

He'll  hear  that  voice  again : 

Across  her  cheek  was  flying ; 

By  fits,  so  ashy  pale  she  grew, 

For  lo,  when  through  the  vapors  dank, 

Her  maidens  thought  her  dying. 

Morn  shone  on  Ettrick  fair, 

A  corpse  amid  the  alders  rank, 

Yet  keenest  powers  to  see  and  hear, 

The  Palmer  welter'd  there. 

Seem'd  in  her  frame  residing ; 

Before  the  watch-dog  prick'd  his  ear, 

She  heard  her  lover's  riding: 
Ere  scarce  a  distant  form  was  ken'd, 

She  knew,  and  waved  to  greet  him  ; 

£fu  iftafU  of  WefttpatJ). 

And  o'er  the  battlement  did  bend, 

As  on  the  wing  to  meet  him. 
He  came — he  pass'd — a  heedless  gaze, 

1806. 

As  o'er  some  stranger  glancing ; 

There  is  a  tradition  in  Tweeddale,  that,  when  Neid- 

Her  welcome,  spoke  in  faltering  phrase, 

path  Castle,  near  Peebles,  was  inhabited  by  the 

Lost  in  his  courser's  prancing — 

Earls  of  March,  a  mutual  passion  subsisted  be- 

The castle  arch,  whose  hollow  tone 

tween  a  daughter  of  that  noble  family,  and  a  son 

Returns  each  whisper  spoken, 

of  the  Laird  of  Tushielaw,  in  Ettrick  Forest.    As 

Could  scarcely  catch  the  feeble  moan, 

the  alliance  was  thought  unsuitable  by  her  pa- 

Which told  her  heart  was  broken. 

rents,  the  young  man  went  abroad.     Dtiring  his 

absence,  the  lady  fell  into  a  consumption  ;  and 
at  Ungth,  as  the  only  means  of  saving  her  life, 

her  father  consented  that  her  lover  should  be  re- 

called.    On  the  day  when  he  was  expected  to  pass 

OSrantoerfitfl  BBTflife. 

through  Peebles,  on  the  road  to  Tushielaw,  the 
young  lady,  though  much  exhausted,  caused  her- 

1806. 

self  to  be  carried  to  the  balcony  of  a  house  in 
Peebles,  belonging  to  the  family,  that  she  might 

see  him  as  he  rode  past.     Her  anxiety  and  eager- 

All joy  was  bereft  me  the  day  that  you  left  me 

ness  gave  such  force  to  her  organs,  that  she  is 

And  climb'd  the  tall  vessel  to  sail  yon  wid« 

said  to  have  distinguished  his  horse's  footsteps  at 

sea; 

an  incredible  distance.      But  Tushielaw,  unpre- 

0 weary  betide  it !  I  wander'd  beside  it, 

pared  for  the  change  in  her  appearance,  and  not 

And  bat m'd  it  for  parting  my  Willie  and  me. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


637 


Far  o'er  the  -wave  hast  thou  follow'd  thy  fortune, 
Oft  fought  the  squadrons  of  France  and  of  Spain ; 

Ae  kiss  of  welcome's  worth  twenty  at  parting, 
Now  I  hae  gotten  my  Willie  again. 

When  the  sky  it  was  mirk,  and  the  winds  they 
were  wailing, 
I  sat  on  the  beach  wi'  the  tear  in  my  ee, 
And  thought  o'  the  bark  where  my  Willie  was 
sailing, 
And  wish'd  that  the   tempest   could  a'  blow 


Now  that  thy  gallant  ship  rides  at  her  mooring, 
Now  that  my  wanderer's  in  safety  at  hame, 

Music  to  me  were  the  wildest  winds'  roaring, 
That  e'er  o'er  Inch-Keith  drove  the  dark  ocean 
faem. 

When  the  lights  they  did  blaze,  and  the  guns  they 
did  rattle, 

And  blithe  was  each  heart  for  the  great  victory, 
In  secret  I  wept  for  the  dangers  of  battle, 

And  thy  glory  itself  was  scarce  comfort  to  me. 

But  now  shalt  thou  telL  while  I  eagerly  listen, 
Of  each  bold  adventure,  and  every  brave  scar ; 

And  trust  me,  I'll  smile,  though  my  een  they  may 
glisten  ; 
For  sweet  after  danger's  the  tale  of  the  war. 

And  oh,  how  we  doubt  when  there's  distance 
'tween  lovers, 
When  there's  naething  to  speak  to  the  heart 
thro'  the  ee ; 
How  often  the  kindest  and  warmest  prove  rovers, 
And  the  love  of  the  faithfullest  ebbs  like  the  sea. 

Till,  at  times — could  I  help  it? — I  pined  and  I 

ponder'd, 

If  love  could  change  notes  like  the  bird  on  the 

tree — 

Now  Til  ne'er  ask  if  thine  eyes  may  hae  w^tnder'd, 

Enough,  thy  leal  heart  has  been  constant  to  me. 

Welcome,  from  sweeping  o'er  sea  and  through 
channel, 

Hardships  and  danger  despising  for  fame, 
Furnishing  story  for  glory's  bright  annal, 

Welcome,  my  wanderer,  to  Jeanie  and  hame  1 

"Enough,  now  thy  story  in  annals  of  glory 
Has  humbled  the  pride  of  France,  Holland,  and 
Spain; 
No  more  shalt  thou  grieve  me,  no  more  shalt  thou 
leave  me, 
I  never  will  part  with  my  Willie  again. 


»ealt*  to  3Loxts  tfHeibilie.1 


1806. 


Air —  Carrickfergus. 

"  The  impeachment  of  Lord  Melville  was  among 
the  first  measures  of  the  new  (Whig)  Government- 
and  personal  affection  and  gratitude  graced  as  weli 
as  heightened  the  zeal  with  which  Scott  watched 
the  issue  of  this,  in  his  eyes,  vindictive  proceeding ; 
but,  though  the  ex-minister's  ultimate  acquittal 
was,  as  to  all  the  charges  involving  his  personal 
honor,  complete,  it  must  now  be  allowed  that  the 
investigation  brought  out  many  circumstances  by 
no  means  creditable  to  his  discretion  ;  and  the  re- 
joicings of  his  friends  ought  not,  therefore,  to  have 
been  scornfully  jubilant.  Such  they  were,  how- 
ever— at  least  in  Edinburgh ;  and  Scott  took  his 
share  in  them  by  inditing  a  song,  which  was  sung 
by  James  Ballantyne,  and  received  with  clamorous 
applauses,  at  a  public  dinner  given  in  honor  of  the 
event,  on  the  27th  of  June,  1806." — Life,  vol.  ii.  p. 
322. 


Since  here  we  are  set  in  array  round  the  table, 
Five  hundred  good  fellows  well  met  in  a  hall, 
Come  listen,  brave  boys,  and  I'll  sing  as  I'm  able 
How  innocence  triumph'd  and  pride  got  a  fall. 

But  push  round  the  claret — 

Come,  stewards,  don't  spare  it — 
With  rapture  you'll  drink  to  the  toast  that  I  give 

Here,  boys, 

Off  with  it  merrily — 
Melville  for  ever,  and  long  may  he  live ! 

What  were  the  Whigs  doing,  when  boldly  pursuing, 

Pitt  banish'd  Rebellion,  gave  Treason  a  string  ? 

Why,   they   swore   on  their   honor,   for   Arthur 

O'Connor, 

And  fought  hard  for  Despard  against  country 

and  king. 

Well,  then,  we  knew,  boys, 
Pitt  and  Melville  were  true  boys, 
And  the  tempest  was  raised  by  the  friends  cY 
Reform. 
Ah,  woe ! 

Weep  to  his  memory ; 
Low  lies  the  pilot  that  weather'd  the  storm ! 

And  pray,  don't  you  mind  when  the  Blues  first 
were  raising, 
And  we  scarcely  could  think  the  house  safe  o'er 
our  heads  ? 


i  Published  on  a  broadside,  and  reprinted  in  the  Life  of 
Scott,  1837. 


638 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


When    villains    and    coxcombs,    French    politics 
praising,  [beds  ? 

Drove  peace  from  our  tables  and  sleep  from  our 
Our  hearts  they  grew  bolder 
When,  musket  on  shoulder, 
Stepp'd  forth  our  old  Statesmen  example  to  give. 
Come,  boys,  never  fear, 
Drink  the  Blue  grenadier — 
Here's  to  old  Harry,  and  long  may  he  live  1 

They  would  turn  us  adrift ;  though  rely,  sir  upon 
it— 
Our  own  faithful  chronicles  warrant  us  that 
The  free  mountaineer  and  his  bonny  blue  bonnet 
Have  oft  gone  as  far  as  the  regular's  hat. 
We  laugh  at  their  taunting, 
For  all  we  are  wanting 
Is  license  our  life  for  our  country  to  give. 
Off  with  it  merrily, 
Horse,  foot  and  artillery, 
Each  loyal  Volunteer,  long  may  he  live ! 

'Tis  not  us  alone,  boys — the  Army  and  Navy 

Have  each  got  a  slap  'mid  their  politic  pranks ; 
Cobnwallis   cashier'd,   that   watch'd   winters   to 
save  ye, 
And  the  Cape  calPd  a  bauble,  unworthy  of  thanks. 
But  vain  is  their  taunt, 
No  soldier  shall  want 
The  thanks  that  his  country  to  valor  can  give  : 
Come,  boys, 
Drink  it  off  merrily, — 
Sir  David  and  Popham,  and  long  may  they  live  ! 

And  then  our  revenue — Lord  knows  how  they 
view'd  it, 
While  each  petty  statesman  talk'd  lofty  and  big ; 
But  the  beer-tax  was  weak,  as  if  Whitbread  had 
brew'd  it, 
And  the  pig-iron  duty  a  shame  to  a  pig. 
In  vain  is  their  vaunting, 
Too  surely  there's  wanting 
What  judgment,  experience,  and  steadiness  give : 
Come,  boys, 
Drink  about  merrily, — 
Health  to  sage  Melville,  and  long  may  he  live  1 

Our  King,  too — our  Princess — I  dare  not  say  more, 

sir, — 
May  Providence  watch  them  with  mercy  and 

might ! 
While  there's  one  Scottish  hand  that  can  wag  a 

claymore,  sir, 


i  The  Magistrates  of  Edinburgh  had  rejected  an  application 
for  illumination  of  the  town,  on  the  arrival  of  the  news  of 
Lord  Melville's  acquittal. 

a  First  published  in  the  continuation  of  Strutt's  Queenhoo- 


They  shall  ne'er  want  a  friend  to  stand  up  fol 
their  right. 

Be  damn'd  he  that  dare  not,— . 
For  my  part,  I'll  spare  not 
To  beauty  afflicted  a  tribute  to  give : 
Fill  it  up  steadily, 
Drink  it  off  readily — 
Here's  to  the  Princess,  and  long  may  she  live  1 

And  since  we  must  not  set  Auld  Reekie  in  glory, 
And  make  her  brown  visage    as  light  as  her 
heart  -,1 
Till  each  man  illumine  his  own  upper  story, 
Nor  law-book  nor  lawyer  shall  force  us  to  part 
In  Grenville  and  Spencer, 
And  some  few  good  men,  sir, 
High  talents  we  honor,  slight  difference  forgive ; 
But  the  Brewer  we'll  hoax, 
Tallyho  to  the  Fox, 
And  drink  Melville  for  ever,  as  long  as  we  live  !* 


^untfttfl  Sonj.' 


1808. 


Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 

On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day, 

All  the  jolly  chase  is  here, 

With  hawk,  and  horse,  and  hunting-spuir ! 

Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling, 

Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  knelling, 

Merrily,  merrily,  mingle  they, 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay."        ( 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 

The  mist  has  left  the  mountain  gray, 

Springlets  in  the  dawn  are  steaming, 

Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  gleaming : 

And  foresters  have  busy  been, 

To  track  the  buck  in  thicket  green ; 

Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay, 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
To  the  green-wood  haste  away , 
We  can  show  you  where  he  lies, 
Fleet  of  foot,  and  tall  of  size ; 
We  can  show  the  marks  he  made, 
When  'gainst  the  oak  his  antlers  fray'd ; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay, 
"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

hall,  1808,  inserted  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  of  the 
same  year,  and  set  to  a  Welsh  air  in  Thomson's  Select  Melo- 
dies, vol.  iii.    1817. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.                         t>39 

Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay, 

No  waking  dream  shall  tinge  my  thought 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay ! 

With  dyes  so  bright  and  vain, 

Tell  them  youth,  and  mirth,  and  glee, 

No  silken  net,  so  slightly  wrought, 

Run  a  course  as  well  as  we ; 

Shall  tangle  me  again : 

Time,  stern  huntsman  !  who  can  haulk, 

No  more  I'll  pay  so  dear  for  wit, 

Stanch  as  hound,  and  fleet  as  hawk ; 

I'll  live  upon  mine  own, 

Think  of  this,  and  rise  with  day, 

Nor  shall  wild  passion  trouble  it, — 

Gentle  lords  and  ladies  gay. 

I'll  rather  dwell  alone. 

And  thus  I'll  hush  my  heart  to  rest, — 
"  Thy  loving  labor's  lost ; 

Etfe  a&esolbe.1 

Thou  shalt  no  more  be  wildly  blest, 
To  be  so  strangely  crost ; 

IN  IMITATION  OF  AN  OLD  ENGLISH  POEM. 

The  widow'd  turtles  mateless  die, 

The  phoenix  is  but  one ; 
They  seek  no  loves — no  more  will  I — 

1808. 

I'll  rather  dwell  alone." 

My  wayward  fate  I  needs  must  plain, 

Though  bootless  be  the  theme ; 

I  loved,  and  was  beloved  again, 

Yet  all  was  but  a  dream  :               t 

Hjiftapfi,5 

For,  as  her  love  was  quickly  got, 

DESIGNED    FOR    A    MONUMENT 

So  it  was  quickly  gone ; 

IN   LICHFIELD    CATHEDRAL,    AT   THE    BURIAL-PLACE   OJ 

No  more  I'll  bask  in  flame  so  hot, 

THE  FAMILY  OF  MISS  SEWARD. 

But  coldly  dwell  alone. 

Amid  these  aisles,  where  once  his  precepts  show'd 

Not  maid  more  bright  than  maid  was  e'er 

The  Heavenward  pathway  which  in  life  he  trod, 

My  fancy  shall  beguile, 

This  simple  tablet  marks  a  Father's  bier, 

By  nattering  word,  or  feigned  tear, 

And  those  he  loved  in  life,  in  death  are  neat , 

By  gesture,  look,  or  smile : 

For  him,  for  them,  a  Daughter  bade  it  rise, 

No  more  I'll  call  the  shaft  fair  shot, 

Memorial  of  domestic  charities.                    [spread. 

Till  it  has  fairly  flown, 

Still  wouldst   thou   know  why  o'er  the  marble 

Nor  scorcn  me  at  a  flame  so  hot ; — 

In  female  grace  the  willow  droops  her  head ; 

I'll  rather  freeze  alone. 

Why  on  her  branches,  silent  and  unstrung, 

The  minstrel  harp  is  emblematic  hung ; 

Each  ambush'd  Cupid  I'll  defy, 

What  poet's  voice  is  smother'd  here  in  dust 

In  cheek,  or  chin,  or  brow, 

Till  waked  to  join  the  chorus  of  the  just, 

Ind  deem  the  glance  of  woman's  eye 

Lo !  one  brief  line  an  answer  sad  supplies, 

As  weak  as  woman's  vow : 

Honor'd,  beloved,  and  mourn' d,  here  Seward  lies: 

I'll  lightly  hold  the  lady's  heart, 

Her  worth,  her  warmth  of  heart,  let  friendship  say  ; 

That  is  but  lightly  won ; 

Go  seek  her  genius  in  her  living  lay. 

I'll  steel  my  breast  to  beauty's  art, 

Anrl  lpnrn  f.n  livp  nlnnp 

The  flaunting  torch  soon  blazes  out, 

$rolojjue 

The  diamond's  ray  abides ; 

The  flame  its  glory  hurls  about, 
The  gem  its  lustre  hides ; 

TO  MISS  BAILLIE'S  PLAY  OF  THE  FAMILY  LEGEND/ 

Such  gem  I  fondly  deem'd  was  mine, 

1809. 

And  glow'd  a  diamond  stone, 

But,  since  each  eye  may  see  it  shine, 

'Tis  sweet  to  hear  expiring  Summer's  sigh, 

I'll  darkling  dwell  alone. 

Through  forests  tinged  with  russet,  wail  and  die ; 

i  Published  anonymously  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Regis- 

poet could  write  in  the  same  exquisite  taste." — Life  of  Scott 

ter  of  1808.     Writing  to  his  brother  Thomas,  the  author  says, 

vol.  iii.  p.  330.                2  Edinburgh  Annual  Register,  1809. 

"  The  Resolve  is  mine  ;  and  it  is  not — or,  to  be  less  enigmati- 

s Miss  Baillie's  Family  Legend  was  produced  with  consid- 

cal, it  is  an  old  fragment,  which  I  coopered  up  into  its  present 

erable  success  on  the  Edinburgh  stage  in  the  winter  of  1809-10. 

itate  with  the  purpose  of  quizzing  certain  judges  of  poetry, 

This  prologue  was  spoken  on  that  occasion  by  the  Author'* 

who  have  been  extremely  delighted,  and  declare  that  no  living 

friend,  Mr.  Daniel  Terry. 

(540 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


'Tis  sweet  and  sad  the  latest  notes  to  hear 
Of  distant  music,  dying  on  the  ear ; 
But  far  more  sadly  sweet,  on  foreign  strand, 
We  list  the  legends  of  our  native  land, 
Link'd  as  they  come  with  every  tender  tie, 
Memorials  dear  of  youth  and  infancy. 

Chief,  thy  wild  tales,  romantic  Caledon, 
Wake  keen  remembrance  in  each  hardy  son. 
Whether  on  India's  burning  coasts  he  toil, 
Or  till  Acadia's1  winter-fetter'd  soil, 
He  hears  with  throbbing  heart  and  moisten'd  eyes, 
And,  as  he  hears,  what  dear  illusions  rise  1 
It  opens  on  his  soul  his  native  dell, 
The  woods  wild  waving,  and  the  water's  swell ; 
Tradition's  theme,  the  tower  that  threats  the  plain, 
The  mossy  cairn  that  hides  the  hero  slain ; 
The  cot,  beneath  whose  simple  porch  were  told, 
By  gray-hair'd  patriarch,  the  tales  of  old, 
The  infant  group,  that   hush'd  their  sports   the 

while, 
And  the  dear  maid  who  listen'd  with  a  smile. 
The  wanderer,  while  the  vision  warms  his  brain, 
Is  denizen  of  Scotland  once  again. 

Are  such  keen  feelings  to  the  crowd  confined, 
And  sleep  they  in  the  Poet's  gifted  mind  ? 
Oh  no !  For  She,  within  whose  mighty  page 
Each  tyrant  Passion  shows  his  woe  and  rage, 
Has  felt  the  wizard  influence  they  inspire, 
And  to  your  own  traditions  tuned  her  lyre. 
Yourselves  shall  judge — whoe'er  has  raised  the  sail 
By  Mull's  dark  coast,  has  heard  this  evening's  tale. 
The  plaided  boatman,  resting  on  his  oar, 
Points  to  the  fatal  rock  amid  the  roar 
Of  whitening  waves,  and  tells  whate'er  to-night 
Our  humble  stage  shall  offer  to  your  sight ; 
Proudly  preferr'd  that  first  our  efforts  give 
Scenes  glowing  from  her  pen  to  breathe  and  live ; 
More  proudly  yet,  should  Caledon  approve 
The  filial  token  of  a  Daughter's  love. 


2Tf)c  $oac&et 


WRITTEN   IN   IMITATION    OF    CRABBE,   AND    PUBLISHED 
IN  THE  EDINBURGH  ANNUAL  REGISTER  OF  1S09.2 

Welcome,  grave  Stranger  to  our  green  retreats, 
Where  health  with  exercise  and  freedom  meets ! 
Thrice  welcome,  Sage,  whose  philosophic  plan 
By  nature's  limits  metes  the  rights  of  man ; 
Generous  as  he,  who  now  for  freedom  bawls, 
Now  gives  full  value  for  true  Indian  shawls : 
O'er  court,  o'er  customhouse,  his  shoe  who  flings, 

i  Acadia,  or  Nova  Scotia. 


Now  bilks  excisemen,  and  now  bullies  kings. 
Like  his,  I  ween,  thy  comprehensive  mind 
Holds  laws  as  mouse-traps  baited  for  mankind : 
Thine  eye,  applausive,  each  sly  vermin  sees, 
That  baulks  the  snare,  yet  battens  on  the  cheese 
Thine  ear  has  heard,  with  scorn  instead  of  awe, 
Our  buckskinn'd  justices  expound  the  law, 
Wire-draw  the  acts  that  fix  for  wires  the  pain, 
And  for  the  netted  partridge  noose  the  swain ; 
And  thy  vindictive  arm  would  fain  have  broke 
The  last  light  fetter  of  the  feudal  yoke, 
To  give  the  denizens  of  wood  and  wild, 
Nature's  free  race,  to  each  her'free-born  child. 
Hence  hast  thou  mark'd,  with  grief,  fair  London  a 

race, 
Mock'd  with  the  boon  of  one  poor  Easter  chase, 
And  long'd  to  send  them  forth  as  free  as  when 
Pour'd  o'er  Chantilly  the  Parisian  train, 
When  musket,  pistol,  blunderbuss,  combined, 
And  scarce  the  field-pieces  were  left  behind ! 
A  squadron's  charge  each  leveret's  heart  dismay'd 
On  every  covey  fired  a  bold  brigade ; 
La  Douce  Humanite  approved  the  sport, 
For  great  the  alarm  indeed,  yet  small  the  hurt 
Shouts  patriotic  solemnized  the  day, 
And  Seine  re-echo'd  Vive  la  Liberte  ! 
But  mad  Citoyen,  meek  Monsieur  again, 
With  some  few  added  links  resumes  his  chain. 
Then,  since  such  scenes  to  France  no  more  are 

known, 
Come,  view  with  me  a  hero  of  thine  own ! 
One,  whose  free  actions  vindicate  the  cause 
Of  silvan  liberty  o'er  feudal  laws. 

Seek  we  yon  glades,  where  the  proud  oak  o'er 
tops 
Wide-waving  seas  of  birch  and  hazel  copse, 
Leaving  between  deserted  isles  of  land, 
Where  stunted  heath  is  patch'd  with  ruddy  sand; 
And  lonely  on  the  waste  the  yew  is  seen, 
Or  straggling  hollies  spread  a  brighter  green. 
Here,  little  worn,  and  winding  dark  and  steep, 
Our  scarce  mark'd  path  descends  yon  dingle  deep . 
Follow — but  heedful,  cautious  of  a  trip, — 
In  earthly  mire  philosophy  may  slip. 
Step  slow  and  wary  o'er  that  swampy  stream. 
Till,  guided  by  the  charcoal's  smothering  steam, 
We  reach  the  frail  yet  barricaded  door 
Of  hovel  form'd  for  poorest  of  the  poor ; 
No  hearth  the  fire,  no  vent  the  smoke  receives, 
The  walls  are  wattles,  and  the  covering  leaves ; 
For,  if  such  hut,  our  forest  statutes  say, 
Rise  in  the  progress  of  one  night  and  day 
(Though  placed  where  still  the  Conqueror's  bests 

o'erawe, 
And  his  son's  stirrup  shines  the  badge  of  law), 

a  See  Life  of  Scott  vol.  iii.  p.  329. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


041 


The  builder  claims  the  unenviable  boon, 
To  tenant  dwelling,  framed  as  slight  and  soon 
As  wigwam  wild,  that  shrouds  the  native  frore 
On  the  bleak  coast  of  frost-barr'd  Labrador.1 

Approach,  and   through   the   unlatticed  window 

peep — 
Nay,  shrink  not  back,  the  inmate  is  asleep ; 
Sunk  'mid  yon  sordid  blankets,  till  the  sun 
Stoop  to  the  west,  the  plunderer's  toils  are  done. 
Loaded  and  primed,  and   prompt   for  desperate 

hand,  ^ 

Rifle  and  fowling-piece  beside  him  stand ; 
While  round  the  hut  are  in  disorder  laid 
The  tools  and  booty  of  his  lawless  trade ; 
For  force  or  fraud,  resistance  or  escape, 
The  crow,  the  saw,  the  bludgeon,  and  the  crape. 
His  pilfer'd  powder  in  yon  nook  he  hoards, 
And  the  filch'd  lead  the  church's  roof  affords — 
(Hence  shall  the  rector's  congregation  fret, 
That  while  his  sermon's  dry  his  walls  are  wet.) 
The  fish-spear  barb'd,  the  sweeping  net  are  there, 
Doe-hides,  and  pheasant  plumes,  and  skins  of  hare, 
Cordage  for  toils,  and  wiring  for  the  snare. 
Barter'd  for  game  from  chase  or  warren  won, 
Yon  cask  holds  moonlight,2  run  when  moon  was 

none ; 
And  late-snatched  spoils  lie  stow'd  in  hutch  apart, 
To  wait  the  associate  higgler's  evening  cart. 

Look  on  his  pallet  foul,  and  mark  his  rest : 
"What  scenes  perturb'd  are  acting  in  his  breast ! 
His  sable  brow  is  wet  and  wrung  with  pain, 
And  his  dilated  nostril  toils  in  vain  ; 
For  short  and  scant  the  breath  each  effort  draws, 
And  'twixt  each  effort  Nature  claims  a  pause. 
Beyond  the  loose  and  sable  neckcloth  stretch'd, 
His  sinewy  throat  seems  by  convulsion  twitch' d, 
While  the  tongue  falters,  as  to  utterance  loth, 
Sounds  of  dire  import — watchword,  threat,  and 

oath. 
Though,  stupefied  by  toil,  and  drugg'd  with  gin, 
The  body  sleep,  the  restless  guest  within 
Now  plies  on  wood  and  wold  his  lawless  trade, 
Now  in  the  fangs  of  justice  wakes  dismay'd. — 

"  Was  that  wild  start  of  terror  and  despair, 
Those  bursting  eyeballs,  and  that  wilder'd  air, 
Signs  of  compunction  for  a  murder'd  hare  ? 
Do  the  locks  bristle  and  the  eyebrows  arch, 
For  grouse  or  partridge  massacred  in  March  ?" — 

No,  scoffer,  no !  Attend,  and  mark  with  awe, 
There  is  no  wicket  in  the  gate  of  law  1 

i  Such  is  the  law  in  the  New  Forest,  Hampshire,  tending 
greatly  to  increase  the  various  settlements  of  thieves,  smug- 
glers, and  deer-stealers,  who  infest  it.     In  the  forest  courts 
presiding  judge  wears  as  a  hadge  of  office  an  antique  stir- 


He,  that  would  e'er  so  lightly  set  ajar 
That  awful  portal,  must  undo  each  bar  : 
Tempting  occasion,  habit,  passion,  pride, 
Will  join  to  storm  the  breach,  and  force  the  barriei 
wide. 

That  ruffian,  whom  true  men  avoid  and  dreaa, 
Whom  bruisers,  poachers,  smugglers,  call   Black 

Ned, 
Was  Edward  Mansell  once ; — the  lightest  heart, 
That  ever  play'd  on  holiday  his  part ! 
The  leader  he  in  every  Christmas  game, 
The  harvest  feast  grew  blither  when  he  came, 
And  liveliest  on  the  chords  the  bow  did  glance, 
When  Edward  named  the  tune  and  led  the  dance 
Kind  was  his  heart,  his  passions  quick  and  strong, 
Hearty  his  laugh,  and  jovial  was  his  song ; 
And  if  he  loved  a  gun,  his  father  swore, 
"  'Twas  but  a  trick  of  youth  would  soon  be  o'er, 
Himself  had  done  the  same  some  thirty  years  bo  ■ 

fore." 

But  he  whose  humors  spurn  law's  awful  yoke, 
Must  herd  with  those  by  whom  law's  bonds  are 

broke, 
The  common  dread  of  justice  soon  allies 
The  clown,  who  robs  the  warren,  or  excise, 
With  sterner  felons  train'd  to  act  more  dread. 
Even  with  the  wretch  by  whom  his  fellow  bled. 
Then,  as  in  plagues  the  foul  contagions  pass, 
Leavening  and  festering  the  corrupted  mass, — 
Guilt  leagues  with  guilt,  while  mutual  motives 

draw, 
Their  hope  impunity,  their  fear  the  law ; 
Their  foes,  their  friends,  their  rendezvous  the  same, 
Till  the  revenue  baulk'd,  or  pilfer'd  game, 
Flesh  the  young  culprit,  and  example  leada 
To  darker  villany,  and  direr  deeds. 

Wild  howl'd  the  wind  the  forest  glades  along, 
And  oft  the  owl  renew'd  her  dismal  song ; 
Around  the  spot  where  erst  he  felt  the  wound, 
Red  William's  spectre  walk'd  his  midnight  rounp. 
When  o'er  the  swamp  he  cast  his  blighting  look, 
From  the  green  marshes  of  the  stagnant  brook 
The  bittern's  sullen  shout  the  sedges  shook  1 
The  waning  moon,  with  storm  presaging  gleam, 
Now  gave  and  now  withheld  her  doubtful  beam . 
The  old  Oak  stoop'd  his  arms,  then  flung  them  high, 
Bellowing  and  groaning  to  the  troubled  sky — 
'Twas  then,  that,  couch'd  amid  the  brushwood  sere, 
In  Malwood-walk  young  Mansell  watch'd  the  deer  • 
The  fattest  buck  received  his  deadly  shot — 
The  watchful  keeper  heard,  and  sought  the  spot, 

nip,  said  to  have  been  that  of  William  Rufus.      See  Mr 
William  Rose's  spirited  poem,  entitled  "  The  Red  King." 

"  To  the  bleak  coast  of  savage  Labrador." — Falconbb 

2  A  cant  term  for  smuggled  spirits. 


U42 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Stout  were  their  hearts,  and  stubborn  was  their 

strife, 
O'orpower'd  at  length  the  Outlaw  drew  his  knife. 
Next  morn  a  corpse  was  found  upon  the  fell — 
The  rest  his  waking  agony  may  tell ! 


Sb  o  It  3. 

On,  say  not,  my  love,  with  that  mortified  air, 
That  your  spring-time  of  pleasure  is  flown, 

Nor  bid  me  to  maids  that  are  younger  repair, 
For  those  raptures  that  still  are  thine  own. 

Though  April  his  temples  may  wreathe  with  the 
vine, 

Its  tendrils  in  infancy  curl'd, 
Tis  the  ardor  of  August  matures  us  the  wine, 

Whose  life-blood  enlivens  the  world. 

Though  thy  form,  that  was  fashion'd  as  light  as  a 
fay's, 

Has  assumed  a  proportion  more  round, 
And  thy  glance,  that  was  bright  as  a  falcon's,  at  gaze 

Looks  soberly  now  on  the  ground, — 

Enough,  after  absence  to  meet  me  again, 

Thy  steps  still  with  ecstasy  move ; 
Enough,  that  those  dear  sober  glances  retain 

For  me  the  kind  language  of  love. 


&iu  3Soltr  Irapbn;1 


THE   PLAIN  OF  BADAJOS. 


1812. 


Twas  a  Marechal  of  France,  and  he  fain  would 

honor  gain, 
And  he  long'd  to  take  a  passing  glance  at  Portu- 
gal from  Spain ; 
With  his  flying  guns  this  gallant  gay, 
And  boasted  corps  d'arm6e — 
0  he  fear'd  not  our  dragoons,  with  their  long  swords, 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 

To  Campo  Mayor  come,  he  had  quietly  sat  down, 
Just  a  fricassee  to  pick,  while  his  soldiers  sack'd  the 
town, 

1  This  song  was  written  shortly  after  the  battle  of  Badajos 
(April,  1812),  for  a  Yeomanry  Cavalry  dinner.  It  was  first 
printed  in  Mr.  George  Thomson's  Collection  of  Select  Melo- 
dies, and  stands  in  vol.  vi.  of  the  last  edition  of  that  work. 


When,  'twas  peste  !  morbleu !  mon  General, 
Hear  the  English  bugle-call ! 
And  behold  the  light  dragoons,  with  their  long 
swords,  boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  (fee. 

Right  about  went  horse  and  foot,  artillery  and  all, 
And,  as  the  devil  leaves  a  house,  they  tumbled 
through  the  wall  ;2 
They  took  no  time  to  seek  the  door, 
But,  best  foot  set  before — 
0  they  ran  from  our  dragoon^,  with  their  long 
swords,  boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  <fec. 

Those  valiant  men  of  France  they  had  searcely  fled 

a  mile, 
When  on  their  flank  there  sous'd  at  once  the  Brit- 
ish rank  and  file ; 
For  Long,  De  Grey,  and  Otway,  then 
Ne'er  minded  one  to  ten, 
But  came  on  like  light  dragoons,  with  their  long 
swords,  boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  <fec. 

Three  hundred  British  lads  they  made  three  thou- 
sand reel, 
Their  hearts  were  made  of  English  oak,  their  swords 
of  Sheffield  steel, 
Their  horses  were  in  Yorkshire  bred, 
And  Beresford  them  led  ; 
So  huzza  for  brave  dragoons,  with  their  long  sword^ 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 

Then  here's  a  health  to  Wellington,  to  Beresford, 

to  Long, 
And  a  single  word  of  Bonaparte  before  I  close  my 
song : 
The  eagles  that  to  fight  he  brings 
Should  serve  his  men  with  wings, 
When  they  meet  the  bold  dragoons,  with  theii 
long  swords,  boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  <fec. 


<£n  t&e  if&assracte  of  ©flencoe*' 


1814. 


"  In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1692,  an  action  -f 
unexampled  barbarity  disgraced  the  government 

2  In  their  hasty  evacuation  of  Campo  Mayor,  the  French 
pulled  down  a  part  of  the  rampart,  and  marched  out  over  the 
glacis 

8  First  pubffshed  in  Thomson's  Select  Melodies,  1814, 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


ti^ 


3f  King  William  III.  in  Scotland.  In  the  August 
preceding,  a  proclamation  had  been  issued,  offering 
an  indemnity  to  such  insurgents  as  should  take  the 
oaths  to  the  King  and  Queen,  on  or  before  the  last 
day  oi  December;  and  the  chiefs  of  such  tribes  as 
had  been  in  arms  for  James,  soon  after  took  advan- 
tage of  the  proclamation.  But  Macdonald  of  Glen- 
coe  was  prevented  by  accident,  rather  than  by  de- 
sign, from  tendering  his  submission  within  the  lim- 
ited time.  In  the  end  of^December  he  went  to 
Colonel  Hill,  who  commanded  the  garrison  in  Fort 
William,  to  take  the  oaths  of  allegiance  to  the  gov- 
ernment ;  and  the  latter  having  furnished  him  with 
a  letter  to  Sir  Colin  Campbell,  sheriff  of  the  county 
of  Argyll,  directed  him  to  repair  immediately  to 
Inverary,  to  make  his  submission  in  a  legal  manner 
before  that  magistrate.  But  the  way  to  Inverary 
lay  through  almost  impassable  mountains,  the  sea- 
son was  extremely  rigorous,  and  the  whole  coun- 
try was  covered  with  a  deep  snow.  So  eager, 
however,  was  Macdonald  to  take  the  oaths  before 
the  limited  time  should  expire,  that,  though  the 
road  lay  within  half  a  mile  of  his  own  house,  he 
stopped  not  to  visit  his  family,  and  after  various 
obstructions,  arrived  at  Inverary.  The  time  had 
elapsed,  and  the  sheriff  hesitated  to  receive  his 
submission ;  but  Macdonald  prevailed  by  his  im- 
portunities, and  even  tears,  in  inducing  that  func- 
tionary to  administer  to  him  the  oath  of  allegiance, 
and  to  certify  the  cause  of  his  delay.  At  this  time 
Sir  John  Dalrymple,  afterwards  Earl  of  Stair,  being 
in  attendance  upon  William  as  Secretary  of  State 
for  Scotland,  took  advantage  of  Macdonald's  neg- 
lecting to  take  the  oath  within  the  time  prescribed, 
and  procured  from  the  king  a  warrant  of  military 
execution  against  that  chief  and  his  whole  clan. 
This  was  done  at  the  instigation  of  the  Earl  of 
Breadalbane,  whose  lands  the  Glencoe  men  had 
plundered,  and  whose  treachery  to  government  in 
negotiating  with  the  Highland  clans,  Macdonald 
himself  had  exposed.  The  King  was  accordingly 
persuaded  that  Glencoe  was  the  main  obstacle  to 
the  pacification  of  the  Highlands ;  and  the  fact  of 
the  unfortunate  chief 's  submission  having  been  con- 
cealed, the  sanguinary  orders  for  proceeding  to 
military  execution  against  his  clan  were  in  conse- 
quence obtained.  The  warrant  was  both  signed 
and  countersigned  by  the  King's  own  hand,  and 
the  Secretary  urged  the  officers  who  commanded 
in  the  Highlands  to  execute  their  orders  with  the 
utmost  rigor.  Campbell  of  Glenlyon,  a  captain  in 
Argyle's  regiment,  and  two  subalterns,  were  or- 
dered to  repair  to  Glencoe  on  the  first  of  Febru- 
ary with  a  hundred  and  twenty  men.  Campbell, 
being  uncle  to  young  Macdonald's  wife,  was  re- 
ceived by  the  father  with  all  manner  of  friendship 
and  hospitality.  The  men  were  lodged  at  free 
quarters  in  the  houses  of  his  tenants,  and  received 


the  kindest  entertainment.  Till  the  13th  of  the 
month  the  troops  lived  in  the  utmost  harmony  and 
familiarity  with  the  people ;  and  on  the  very  night 
of  the  massacre  the  officers  passed  the  evening  at 
cards  in  Macdonald's  house.  In  the  night,  Lieu- 
tenant Lindsay,  with  a  party  of  soldiers,  called  in 
a  friendly  manner  at  his  door,  and  was  irstantly 
admitted.  Macdonald,  while  in  the  act  of  rising 
to  receive  his  guest,  was  shot  dead  through  the 
back  with  two  bullets.  His  wife  had  already 
dressed ;  but  she  was  stripped  naked  by  the  sol- 
diers, who  tore  the  rings  off  her  fingers  with  their 
teeth.  The  slaughter  now  became  general,  and 
neither  age  nor  infirmity  was  spared.  Some  wo- 
men, in  defending  their  children,  were  killed  ;  boys 
imploring  mercy  were  shot  dead  by  officers  on 
whose  knees  they  hung.  In  one  place  nine  per- 
sons, as  they  sat  enjoying  themselves  at  table,  were 
butchered  by  the  soldiers.  In  Inverriggon,  Camp- 
bell's own  quarters,  nine  men  were  first  bound  by 
the  soldiers,  and  then  shot  at  intervals,  one  by  one. 
Nearly  forty  persons  were  massacred  by  the  troops ; 
and  several  who  fled  to  the  mountains  perished  by 
famine  and  the  inclemency  of  the  season.  Those 
who  escaped  owed  their  lives  to  a  tempestuous 
night.  Lieutenant-Colonel  Hamilton,  who  had  re- 
ceived the  charge  of  the  execution  from  Dalrym- 
ple, was  on  his  march  with  four  hundred  men,  tc 
guard  all  the  passes  from  the  valley  of  Glencoe ; 
but  he  was  obliged  to  stop  by  the  severity  of  the 
weather,  which  proved  the  safety  of  the  unfortu- 
nate clan.  Next  day  he  entered  the  valley,  laid 
the  houses  in  ashes,  and  carried  away  the  catth 
and  spoil,  which  were  divided  among  the  officera 
and  soldiers." — Article  "  Britain  ;"  Encyc.  Britan- 
nica — New  Edition. 


"  0  tell  me,  Harper,  wherefore  flow 
Thy  wayward  notes  of  wail  and  woe, 
Far  down  the  desert  of  Glencoe, 

Where  none  may  list  their  melody  ? 
Say,  harp'st  thou  to  the  mists  that  fly, 
Or  to  the  dun-deer  glancing  by,  \ 

Or  to  the  eagle,  that  from  high 

Screams  chorus  to  thy  minstrelsy  ?" 

"  No,  not  to  these,  for  they  have  rest, — 
The  mist-wreath  has  the  mountain-crest, 
The  stag  his  lair,  the  erne  her  nest, 

Abode  of  lone  security. 
But  those  for  whom  I  pour  the  lay, 
Not  wild-wood  deep,  nor  mountain-gray, 
Not  this  deep  dell,  that  shrouds  from  day, 

Could  screen  from  treach'rous  cruelty. 

"  Their  flag  was  furl'd,  and  mute  their  drum, 
The  very  household  dogs  were  dumb, 


644                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL   WORKS. 

Unwont  to  bay  at  guests  that  come 

The  Thistle,  though  her  leaf  be  rude, 

In  guise  of  hospitality. 

Yet  faith  we'll  no  misca'  that, 

His  blithest  notes  the  piper  plied, 

She  shelter' d  in  her  solitude 

Her  gayest  snood  the  maiden  tied, 

The  Fleur-de-lis,  for  a'  that. 

The  dame  her  distaff  flung  aside, 

To  tend  her  kindly  housewifery. 

The  Austrian  Vine,  the  Prussian  Pine 

(For  Blucher's  sak/1  hurra  that), 

"  The  hand  that  mingled  in  the  meal, 

The  Spanish  Olive,  to^,  shall  join, 

A.t  midnight  drew  the  felon  steel, 

And  bloom  in  peace  for  a'  that. 

And  gave  the  host's  kind  breast  to  feel 

Stout  Russia's  Hemp,  so  surely  twined 

Meed  for  his  hospitality  ! 

Around  our  wreath  we'll  draw  that, 

The  friendly  hearth  which  warm'd  that  hand, 

And  he  that  would  the  cord  unbind, 

At  midnight  arm'd  it  with  the  brand, 

Shall  have  it  for  his  gra-vat ! 

That  bade  destruction's  flames  expand 

Their  red  and  fearful  blazonry. 

Or,  if  to  choke  sae  puir  a  sot, 

Your  pity  scorn  to  thraw  that, 

u  Then  woman's  shriek  was  heard  in  vain, 

The  Devil's  elbow  be  his  lot, 

Nor  infancy's  unpitied  plain, 

Where  he  may  sit  and  claw  that. 

More  than  the  warrior's  groan,  could  gain 

In  spite  of  slight,  in  spite  of  might, 

Respite  from  ruthless  butchery  ! 

In  spite  of  brags,  an'  a'  that, 

The  winter  wind  that  whistled  shrill, 

The  lads  that  battled  for  the  right, 

The  snows  that  night  that  cloked  the  hill, 

Have  won  the  day,  an'  a'  that ! 

Though  wild  and  pitiless,  had  still 

Far  more  than  Southern  clemency. 

There's  ae  bit  spot  I  had  forgot, 

America  they  ca'  that ! 

"  Long  have  my  harp's  best  notes  been  gone, 

A  coward  plot  her  rats  had  got 

Few  are  its  strings,  and  faint  their  tone, 

Their  father's  flag  to  gnaw  that : 

They  can  but  sound  in  desert  lone 

Now  see  it  fly  top-gallant  high, 

Their  gray-hair'd  master's  misery. 

Atlantic  winds  shall  blaw  that, 

Were  each  gray  hair  a  minstrel  string, 

And  Yankee  loon,  beware  your  croun, 

Each  chord  should  imprecations  fling, 

There's  kames  in  hand  to  claw  that ! 

Till  startled  Scotland  loud  should  ring 

'  Revenge  for  blood  and  treachery  !'  " 

For  on  the  land,  or  on  the  sea, 

Where'er  the  breezes  blaw  that, 

The  British  Flag  shall  bear  the  grie, 

And  win  the  day  for  a'  that ! 

jfor   a*  tfiat  an*  a*  tjat.1 

A  NEW  SONG  TO  AN  OLD  TUNE. 

Sotifl, 

FOR  THE  ANNIVERSARY  MEETING   OF  TH«  PITT  CLUB 

1814. 

Though  right  be  aft  put  down  by  strength, 

OF  SCOTLAND. 

As  mony  a  day  we  saw  that, 

The  true  and  leilfu'  cause  at  length 

1814. 

Shall  bear  the  grie  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that  an'  a'  that, 

Guns,  guillotines,  and  a'  that, 

0,  dread  was  the  time,  and  more  dreadful  the  omen, 

The  Fleur-de-lis,  that  lost  her  right, 

When  the  brave  on  Marengo  lay  slaughter'd  in 

Is  queen  again  for  a'  that ! 

vain, 

And  beholding  broad  Europe  bow'd  down  by  her 

We'll  twine  her  in  a  friendly  knot 

foemen, 

With  England's  Rose,  and  a'  that ; 

Pitt  closed  in  his  anguish  the  map  of  her  reign ! 

Hie  Shamrock  shall  not  be  forgot, 

Not  the  fate  of  broad  Europe  could  bend  his  brave 

For  Wellington  made  braw  that. 

spirit 

To  take  for  his  country  the  safety  of  shame  ; 

-  Sung  at  the  first  meeting  of  the  Pitt  Club  of  Scotland  ;  and 

0,  then  in  her  triumph  remember  his  merit, 

lished  in  the  Scots  Magazine  for  July,  1814. 

And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his  name. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


64; 


Round  the  husbandman's  head,  while  he  traces  the 
furrow, 
The  mists  of  the  winter  may  mingle  with  rain, 
He  may  plough  it  with  labor,  and  sow  it  in  sorrow, 
And  sigh  while  he  fears  he  has  sow'd  it  in  vain; 
'Te  may  die  ere  his  children  shall  reap  in  their 
gladness, 
But  the  blithe  harvest-home  shall  remember  his 
claim ; 
And  their  jubilee-shout  shall  be  soften'd  with  sad- 
ness, 
While  they  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his 


Though  anxious  and  timeless  his  life  was  expended, 

In  toils  for  our  country  preserved  by  his  care, 
Though  he  died  ere  one  ray  o'er  the  nations  as- 
cended, 

To  light  the  long  darkness  of  doubt  and  despair ; 
The  storms  he  endured  in  our  Britain's  December, 

The  perils  his  wisdom  foresaw  and  o'ercame, 
In  her  glory's  rich  harvest  shall  Britain  remember, 

And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his  name. 

Nor  forget  His  gray  head,who,  all  dark  in  affliction, 

Is  deaf  to  the  tale  of  our  victories  won, 
And  to  sounds  the  most  dear  to  paternal  affection, 

The  shout  of  his  people  applauding  his  Son  ; 
By  his  firmness  unmoved  in  success  and  disaster, 

By  his  long  reign  of  virtue,  remember  his  claim  ; 
With  our  tribute  to  Pitt  join  the  praise  of  his 
Master, 

Though  a  tear  stain  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his 
name. 

Yet  again  fill  the  wine-cup,  and  change  the  sad 
measure, 
The  rites  of  our  grief  and  our  gratitude  paid, 
To  our  Prince,  to  our  Heroes,  devote  the  bright 
treasure, 
The  wisdom  that  plann'd,  and  the  zeal  that 
obey'd ; 
Fill  Wellington's  cup  till  it  beam  like  his  glory, 
Forget   not   our    own    brave    Dalhousie    and 
Graeme  ; 
A  thousand  years  hence  hearts  shall  bound  at  their 
story, 
And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  their  fame. 

i  "On  the  30th  of  July,  1814,  Mr.  Hamilton,*  Mr.  Erskine.f 
and  Mr.  Duff,$  Commissioners,  along  with  Mr.  (now  Sir)  Wal- 
ter Scott,  and  the  writer,  visited  the  Lighthouse  ;  the  Com- 
missioners being  then  on  one  of  their  voyages  of  Inspection, 
noticed  in  the  Introduction.  They  breakfasted  in  the  Library, 
when  Sir  Walter,  at  the  entreaty  of  the  party,  upon  inscribing 
his  name  in  the  Album,  added  these  interesting  lines." — Ste- 
venson's Account  of  the  Bell-Rock  Lighthouse,  1824. 
Scott's  Diary  of  the  Voyage  is  now  published  in  the  4th  volume 
.  f  his  Life. 

a  These  lines  were  written  in  the  Album,  kept  at  the  Sound 
gf  Ulva  Inn   in  the  month  of  August,  1814. 


SPJjaros    Haqultuv.1 

Far  in  the  bosom  of  the  deep, 

O'er  these  wide  shelves  my  watch  I  keep  ■ 

A  ruddy  gem  of  changeful  light, 

Bound  on  the  dusky  brow  of  night, 

The  seaman  bids  my  lustre  hail, 

And  scorns  to  strike  his  timorous  sail. 


3Lfnt*j,2 


ADDRESSED   TO  RANALD  MACDONALD,  ESQ.,  OF  STAFFA 


1814. 


Staff  a,  sprung  from  high  Macdonald, 
Worthy  branch  of  old  Clan- Ranald  I 
Staffa !  king  of  all  kind  fellows ! 
Well  befall  thy  hills  and  valleys, 
Lakes  and  inlets,  deeps  and  shallows- 
Cliffs  of  darkness,  caves  of  wonder, 
Echoing  the  Atlantic  thunder ; 
Mountains  which  the  gray  mist  covers. 
Where  the  Chieftain  spirit  hovers, 
Pausing  while  his  pinions  quiver, 
Stretch'd  to  quit  Our  land  for  ever ! 
Each  kind  influence  reign  above  thee ! 
Warmer  heart,  'twixt  this  and  Staffa 
Beats  not,  than  in  heart  of  Staffa  ! 


Setter   in  Verse 

ON   THE   VOYAGE    WITH    THE    COMMISSIONERS    OF 
NORTHERN    LIGHTS. 

"  Of  the  letters  which  Scott  wrote  to  his  friends 
during  those  happy  six  weeks,  I  have  recovered 
only  one,  and  it  is,  thanks  to  the  leisure  of  the 
yacht,  in  verse.  The  strong  and  easy  heroics  of 
the  first  section  prove,  I  think,  that  Mr.  Canning 
did  not  err  when  >he  told  him  that  if  he  chose  he 
might  emulate  even  Dryden's  conmiand  of  that 

s  Afterwards  Sir  Reginald  Macdonald  Stewart  Seton  of 
Staffa,  Allanton,  and  Touch,  Baronet.  He  died  16th  April 
1838,  in  his  61st  year.  The  reader  will  find  a  warm  tribute  to 
Staffa's  character  as  a  Highland  landlord,  in  Scott's  article  on 
Sir  John  Carr's  Caledonian  Sketches. — Miscellaneous  Prose 
Works,  vol.  xix. 


*  The  late  Robert  Hamilton,  Esq.,  Advocate,  long  Sheriff-Depute  o' 
Lanarklisire,  and  afterwards  one  of  the  Principal  Clerks  of  Session  in  Scot- 
land—died in  1831. 

t  Afterwards  Lord  Kinneder. 

J  The  late  Adam  Dutf,  Esq.,  Sheriff-Depute  of  the  county  of  Edinburgh, 


'340 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


noble  measure ;  and  the  dancing  anapaests  of  the 
second,  show  that  he  could  with  equal  facility 
have  rivalled  the  gay  graces  of  Cotton,  Anstey,  or 
Moore." — Lockhart,  Life,  vol.  iv.  p.  372. 


TO  HIS  GRACE  THE  DUKE  OF  BUCCLEUCH, 

&c.  <kc.  <kc. 

Lighthouse  Yacht  in  the  Sound  of  Lerwick, 
Zetland,  8th  August,  1814. 

Health  to  the  chieftain  from  his  clansman  true  1 
From  her  true  minstrel,  health  to  fair  Buccleuch ! 
Health  from  the  isles,  where  dewy  Morning  weaves 
fi'.a-  chaplet  with  the  tints  that  Twilight  leaves ; 
Where  late  the  sun  scarce  vanish'd  from  the  sight, 
And  his  bright  pathway  graced  the  short-lived 

night, 
Though  darker  now  as  autumn's  shades  extend, 
The  north  winds  whistle  and  the  mists  ascend ! 
Health  from  the  land  where  eddying  whirlwinds 

toss 
The  storm-rock'd  cradle  of  the  Cape  of  Noss ; 
On  outstretch'd  cords  the  giddy  engine  slides, 
His  own  strong  arm  the  bold  adventurer  guides, 
And  he  that  lists  such  desperate  feat  to  try, 
May,  like  the  sea-mew,  skim  'twixt  surf  and  sky, 
And  feel  the  mid-air  gales  around  him  blow, 
And  see  the  billows  rage  five  hundred  feet  below. 

Here,  by  each  stormy  peak  and  desert  shore, 
The  hardy  islesman  tugs  the  daring  oar, 
Practised  alike  his  venturous  course  to  keep, 
Through  the  white  breakers  or  the  pathless  deep, 
By  ceaseless  peril  and  by  toil  to  gain 
A  wretched  pittance  from  the  niggard  main. 
And  when  the  worn-out  drudge  old  ocean  leaves, 
What  comfort  greets  him,  and  what  hut  receives  ? 
Lady !  the  worst  your  presence  ere  has  cheer'd 
(When  want  and  sorrow  fled  as  you  appear'd) 
Were  to  a  Zetlander  as  the  high  dome 
Of  proud  Drumlanrig  to  my  humble  home. 
Here  rise  no  groves,  and  here  no  gardens  blow, 
Here  even  the  hardy  heath  scarce  dares  to  grow ; 
But  rocks  on  rocks,  in  mist  and  storm  array'd, 
Stretch  far  to  sea  their  giant  colonnade, 
With  many  a  cavern  seam'd,  the  dreary  haunt 
Of  the  dun  seal  and  swarthy  cormorant. 
Wild  round  their  rifted  brows,  with  frequent  cry 
As  of  lament,  the  gulls  and  gannets  fly, 
And  from  their  sable  base,  with  sullen  sound, 
In  sheets  of  whitening  foam  the  waves  rebound. 

Yet  even  these  coasts  a  touch  of  envy  gain 
From  those  whose  land  has  known  oppression's 

chain ; 
For  here  the  industrious  Dutchman  comes  once 


To  moor  his  fishing-craft  by  Bressay's  shore , 
Greets  every  former  mate  and  brother  tar, 
Marvels  how  Lerwick  'scaped  the  rage  of  war, 
Tells  many  a  tale  of  Gallic  outrage  done, 
And  ends  by  blessing  God  and  Wellington. 
Here  too  the  Greenland  tar,  a  fiercer  guest, 
Claims  a  brief  hour  of  riot,  not  of  rest ; 
Proves  each  wild  frolic  that  in  wine  has  birth, 
And  wakes  the  land  with  brawls  and  boisterous 

mirth. 
A  sadder  sight  on  yon  poor  vessel's  prow 
The  captive  Norseman  sits  in  silent  woe, 
And  eyes  the  flags  of  Britain  as  they  flow. 
Hard  fate  of  war,  which  bade  her  terrors  sway 
His  destined  course,  and  seize  so  mean  a  prey ; 
A  bark  with  planks  so  warp'd  and  seams  so  riven, 
She  scarce  might  face  the  gentlest  airs  of  heaven 
Pensive  he  sits,  and  questions  oft  if  none 
Can  list  his  speech,  and  understand  his  moan ; 
In  vain — no  Islesman  now  can  use  the  tongue 
Of  the   bold   Norse,  from   whom   their   lineage 

sprung. 
Not  thus  of  old  the  Norsemen  hither  came, 
Won  by  the  love  of  danger  or  of  fame ; 
On  every  storm-beat  cape  a  shapeless  tower 
Tells  of  their  wars,  their  conquests,  and  their 

power ; 
For  ne'er  for  Grecia's  vales,  nor  Latian  land, 
Was  fiercer  strife  than  for  this  barren  strand ; 
A  race  severe — the  isle  and  ocean  lords, 
Loved  for  its  own  delight  the  strife  of  swords ; 
With  scornful  laugh  the  mortal  pang  defied, 
And  blest  their  gods  that  they  in  battle  died. 

Such  were  the  sires  of  Zetland  s  simple  race, 
And  still  the  eye  may  faint  resemblance  trace 
In  the  blue  eye,  tall  form,  proportion  fair, 
The  limbs  athletic,  and  the  long  light  hair — 
(Such  was  the  mien,  as  Scald  and  Minstrel  sings, 
Of  fair-hair'd  Harold,  first  of  Norway's  Kings) ; 
But  their  high  deeds  to  scale  these  crags  confined, 
Their  only  warfare  is  with  waves  and  wind. 

Why  should  I  talk  of  Mousa's  castled  coast  ? 
Why  of  the  horrors  of  the  Sumburgh  Rost  ? 
May  not  these  bald  disjointed  fines  suffice, 
Penn'd   while   my   comrades   whirl   the   rattling 

dice — 
While  down  the  cabin  skylight  lessening  shine 
The  rays,  and  eve  is  chased  with  mirth  and  wine  \ 
Imagined,  while  down  Mousa's  desert  day 
Our  well-trimm'd  vessel  urged  her  nimble  way, 
While  to  the  freshening  breeze  she  lean'd  her  side 
And  bade  her  bowsprit  kiss  the  foamy  tide  ? 

Such  are  the  lays  that  Zetland  Isles  supply ; 
Drench' d  with  the  drizzly  spray  and  dropping  sky 
W  eary  and  wet,  a  sea-sick  minstrel  L W,  Scott 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


647 


POSTSCRIPTUM. 

Kirkwall,  Orkney,  Aug.  13,  1814. 
In  respect  that  your  Grace  baa  commission'd  a 
Kraken, 
You  will  please  be  inform'd  tbat  they  seldom  are 

taken ; 
It  13  January  two  years,  tbe  Zetland  folks  say, 
Since  tbey  saw  tbe  last  Kraken  in  Scalloway  bay ; 
lie  lay  in  the  offing  a  fortnight  or  more, 
But  the  devil  a  Zetlander  put  from  the  shore, 
Though  bold  in  tha  seas  of  the  North  to  assail 
The  morse   and  the  sea-horse,  the  grampus  and 

whale. 
If  your  Grace  thinks  I'm  writing  the  tiling  that  is 

not, 
You  may  ask  at  a  namesake  of  ours,  Mr.  Scott — 
(He's  not  from  our  clan,  though  liis  merits  de- 
serve it, 
But  springs,  I'm  inform'd,  from  the  Scotts  of  Scot- 

starvet)  ;* 
He  question'd  the  folks  who  beheld  it  with  eyes, 
But  they  differ'd  confoundedly  as  to  its  size. 
For  instance,  the  modest  and  diffident  swore 
That  it  seem'd  like  the  keel  of  a  ship,  and  no 

more — 
Those  of  eyesight  more  clear,  or  of  fancy  more 

high, 
Said  it  rose  lik  an  island  'twixt  ocean  and  sky — 
But  all  of  the  hulk  had  a  steady  opinion 
That  'twas  sure  a  live  subject  of  Neptune's  do- 
minion— 
And  I  think,  my  Lord  Duke,  your  Grace  hardly 

would  wish, 
To  cumber  your  house,  such  a  kettle  of  fish. 
Had  your  order  related  to  night-caps  or  hose, 
Or  mittens  of  worsted,  there's  plenty  of  those. 
Or  would  you  be  pleased  but  to  fancy  a  whale  ? 
And  direct  me  to  send  it — by  sea  or  by  mail  ? 
The  season,  I'm  told,  is  nigh  over,  but  still 
I  could  get  you  one  fit  for  the  lake  at  Bowhill. 
Indoed,  as  to  whales,  there's  no  need  to  be  thrifty, 
Since  one  day  last  fortnight  two  hundred  and  fifty, 
Pursued  by  seven  Orkneymen's  boats  and  no  more, 
Betwixt  Truffness  and  Luffness  were  drawn  on  the 

shore  S 
YouL  ask  if  I  saw  this  same  wonderful  sight; 
I  ow.  that  I  did  not,  but  easily  might — 
For  this  mighty  shoal  of  leviathans  lay 
On  our  lee-beam  a  mile,  in  the  loop  of  the  bay, 
And  the  islesmen  of  Sanda  were  all  at  the  spoil, 
And  flinching  (so  term  it)  the  blubber  to  boil; 
(Ye  spirits  of  lavender,  drown  the  reflection 
That  awakes  at  the  thoughts  of  this  odorous  dis- 
section). 

*  The  Scotts  of  Scotstarvet,  and  other  families  of  the  name 
<n  Fife  and  elsewhere,  tlaim  no  kindred  with  the  great  clan 
>f  V-e  Border, — and  thei  armorial  bearings  are  different 


To  see  this  huge  marvel  full  fain  would  we  go, 
But  Wilson,  the  wind,  and  the  current,  said  no. 
We  have  now  got  to  Kirkwall,  and  needs  I  must 

stare 
When  I  think  that  in  verse  I  have  once  call'd  it 

fair; 
'Tis  a  base  little  borough,  both  dirty  and  mean — 
There  is  nothing  to  hear,  and  there's  naught  to  b« 

seen, 
Save  a  church,  where,  of  old  times,  a  prelate  lia 

rangued, 
And  a  palace  that's  built  by  an  earl  that  waa 

hang'd. 
But,  farewell  to  Kirkwall — aboard  we  are  going, 
Tbe  anchor's  a-peak,  and  the  breezes  are  blowing : 
Our  commodore  calls  aU  his  band  to  their  places, 
And  'tis  time  to  release  you — good  night  to  your 

Graces  I 


\)zvst8   from   iDavtrit^ 


1814. 


"  The  following  song,  which  has  been  since  bor- 
rowed by  the  worshipful  author  of  the  famous 
1  History  of  Fryar  Bacon,'  has  been  with  difficulty 
deciphered.  It  seems  to  have  been  sung  on  occa 
sion  of  carrying  home  the  bride." 

(1.)— BRIDAL  SONG. 

To  the  tune  of  "  I  have  been  a  Fiddler,"  <$-e. 

And  did  ye  not  hear  of  a  mirth  befell 
The  morrow  after  a  wedding  day, 

And  carrying  a  bride  at  home  to  dwell  ? 
And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away  ! 

The  quintain  was  set,  and  the  garlands  were 
made, 

'Tis  pity  old  customs  should  ever  decay ; 
And  woe  be  to  him  that  was  horsed  on  a  jade, 

For  he  carried  no  credit  away,  away. 

We  met  a  concert  of  fiddle-de-dees ; 

We  set  them  a  cockhorse,  and  made  them 
play 
The  winning  of  Bullen,  and  TJpsey-frees, 

And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away  I 

There  was  ne'er  a  lad  in  all  the  parish 
That  would  go  to  the  plough  that  day ; 

But  on  his  fore-horse  his  wench  he  carries. 
And  away  to  Tewin,  away  away  I 


618                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

• 
The  butler  was  quick,  and  the  ale  he  did  tap, 

Yet,  with  a  stern  delight  and  strange, 

The  maidens  did  make  the  chamber  full  gay  ; 

I  saw  the  spirit-stirring  change. 

The  servants  did  give  me  a  fuddling  cup, 

As  warr'd  the  wind  with  wave  and  wood, 

And  I  did  carry't  away,  away. 

Upon  the  ruin'd  tower  I  stood, 

And  felt  my  heart  more  strongly  bound, 

The  smith  of  the  town  his  liquor  so  took, 

Responsive  to  the  lofty  sound, 

That  he  was  persuaded  that  the  ground  look'd 

While,  joying  in  the  mighty  roar, 

blue  ; 

I  mourn'd  that  tranquil  scene  no  more. 

And  I  dare  boldly  be  sworn  on  a  book, 

Such  smiths  as  he  there's  but  a  few. 

So,  on  the  idle  dreams  of  youth 

Breaks  the  loud  trumpet-call  of  truth, 

A  posset  was  made,  and  the  women  did  sip, 

Bids  each  fair  vision  pass  away, 

And  simpering  said,  they  could  eat  no  more  ; 

Like  landscape  on  the  lake  that  lay 
As  fair,  as  flitting,  and  as  frail, 

Full  many  a  maiden  was  laid  on  the  lip, — 

T'll  say  no  more,  but  give  o'er  (give  o'er). 

As  that  which  fled  the  autumn  gale — 
For  ever  dead  to  fancy's  eye 

Appendix  to  the  General  Preface. 

Be  each  gay  form  that  glided  by, 

While  dreams  of  love  and  lady's  charms 
Give  place  to  honor  and  to  arms  1 

(2.)— WAVERLEY* 

Chap.  v. 

"  Ox  receiving  intelligence  of  his  commission  as 

captain  of  a  troop  of  horse  in  Colonel  Gardiner's 

regiment,  his  tutor,  Mr.  Pembroke,  picked  up  about 

Edward's  room  some  fragments  of  irregular  verse, 

(3.)— DAVIE  GELLATLEY'S  SONG. 

which  he  appeared  to  have  composed  under  the 

influence  of  the  agitating  feelings  occasioned  by 

"  He  (Daft  Davie  Gellatley)  sung  with  grea"1 

this  sudden  page  being  turned  up  to  him  in  the 

earnestness,  and  not  without  some  taste,  a  frag 

book  of  life." 

ment  of  an  old  Scotch  ditty  :" 

Late,  when  the  autumn  evening  fell 

False  love,  and  hast  thou  play'd  me  tins 

On  Mirkwood-Mere's  romantic  dell, 

In  summer  among  the  flowers  ? 

The  lake  return'd,  in  chasten'd  gleam, 

I  will  repay  thee  back  again 

The  purple  cloud,  the  golden  beam : 

In  winter  among  the  showers. 

Reflected  in  the  crystal  pool, 

Unless  again,  again,  my  love, 

Headland  and  bank  lay  fair  and  cool ; 

Unless  you  turn  again  ; 

The  weather-tinted  rock  and  tower, 

As  you  with  other  maidens  rove, 

Each  drooping  tree,  each  fairy  flower, 

I'll  smile  on  other  men. 

So  true,  so  soft,  the  mirror  gave, 

As  if  there  lay  beneath  the  wave, 

"  This  is  a  genuine  ancient  fragment,  with  some 

Secure  from  trouble,  toil,  and  care, 

alteration  in  the  last  two  lines." 

A  world  than  earthly  world  more  fair. 
But  distant  winds  began  to  wake, 

And  roused  the  Genius  of  the  Lake ! 

He  heard  the  groaning  of  the  oak, 

" The  questioned  party  replied — and,  lik* 

And  donn'd  at  once  his  sable  cloak, 

the  witch  of  Thalaba,  •  still  his  speech  was  song.'  " 

As  warrior,  at  the  battle  cry, 

Invests  him  with  his  panoply : 

The  Knight's  to  the  mountain 

Then,  as  the  whirlwind  nearer  press'd, 

His  bugle  to  wind  ; 

He  'gan  to  shake  his  foamy  crest 

The  Lady's  to  greenwood 

O'ei  furrow'd  brow  and  blacken'd  cheek, 

Her  garland  to  bind. 

Ana  bade  his  surge  in  thunder  speak. 

The  bower  of  Burd  Ellen 

In  wild  and  broken  eddies  whirl'd, 

Has  moss  on  the  floor, 

Flitted  that  fond  ideal  world ; 

That  the  step  of  Lord  William 

And,  to  the  shore  in  tumult  tost, 

Be  silent  and  sure. 

The  realms  of  fairy  bliss  were  lost. 

Chap.  ix. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


649 


(4.)— SCENE 

IN  LUCKJE  MACLEARY's  TAVERN. 

"  Tn  the  middle  of  this  din,  the  Baron  repeatedly 
implored  silence ;  and  when  at  length  the  instinct  i 
of  polite  discipline  so  far  prevailed,  that  for  a  mo- 
ment he  obtained  it,  he  hastened  to  beseech  their 
attention  '  unto  a  military  ariette,  which  was  a 
particular  favorite  of  the  Mar6chal  Due  de  Ber- 
wick ;'  then,  imitating,  as  well  as  he  could,  the 
manner  and  tone  of  a  French  musquetaire,  he  im- 
mediately commenced," 

Mon  cceur  volage,  dit-elle, 
N'est  pas  pour  vous,  garcon, 

Est  pour  un  homme  de  guerre, 
Qui  a  bar  be  au  menton. 

Lon,  Lon,  Laridon. 

Qui  porte  chapeau  a  plume, 

Soulier  a  rouge  talon, 
Qui  joue  de  la  flute, 

Aussi  de  violon. 

Lon,  Lon,  Laridon. 

•*  Balmawhapple  could  hold  no  longer,  but  break 
in  with  what  he  called  a  d — d  good  song,  com- 
posed by  Gibby  Gaethrowit,  the  Piper  of  Cupar ; 
and,  without  wasting  more  time,  struck  up — " 

It's  up  Glenbarchan's  braes  I  gaed, 
And  o'er  the  bent  of  Killiebraid, 
And  mony  a  weary  cast  I  made, 
To  cuittle  the  moor-fowl's  tail. 

If  up  a  bonny  black-cock  should  spring, 
To  whistle  him  down  wi'  a  slug  in  his  wing, 
And  strap  him  on  to  my  lunzie  string, 
Right  seldom  would  I  fail. 

Chap.  xi. 


Hie  to  haunts  right  seldom  seen, 
Lovely,  lonesome,  cool,  and  green, 
Over  bank  and  over  brae, 
Hie  away,  hie  away. 

Cliap.  xii. 


(5.)— "HIE  AWAY,  HIE  AWAY." 

"  The  stamping  of  horses  was  now  heard  in  the 
court,  and  Davie  Gellatley's  voice  singing  to  the 
two  large  deer  greyhounds," 

Hie  away,  hie  away, 
Over  bank  and  over  brae, 
Where  the  copsewood  is  the  greenest, 
Where  the  fountains  glisten  sheenest, 
Where  the  lady-fern  grows  strongest, 
Where  the  morning  dew  lies  longest, 
Where  the  black-cock  sweetest  sips  it, 
Where  th  3  fairy  latest  trips  it : 


(6.)— ST.  SWITHIN'S  CHAIR. 

"  The  view  of  the  old  tower,  or  fortalioe,  intro- 
duced some  family  anecdotes  and  tales  of  Scottish 
chivalry,  which  the  Baron  told  with  great  enthu- 
siasm. The  projecting  peak  of  an  impending  crag, 
which  rose  near  it,  had  acquired  the  name  of  St. 
Swithin's  Chair.  It  was  the  scene  of  a  peculiar 
superstition,  of  which  Mr.  Rubrick  mentioned  some 
curious  particulars,  which  reminded  Waverley  of  a 
rhyme  quoted  by  Edgar  in  King  Lear ;  and  Rose 
was  called  upon  to  sing  a  little  legend,  in  which 
they  had  been  interwoven  by  some  village  poet, 

Who,  noteless  as  the  race  from  which  he  sprung, 
Saved  others'  names,  but  left  his  own  unsung. 

"The  sweetness  of  her  voice,  and  the  simple 
beauty  of  her  music,  gave  all  the  advantage  which 
the  minstrel  could  have  desired,  and  which  his 
poetry  so  much  wanted." 

On  Hallow-Mass  Eve,  ere  you  boune  ye  to  rest, 
Ever  beware  that  your  couch  be  bless'd  ; 
Sign  it  with  cross,  and  sain  it  with  bead. 
Sing  the  Ave,  and  say  the  Creed. 

For  on  Hallow-Mass  Eve  the  Night-Hag  will 

ride, 
And  all  her  nine-fold  sweeping  on  by  her  side, 
Whether  the  wind  sing  lowly  or  loud, 
Sailing  through  moonshine   or  swath'd  in  the 

cloud. 

The  Lady  she  sate  in  St.  Swithin's  Chair, 
The  dew  of  the  night  has  damp'd  her  hair : 
Her  cheek  was  pale — but  resolved  and  high 
Was  the  word  of  her  lip  and  the  glance  of  her 
eye. 

She  mutter'd  the  spell  of  Swithin  bold, 
When  his  naked  foot  traced  the  midnight  weld, 
When  he  stopp'd  the  Hag  as  she  rode  the  night, 
And  bade  her  descend,  and  her  promise  plight 

He  that  dare  sit  on  St.  Swithin's  Chair, 
When  the  Night-Hag  wings  the  troubled  air, 
Questions  three,  when  he  speaks  the  spelL 
He  may  ask,  and  she  must  telL 


■  50 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  Baron    has    been  with  King    Robert    his 

liege, 
These  three  long  years  in  battle  and  siege ; 
News  are  there  none  of  his  weal  01  his  woe, 
And  fain  the  Lady  his  fate  would  know. 


She 


as   the    charm    she 


shudders    and 
speaks ; — 
Is  it  the  moody  owl  that  shrieks  ? 
Or  is  that  sound,  betwixt  laughter  and  scream, 
The  voice  of  the  Demon  who  haunts  the  stream  ? 

The  moan  of  the  wind  sunk  silent  and  low, 
And  the  roaring  torrent  hacCceased  to  flow ; 
The    calm    was    more    dreadful    than    raging 

storm, 
When  the  cold  gray  mist  brought  the  ghastly 

forml 

****** 

Chap.  xiii. 


C7.)— DAVIE  GELLATLEY'S  SONG. 

"  The  next  day  Edward  arose  betimes,  and  in  a 
morning  walk  around  the  house  and  its  vicinity, 
came  suddenly  upon  a  small  court  in  front  of  the 
dog-kennel,  where  his  friend  Davie  was  employed 
about  his  four-footed  charge.  One  quick  glance 
of  his  eye  recognized  Waverley,  when,  instantly 
turning  his  back,  as  if  he  had  not  observed  him, 
he  began  to  sing  part  of  an  old  ballad." 

Young  men  will  love  thee  more  fair  and  more 
fast ; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  ? 
Old  men's  love  the  longest  will  last, 

And  the  throstle-cockJs  head  is  under  his  wing. 

The   young  man's  wrath  is  like  light  straw  on 
fire; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  ? 
But  like  red-hot  steel  is  the  old  man's  ire, 

And  the  throstle-cock 's  head  is  under  his  wing. 

The  young  man  will  brawl  at  the  evening  board ; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  ? 
But  the  old  man  will  draw  at  the  dawning  the 
sword, 

And  the  throstle-cock's  head  is  under  his  wing. 

[This  song  has  allusion  to  the  Baron  of  Braid- 
wardine's  personal  encounter  With  Balmawhapple 
early  next  morning,  after  the  evening  quarrel  be- 
twixt the  latter  and  Waverley.] 

Chap.  xiv. 


(8.)— JANET  GELLATLEY'S  ALLEGED 
WITCHCRAFT. 

"  This  anecdote  led  into  a  long:  discussion  of," 


All  those  idle  thoughts  and  phantasies, 

Devices,  dreams,  opinions  unsound, 
Shows,  visions,  soothsays,  and  prophecies, 
And  all  that  feigned  is,  as  leasings,  tales,  and  lies 

Chap,  xiii 


(9.)— FLORA  MACIVOR'S  SONG. 

a  Flora  had  exchanged  the  measured  and  mo 
notonous  recitative  of  the  bard  for  a  lofty  and 
uncommon  Highland  air,  which  had  been  a  battle 
song  in  former  ages.  A  few  irregular  strains  in 
troduced  a  prelude  of  wild  and  peculiar  tone, 
which  harmonized  well  with  the  distant  water- 
fall, and  the  soft  sigh  of  the  evening  breeze  in 
the  rustling  leaves  of  an  aspen  which  overhung 
the  seat  of  the  fair  harpress.  The  following  verses 
convey  but  little  idea  of  the  feelings  with  which, 
so  sung  and  accompanied,  they  were  heard  by 
Waverley :" 

There  is  mist  on  the  mountain,  and  night  on  the 

vale, 
But  more  dark  is  the  sleep  of  the  sons  of  the  Gael. 
A  stranger  commanded — it  sunk  on  the  land, 
It  has   frozen    each   heart,  and   benumb'd  every 

hand ! 

The  dirk  and  the  target  lie  sordid  with  dust, 
The  bloodless  claymore  is  but  redden'd  with  rust ; 
On  the  hill  or  the  glen  if  a  gun  should  appear, 
It  is  only  to  war  with  the  heath-cock  or  deer. 

The  deeds  of  our  sires   if  our  bards  should  re- 
hearse, 
Let  a  blush  or  a  blow  be  the  meed  of  their  verse  ! 
Be  mute  every  string,  and  be  hush'd  every  tone, 
That  shall  bid  us  remember  the  fame  that  is  flown. 

But  the  dark  hours  of  night  and  of  slumber  are 

past, 
The  morn  on  our  mountains  is  dawning  at  last ; 
Glenaladale's  peaks  are  illumed  with  the  rays, 
And  the  streams  of  Glenfinnan  leap  bright  in  tho 

blaze. 

0  high-minded  Moray  ! — the  exiled  -  the  dear  !— 
In  the  blush  of  the  dawning  the  Standard  uprear 
Wide,  wide  on  the  winds  of  the  north  let  it  fly, 
Like  the  sun's   latest  flash  when  the  tempest  k 
nigh! 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


051 


Yc  sons  of  the  strong,  when  that  dawning  shall 

break, 
Need  the  harp  of  the  aged  remind  you  to  wake  ? 
That  dawn  never  beam'd  on  your  forefathers'  eye, 
But  it  roused  each  high  chieftain  to  vanquish  or 

die. 

0  sprni^-  from  the  Kings  who  in  Italy  kept  state, 
Proud  chiefs  of  Clan-Ranald,  Glengary,  and  Sleat ! 
Combine  like  th*.e  streams  from  one  mountain  of 

enow, 
And  resistless  in  union  rush  down  on  the  foe  I 

True  son  of  Sir  Evan,  undaunted  Lochiel, 

Place  thy  targe  on  thy  shoulder  and  burnish  thy 

steel ! 
Rough  Keppoch,  give  breath  to  thy  bugle's  bold 

swell 
Till  far  Coryarrick  resound  to  the  knell  1 

Stern  son  of  Lord  Kenneth,  high  chief  of  Kintail, 
Let  the  stag  in  thy  standard  bound  wild  hi  the 

gale! 
May  the  race  of  Clan-Gillian,  the  fearless  and  free, 
Remember  Glenlivat,  Harlaw,  and  Dundee  ! 

Let  the  clan  of  gray  Fingon,  whose  offspring  has 

given 
■Such  heroes  to  earth,  and  such  martyrs  to  heaven, 
Unite  with  the  race  of  renown'd  Rorri  More, 
To  launch  the  long  galley,  and  stretch  to  the  oar  1 

How  Mac-Shimei  will  joy  when  their  chief  shall 

display 
The  yew-crested  bonnet  o'er  tresses  of  gray  1 
How  the  race  of   wrong'd  Alpine  and  murder'd 

Glencoe 
Shall  shout  for  revenge  when  they  pour  on  the  foe  1 

Ye  sons  of   brown   Dermid,  who  slew  the  wild 

boar, 
Resume  the  pure  faith  of  the  great  Callum-More ! 
Mac-Niel  of  the  Islands,  and  Moy  of  the  Lake, 
For  honor,  for  freedom,  for  vengeance  awake  1 

Awake  on  your  hills,  on  your  islands  awake, 
Brave  sons  of  the  mountain,  the  frith,  and  the 

lakel 
Tis  the  bugle — but  not  for  the  chase  is  the  call; 
'Tis  the  pibroch's  shrill  summons — but  not  to  the 

hall. 

Tis  the  summons  of  heroes  for  conquest  or  death, 
When  the  banners  are  blazing  on  mountain  and 

heath ; 
rhcy  call  to  the  dirk,  the  claymore,  and  the  targe, 
To  the  march  and  the  muster,  the  line  and  the 

charge. 


Be  the  brand  of  each  chieftain  like  Fin's  in  hia 

ire ! 
May  the  blood  tlirough  his  veins  flow  like  currents 

of  fire  ! 
Burst  the  base  foreign  yoke  as  your  sires  did  of 

yore ! 
Or  die,  like  your  sires,  and  endure  it  no  more  1 

"  As  Flora  concluded  her  song,  Fergus  stood  be- 
fore them,  and  immediately  commenced  with  a 
theatrical  air," 

0  Lady  of  the  desert,  hail ! 
That  lovest  the  harping  of  the  Gael, 
Through  fan-  and  fertile  regions  borne. 
Where  never  yet  grew  grass  or  corr. 

"  But  English  poetry  will  never  succeed  undei 
the  influence  of  a  Highland  Helicon  —  Allons 
courage" — 

0  vous,  qui  buvez  a  tasse  pleine, 

A  cette  heureuse  fontaine, 
Ou  on  ne  voit  sur  le  rivage 

Que  quelques  vilains  troupeaux, 
Suivis  de  nymphes  de  village, 

Qui  les  escortent  sans  sabots 

Chap.  xxii. 


(10.)— LINES  ON  CAPTAIN  WOGAN. 

"The  letter  from  the  Chief  contained  Flora's 
lines  on  the  fate  of  Captain  Wogan,  whose  enter- 
prising character  is  so  well  drawn  by  Clarendon 
He  had  originally  engaged  in  the  service  of  the 
Parliament,  but  had  abjured  that  party  upon  the 
execution  of  Charles  I. ;  and  upon  hearing  that 
the  royal  standard  was  set  up  by  the  Earl  oi 
Glencairn  and  General  Middleton  in  the  High- 
lands of  Scotland,  took  leave  of  Charles  II.,  who 
was  then  at  Paris,  passed  into  England,  assembled 
a  body  of  cavaliers  in  the  neighborhood  of  Lon- 
don, and  traversed  the  kingdom,  which  had  been 
so  long  under  domination  of  the  usurper,  by 
marches  conducted  with  such  skill,  dexterity,  and 
spirit,  that  he  safely  united  his  handful  of  horse- 
men with  tlie  body  of  Highlanders  then  in  arms. 
After  several  months  of  desultory  warfaro,  in 
which  Wogan's  skill  and  courage  gained  lum  the 
highest  reputation,  he  had  the  misfortune  to  be 
wounded  in  a  dangerous  manner,  and  no  surgical 
assistance  being  within  reach,  he  terminated  hia 
short  but  glorious  career." 

The  Ver*es  were  inscribed. 


652                                       feCUTiti  FOKTiOAL  WORKS. 

TO  AN  OAK  TREE, 

But  follow,  follow  me, 

While  glow-worms  light  the  lea, 

I'll  show  ye  where  the  dead  should  be — 

OF   SCOTLAND,  SAID    TO   MARK    THE    GRAVE    OF    CAP- 

Each in  his  shroud, 

TAIN  WCGAN,  KILLED  IN  1649. 

While  winds  pipe  loud, 

And  the  red  moon  peeps  dim  through  the  (loud 

Emblem  of  England's  ancient  faith, 

Full  proudly  may  thy  branches  wave, 

Follow,  follow  me ; 

Where  loyalty  lies  low  in  death, 

Brave  should  he  be 

And  valor  fills  a  timeless  grave. 

That  treads  by  the  night  the  dead  man's  lea." 

Chap,  bail 

And  thou,  brave  tenant  of  the  tomb ! 

Repine  not  if  our  clime  deny, 
Above  thine  honor'd  sod  to  bloom, 

The  fiowrets  of  a  milder  sky. 

£fje   0ut&or  of  S^aberleg. 

These  owe  then  birth  to  genial  May ; 

Beneath  a  fiercer  sun  they  pine, 

["  I  am  not  able  to  give  the  exact  date  of  the 

Before  the  winter  storm  decay — 

following  reply  to  one  of  John  Ballantyne's  expos- 

And can  their  worth  be  type  of  thine  ? 

tulations  on  the  subject  of  the  secret." — Life,  voL 

iv.  p.  119.] 

No !  for,  'mid  storms  of  Fate  opposing, 

Still  higher  swell'd  thy  dauntless  heart, 

"  No,  John,  I  will  not  own  the  book — ■ 

And,  while  Despair  the  scene  was  closing, 

I  won't,  you  Piccaroon. 

Commenced  thy  brief  but  brilliant  part. 

When  next  I  try  St.  Grubby's  brook, 

The  A.  of  Wa— shall  bait  the  hook— 

'Twas  then  thou  sought'st  on  Albyn's  hill 

And  flat-fish  bite  as  soon, 

(When  England's  sons  the  strife  resign'd), 

As  if  before  them  they  had  got 

A  rugged  race  resisting  still, 

The  worn-out  wriggler 

And  unsubdued  though  unrefined. 
Thy  death's  hour  heard  no  kindred  wail, 

Walter  Scott." 

No  holy  knell  thy  requiem  rung ; 

Thy  mourners  were  the  plaided  Gael, 

jFaretoell   to   J&acttenjfe. 

Thy  dirge  the  clamorous  pibroch  sung. 

HIGH  CHIEF  OF  KINTAIL. 

Yet  who,  in  Fortune's  summer-shine 

FROM  THE  GAELIC. 

To  waste  life's  longest  term  away, 

Would  change  that  glorious  dawn  of  thine, 

1815.— ^Et.  44. 

Though  darken'd  ere  its  noontide  day  ? 

The  original  verses  are  arranged  to  a  beautiful 

Be  thine  the  Tree  whose  dauntless  boughs 

Gaelic  air,  of  which  the  chorus  is  adapted  to  the 

Brave  summer's  drought  and  winter's  gloom ! 

double  pull  upon  the  oars  of  a  galley,  and  which 

Rome  bound  with  oak  her  patriots'  brows, 

is  therefore  distinct  from  the  ordinary  jorrams, 

As  Albyn  shadows  Wogan's  tomb. 

or  boat-songs.     They  were  composed  by  the  Fam- 

Chap. xxix. 

ily  Bard  upon  the  departure  of  the  Earl  of  Sea- 

forth,  who  was  obliged  to  take  refuge  in  Spain, 

after  an  unsuccessful  effort  at  insurrection  in 

favor  of  the  Stuart  family,  in  tlte  year  1718. 

(11.)— "FOLLOW  ME,  FOLLOW  ME." 
" '  Wno  are  dead  ?'    said  Waverley,  forgetting 

Farewell  to  Mackenneth,  great  Earl  of  the  North, 

the  incapacity  of  Davie  to  hold  any  connected  dis- 

The  Lord  of  Lochcarron,  Glenshiel,  and  Seaforth  ; 

•ourse. 

To  the  Chieftain  this  morning  his  course  who  began, 

"Baron — and  Baillie — and  Sanders   Sanderson 

Launclung  forth  on  the  billows  his  bark  like  a  swan. 

— and  Lady  Rose,  that  sang  sae  sweet — A'  dead 

For  a  far  foreign  land  he  has  hoisted  his  sail, 

and  gane — dead  and  gane  (said  Davie) — 

Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail  I 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


653 


0  swift  be  the  galley,  and  hardy  her  crew, 
May  her  captain  be  skilful,  her  mariners  true, 
In  danger  undaunted,  unwearied  by  toil, 
Though  the  whirlwind  should  rise,  and  the  ocean 

should  boil : 
On  the  brave  vessel's  gunnel  I  drank  his  bonail,1 
And  farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail ! 

Awake  in  thy  chamber,  thou  sweet  southland  gale ! 
Like  the  sighs  of  his  people,  breathe  soft  on  his  sail ; 
Be  prolong'd  as  regret,  that  his  vassals  must  know, 
Be  fair  as  their  faith,  and  sincere  as  their  woe  : 
Be  so  soft,  and  so  fair,  and  so  faithful,  sweet  gale, 
Wafting  onward  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail ! 

Be  his  pilot  experienced,  and  trusty,  and  wise, 
To  measure  the  seas  and  to  study  the  skies  : 
May  he  hoist  all  his  canvas  from  streamer  to  deck, 
But  0  !  crowd  it  higher  when  wafting  him  back — 
Till  the  cliffs  of  Skooroora,  and  Conan's  glad  vale, 
Shall  welcome  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail ! 


IMITATION"  OF  THE  PRECEDING  SONG.8 

So  sung  the  old  Bard,  in  the  grief  of  his  heart, 
When  he  saw  his  loved  Lord  from  his  people  depart. 
Now  mute  on  thy  mountains,  0  Albyn,  are  heard 
Nor  the  voice  of  the  song,  nor  the  harp  of  the  bard ; 
Or  its  strings  are  but  waked  by  the  stern  winter 

gale, 
As  they  mourn  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

From  the  far  Southland  Border  a  Minstrel  came 

forth, 
And  he  waited  the  hour  that  some  Bard  of  the  north 
His  hand  on  the  harp  of  the  ancient  should  cast, 
And  bid  its  wild  numbers  mix  high  with  the  blast ; 
But  no  bard  was  there  left  in  the  land  of  the  Gael, 
To  lament  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

And  shalt  thou  then  sleep,  did  the  Minstrel  exclaim, 
Like  the  son  of  the  lowly,  unnoticed  by  fame  ? 
No,  son  of  Fitzgerald  !  in  accents  of  woe, 
The  song  thou  hast  loved  o'er  thy  coffin  shall  flow, 
And  teach  thy  wild  mountains  to  join  in  the  wail 
That  laments  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

In  vain,  the  bright  course  of  thy  talents  to  wrong, 
Fate  deaden'd  thine  ear  and  imprison'd  thy  tongue ; 
For  brighter  o'er  all  her  obstructions  arose 

i  Bonail,  or  Bonallez,  the  old  Scottish  phrase  for  a  feast  at 
parting  with  a  friend. 

'*  These  verses  were  written  shortly  after  the  death  of  Lord 
<5eaforth,  the  last  male  representative  of  his  illustrious  house. 
He  was  a  nohleman  of  extraordinary  talents,  who  must  have 
iriidfc  for  himself  a  lasting  reputation,  had  not  his  political  ex- 


The  glow  of  the  genius  they  could  not  oppose ; 
And  who  in  the  land  of  the  Saxon  or  GaeL 
Might  match  with  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kin 
tail? 

Thy  sons  rose  around  thee  in  light  and  in  love, 
All  a  father  could  hope,  all  a  friend  could  approve; 
What  'vails  it  the  tale  of  thy  sorrows  to  tell, — 
In  the  spring-time  of  youth  and  of  promise  thev 

fell! 
Of  the  line  of  Fitzgerald  remains  not  a  male, 
To  bear  the  proud  name  of  the  Chief  of  Kintail. 

And  thou,  gentle  Dame,who  must  bear,  to  thy  grief, 
For  thy  clan  and  thy  country  the  cares  of  a  Chief, 
Whom  brief  rolling  moons  in  six  changes  have  left, 
Of  thy  husband,  and  father,  and  brethren  bereft, 
To  thine  ear  of  affection,  how  sad  is  the  hail, 
That  salutes  thee  the  Heir  of  the  line  of  Kintail  ,J 


ar*<Sonjj   of  SLac&lan 

HIGH  CHIEF  OF  MACLEAN 


FROM  THE  GAELIC 


1815. 


This  song  appears  to  be  imperfect,  or,  at  least,  likt 
many  of  the  early  Gaelic  poems,  makes  a  rapid 
transition  from  one  subject  to  another  ;  from  tht 
situation,  namely,  of  one  of  the  daughters  of  the 
clan,  who  opens  the  song  by  lamenting  the  ab- 
sence of  her  lover,  to  an  eulogium  over  tlte  mili- 
tary glories  of  the  Chieftain.  Tlte  translator 
has  endeavored  to  imitate  the  abrupt  sti/le  of  tfu 
original. 


A  weary  month  has  wander'd  o  ei, 
Since  last  we  parted  on  the  shore  ; 
Heaven  !  that  I  saw  thee,  Love,  once  more, 

Safe  on  that  shore  again  ! — 
'Twas  valiant  Lachlan  gave  the  word  : 
Lachlan,  of  many  a  galley  lord : 
He  call'd  his  kindred  bands  on  board, 

And  launch'd  them  on  the  main. 

Clan-Gillian4  is  to  ocean  gone  ; 
Clan-Gillian,  fierce  in  foray  known  ; 

ertions  been  checked  by  the  painful  natural  infirmities  alluded 
to  in  the  fourth  stanza.— See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  v.  pp.  18, 19. 

3  The  Honorable  Lady  Hood,  daughter  of  the  last  Lord  Sea- 
forth,  widow  of  Admiral  Sir  Samuel  Hood,  now  Mrs.  Stewart 
Mackenzie  of  Seaforth  and  Glasserton.— 1833. 

*  t.  e.  The  clan  of  Maclean,  literally  the  race  oi  Gillian 


654                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Rejoicing  in  the  glory  -won 

Though  music's  self  was  wont  to  meet 

In  many  a  bloody  broil : 

With  Princes  at  Saint  Cloud. 

For  wide  is  heard  the  thundering  fray, 

The  rout,  the  ruin,  the  dismay, 

Nor  then,  with  more  delighted  ear, 

When  from  the  twilight  glens  away 

The  circle  round  her  drew, 

Clan-Gillian  drives  the  spoil. 

Than  ours,  when  gather' d  round  to  hear 

Our  songstress3  at  Saint  Cloud. 

Woe  to  the  hills  that  shall  rebound 

Our  banner'd  bag-pipes'  maddening  sound  ; 

Few  happy  hours  poor  mortals  pass, — 

Clan-Gillian's  onset  echoing  round, 

Then  give  those  hours  their  due, 

Shall  shake  their  inmost  cell. 

And  rank  among  the  foremost  class 

Woe  to  the  bark  whose  crew  shall  gaze, 

Our  evenings  at  Saint  Cloud. 

Where  Lachlan's  silken  streamer  plays  1 

The  fools  might  face  the  lightning's  blaze 

As  w'sely  and  as  well ! 

2Tf)c  JBance  of  Deati).4 

Safnt    ©iotlU. 

1815. 

[Paris,  5th  September,  1815.] 

L 

Night  and  morning6  were  at  meeting 

Soft  spread  the  southern  summer  night 

Over  Waterloo; 

Her  veil  of  darksome  blue  ; 

Cocks  had  sung  their  earliest  greeting ; 

Ten  thousand  stars  combined  to  light 

Faint  and  low  they  crew ; 

The  terrace  of  Saint  Cloud. 

For  no  paly  beam  yet  shone 

On  the  heights  of  Mount  Saint  John ; 

The  evening  breezes  gently  sigh'd, 

Tempest-clouds  prolong' d  the  sway 

Like  breath  of  lover  true, 

Of  timeless  darkness  over  day ; 

Bewailing  the  deserted  pride 

Whirlwind,  thunder-clap,  and  shower, 

And  wreck  of  sweet  Saint  Cloud. 

Mark'd  it  a  predestined  hour. 

Broad  and  frequent  through  the  night 

The  drum's  deep  roll  was  heard  afar, 

Flash'd  the  sheets  of  levin-light ; 

The  bugle  wildly  blew 

Muskets,  glancing  lightnings  back, 

Good-night  to  Hulan  and  Hussar, 

Show'd  the  dreary  bivouac 

That  garrison  Saint  Cloud. 

Where  the  soldier  lay, 

Chill  and  stiff,  and  drench'd  with  rain, 

The  startled  Naiads  from  the  shade 

Wishing  dawn  6f  morn  again, 

With  broken  urns  withdrew, 

Though  death  should  come  with  day. 

And  silenced  was  that  proud  cascade, 

The  glory  of  Saint  Cloud. 

II. 

'Tis  at  such  a  tide  and  hour, 

We  sate  upon  its  steps  of  stone, 

Wizard,  witch,  and  fiend  have  power, 

Nor  could  its  silence1  rue, 

And  ghastly  forms  through  mist  and  shower 

When  waked,  to  music  of  our  own, 

Gleam  on  the  gifted  ken ; 

The  echoes  of  Saint  Cloud. 

And  then  the  affrighted  prophet's  ear 

Drinks  whispers  strange  of  fate  and  fear 

Slow  Seine  might  hear  each  lovely  note 

Presaging  death  and  ruin  near 

Fall  light  as  summer  dew, 

Among  the  sons  of  men ; — 

While  through  the  moonless2  ah  they  float, 

Apart  from  Albyn's  war-array, 

Prolong' d  from  fair  Saint  Cloud. 

'Twas  then  gray  Allan  sleepless  lay ; 

Gray  Allan,  who,  for  many  a  day, 

And  sure  a  melody  more  sweet 

Had  follow'd  stout  and  stern, 

His  waters  never  knew, 

Where,  through  battle's  rout  and  reel, 

MS.—"  Absence."                 MS.— "  Midnight." 

4  Originally  published   in  1815,  in  the  Edinburgh  Annas 

3  These  lines  were  written  after  an  evening  spent  at  Saint 

Register,  vol.  v. 

Jloud  with  the  ate  Lady  Alvanley  and  her  daughters,  one  of 

whom  was  the  songstress  alluded  to  in  the  text. 

6  MS. — "  Dawn  and  darkness." 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


655 


Storm  of  shot  and  hedge  of  steel, 

Our  airy  feet, 

Led  the  grandson  of  Lochiel, 

So  light  and  fleet, 

Valiant  Fassiefern. 

They  do  not  bend  the  rye 

Through  steel  and  shot  he  leads  no  more, 

That  sinks  its  head  when  whirlwinds 

Low  laid  'mid  friends'  and  foe  men's  gore — 

rave, 

But  long  his  native  lake's  wild  shore, 

And  swells  again  in  eddying  wave, 

And  Sunart  rough,  and  high  Ardgower, 

As  each  wild  gust  blows  by ; 

And  Morven  long  shall  tell, 

But  still  the  corn, 

And  proud  Bennevis  hear  with  awe, 

At  dawn  of  morn, 

How,  upon  bloody  Quatre-Bras, 

Our  fatal  steps  that  bore, 

Brave  Cameron  heard  the  wild  hurra 

At  eve  lies  waste, 

Of  conquest  as  he  fell.1 

A  trampled  paste 

Of  blackening  mud  and  gore. 

III. 

'Lone  on  the  outskirts  of  the  host, 

V. 

The  weary  sentinel  held  post, 

"  Wheel  the  wild  dance 

And  heard,  through  darkness  far  aloof, 

While  lightnings  glance, 

The  frequent  clang2  of  courser's  hoof, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 

Where  held  the  cloak'd  patrol  their  course, 

And  call  the  brave 

And   spurr'd   'gainst   storm   the    swerving 

To  bloody  grave, 

horse*, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

But  there  are  sounds  in  Allan's  ear, 

Patrol  nor  sentinel  may  hear, 

Wheel  the  wild  dance ! 

And  sights  before  his  eye  aghast 

Brave  sons  of  France, 

Invisible  to  them  have  pass'd, 

For  you  our  ring  makes  room ; 

When  down  the  destined  plain, 

Make  space  full  wide 

'Twixt  Britain  and  the  bands  of  France, 

For  martial  pride, 

Wild  as  marsh-borne  meteor's  glance, 

For  banner,  spear,  and  plume. 

Strange  phantoms  wheel'd  a  revel  dance, 

Approach,  draw  near, 

Anddoom'd  the  future  slain. — 

Proud  cuirassier ! 

Such  forms  were   seen,   such  sounds  were 

Room  for  the  men  of  steel  I 

heard, 

Through  crest  and  plate 

When  Scotland's  James  his  march  prepared, 

For  Flodden's  fatal  plain  ;8- 
Such,  when  he  drew  his  ruthless  sword, 
As  Choosers  of  the  Slain,  adored 

The  yet  unchristen'd  Dane. 
An  indistinct  and  phantom  band, 
They  wheel'd  their  ring-dance  hand  in  hand, 

With  gestures  wild  and  dread ; 
The  Seer,  who  watch'd  them  ride  the  storm, 
Saw  through  their  faint  and  shadowy  form 

The  lightning's  flash  more  red ; 
And  still  their  ghastly  roundelay 
Was  of  the  coming  battle-fray, 

And  of  the  destined  dead. 

IV. 
Sonfl. 
"  WTieel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 


i  See  note,  ante,  p.  509. 

-  MS. — "  Oft  came  the  clang 


&c. 


The  broadsword's  weight 

Both  head  and  heart  shall  feeL 

VI. 
"  Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Sons  of  the  spear  1 
You  feel  us  near 

In  many  a  ghastly  dream ; 
With  fancy's  eye 
Our  forms  you  spy, 

And  hear  our  fatal  scream. 
With  clearer  sight 
Ere  falls  the  night, 

Just  when  to  weal  or  woe 
Your  disembodied  souls  take  flight 
On  trembling  wing — each  startled  sprite 

Our  choir  of  death  shall  know. 


8  See  ante,  Marmion,  canto  v.  stanzas  24,  25, 
pendix,  Note  4  A,  p.  173 


3,  and  Ap 


650 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


VII. 
"  Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Burst,  ye  clouds,  in  tempest  showers, 
Redder  rain  shall  soon  be  ours — 

See  the  east  grows  wan — 
Yield  we  place  to  sterner  game, 
Ere  deadlier  bolts  and  direr  flame 
Shall  the  welkin's  thunders  shame : 
Elemental  rage  is  tame 

To  the  wrath  of  man." 

VIII. 
At  morn,  gray  Allan's  mates  with  awe 
Heard  of  the  vision'd  sights  he  saw, 

The  legend  heard  him  say ; 
But  the  Seer's  gifted  eye  was  dim, 
Deafen'd  his  ear,  and  stark  his  limb, 

Ere  closed  that  bloody  day — 
He  sleeps  far  from  his  Highland  heath, — 
But  often  of  the  Dance  of  Death 

His  comrades  tell  the  tale, 
On  picquet-post,  when  ebbs  the  night, 
And  waning  watch-fires  glow  less  bright, 

And  dawn  is  glimmering  pale. 


Romance  of  23utiofs. 

FROM  THE  FRENCH. 


1815. 


The  original  of  this  little  Romance  makes  part  of 
a  manuscript  collection  of  French  Songs,  proba- 
bly compiled  by  some  young  officer,  which  was 
found  on  the  field  of  Waterloo,  so  much  stained 
with  clay  and  loith  blood,  as  sufficiently  to  indi- 
cate the  fate  of  its  late  owner.  The  song  is  popu- 
lar in  France,  and  is  rather  a  good  specimen  of 
the  style  of  composition  to  which  it  belongs.  The 
translation  is  strictly  literal? 


rt  was  Dunois,  the  young  and  brave,  was  bound 

for  Palestine, 
3ut  first  he  made  his  orisons  before  Saint  Mary's 

shrine : 

i  This  ballad  appeared  in  1815,  in  Paul's  Letters,  and  in  the 
Edinburgh  Annual  Register.     It  has  since  been  set  to  music 
6y  G.  F.  Graham,  Esq.,  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Select  Melodies,  &c. 
*  The  original  romance, 

"  Partant  pour  la  Syrie, 
Le  jeune  et  brave  Dunois,"  &«k 


"  And  grant,  immortal  Queen  of  Heaven,'  was  still 

the  Soldier's  prayer, 
"  That  I  may  prove  the  bravest  knight,  and  love 

the  fairest  fair." 

His  oath  of  honor  on  the  shrine  he  graved  it  with 

his  sword, 
And  follow'd  to  the  Holy  Land  the  banner  of  his 

Lord ; 
Where,  faithful  to  his  noble  vow,  his  war-cry  fill'd 

the  air, 
"  Be  honor'd  aye  the  bravest  knight,  beloved  the 

fairest  fair." 

They  owed  the  conquest  to  his  arm,  and  then  his 

Liege -Lord  said, 
"  The  heart  that  has  for  honor  beat  by  bliss  must 

be  repaid. — 
My  daughter  Isabel  and  thou  shall  be  a  wedded 

pair, 
For  thou  art  bravest  of  the  brave,  she  fairest  of 

the  fair." 

And  then  they  bound  the  holy  knot  before  Saint 

Mary's  shrine, 
That  makes  a  paradise  on  earth,  if  hearts  and  hands 

combine ; 
And  every  lord  and  lady  bright,  that  were  in  chapel 

there, 
Cried,  "  Honor'd  be  the  bravest  knight,  beloved  the 

fairest  fair !" 


2T|)e  STtouoatiour.8 

FROM   THE    SAME    COLLECTION 


1815. 


Glowing  with  love,  on  fire  for  fame, 

A  Troubadour  that  hated  sorrow, 
Beneath  his  Lady's  window  cam«, 

And  thus  he  sung  his  last  good-morro-w : 
"  My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  true-love  s  bowei" 
Gayly  for  love  and  fame  to  fight 

Befits  the  gallant  Troubadour." 

And  while  he  march'd  with  helm  on  head 
And  harp  in  hand,  the  descant  rung, 

As,  faithful  to  his  favorite  maid, 
The  minstrel-burden  still  he  sung  : 

was  written,  and  set  to  music  also,  by  Hortense  Beauhamoi*, 
Duchesse  de  St.  Leu,  Ex-Queen  of  Holland. 

3  The  original  of  this  ballad  also  was  written  and  composed 
by  the  Duchesse  de  St.  Leu.  The  translation  has  been  set  to 
music  by  Mr.  Thomson.  See  his  Collection  of  Scottish  Songi, 
1826. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


057 


"My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right, 
My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower ; 

Resolved  for  love  and  fame  to  fight, 
I  come,  a  gallant  Troubadour." 

Even  when  the  battle-roar  was  deep, 

With  dauntless  heart  he  hew'd  his  way, 
'Mid  splintering  lance  and  falchion-sweep, 

And  still  was  heard  his  warrior-lay : 
"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
For  love  to  die,  for  fame  to  fight, 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour." 

Alas !  upon  the  bloody  field 

He  fell  beneath  the  foeman's  glaive, 
But  still  reclining  on  his  shield, 

Expiring  sung  the  exulting  stave : — 
"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
For  love  and  fame  to  fall  in  fight 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour." 


Jfxom  t J)c  JFxentfy.1 


1815. 


It  chanced  that  Cupid  on  a  season, 
By  Fancy  urged,  resolved  to  wed, 

But  could  not  settle  whether  Reason 
Or  Folly  should  partake  his  bed. 

What  does  he  then  ? — Upon  my  life, 
'Twas  bad  example  for  a  deity — 

He  takes  me  Reason  for  a  wife, 
And  Folly  for  his  hours  of  gayety. 

Though  thus  he  dealt  in  petty  treason, 
He  loved  them  both  in  equal  measure ; 

Fidelity  was  born  of  Reason, 

And  Folly  brought  to  bed  of  Pleasure. 


Sons, 

OX  THE  LIFTING  OF  THE  BANNER  OF  THE 

HOUSE  OF  BUCCLEUCH,  AT  A  GREAT  FOOT-BALL  MATCH 

ON  CARTERHAUGH.8 


1815. 


From  the  brown  crest  of  Newark  its  summons 
extending, 
Our  signal  is  waving  in  smoke  and  in  flame ; 

i  This  trifle  also  is  from  the  French  Collection,  found  at 
Waterloo.— See  Paul's  Letters. 

3  This  ».ons  appears  with  Music  in  Mr.  G.  Thomson's  Col- 
ection— 1826.  The  foot-ball  match  on  which  it  was  written 
83 


And  each  forester  blithe,  from  his  mountain  de- 
scending, 
Bounds  light  o'er  the  heather  to  join  in  th« 
game. 

CHORUS. 

Then  up  with  the  Banner,  let  forest  winds  fan  her, 
She  has  blazed  over  Ettrick  eight  ages  and  more  t 

In  sport  we'll  attend  her,  in  battle  defend  her, 
With  heart  and  with  hand,  like  our  fathers  before. 

When  the   Southern  invader  spread  waste  and 
disorder, 
At  the  glance  of  her  crescents  he  paused  and 
withdrew, 
For  around  them  were  marshall'd  the  pride  of  the 
Border, 
The  Flowers  of  the  Fore^L,  the  Bands  of  Buo- 

CLEUCH. 

Then  up  with  the  Banner,  <fec. 

A  Stripling's  weak  hand3  to  our  revel  has  borne  her, 
No  mail-glove  has  grasp'd  her,  no  spearmen  sur- 
round ; 
But  ere  a  bold  foeman  should  scathe  or  should 
scorn  her, 
A  thousand  true  hearts  would  be  cold  on  the 
ground. 

Then  up  with  the  Banner,  <fec. 

We  forget  each  contention  of  civil  dissension 
And  hail,  like  our  brethren,  Home,  Douglas,"  ana 
Car: 
And  Elliot  and  Pringle  in  pastime  shall  mingle 
As  welcome  in  peace  as  their  fathers  in  war. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

Then  strip,  lads,  and  to  it,  though  sharp  be  the 
weather, 
And  if,  by  mischance,  you  should  happen  to  fall, 
There  are  worse  things  in  life  than  a  tumble  "n 
heather, 
And  life  is  itself  but  a  game  at  foot-ball. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  <fec. 

And  when  it  is  over,  we'll  dnnk  a  blithe  measure 
To  each  Laird  and  each  Lady  that  witness'd  oui 
fun, 
And  to  every  blithe  heart  that  took  part  in  out 
pleasure, 
To  the  lads  that  have  lost  and  the  lads  thai 
have  won. 

Then  up  with  the  Banner,  <fec. 

took  place  on  December  5,  1815,  and  was  also  celebrated  dj 
the  Ettrick  Shepherd.     See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  v.  pp.  112 
116,  122. 
»  The  bearer  of  the  standard  was  the  Author's  eldest  son 


658 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


May  the  Forest  still  flourish,  both  Borough  and 
Landward, 
From  the  hall  of  the  Peer  to  the  Herd's  ingle- 
nook; 
And  huzza !  my  brave  hearts,  for  Buccleuch  and 
his  standard, 
For  the  King  and  the  Country,  the  Clan,  and 
the  Duke  1 

Then  up  with  the  Banner,  let  forest  winds  fan 
her, 
She  has   blazed  over  Ettrick  eight   ages   and 
more  ; 
In  sport  well  attend  her,  in  battle  defend  her, 
With  heart   and  with   hand,  like   our  fathers 
before. 


Hullabg  of  an  Enfant  Cfjfef. 

Air—"  Cadul  gu  lo."1 


1815. 


I 

0,  hush  thee,  my  babie,  thy  sire  was  a  knight, 

Thy  mother  a  lady,  both  lovely  and  bright ; 

The  woods  and  the  glens,  from  the  towers  which 

we  see, 
They  all  are  belonging,  dear  babie,  to  thee. 

0  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  cadul  gu  lo, 

0  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &c. 

II. 

0,  fear  not  the  bugle,  though  loudly  it  blows, 

It  calls  but  the  warders    that    guard  thy  re- 
pose ; 

Their  bows  would  be  bended,  their  blades  would 
be  red, 

Ere  the  step  of  a  foeman  draws  near  to  thy  bed. 
0  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  <fec. 

III. 

0,  hush  thee,  my  babie,  the  time  soon  will  come, 
When  thy  sleep  shall  be  broken  by  trumpet  and 

drum ; 
Then  hush  thee,  my  darling,  take  rest  while  you 

may, 
For  strife  comes  with  manhood,  and  waking  with 

day. 

0  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &c. 

i  "  Sleep  on  till  day."  These  words,  adapted  to  a  melody 
lomewhat  different  from  the  original,  are  sung  in  my  friend 
Mr.  Terry's  drama  of  "  Guy  Mannering."  ■  [The  "  Lullaby" 
was  first  printed  in  Mr.  Terry's  drama  :  it  was  afterwards  set 
to  music  in  Thomson's  Collection.     1822.] 


\)zvsc5  from  ©ug  Jtlcxnncring, 


1815. 


(l-)-SONGS  OF  MEG  MEMILIES. 


NATIVITY  OF  HARRY  BERTRAM. 

Canny  moment,  lucky  fit ; 

Is  the  lady  lighter  yet  ? 

Be  it  lad,  or  be  it  lass, 

Sign  wi'  cross,  and  sain  wi'  mass. 

Trefoil,  vervain,  John's-wort,  dill, 
Hinders  witches  of  their  will ; 
Weel  is  them,  that  weel  may 
Fast  upon  St.  Andrew's  day. 

Saint  Bride  and  her  brat, 
Saint  Colme  and  her  cat, 
Saint  Michael  and  his  spear, 
Keep  the  house  frae  reif  and  wear. 

Chap,  iii 


"TWIST  YE,  TWINE  YE." 

Twist  ye,  twine  ye  !  even  so, 
Mingle  shades  of  joy  and  woe, 
Hope,  and  fear,  and  peace,  and  strife, 
In  the  thread  of  human  life. 

While  the  mystic  twist  is  spinning, 
And  the  infant's  life  beginning, 
Dimly  seen  through  twilight  bending, 
Lo,  what  varied  shapes  attending ! 

Passions  wild,  and  follies  vain, 
Pleasures  soon  exchanged  for  pain ; 
Doubt,  and  jealousy,  and  fear, 
In  the  magic  dance  appear. 

Now  they  wax  and  now  they  dwindle, 
Whirling  with  the  whirling  spindle. 
Twist  ye,  twine  ye  1  even  so, 
Mingle  human  bliss  and  woe. 

Ibid. 


THE  DYING  GIPSY  SMUGGLER. 

Wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay, 
Wrestling  thus  with  earth  and  clay  ? 
From  the  body  pass  away  ; — 

Hark !  the  mass  is  singing. 

From  thee  doff  thy  mortal  weed, 
Mary  Mother  be  thy  speed, 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


65$ 


Saints  to  help  thee  at  thy  n  eed ; — 

Hark !  the  knel]  is  ringing. 

Fear  not  snow-drift  driving  fast, 
Sleet,  or  hail,  or  levin  blast ; 
Soon  the  shroud  shall  lap  thee  fast, 
And  the  sleep  be  on  thee  c?st 

That  shall  ne'er  know  waking. 

Haste  thee,  haste  thee,  to  bs  gone, 
Earth  flits  fas',   and  time  draws  on, — 
Gasp  thy  gasp,  and  groan  thy  groan, 
Day  is  near  the  breaking. 

"  The  songstress  paused,  and  was  answered  by 
one  or  two  deep  and  hollow  groans,  that  seemed 
to  proceed  from  the  very  agony  of  the  mortal 
strife.  '  It  will  not  be,'  she  muttered  to  herself 
*  He  cannot  pass  away  with  that  on  his  mind ;  it 
tethers  him  here. 

Heaven  cannot  abide  it ; 
Earth  refuses  to  hide  it. 

I  must  open  the  door/ 

" She  lifted  the  latch,  saying, 

•  Open  locks,  end  strife, 
Come  death,  and  pass  life.'  " 

Chap,  xxvii. 


THE  PROPHECY. 

The  dark  shall  be  light, 

And  the  wrong  made  right, 

When  Bertram's  right  and  Bertram's  might 

Shall  meet  on  Ellangowan's  height. 

Chap.  xli. 


(i\)— SONGS  OF  DIRK  HATTERAICK  AND 
GLOSSIN. 

" '  And  now  I  have  brought  you  some  breakfast,' 
said  Glossin,  producing  some  cold  meat  and  a  flask 
of  spirits.  The  latter  Hatteraick  eagerly  seized 
upon,  and  applied  to  his  mouth ;  and,  after  a  hearty 
draught,  he  exclaimed  with  great  rapture,  'Das 
Bchmeckt ! — That  is  good — that  warms  the  liver !' 
— Then  broke  into  the  fragment  of  a  High-Dutch 
long :" — 

Saufen  bier,  und  brante-wein, 
Schmeissen  alle  die  fens  tern  ein ; 
Ich  ben  liederlich, 

i  First  published  in  Mr.  G.  Thomson's  Collection  of  Irish 
ian     1816. 


Du  bist  liederlich, 

Sind  wir  nicht  liederlich  leute  a, 

"  '  Well  said,  my  hearty  Captain !'  cried  Glossin, 
endeavoring  to  catch  the  tone  of  revelry," — 

Gin  by  pailfuls,  wine  in  rivers, 

Dash  the  window-glass  to  shivers ! 

For  three  wild  lads  were  we,  brave  boys, 

And  three  wild  lads  were  we ; 

Thou  on  the  land,  and  I  on  the  sand, 

And  Jack  on  the  gallows-tree  ! 

Chap,  xxxiv. 


&&e   Return  to   Plater.1 


1816. 


Once  again, — but  how  changed  since  my  wand'- 

rings  began — 
I  have  heard  the  deep  voice  of  the  Lagan  and  Bann, 
And  the  pines  of  Clanbrassil  resound  to  the  roar 
That  wearies  the  echoes  of  fair  Tullamore. 
Alas !  my  poor  bosom,  and  why  shouldst  thou  burn  \ 
With  the  scenes  of  my  youth  can  its  raptures  return  \ 
Can  I  live  the  dear  life  of  delusion  again,    [strain  ? 
That  flow'd  when  these  echoes  first  mix'd  with  my 

It  was  then  that  around  me,  though  poor  and  un- 
known, [thrown; 
High  spells  of  mysterious  enchantment  were 
The  streams  were  of  silver,  of  diamond  the  dew, 
The  land  was  an  Eden,  for  fancy  was  new. 
I  had  heard  of  our  bards,  and  my  soul  was  on  fire 
At  the  rush  of  their  verse,  and  the  sweep  of  their 

lyre: 
To  me  'twas  not  legend,  nor  tale  to  the  ear, 
But  a  vision  of  noontide,  distinguish'd  and  clear. 

Ultonia's  old  heroes  awoke  at  the  call,  [hall ; 

And  renew'd  the  wild  pomp  of  the  chase  and  the 
And  the  standard  of  Fion  flashed  fierce  from  on  high, 
Like  the  burst  of  the  sun  when  the  tempest  is  nigh.9 
It  seem'd  that  the  harp  of  green  Erin  once  more 
Could  renew  all  the  glories  she  boasted  of  yore. — 
Yet  why  at  remembrance,  fond  heart,  shouldsi 

thou  burn  ? 
They  were  days  of  delusion,  and  cannot  return, 

But  was  she,  too,  a  phantom,  the  Maid  who  stood  by, 
And  listed  my  lay,  while  she  turn'd  from  mine  eye ! 
Was  she  too,  a  vision,  just  glancing  to  view, 
Then  dispersed  in  the  sunbeam,  or  melted  to  dew ' 

2  In  ancient  Insn  poetry,  the  standard  of  Fion,  or  Fingal,  la 
callel  the  Sun-burst,  an  epithet  feebly  rendered  by  the  Su* 
beam  of  Macpherson. 


660                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Oh !  would  it  had  been  so, — Oh !  would  that  her  eye 

But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

Had  been  but  a  star-glance  that  shot  through  the 

sky, 

And  her  voice  that  was  moulded  to  melody's  thrill, 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

IV. 

Had  been  but  a  zephyr,  that  sigh'd  and  was  still ! 

The  kirk  was  de£k'd  at  morning-tide, 

The  tapers  glimmer'd  fair  ; 

Oh !  would  it  had  been  so, — not  then  this  poor  heart 

The  priest  and  bridegroom  wait  the  bride, 

Had  learn'd  the  sad  lesson,  to  love  and  to  part ; 

And  dame  and  knight  are  there. 

To  bear,  unassisted,  its  burthen  of  care, 

They  sought  her  baith  by  bower  and  ha' ; 

While  I  toil'd  for  the  wealth  I  had  no  one  to  share. 

The  ladie  was  not  seen ! 

Not  then  had  I  said,  when  life's  summer  was  done, 

She's  o'er  the  Border,  and  awa 

And  the  hours  of  hisr  autumn  were  fast  speeding  on, 

Wi'  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

"  Take  the  fame  and  the  riches  ye  brought  in  your 

train, 
And  restore  me  the  dream  of  my  spring-tide  again." 

33fhrocl)  of  ©onaltr  B&u. 

Air—"  Piobair  of  Donuil  Dhuidh."* 

#ocft   of  3^a?eltrean. 

Air — A  Border  Melody. 

1816. 

This  is  a  very  ancient  pibroch  belonging  to  Clan 

1816. 

MacDonald,  and  supposed  to  refer  to  the  cxpedi-    \ 

The  first  stanza  of  this  Ballad  is  ancient.      The 

tion  of  Donald  Balloch,  who,  in  1431,  launched 

others  were  written  for  Mr.  Campbell's  Albyn's 

from  the  Isles  with  a  considerable  force,  invaded 

Anthology. 

Lochaber,  and  at  Inverlochy  defeated  and  put  to 

fight  the  Earls  of  Mar  and  Caithness,  though 
at  the  head  of  an  army  superior  to  his  own.    The 

I. 

words  of  the  set,  theme,  or  melody,  to  which  the 

"  Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie  ? 

pipe  variations  are  applied,  run  thus  in  Gaelic : — 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide  ? 

I'll  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son, 

Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireachd  Dhonuil  ; 

And  ye  sail  be  his  bride : 
And  ye  sail  be  his  bride,  ladie, 

Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireachd  Dhonuil ; 

Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireaehd  Dhonuil ; 
Piob  agus  bratach  air  faiche  Inverlochi. 

Sae  comely  to  be  seen" — 

The  pipe-summons  of  Donald  the  Black, 

But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

The  pipe-summons  of  Donald  the  Black, 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

The  war-pipe  and  the  pennon  are  on  the  gathering-place  at 

II. 

"  Now  let  this  wilfu'  grief  be  done, 

Inverlochy.a 

* 

And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale ; 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington, 

Pibroch  of  Donuil, 

And  lord  of  Langley-dale ; 

Wake  thy  wild  voice  anew, 

His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha', 

Summon  Clan-Conuil. 

His  sword  in  battle  keen  " — 

Come  away,  come  away, 

But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

Hark  to  the  summons ! 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

Come  in  your  war-array, 

III. 
44  A  chain  of  gold  ye  sail  not  lack, 

Gentles  and  commons. 

Come  from  deep  glen,  and 

Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair ; 

From  mountain  so  rocky, 

Nor  mettled  hound,  nor  managed  hawk, 

The  war-pipe  and  pennon 

Nor  palfrey  fresh  and  fair ; 

Are  at  Inverlochy. 

And  you,  the  foremost  o'  them  a' 

Come  every  hill-plaid,  and 

Shall  ride  our  forest  queen  " — 

True  heart  that  wears  one, 

i  "The  pibroch  of  Donald  the  Black."    This  song  was 

a  Compare  this  with  the  gathering-song  in  the  third  canto  of 

Mitten  for  Campbell's  Albyn's  Anthology,  1816.    It  may  also 

the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  ante. 

be  seen   set  to  music,  in  Thomson's  Collection,  1830. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


661 


Come  every  steel  blade,  and 

For  all  the  gold,  for  all  the  gear, 

Strong  hand  that  bears  one. 

And  all  the  lands  both  far  and  near, 

That  ever  valor  lost  or  won, 

Leave  untended  the  herd, 

I  would  not  wed  the  Earlie's  son." — 

The  flock  without  shelter ; 

Leave  the  corpse  uninterr'd, 

II. 

The  bride  at  the  altar ; 

u.  A  maiden's  vows,"  old  Callum  spoke, 

Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer, 

"  Are  lightly  made  and  lightly  broke ; 

Leave  nets  and  barges : 

The  heather  on  the  mountain's  height 

Come  with  your  fighting  gear, 

Begins  to  bloom  in  purple  light ; 

Broadswords  and  targes. 

The  frost- wind  soon  shall  sweep  away 

That  lustre  deep  from  glen  and  brae ; 

Come  as  the  winds  come,  when 

Yet  Nora,  ere  its  bloom  be  gone, 

Forests  are  rended ; 

May  blithely  wed  the  Earlie's  son." — 

Come  as  the  waves  come,  when 

Navies  are  stranded : 

III. 

Faster  come,  faster  come, 

"  The  swan,"  she  said,  "  the  lake's  clear  breast 

Faster  and  faster, 

May  barter  for  the  eagle's  nest ; 

Chief,  vassal,  page  and  groom, 

The  Awe's  fierce  stream  may  backward  turn, 

Tenant  and  master. 

Ben-Cruaichan  fall,  and  crush  Kilchurn ; 

Our  kilted  clans,  when  blood  is  high, 

Fast  they  come,  fast  they  come  ; 

Before  their  foes  may  turn  and  fly ; 

See  how  they  gather  ! 

But  I,  were  all  these  marvels  done, 

Wide  waves  the  eagle  plume, 

Would  never  wed  the  Earlie's  son." 

Blended  with  heather. 

Cast  your  plaids,  draw  your  blades, 

IV. 

Forward  each  man  set  1 

Still  in  the  water-lily's  shade 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Her  wonted  nest  the  wild-swan  made ; 

Knell  for  the  onset ! 

Ben-Cruaichan  stands  as  fast  as  ever, 

Still  downward  foams  the  Awe's  fierce  river; 

To  shun  the  clash  of  foeman's  steel, 

No  Highland  brogue  has  turn'd  the  heel  • 

Nora's  Voto. 

But  Nora's  heart  is  lost  and  won; 

— She's  wedded  to  the  Earlie's  son  I 

Air — "  Cha  teid  mis  a  chaoidh.,,i 

WRITTEN  FOB,  ALBYN's  ANTH0L9GY.'J 

1816. 

J&acjjrerjor'a   CSat&erfnfl. 

Air—"  Thain*  a  Grigalach."* 

7n  the  original  Gaelic,  the  Lady  makes  protestations 

WRITTEN  FOR  ALBYN's  ANTHOLOGY. 

that  she  will  not  go  with  the  Red  EarVs  son,  until 

the  swan  should  build  in  the  cliff,  and  the  eagle 

1816. 

in  the  lake — until  one  mountain  should  change 
places  with  another,  and  so  forth.    It  is  but  fair 
to  add,  that  there  is  no  authority  for  supposing 
that  she  altered  her  mind — except  the  vehemence 
of  her  protestation. 

These  verses  are  adapted  to  a  very  wild,  yet  lively 
gathering-tune,  used  by  the  MacGregors.     Ths 
severe  treatment  of  this  Clan,  their  outlawry,  and 
the  proscription  of  their  very  name,  are  alluded 

to  in  the  Ballad.4 

i 

I. 
Hear  what  Highland  Nora  said, — 

The  moon's  on  the  lake,  and  the  mist's  on  the  brae, 

"  The  Earlie's  son  I  will  not  wed, 

And  the  Clan  has  a  name  that  is  nameless  by  day , 

Should  all  the  race  of  nature  die, 

Then  gather,  gather,  gather  Grigalach  I 

And  none  be  left  but  he  and  I. 

Gather,  gather,  gather,  (fee. 

l  "  I  will  never  go  with  him." 

8  "The  MacGregoris  come." 

*  For  the  history  of  the  clan  see  Introdnction  to -Rob  Rttf 

See  also  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  Collection.    1822. 

Waver  ley  Novels,  vol.  vii 

662 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Our  signal  for  light,  that  from  monarchs  we  drew, 
Must  be  heard  but  by  night  in  our  vengeful  haloo ! 

Then  haloo,  Grigalach !  haloo,  Grigalach ! 

Haloo,  haloo,  haloo,  Grigalach,  <fec. 

Glen  Orchy's  proud  mountains,  Coalchuirn  and  her 

towers, 
Glenstrae  and  Glenlyon  no  longer  are  ours ; 

We're  landless,  landless,  landless,  Grigalach  1 

Landless,  landless,  landless,  <fec. 

But  doom'd  and  devoted  by  vassal  and  lord, 
MacGregor  has  still  both  his  heart  and  his  sword  1 

Then  courage,  courage,  courage,  Grigalach ! 

Courage,  courage,  courage,  &c. 

If  they  rob  us  of  name,  and  pursue  us  with  beagles, 
Give  their  roofs  to  the  flame,  and  their  flesh  to  the 
eagles ! 
Then  vengeance,  vengeance,  vengeance,  Griga- 
lach ! 
Vengeance,  vengeance,  vengeance,  <fcc. 

While  there's  leaves  in  the  forest,  and  foam  on  the 

river, 
MacGregor,  despite  them,  shall  flourish  for  ever  1 

Come  then,  Grigalach,  come  then,  Grigalach. 

Come  then,  come  then,  come  then,  &c. 

trough  the  depths  of  Loch  Katrine  the  steed 

shall  career, 
O'er  the  peak  of  Ben-Lomond  the  galley  shall  steer, 
And  the  rocks  of  Craig-Royston1  like  icicles  melt, 
Ere  our  wrongs  be  forgot,  or  our  vengeance  unfelt ! 

Then  gather,  gather,  gather,  Grigalach ! 

Gather,  gather,  gather,  <fec. 


V  erses, 

COMPOSED  FOR  THE  OCCASION,  ADAPTED  TO  HAYDN'S 
AIR, 

"  Ood  Save  the  Emperor  Francis,1' 

1ND  SUNG  BY  A  SELECT  BAND  AFTER  THE  DINNER  GIVEN 
BY  THE  LORD  PROVOST  OF  EDINBURGH  TO  THE 

GRAND-DUKE  NICHOLAS  OF  RUSSIA, 

AND  HIS  SUITE,  19TH  DECEMBER,  1816. 

God  protect  brave  Alexander, 
Heaven  defend  the  noble  Czar, 
Mighty  Russia's  high  Commander, 

i  "  Rob  Roy  MacGregor's  own  designation  was  of  Inner- 
inaid  ;  but  he  appears  to  have  acquired  a  right  of  some  kind  or 
other  to  the  property  jr  possession  of  Craig-Royston,  a  do- 
main of  rock  and  forest  lying  on  the  east  side  of  Loch  Lomond, 
where  that  beautiful  late  stretches  into  the  dusky  mountains 
of  Glenfalloch." — Introd.  to  Rob  Roy,  Wave.  Nov.  vii.  31. 


First  in  Europe's  banded  war ; 
For  the  realms  he  did  deliver 
From  the  tyrant  overthrown, 
Thou,  of  every  good  the  Giver, 
Grant  him  long  to  bless  his  own  1 
Bless  him,  'mid  his  land's  disaster, 
For  her  rights  who  battled  brave, 
Of  the  land  of  foemen  master, 
Bless  him  who  their  wrongs  forgave. 

O'er  his  just  resentment  victor, 
Victor  over  Europe's  foes, 
Late  and  long  supreme  director, 
Grant  in  peace  his  reign  may  close. 
Hail !  then,  hail !  illustrious  stranger ! 
Welcome  to  our  mountain  strand ; 
Mutual  interests,  hopes,  and  danger 
Link  us  with  thy  native  land. 
Freemen's  force,  or  false  beguiling, 
Shall  that  union  ne'er  divide, 
Hand  in  hand  while  peace  is  smiling, 
And  in  battle  side  by  side.2 


JFrom  tlje  3lnttqnarg. 


1816. 


(1.)— TIME. 

"The  window  of  a  turret,  which  projected  at 
an  angle  with  the  wall,  and  thus  came  to  be  very 
near  Lovel's  apartment,  was  half  open,  and  from 
that  quarter  he  heard  again  the  same  music  which 
had  probably  broken  short  his  dream.  With  its 
visionary  character  it  had  lost  much  of  its  charms 
— it  was  now  nothing  more  than  an  air  on  the 
harpsichord,  tolerably  well  performed — such  is  the 
caprice  of  imagination  as  affecting  the  fine  arts.  A 
female  voice  sung,  with  some  taste  and  great  sim- 
plicity, something  between  a  song  and  a  hymn,  in 
words  to  the  following  effect :" — 

"  Why  sit'st  thou  by  that  ruin'd  hall, 
Thou  aged  carle  so  stern  and  gray ! 

Dost  thou  its  former  pride  recall, 
Or  ponder  how  it  pass'd  away  ?" — 

"  Know'st  thou  not  me  ?"  the  Deep  Voice  cried  • 
"  So  long  enjoy'd,  so  oft  misused — 

a  Mr.,  afterwards  Sir  William  Arbuthnot,  the  Lord  Provost 
of  Edinburgh,  who  had  the  honor  to  entertain  the  Grand-Duke, 
now  Emperor  of  Russia,  was  a  personal  friend  of  Sir  Waltei 
Fcott's ;  and  these  Verses,  with  their  heading,  are  now  given 
from  the  newspapers  of  1816. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


Alternate,  in  thy  fickle  pride, 
Desired,  neglected,  and  accused  1 

"  Before  my  breath,  like  blazing  flax, 
Man  and  his  marvels  pass  away  ! 

And  changing  empires  wane  and  wax, 
Ate  founded,  flourish,  and  decay. 

Redeem  mine  hours — the  space  is  brief — 
While  in  my  glass  the  sand-grains  shiver, 
And  measureless  thy  joy  or  grief, 

When  Time  and  thou  shalt  part  for  ever !" 

Chap,  x. 


(2.)— EPITAPH  ON  JON  0'  YE  GIRNELL. 

"  Beneath  an  old  oak-tree,  upon  a  hillock,  lay  a 
moss-grown  stone,  and,  in  memory  of  the  departed 
worthy,  it  bore  an  inscription,  of  which,  as  Mr. 
Oldbuck  affirmed  (though  many  doubted),  the  de- 
parted characters  could  be  distinctly  traced  to  the 
following  effect :" — 

Heir  lyeth  Jon  o'  ye  Girnell. 
Erth  has  ye  nit  and  heuen  ye  kirnell. 
In  hys  tyme  ilk  wyfe's  hennis  clokit, 
Ilka  gud  mannis  berth  wi'  bairnis  was  stokit, 
He  deled  a  boll  o'  bear  in  firlottis  fyve, 
Four  for  ye  halie  kirke  and  ane  for  pure  mennis 
wyvis. 

Chap,  xl 


(3.)— ELSPETH'S  BALLAD. 

"  As  the  Antiquary  lifted  the  latch  of  the  hut, 
le  was  surprised  to  hear  the  shrill  tremulous  voice 
)f  Elspeth  chanting  forth  an  old  ballad  in  a  wild 
and  doleful  recitative :" — 

The  herring  loves  the  merry  moon-light, 

The  mackerel  loves  the  wind, 
But  the  oyster  loves  the  dredging  sang, 

For  they  come  of  a  gentle  kind. 

Now  haud  your  tongue,  baith  wife  and  carle, 

And  listen  great  and  sma', 
And  I  will  sing  of  Glenallan's  Earl 

That  fought  on  the  red  Harlaw. 

The  cronach's  cried  on  Bennachie, 

And  doun  the  Don  and  a', 
And  hieland  and  lawland  may  mournfu'  be 

For  the  sair  field  of  Harlaw.— . — 

They  saddled  a  hundred  milk-white  steeds, 
They  hae  bridled  a  hundred  black, 


With  a  chafron  of  steel  on  each  horse's  head, 
And  a  good  knight  upon  his  back. 

They  hadna  ridden  a  mile,  a  mile, 

A  mile,  but  barely  ten, 
When  Donald  came  branking  down  the  bra,e 

Wi'  twenty  thousand  men. 

Their  tartans  they  were  waving  wide, 
Their  glaives  were  glancing  clear, 

The  pibrochs  rung  frae  side  to  side, 
Would  deafen  ye  to  hear. 

The  great  Earl  in  his  stirrups  stood, 

That  Highland  host  to  see : 
"Now  here  a  knight  that's  stout  and  good 

May  prove  a  jeopardie: 

"  What  would'st  thou  do,  my  squire  so  gay 

That  rides  beside  my  reyne, — 
Were  ye  Glenallan's  Earl  the  day, 

And  I  were  Roland  Cheyne  ? 

"  To  turn  the  rein  were  sin  and  shame, 
To  fight  were  wond'rous  peril, — 

What  would  ye  do  now,  Roland  Cheyne, 
Were  ye  Glenallan's  Earl  ?" — 

"  Were  I  Glenallan's  Earl  this  tide, 

And  ye  were  Roland  Cheyne, 
The  spear  should  be  in  my  horse's  side, 

And  the  bridle  upon  his  mane. 

"  If  they  hae  twenty  thousand  blades, 

And  we  twice  ten  times  ten, 
Yet  they  hae  but  their  tartan  plaids, 

And  we  are  mail-clad  men. 

"  My  horse  shall  ride  through  ranks  sae  rude. 

As  through  the  moorland  fern, — 
Then  ne'er  let  the  gentle  Norman  blude 

Grow  cauld  for  Highland  kerne." 


He  turn'd  him  right  and  round  again, 
Said,  Scorn  na  at  my  mither ; 

Light  loves  I  may  get  mony  a  ane, 
But  minnie  ne'er  anither. 


Chap,  xl 


MOTTOES  IN  THE  ANTIQUARY. 

"The  scraps  of  poetry  which  have  been  in  mo? 
cases  tacked  to  the  beginning  of  chapters  in  Um>m 


664 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  W0UK8. 


Novels,  are  sometimes  quoted  either  from  reading 
or  from  memory,  but,  in  the  general  case,  are  pure 
invention.  I  found  it  too  troublesome  to  turn  to 
the  collection  of  the  British  Poets  to  discover  ap- 
posite mottoes,  and,  in  the  situation  of  the  theatri- 
cal mechanist,  who,  when  the  white  paper  which 
represented  his  shower  of  snow  was  exhausted, 
continued  the  shower  oy  snowing  brown,  I  drew 
on  my  memory  as  long  as  I  could,  and  when  that 
failed,  eked  it  out  with  invention.  I  believe  that, 
in  some  cases,  where  actual  names  are  affixed  to 
the  supposed  quotations,  it  would  be  to  little  pur- 
pose to  seek  them  in  the  works  of  the  authors  re- 
ferred to.  In  some  cases,  I  have  been  entertained 
when  Dr.  Watts  and  other  graver  authors  have 
been  ransacked  in  vain  for  stanzas  for  which  the 
novelist  alone  was  responsible." — Introduction  to 
Chronicles  of  the  Canongate. 

1. 

I  knew  Anselmo.     He  was  shrewd  and  prudent, 

Wisdom  and  cunning  had  their  shares  of  him ; 

But  he  was  shrewish  as  a  wayward  child, 

And  pleased  again  by  toys  which  childhood  please  ; 

As — book  of  fables  graced  with  print  of  wood, 

Or  else  the  jingling  of  a  rusty  medal, 

Or  the  rare  melody  of  some  old  ditty, 

That  first  was  sung  to  please  King  Pepin's  cradle. 

(2.)— Chap.  ix. 
"Be  brave,"  she  cried,  "you  yet  may  be  our  guest. 
Our  haunted  room  was  ever  held  the  best : 
If,  then,  your  valor  can  the  fight  sustain 
Of  rustling  curtains,  and  the  clinking  chain  ; 
If  your  courageous  tongue  have  powers  to  talk, 
When  round  your  bed  the  horrid  ghost  shall  walk ; 
If  you  dare  ask  it  why  it  leaves  its  tomb, 
I'll  see  your  sheets  well  air'd,  and  show  the  room." 

True  Story. 

(3.)— Chap.  xi. 
Sometimes  he  thinks  that  Heaven  this  vision  sent. 
And  order'd  all  the  pageants  as  they  went; 
Sometimes  that  only  'twas  wild  Fancy's  play, — 
The  loose  and  scatter'd  relics  of  the  day. 

(4.) — Chap.  xii. 
Beggar ! — the   only  freemen   of  your   Common- 
wealth ; 
Free  above  Scot-free,  that  observe  no  laws, 
Obey  no  governor,  use  no  religion  [toms, 

But  what  they  draw  from  their  own  ancient  cus- 
Or  constitute  themselves,  yet  they  are  no  rebels. 

Brome. 

(5.) — Chap.  xix. 
Here  has  been  such  a  stormy  encounter, 
Betwixt  my  cousin  Captain,  and  this  soldier, 


About  I  know  not  what ! — nothing,  indeed ; 
Competitions,  degrees,  and  comparatives 

Of  soldierslnp  1 

A  Faire  QuaireU 

(6.) — Chap.  xx. 
If  you  fail  honor  here, 


Never  presume  to  serve  her  any  more , 
Bid  farewell  to  the  integrity  of  arms, 
And  the  honorable  name  of  soldier 
Fall  from  you,  like  a  shiver'd  wreath  of  laurel 
By  thunder  struck  from  a  desertlesse  forehead. 
A  Faire  Quarrel. 

(T.) — Chap.  xxi. 
The  Lord  Abbot  had  a  soul 


Subtile  and  quick,  and  searching  as  the  fire : 
By  magic  stairs  he  went  as  deep  as  hell, 
And  if  in  devils'  possession  gold  be  kept, 
He  brought  some  sure   from  thence — 'tis  hid  in 
caves, 

Known,  save  to  me,  to  none 

The  Wonder  of  a  Kingdome. 

(8.) — Chap,  xxvii. 
Many  great  ones 


Would  part  with  half  their  states,  to  have  the  plan 
And  credit  to  beg  in  the  first  style. — 

Beggar's  Bush. 

(9.) — Chap.  xxx. 
Who  is  he  ?— One  that  for  the  lack  of  land 
Shall  fight  upon  the  water — he  hath  challenged 
Formerly  the  grand  whale  ;  and  by  his  titles 
Of  Leviathan,  Behemoth,  and  so  forth. 
He  tilted  Avith  a  sword-fish — Marry,  sir, 
Th'  aquatic  had  the  best — the  argument 
Still  galls  our  champion's  breech. 

Old  Play. 

(10.) — Chap.  xxxi. 
Tell  me  not  of  it,  friend — when  the  young  weep, 
Their  tears  are  lukewarm  brine ; — from  our  old 

eyes 
Sorrow  falls  down  like  hail-drops  of  the  North, 
Chilling  the  furrows  of  our  wither'd  cheeks, 
Cold  as  our  hopes,  and  harden'd  as  our  feeling — 
Theirs,  as  they  fall,  sink  sightless — ours  recoil, 
Heap  the  fair  plain,  and  bleaken  all  before  us. 

Old  Play. 

(11.) — Chap,  xxxiii. 
Remorse — she  ne'er  forsakes  us  ! — 
A  bloodhound  stanch — she  tracks  our  rapid  step 
Through  the  wild  labyrinth  of  youthful  pnrensy, 
Unheard,  perchance,  until  old  age  hath  tamed  us ; 
Then  in  our  lair,  when  Time  hath  chill 'd  our  joints, 
And  maim'd  our  hope  of  combat,  or  of  flight 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


665 


We  hear  her  deep-mouth'd  bay,  announcing  all 
Of  wrath  and  woe  and  punishment  that  bides  us. 

Old  Play. 

(12.) — Chap,  xxxiv. 
Still  in  his  dead  hand  clench'd  remain  the  strings 
That  thrill  his  father's  heart — e'en  as  the  limb, 
Lopp'd  off  and  laid  in  grave,  retains,  they  tell  us, 
Strange  commerce  with  the  mutilated  stump, 
Whose  nerves  are  twinging  still  in  maim'd  exist- 
ence. Old  Play. 

(13.) — Chap.  xxxv. 

Life,  with  you, 

Glows  in  the  brain  and  dances  in  the  arteries ; 
Tis  like  the  wine  some  joyous  guest  hath  quaff 'd, 
That  glads  the  heart  and  elevates  the  fancy : — 
Mine  is  the  poor  residuum  of  the  cup, 
Vapid,  and  dull,  and  tasteless,  only  soiling 
With  its  base  dregs  the  vessel  that  contains  it. 

Old  Play 

(14.) — Chap,  xxxvii. 
Yes !  I  love  Justice  well — as  well  as  you  do — 
But,  since  the  good  dame's  blind,  she  shall  excuse 

me, 
[f,  time  and  reason  fitting,  I  prove  dumb  ; — 
The  breath  I  utter  now  shall  be  no  means 
To  take  away  from  me  my  breath  in  future. 

Old  Play. 

(15.) — Chap,  xxxviii. 
Well,  well,  at  worst,  'tis  neither  theft  nor  coinage, 
Granting  I  knew  all  that  you  charge  me  with. 
What,  tho'  the  tomb  hath  born  a  second  birth, 
And  given  the  wealth  to  one  that  knew  not  on't, 
Yet  fair  exchange  was  never  robbery, 
Far  less  pure  bounty Old  Play. 

(16.) — Chap.  xl. 
Life  ebbs  from  such  old  age,  unmark'd  and  silent, 
As  the  slow  neap-tide  leaves  yon  stranded  galley. 
Late  she  rock'd  merrily  at  the  least  impulse 
That  wind  or  wave  could  give  ;  but  now  her  keel 
Is  settling  on  the  sand,  her  mast  has  ta'en 
An  angle  with  the  sky,  from  which  it  shifts  not. 
Each  wave  receding  shakes  her  less  and  less, 
Till,  bedded  on  the  strand,  she  shall  remain 
Useless  as  motionless.  Old  Play. 

(17.) — Chap.  xli. 
So,  while  the  Goose,  of  whom  the  fable  told, 
Incumbent,  brooded  o'er  her  eggs  of  gold, 
With  hand  outstretch'd,  impatient  to  destroy, 
Stole  on  her  secret  nest  the  cruel  Boy, 
Whose  gripe  rapacious  changed  her  splendid  dream, 
For  wings  vain  fluttering,  and  for  dying  scream. 
The  Loves  of  the  Sea-  Weed*. 


(18.) — Chap.  xlii. 
Let  those  go  see  who  will — I  like  it  not — 
For,  say  he  was  a  slave  to  rank  and  pomp, 
And  all  the  nothings  he  is  now  divorced  from 
By  the  hard  doom  of  stern  necessity  ; 
Yet  is  it  sad  to  mark  his  alter'd  brow, 
Where  Vanity  adjusts  her  flimsy  veil 
O'er  the  deep  wrinkles  of  repentant  Anguish. 

Old  Play. 

(19.) — Chap,  xliii. 
Fortune,  you  say,  flies  from  us — She  but  circles, 
Like  the  fleet  sea-bud  round  the  fowler's  skiff, — 
Lost  in  the  mist  one  moment,  and  the  next 
Brushing  the  white  sail  with  her  wliiter  wing, 
As  if  to  court  the  aim. — Experience  watches, 
And  has  her  on  the  wheel. Old  Play. 

(20.) — Chap,  xliv 
Nay,  if  she  love  me  not,  I  care  not  for  her . 
Shall  I  look  pale  because  the  maiden  blooms  ? 
Or  sigh  because  she  smiles — and  smiles  on  others  ? 
Not  I,  by  Heaven  ! — I  hold  my  peace  too  dear, 
To  let  it,  like  the  plume  upon  her  cap, 
Shake  at  each  nod  that  her  caprice  shall  dictate. 

Old  Play. 

["  It  may  be  worth  noting,  that  it  was  in  cor- 
recting the  proof-sheets  of  The  Antiquary  that 
Scott  first  took  to  equipping  his  chapters  with 
mottoes  of  his  own  fabrication.  On  one  occasion 
he  happened  to  ask  John  Ballantyne,  who  was  sit- 
ting by  him,  to  hunt  for  a  particular  passage  in 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  John  did  as  he  was  bid, 
but  did  not  succeed  in  discovering  the  lines. 
'  Hang  it,  Johnnie,'  cried  Scott,  '  I  believe  I  can 
make  a  motto  sooner  than  you  will  find  one.'  He 
did  so  accordingly  ;  and  from  that  hour,  whenever 
memory  failed  to  suggest  an  appropriate  epigraph 
he  had  recourse  to  the  inexhaustible  mines  of '  old 
play'  or  *  old  ballad,  to  which  we  owe  some  of  the 
most  exquisite  verses  that  ever  flowed  from  his 
pen." — Life,  voL  v.  p.  145.] 


irom  tlje  Black  JDroarf. 


1816. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  v. 
The  bleakest  rock  upon  the  loneliest  heath 
Feels,  in  its  barrenness,  some  touch  of  spring 
And,  in  the  April  dew,  or  beam  of  May, 


6G6 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Us  moss  and  lichen  freshen  and  revive  ; 

And  thus  the  heart,  most  sear'd  to  human  pleasure, 

MeHs  at  the  tear,  joys  in  the  smile  of  woman. 

Beaumont. 

(2.) — Chap.  xvi. 

— Twas  time  and  griefs 

That  framed  him  thus  :  Time,  with  his  fairer  hand, 
Offering  the  fortunes  of  his  former  days, 
The  former  man  may  make  him — Bring  us  to  him, 
And  change  it  as  it  may.  Old  Play. 


.from  ©tf>  Jflortaltts. 



1816. 


(1.)— MAJOR  BELLENDEN'S  SONG. 

And  wl*at  though  winter  will  pinch  severe 
Through  locks  of  gray  and  a  cloak  that's  old, 

Yet  keep  up  thy  heart,  bold  cavalier, 
For  a  cup  of  sack  shall  fence  the  cold. 

For  time  will  rust  the  brightest  blade, 
And  years  will  break  the  strongest  bow  ; 

Was  never  wight  so  starkly  made, 

But  time  and  years  would  overthrow  ? 

Chap.  xix. 


(2.)— VERSES  FOUND  IN  BOTH  WELL'S 
POCKET-BOOK. 

"  With  these  letters  was  a  lock  of  hair  wrapped 
in  a  copy  of  verses,  written  obviously  with  a  feel- 
ing which  atoned,  in  Morton's  opinion,  for  the 
roughness  of  the  poetry,  and  the  conceits  with 
which  it  abounded,  according  to  the  taste  of  the 
period :" — 

Thy  hue,  dear  pledge,  is  pure  and  bright, 
As  in  that  well-remember'd  night, 
When  first  thy  mystic  braid  was  wove, 
And  first  my  Agnes  whisper'd  love. 

Since  then  how  often  hast  thou  press'd 
The  torrid  zone  of  this  wild  breast, 
Whose  wrath  and  hate  have  sworn  to  dwell 
With  the  first  sin  which  peopled  hell, 
A  breast  whose  blood's  a  troubled  ocean, 
Each  throb  the  earthquake's  wild  commotion ! — 
0,  if  such  clime  thou  canst  endure, 
Yet  keep  thy  hue  unstain'd  and  pure, 


What  conquest  o'er  each  erring  thought 

Of  that  fierce  realm  had  Agnes  wrought  1 

I  had  not  wander'd  wild  and  wide, 

With  such  an  angel  for  my  guide  ; 

Nor  heaven  nor  earth  could  then  reprove  me, 

If  she  had  lived,  and  lived  to  love  me. 

Not  then  this  world's  wild  joys  had  been 
To  me  one  savage  hunting  scene, 
My  sole  delight  the  headlong  race, 
And  frantic  hurry  of  the  chase  ; 
To  start,  pursue,  and  bring  to  bay, 
Rush  in,  drag  down,  and  rend  my  prey, 
Then — from  the  carcass  turn  away  ! 
Mine  ireful  mood  had  sweetness  tamed, 
And  soothed  each  wound  which  pride  inflamed 
Yes,  God  and  man  might  now  approve  me, 
If  thou  hadst  lived,  and  lived  to  love  me. 

Chap,  xxiii. 


(3.)— EPITAPH  ON  BALFOUR  OF  BURLEY 

"  Gentle  reader,  I  did  request  of  mine  honest 
friend  Peter  Proudfoot,  travelling  merchant,  known 
to  many  of  this  land  for  his  faithful  and  just  deal- 
ings, as  well  in  muslins  and  cambrics  as  in  small 
wares,  to  procure  me,  on  his  next  peregrinations  to 
that  vicinage,  a  copy  of  the  Epitaphion  alluded  to. 
And,  according  to  Ins  report,  which  I  see  no  ground 
to  discredit,  it  runneth  thus  :" — 

Here  lyes  ane  saint  to  prelates  surly, 
Being  John  Balfour,  sometime  of  Bur  ley 
Who,  stirred  up  to  vengeance  take, 
For  Solemn  League  and  Cov'nant's  sake, 
Upon  the  Magus-Moor,  in  Fife, 
Did  tak'  James  Sharpe  the  apostate's  life ; 
By  Dutcliman's  hands  was  hacked  and  shot, 
Then  drowned  in  Clyde  near  thi*  saam  spot. 

Chap,  xliv 


MOTTOES. 


(1.)— Chap.  v. 

Arouse  thee,  youth  ! — it  is  no  common  call, — 
God's  Church  is  leaguer' d — haste  to  man  the  wall ; 
Haste  where  the  Red-cross  banners  wave  on  high, 
Signals  of  honor'd  death  or  victory. 

James  Duff. 

(2.) — Chap.  xtv. 
My  hounds  may  a'  rin  masterless, 
My  hawks  may  fly  frae  tree  to  tree, 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


661 


My  lord  may  grip  my  vassal  lands, 
For  there  again  maun  I  never  be  ! 

Old  Ballad. 

(3.) — Chap,  xxxrv. 
Sound,  sound  the  clarion,  fill  the  fife  1 

To  all  the  sensual  world  proclaim, 
One  trzirded  hour  of  glorious  life 
L  worth  an  age  without  a  name. 

Anonymous. 


&i)t  Searcfc  after  ^appfnes*;1 

OR, 

THE    QUEST   OF   SULTAUtf   SOLIMAUN. 


1817. 


Qh  for  a  glance  of  that  gay  Muse's  eye, 
That  lighten'd  on  Bandello's  laughing  tale, 
And  twinkled  with  a  lustre  shrewd  and  sly, 
When  Giam  Battista  bade  her  vision  hail ! — 2 
Yet  fear  not,  ladies,  the  naive  detail 
Given  by  the  natives  of  that  land  canorous ; 
Italian  license  loves  to  leap  the  pale, 
We  Britons  have  the  fear  of  shame  before  us, 
And,  if  not  wise  in  mirth,  at  least  must  be  de- 
corous. 

II. 

In  the  far  eastern  clime,  no  great  while  since, 
Lived  Sultaun  Solimaun,  a  mighty  prince, 
Whose  eyes,  as  oft  as  they  perform'd  their  round, 
Beheld  all  others  fix'd  upon  the  ground ; 
Whose  ears  received  the  same  unvaried  phrase, 
"  Sultaun  !  thy  vassal  hears,  and  he  obeys  !". 
All  have  their  tastes — this  may  the  fancy  strike 
Of  such  grave  folks  as  pomp  and  grandeur  like ; 
For  me,  I  love  the  honest  heart  and  warm 
Of  Monarch  who  can  amble  round  his  farm, 
Or,  when  the  toil  of  state  no  more  annoys, 
In  chimney  corner  seek  domestic  joys — 
I  love  a  prince  will  bid  the  bottle  pass, 
Exchanging  with  his  subjects  glance  and  glass ; 
Lc  fitting  time,  can,  gayest  of  the  gay, 
Keep  up  the  jest,  and  mingle  in  the  lay — 
Such  Monarchs  best  our  free-born  humors  suit, 
But  Despots  must  be  stately,  stern,  and  mute. 


i  First  published  in  "  The  Sale  Room,  No.  V.,"  February 
1,  1817. 

a  The  hint  of  the  allowing  tale  is  taken  from  La  Camiscia 
Magir.a,  a  novel  oi  Giam  Battista  Casti. 


IIL 

This  Solimaun,  Serendib  had  in  sway — 

And  where's  Serendib  ?  may  some  critic  say. — 

Good  lack,  mine  honest  friend,  consult  the  chart, 

Scare  not  my  Pegasus  before  I  start ! 

If  Rennell  has  it  not,  you'll  find,  mayhap, 

The  isle  laid  down  in  Captain  Sindbad's  map,-  - 

Famed  mariner  !  whose  merciless  narrations 

Drove  every  friend  and  kinsman  out  of  patierre, 

Till,  fain  to  find  a  guest  who  thought  them  shortei 

He  deign'd  to  tell  them  over  to  a  porter — 3 

The  last  edition  see,  by  Long,  and  Co., 

Rees,  Hurst,  and  Orme,  our  fathers  in  the  Bow 

IV. 

Serendib  found,  deem  not  my  tale  a  fiction — 
This  Sultaun,  whether  lacking  contradiction — 
(A  sort  of  stimulant  which  hath  its  uses, 
To  raise  the  spirits  and  reform  the  juices 
— Sovereign  specific  for  all  sorts  of  cures 
In  my  wife's  practice,  and  perhaps  in  yours), 
The  Sultaun  lacking  this  same  wholesome  bittei 
Or  cordial  smooth  for  prince's  palate  fitter — 
Or  if  some  Mollah  had  hag-rid  lus  dream* 
With  Degial,  Ginnistan,  and  such  wild  themes 
Belonging  to  the  Mollah's  subtle  craft, 
I  wot  not — but  the  Sultaun  never  laugh'd, 
Scarce  ate  or  drank,  and  took  a  melancholy 
That  scorn'd  all  remedy — profane  or  holy ; 
In  his  long  list  of  melancholies,  mad, 
Or  mazed,  or  dumb,  hath  Burton  none  so  bad.4 

V. 

Physicians  soon  arrived,  sage,  ware,  and  tried, 
As  e'er  scrawl'd  jargon  in  a  darken'd  room ; 
With  heedful  glance  the  Sultaun's  tongue  thej 

eyed, 
Peep'd  in  his  bath,  and  God  knows  where  beside 

And  then  in  solemn  accent  spoke  their  doom, 
"  His  majesty  is  very  far  from  well." 
Then  each  to  work  with  his  specific  fell : 
The  Hakim  Ibrahim  instanter  brought 
His  unguent  Mahazzim  al  Zerdukkaut, 
While  Roompot,  a  practitioner  more  wily, 
Relied  on  his  Munaskif  al  fillfily.  * 
More  and  yet  more  in  deep  array  appear, 
And  some  the  front  assail,  and  some  the  rear ; 
Their  remedies  to  reinforce  and  vary, 
Came  surgeon  eke,  and  eka  apothecary ; 
Till  the   tired  Monarch,  though  of  words  grcwu 

chary, 
Yet  dropt,  to  recompense  their  fruitless  labor, 
Some  hint  about  a  bowstring  or  a  sabre. 


8  See  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments. 
*  See  Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy. 
6  For  these  hard  words  see  D'Herbelot,  or  the  learned  edit** 
of  the  Recipes  of  Avicenna. 


368 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


There  lack'd,  I  promise  you,  no  longer  speeches 
To  rid  the  palace  of  those  learned  leeches. 

VI. 

Then  -was  the  council  call'd — by  their  advice 
(They  deem'd  the  matter  ticklish  all,  and  nice, 

And  sought  to  shift  it  off  from  their  own  shoul- 
ders), 
Tartars  and  couriers  in  all  speed  were  sent, 
To  call  a  sort  of  Eastern  Parliament 

Of  feudatory  chieftains  and  freeholders — 
Such  have  the  Persians  at  this  very  day, 
My  gallant  Malcolm  calls  them  couroultai  ; — l 
I'm  not  prepared  to  show  in  this  slight  song 
That  to  Serendib  the  same  forms  belong, — 
E'en  let  the  learn'd  go  search,  and  tell  me  if  I'm 
wrong. 

VII. 
The  Omrahs,2  each  with  hand  on  scymitar, 
Gave,  like  Sempronius,  still  their  voice  for  war — 
"  The  sabre  of  the  Sultaun  in  its  sheath 
Too  long  has  slept,  nor  own'd  the  work  of  death  j 
Let  the  Tambourgi  bid  his  signal  rattle, 
Bang  the  loud  gong,  and  raise  the  shout  of  bat- 
tle! 
This  dreary  cloud  that  dims  our  sovereign's  day, 
Shall  from  his  kindled  bosom  flit  away, 
When  the  bold  Lootie  wheels  his  courser  round, 
And  the  arm'd  elephant  shall  shake  the  ground. 
Each  noble  pants  to  own  the  glorious  summons — 
And    for  the  charges — Lo !    your    faithful  Com- 
mons !" 
The  Riots  who  attended  in  their  places 

(Serendib  language  calls  a  farmer  Riot) 
Look'd  ruefully  in  one  another's  faces, 

From  this  oration  auguring  much  disquiet, 
Double  assessment,  forage,  and  free  quarters ; 
And  fearing  these  as  China-men  the  Tartars, 
Or  as  the  whisker'd  vermin  fear  the  mousers, 
Each  fumbled  in  the  pocket  of  his  trowsers. 

VIII. 

And  next  came  forth  the  reverend  Convocation, 

Bald  heads,  white  beards,  and  many  a  turban 
green, 
Imaum  and  Mollah  there  of  every  station, 

Santon,  Fakir,  and  Calendar  were  seen. 
Their  votes  were  various — some  advised  a  Mosque 

With  fitting  revenues  should  be  erected, 
With  seemly  gardens  and  with  gay  Kiosque, 

To  recreate  a  band  of  priests  selected ; 
Others  opined  that  through  the  realms  a  dole 

Be  made  to  holy  men,  whose  prayers  might 
profit 
The  Sultaun's  weal  in  body  and  in  soul. 

I  See  Sir  John  Malcolm's  admirable  History  of  Persia. 


But  their  long-headed  chief,  the  Sheik  Ul-Sofit, 
More  closely  touch'd  the  point : — "  Thy  studious 

mood," 
Quoth    he,    "  0  Prince !    hath   thicken'd  all  thy 

blood, 
And  dull'd  thy  brain  with  labor  beyond  measure  ; 
Wherefore  relax  a  space  and  take  thy  pleasure, 
And  toy  with  beauty,  or  tell  o'er  thy  treasure ; 
From  all  the  cares  of  state,  my  Liege,  enlarge 

thee, 
And  leave  the  burden  to  thy  faithful  clergy." 

IX. 

These  counsels  sage  availed  not  a  whit, 

And  so  the  patient  (as  is  not  uncommon 
Where  grave  physicians  lose  their  time  and  wit) 

Resolved  to  take  advice  of  an  old  woman  ; 
His  mother  she,  a  dame  who  once  was  beauteous, 
And  still  was  called  so  by  each  subject  duteous. 
Now,  whether  Fatima  was  witch  in  earnest, 

Or  only  made  believe,  I  cannot  say — 
But  she  profess'd  to  cure  disease  the  sternest, 

By  dint  of  magic  amulet  or  lay  ; 
And,  when  all  other  skill  in  vain  was  shown, 
She  deem'd  it  fitting  time  to  use  her  own. 


"  Sympathia  magica  hath  wonders  done" 
(Thus  did  old  Fatima  bespeak  her  son), 
"  It  works  upon  the  fibres  and  the  pores, 
And  thus,  insensibly,  our  health  restores, 
And  it  must  help  us  here. — Thou  must  endure 
The  ill,  my  son,  or  travel  for  the  cure. 
Search  land  and  sea,  and  get,  where'er  you  can, 
The  inmost  vesture  of  a  happy  man, 
I  mean  his  shirt,  my  son ;  which,  taken  warm 
And  fresh  from  off  his  back,  shall  chase  your  harm, 
Bid  every  current  of  your  veins  rejoice, 
And  your  dull  heart  leap  light  as  shepherd-boy's." . 
Such  was  the  counsel  from  his  mother  came ; — 
I  know  not  if  she  had  some  under-game, 
As  Doctors  have,  who  bid  their  patients  roam 
And  live  abroad,  when  sure  to  die  at  home ; 
Or  if  she  thought,  that,  somehow  or  another, 
Queen-Regent  sounded  better  than  Queen-Mo- 
ther ; 
But,  says  the  Chronicle  (who  will  go  look  it), 
That  such  was  her  advice — the  Sultaun  took  it. 

XL 
All  are  on  board — the  Sultaun  and  his  train, 
In  gilded  galley  prompt  to  plough  the  main. 
The  old  Rais8  was  the  first  who  questioned, 
"  Whither  ?" 
They  paused — "  Arabia,"  thought  the   pensive 
Prince, 


Nobility. 


3  Master  of  the  vessel. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


66% 


"  Was  call'd  The  Happy  many  ages  since — 
For  Mokha,  Rais." — And  they  came   safely 
thither. 
But  not  in  Araby,  with  all  her  balm, 
Not  where  Judea  weeps  beneath  her  palm, 
Wot  in  rich  Egypt,  not  in  Nubian  waste, 
Could  there  the  step  of  happiness  be  traced. 
One  Copt  alone  profess'd  to  have  seen  her  smile, 
When  Bruce  his  goblet  fill'd  at  infant  Nile : 
She  bless'd  the  dauntless  traveller  as  he  quaff  d, 
But  vanish'd  from  him  with  the  ended  draught. 

XIL 
"  Enough  of  turbans,"  said  the  weary  King, 
"  These  dolimans  of  ours  are  not  the  thing ; 
Try  we  the  Giaours,  these  men  of  coat  and  cap,  I 
Incline  to  think  some  of  them  must  be  happy ; 
At  least,  they  have  as  fair  a  cause  as  any  can, 
They  drink  good  wine  and  keep  no  Ramazan. 
Then  northward,  ho !" — The  vessel  cuts  the  sea. 
And  fair  Italia  lies  upon  her  lee. — 
But  fair  Italia,  she  who  once  unfurl'd 
Her  eagle  banners  o'er  a  conquer'd  world, 
Long  from  her  throne  of  domination  tumbled, 
Lay,  by  her  quondam  vassals,  sorely  humbled ; 
The  Pope  himself  look'd  pensive,  pale,  and  lean, 
And  was  not  half  the  man  he  once  had  been. 
"  While  these  the  priest  and  those  the  noble 


Our  poor  old  boot,"1  they  said,  "  is  torn  to  pieces. 

Its  tops2  the  vengeful  claws  of  Austria  feel, 

And  the  Great  Devil  is  rending  toe  and  heel.8 

If  happiness  you  seek,  to  tell  you  truly, 

We  think  she  dwells  with  one  Giovanni  Bulli ; 

A  tramontane,  a  heretic, — the  buck, 

Poffaredio  !  still  has  all  the  luck ; 

By  land  or  ocean  never  strikes  his  flag — 

And  then — a  perfect  walking  money-bag." 

Off  set  our  Prince  to  seek  John.  Bull's  abode, 

But  first  took  France — it  lay  upon  the  road, 

XIII. 
Monsieur  Baboon,  after  much  late  commotion, 
Was  agitated  like  a  settling  ocean, 
Quite  out  of  sorts,  and  could  not  tell  what  ail'd 

him, 
Only  the  glor^r  of  his  house  had  fail'd  him ; 
Besides,  some  tumors  on  his  noddle  biding, 
Gave  indication  of  a  recent  hiding.4 
Our  Prince,  though   Sultauns  of  such  tilings  are 

heedless, 
Thought  it  a  thing  indelicate  and  needless 
To  ask,  if  at  that  moment  he  was  happy. 
And  Monsieur,  seeing  that  he  was  comme  ilfaut.K 

i  The  well-known  resemblance  of  Italy  in  the  map. 
a  Florence,  Venice,  &c. 

3  The  Calabrias,  infested  by  bands  of  assassins.     One  of  the 
?eaders  was  called  Fra  Diavolo,  i.  e.  Brother  Devil. 


Loud  voice  mustered  up,  for  "  Vive  le  Roi  /" 

Then  whisper'd,  "  Ave  you  any  news  of  Nappy  !* 

The  Sultaun  answer'd  him  with  a  cross  question, — 

"  Pray,  can  you  tell  me  aught  of  one  John  Bull, 

That  dwells  somewhere  beyond  your  herring 

pool?" 

The  query  seem'd  of  difficult  digestion, 

The  party  shrugg'd,  and  grinn'd,  and  took  his  snuff 

And  found  his  whole  good-breeding  scarce  enough 

XIV. 

Twitching  his  visage  into  as  many  puckers 
As  damsels  wont  to  pivt  into  their  tuckers 
(Ere  liberal  Fashion  damn'd  both  lace  and  lawn, 
And  bade  the  veil  of  Modesty  be  drawn), 
Replied  the  Frenchman,  after  a  brief  pause, 
"  Jean  Bool ! — I  vas  not  know  him — Yes,  I  vas — 
I  vas  remember  dat,  von  year  or  two, 
I  saw  him  at  von  place  call'd  Vaterloo— 
Ma  foi !  il  s'est  tres  joliment  battu, 
Dat  is  for  Englishman, — m'entendez-vous  ? 
But  den  he  had  wit  him  one  damn  son-gun, 
Rogue  I  no  like — dey  call  him  Vellington." 
Monsieur's  politeness  could  not  hide  his  fret, 
So  Solimaun  took  leave,  and  cross'd  the  strait. 

XV. 

John  Bull  was  in  his  very  worst  of  moods, 
Raving  of  sterile  farms  and  unsold  goods ; 
His  sugar-loaves  and  bales  about  he  threw 
And  on  his  counter  beat  the  devil's  tattoo. 
His  wars  were  ended,  and  the  victory  won, 
But  then,  'twas  reckoning-day  with  honest  John ; 
And  authors  vouch,  'twas  still  this  Worthy's  way 
"  Never  to  grumble  till  he  came  to  pay ; 
And  then  he  always  thinks,  his  temper's  such, 
The  work  too  little,  and  the  pay  too  much."* 

Yet,  grumbler  as  he  is,  so  kind  and  hearty, 
That  when  his  mortal  foe  was  on  the  floor, 
And  past  the  power  to  harm  his  quiet  more, 

Poor  John  had  wellnigh  wept  for  Bonaparte ! 
Such  was  the  wight  whom  Solimaun  salam'd, — 
"And  who  are   you,"   John   answer'd,   "and  hi 
d— d  ?" 

XVL 

"  A  stranger,  come  to  see  the  happiest  man, — 
So,  signior,  all  avouch, — in  Frangistan." — 6 
"  Happy  ?  my  tenants  breaking  on  my  hand ; 
Unstock'd  my  pastures,  and  untill'd  my  land ; 
Sugar  and  rum  a  drug,  and  mice  and  moths 
The  sole  consumers  of  my  good  broadcloths — 
Happy  ? — Why,  cursed  war  and  racking  tax 
Have  left  us  scarcely  raiment  to  our  backs." — 

«  Or  drubbing  ;  so  called  in  the  Slang  Dictionary, 
s  See  the  True-Born  Englishman,  by  Daniel  De  Foe. 
«  EuroDe. 


870 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


1  In  that  case,  signior,  I  may  take  my  leave ; 

I  came  to  ask  a  favor — but  I  grieve" 

"  Favor  ?"  said  John,  and  eyed  the  Sultaun  hard, 
"  It's  my  belief  you  come  to  break  the  yard  ! — 
But,  stay,  you  look  like  some  poor  foreign  sinner, — 
Take  that  to  buy  yourself  a  shirt  and  dinner." — 
With  that  he  chuck'd  a  guinea  at  his  head; 
Hut,  with  due  dignity,  the  Sultaun  said, 
"  Permit  me,  sir,  your  bounty  to  decline ; 
A  shirt  indeed  I  seek,  but  none  of  thine. 
Signior,  I  kiss  your  hands,  so  fare  you  well." — 
•  Kiss  and  be   d — d,"   quoth  John,   "  and   go   to 
hell !" 

XVII. 
Next  door  to  John  there  dwelt  his  sister  Peg, 
Once  a  wild  lass  as  ever  shook  a  leg 
When  the  blithe  bagpipe  blew — but,  soberer  now, 
She  doucely  span  her  flax  and  milk'd  her  cow. 
And  whereas  erst  she  was  a  needy  slattern, 
Nor  now  of  wealth  or  cleanliness  a  pattern, 
Yet  once  a-month  her  house  was  partly  swept, 
And  once  a-week  a  plenteous  board  she  kept. 
And  whereas,  eke,  the  vixen  used  her  claws 

And  teeth,  of  yore,  on  slender  provocation, 
She  now  was  grown  amenable  to  laws, 

A  quiet  soul  as  any  in  the  nation ; 
The  sole  remembrance  of  her  warlike  joys 
Was  in  old  songs  she  sang  to  please  her  boys. 
John  Bull,  whom,  in  their  years  of  early  strife, 
She  wont  to  lead  a  cat-and-doggish  life, 
Now  found  the  woman,  as  he  said,  a  neighbor, 
Who  look'd  to  the  main  chance,  declined  no  labor, 
Loved  a  long  grace,  and  spoke  a  northern  jargon, 
And  was  d — d  close  in  making  of  a  bargain. 

XVIII. 
The  Sultaun  enter'd,  and  he  made  his  leg, 
And  with  decorum  curtsy'd  sister  Peg  ; 
(She  loved  a  book,  and  knew  a  thing  or  two, 
And  guess'd  at  once  with  whom  she  had  to  do). 
She  bade  him  "  Sit  into  the  fire,"  and  took 
Her  dram,  her  cake,  her  kebbuck  from  the  nook ; 
Ask'd  him  "  about  the  news  from  Eastern  parts ; 
And  of  her  absent  bairns,  puir  Highland  hearts ! 
If  peace  brought  down  the  price  of  tea  and  pep- 
per, 
And  if  the  nitmugs  were  grown  ony  cheaper ; — 
Were  there  nae  speerings  of  our  Mungo  Park — 
Ye'll  be  the  gentleman  that  wants  the  sark  ? 
If  ye  wad  buy  a  web  o'  auld  wife's  spinnin', 
I'll  warrant  ye  it's  a  weel-wearing  linen." 

XIX. 

Then  up  got  Peg,  and  round  the  house  'gan  scuttle 
In  search  of  goods  her  customer  to  tail, 

Until  the  Sultaun  strain'd  his  princely  throttle, 
And  hollo'd, — "  Ma'am,  that  is  not  what  I  ail. 


Pray,  are  you  happy,  ma'am,  in  this  snug  glen  ?"-  - 
"Happy?"   said  Peg:  "What  for   d'ye  want  tj 

ken? 
Besides,  just  think  upon  this  by-gane  year, 

Grain  wadna  pay  the  yoking  of  the  pleugh."— 
"What  say  you  to  the   present?" — "Meal's  sae 

dear, 
To   mak'  their   brose  my  bairns  have   scarce 

aneugh." — 
"  The  devil  take  the  shirt,"  said  Solimaun, 
"  I  think  my  quest  will  end  as  it  began. — 

Farewell,  ma'am ;  nay,  no  ceremony,  I  beg" 

"  Ye'll  no  be  for  the  linen,  then  ?"  said  Peg. 

XX. 

Now,  for  the  land  of  verdant  Erin, 

The  Sultaun's  royal  bark  is  steering, 

The  Emerald  Isle,  where  honest  Paddy  dwells, 

The  cousin  of  John  Bull,  as  story  tells. 

For  a  long  space  had  John,  with  words  of  thunder,  • 

Hard  looks,  and  harder  knocks,  kept  Paddy  under 

Till  the  poor  lad,  like  boy  that's  flogg'd  unduly, 

Had  gotten  somewhat  restive  and  unruly. 

Hard  was  his  lot  and  lodging,  you'll  allow, 

A  wigwam  that  would  hardly  serve  a  sow ; 

His  landlord,  and  of  middle-men  two  brace, 

Had  screw'd  his  rent  up  to  the  starving- place  ; 

His  garment  was  a  top-coat,  and  an  old  one, 

His  meal  was  a  potato,  and  a  cold  one ; 

But  still  for  fun  or  frolic,  and  all  that, 

In  the  round  world  was  not  the  match  of  Pat. 

XXI. 

The  Sultaun  saw  him  on  a  holiday, 

Which  is  with  Paddy  still  a  jolly  day : 

When  mass  is  ended,  and  his  load  of  sins 

Confess'd,  and  Mother  Church  hath  from  her  binns 

Dealt  forth  a  bonus  of  imputed  merit, 

Then  is  Pat's  time  for  fancy,  whim,  and  spirit ! 

To  jest,  to  sing,  to  caper  fair  and  free, 

And  dance  as  light  as  leaf  upon  the  tree. 

"  By  Mahomet,"  said  Sultaun  Solimaun, 

"  That  ragged  fellow  is  our  very  man ! 

Rush  in  and  seize  him — do  lot  do  him  hurt, 

But,  will  he  nill  he,  let  me  nave  his  shirt." — 

XXII. 

Shilela  their  plan  was  wellnigh  after  baulking 
(Much  less  provocation  will  set  it  a-walking), 
But  the  odds  that   foil'd  Hercules   foil'd  Paddy 

Whack ; 
They  seized,  and  they  floor'd,  and  they  stripp'd 

him — Alack ! 
Up-bubboo  1     Paddy  had  not a  shirt  to  hia 

back ! ! ! 
And   the    King,  disappointed,  with    sorrow    and 

shame, 
Went  back  to  Serendib  as  sad  as  he  came. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


671 


Ir.  HemMe's  jfaretoell  ^totrress,1 

ON  TAKING  LEAVE  OF  THE  EDINBURGH  STAGE. 


1817. 


A.«»  the  worn  -war-horse,  at  the  trumpet  3  sotmd, 
Erects    his    mane,    and   neighs,   and    paws    the 

ground — 
Disdains  the  ease  his  generous  lord  assigns, 
And  longs  to  rush  on  the  embattled  lines, 
So  I,  your  plaudits  ringing  on  mine  ear, 
Can  scarce  sustain  to  think  our  parting  near ; 
To  think  my  scenic  hour  for  ever  past, 
And  that  these  valued  plaudits  are  my  last. 
Why  should  "we   part,  while  still   some   powers 

remain, 
That  in  your  service  strive  not  yet  in  vain  ? 
Cannot  high  zeal  the  strength  of  youth  supply, 
And  sense  of  duty  fire  the  fading  eye ; 
And  all  the  wrongs  of  age  remain  subdued 
Beneath  the  burning  glow  of  gratitude  ? 
Ah,  no !  the  taper,  wearing  to  its  close, 
Oft  for  a  space  in  fitful  lustre  glows ; 
But  all  too  soon  the  transient  gleam  is  past, 
It  cannot  be  renew'd,  and  will  not  last ; 
Even  duty,  zeal,  and  gratitude,  can  wage 
But  short-lived  conflict  with  the  frosts  of  age. 
Yes  1  It  were  poor,  remembering  what  I  was, 
To  live  a  pensioner  on  your  applause, 
To  drain  the  dregs  of  your  endurance  dry, 
And  take,  as  alms,  the  praise  I  once  could  buy ; 
Till  every  sneering  youth  around  inquires, 
u  Is  this   the   man  who   once   could   please    our 

sires  V ' 
And  scorn  assumes  compassion's  doubtful  mien, 
To  warn  me  off  from  the  encumber'd  scene. 
This  must  not  be ; — and  higher  duties  crave, 
Some  space  between  the  theatre  and  the  grave, 
That,  like  the  Roman  in  the  Capitol 
I  may  adjust  my  mantle  ere  I  fall : 

1  These  lines  first  appeared,  April  5, 1817,  in  a  weekly  sheet, 
called  the  "  Sale  Room,"  conducted  and  published  by  Messrs. 
Ballantyne  and  Co.  at  Edinburgh.  In  a  note  prefixed,  Mr. 
James  Ballantyne  says,  "The  character  fixed  upon,  with 
happj  propriety,  for  Kemble's  closing  scene,  was  Macbeth,  in 
which  he  took  his  final  leave  of  Scotland  on  the  evening  of 
Saturday,  the  29th  March,  1817.  He  had  labored  under  a 
severe  cold  for  a  few  days  before,  but  on  this  memorable  night 
the  physical  annoyance  yielded  to  the  energy  of  his  mind. — 
'  He  was,'  he  said,  in  the  green-room,  immediately  before  the 
curtain  rose,  '  determined  to  leave  behind  him  the  most  per- 
fect specimen  of  his  art  which  he  had  ever  shown,'  and  his 
success  was  complete.  At  the  moment  of  the  tyrant's  death 
the  curtain  fell  by  the  universal  acclamation  of  the  audience. 
The  applauses  were  vehement  and  prolonged  ;  they  ceased — 
Hrere  resumed — rose  again  -were  reiterated — and  again  were 
hushed.  In  a  few  minutes  the  curtain  ascended,  and  Mr. 
Itemble  came  forward  in  the  dress  of  Macbeth  (the  audience 
uy  a  consentaneous  movement  rising  to  receive  him),  to  deliver 


The  last,  the  closing  scene,  must  be  my  own. 
My  life's  brief  act  in  public  service  flown, 

Here,  then,  adieu  1  while  yet  some  well-graced 

parts 
May  fix  an  ancient  favorite  in  your  hearts, 
Not  quite  to  be  forgotten,  even  when 
You  look  on  better  actors,  younger  men : 
And  if  your  bosoms  own  this  kindly  debt 
Of  old  remembrance,  how  shall  mine  forget — 
0,  how  forget ! — how  oft  I  hither  came 
In  anxious  hope,  how  oft  return' d  with  fame  1 
How  oft  around  your  circle  this  weak  hand 
Has  waved  immortal  Shakspeare's  magic  wand, 
Till  the  full  burst  of  inspiration  came, 
And  I  have  felt,  and  you  have  fanu'd  the  flame ! 
By  mem'ry  treasured,  while  her  reign  endures, 
Those  hours  must  live — and  all  their  charms  are 

yours. 

0  favor'd  Land  1  renown'd  for  arts  and  arms, 
For  manly  talent,  and  for  female  charms, 
Could  this  full  bosom  prompt  the  sinking  line 
What  fervent  benedictions  now  were  thine  ! 
But  my  last  part  is  play'd,  my  knell  is  rung, 
When  e'en  your  praise  falls  faltering  from  my 

tongue ; 
And  all  that  you  can  hear,  or  I  can  tell, 
Is — Friends  and  Patrons,  hail,  and  fare  tou  well. 


%  fnes,a 

WRITTEN  FOR  MISS  SMITH. 


1817. 


When  the  lone  pilgrim  views  afar 
The  shrine  that  is  his  guiding  star, 
With  awe  his  footsteps  print  the  road 
Which  the  "loved  saint  of  yore  has  trod. 

his  farewell."  ....  "  Mr.  Kemble  delivered  these  lines 
with  exquisite  beauty,  and  with  an  effect  that  was  evidenced 
by  the  tears  and  sobs  of  many  of  the  audience.  His  own  emotions 
were  very  conspicuous.  When  his  farewell  was  closed,  he  lin- 
gered long  on  the  stage,  as  if  unable  to  retire.  The  house  again 
stood  up,  and  cheered  him  with  the  waving  of  hate  and  long 
shouts  of  applause.  At  length,  he  finally  retired.  s.nd,  m  so 
far  as  regards  Scotland,  the  curtain  dropped  upon  his  profes- 
sional life  for  ever." 

a  These  lines  were  first  printed  in  "  The  Forget-Me-Not,  for 
1834."  They  were  written  for  recitation  by  the  distinguished 
actress,  Miss  Smith,  now  Mrs.  Bartley,  on  the  night  of  her  ben- 
efit at  the  Edinburgh  Theatre,  in  1817  ;  but  reached  her  too  late 
for  her  purpose.  In  a  letter  which  inclosed  them,  the  poet 
intimated  that  they  were  written  on  the  morning  of  the  day  on 
which  they  were  sent — that  he  thought  the  idea  better  than  the 
execution,  and  forwarded  them  with  the  hope  of  their  addinf 
perhaps  "  a  little  salt  to  the  bill." 


672 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


As  near  he  draws,  and  yet  more  near, 
His  dim  eye  sparkles  with  a  tear ; 
The  Gothic  fane's  unwonted  show, 
The  choral  hymn,  the  tapers'  glow, 
Oppress  his  soul ;  while  they  delight 
And  chasten  rapture  with  affright. 
No  longer  dare  he  think  his  toil 
Can  merit  aught  his  patron's  smile ; 
Too  light  appears  the  distant  way, 
The  chilly  eve,  the  sultry  day — 
All  these  endured  no  favor  claim, 
But  murmuring  forth  the  sainted  name, 
He  lays  his  little  offering  down, 
And  only  deprecates  a  frown. 

We  too,  who  ply  the  Thespian  art, 
Oft  feel  such  bodings  of  the  heart, 
And,  when  our  utmost  powers  are  strain'd, 
Dare  hardly  hope  your  favor  gain'd. 
She,  who  from  sister  climes  has  sought 
The  ancient  land  where  Wallace  fought ; — 
Land  long  renown'd  for  arms  and  arts, 
And  conquering  eyes  and  dauntless  hearts ; — ; 
She,  as  the  flutterings  here  avow, 
Feels  all  the  pilgrim's  terrors  now  ; 
Yet  sure  on  Caledonian  plain 
The  stranger  never  sued  in  vain. 
'Tis  yours  the  hospitable  task 
To  give  the  applause  she  dare  not  ask ; 
And  they  who  bid  the  pilgrim  speed, 
The  pilgrim's  blessing  be  their  meed. 


2T$e  Sun  upon  t£e  EffiJeirtrlato  ?^fIL 


1817. 


["  Scott's  enjoyment  of  his  new  territories  was, 
however,  interrupted  by  various  returns  of  his 
cramp,  and  the  depression  of  spirit  which  always 
attended,  in  his  case,  the  use  of  opium,  the  only 
medicine  that  seemed  to  have  power  over  the  dis- 
ease. It  was  while  struggling  with  such  languor, 
on  one  lovely  evening  of  tins  autumn,  that  he  com- 
posed the  following  beautiful  verses.  They  mark 
the  very  spot  of  their  birth, — namely,  tho  then 
naked  height  overhanging  the  northern  side  of  the 
Cauldshiels  Loch,  from  which  Melrose  Abbey  to 
the  eastward,  and  the  hills  of  Ettrick  and  Yarrow 
to  the  west,  are  now  visible  over  a  wide  range  of 
rich  woodland, — all  the  work  of  the  poet's  hand." 
— Life,  vol.  v.  p.  237.] 

i  "  O  favor'd  land  !  renown'd  for  arts  and  arms, 
For  manly  talent,  and  for  female  charms." 

Lines  written  for  Mr.  J.  Kemble. 
s  •«  Nathaiiel  Gow  told  me  that  he  got  the  air  from  an  old 


Air — "  Rimhin  aluin  'stu  mo  run.1 


The  air,  composed  by  the  Editor  of  Albyn's  Anthology.2  **">* 
words  written  for  Mr.  George  Thomson's  Scottish  Melodies 
[1822.] 


The  sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hilt, 

In  Ettrick's  vale,  is  sinking  sweet ; 
The  westland  wind  is  hush  and  still, 

The  lake  lies  sleeping  at  my  feet. 
Yet  not  the  landscape  to  mine  eye 

Bears  those  bright  hues  that  once  it  bore  ; 
Though  evening,  with  her  richest  dye, 

Flames  o'er  the  hills  of  Ettrick's  shore. 

With  listless  look  along  the  plain, 

I  see  Tweed's  silver  current  glide, 
And  coldly  mark  the  holy  fane 

Of  Melrose  rise  iu  ruin'd  pride. 
The  quiet  lake,  the  balmy  air, 

The  hill,  the  stream,  the  tower,  the  tree,— 
Are  they  still  such  as  once  they  were  ? 

Or  is  the  dreary  change  in  me  ? 

Alas,  the  warp'd  and  broken  board, 

How  can  it  bear  the  painter's  dye  ! 
The  harp  of  strain'd  and  tuneless  chord, 

How  to  the  minstrel's  skill  reply  ! 
To  aching  eyes  each  landscape  lowers, 

To  feverish  pulse  each  gale  blows  chill ; 
And  Araby's  or  Eden's  bowers 

Were  barren  as  this  moorland  hill. 


STfce  J&onfts  of  aSanjjor's  i&arcfc. 

Air — "  Ymdaith  Mionge." 
WRITTEN  FOE  MR.  GEO.  THOMSON'S  WELSH  MELODIEg 


1817. 


Ethelfrid  or  Olfrid,  King  of  Northumberland, 
having  besieged  Chester  in  613,  and  Brockmael, 
a  British  Prince,  advancing  to  relieve  it,  the  re- 
ligious of  the  neighboring  Monastery  of  Bangor 
marched  in  procession,  to  pray  for  the  success  of 
their  countrymen.  But  the  British  being  totally 
defeated,  the  heathen  victor  put  the  monks  to  tlie 
sword,  and  destroyed  their  monastery.  The  tune 
to  which  these  verses  are  adapted  is  called  the 
Monks'  March,  and  is  supposed  to  have  been 
played  at  their  ill-omened  procession. 


When  the  heathen  trumpet's  clang 
Round  beleaguer'd  Chester  rang, 

gentleman,  a  Mr.  Dalrymple  of  Orangefield  (he  thinks),  who 
had  it  from  a  friend  in  the  Western  Isles,  as  an  old  Highland 
air  "-  George  Thomson. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


673 


Veiled  nun  and  friar  gray 
March'd  from  Bangor's  fair  Abbaye ; 
High  their  holy  anthem  sounds, 
Cestria's  vale  the  hymn  rebounds, 
Floating  down  the  silvan  Dee, 

0  miserere,  Domine  ! 

On  the  long  procession  goes, 
Glory  round  their  crosses  glows, 
And  the  Virgin-mother  mild 
In  their  peaceful  banner  smiled ; 
Who  could  think  such  saintly  band 
Doom'd  to  feel  unhahW'd  hand  ? 
Such  was  the  Divine  decree, 

0  miserere,  Domine  I 

Bands  that  masses  only  sung, 
Hands  that  censers  only  swung, 
Met  the  northern  bow  and  bill, 
Heard  the  war-cry  wild  and  shrill ; 
Woe  to  Brockmael's  feeble  hand, 
Woe  to  Olfrid's  bloody  brand, 
Woe  to  Saxon  cruelty, 

0  miserere,  Domine  I 

Weltering  amid  warriors  slain, 
Spurn'd  by  steeds  with  bloody  mane, 
Slaughter'd  down  by  heathen  blade, 
Bangor's  peaceful  monks  are  laid : 
Word  of  parting  rest  unspoke, 
Mass  unsung,  and  bread  unbroke ; 
For  their  souls  for  charity, 

Sing,  0  miserere,  Domine  I 

Bangor  !  o'er  the  murder  wail ! 
Long  thy  ruins  told  the  tale, 
Shatter'd  towers  and  broken  arch 
Long  recall'd  the  woeful  march  r1 
On  thy  shrine  no  tapers  burn, 
Never  shall  thy  priests  return  ; 
The  pilgrim  sighs  and  sings  for  thee, 

0  miserefe,  Domine  I 


Hetter 

TO   HIS   GRACE   THE   DUKE   OF   BUCCLEUCH, 
DRUMLANRIG  CASTLE, 

Sanquhar,  2  o'clock,  July  30,  1817. 
From  Ross,  where  the  clouds  on  Benlomond  are 

sleeping — 
From  Greenock,  where  Clyde  to  the  Ocean  is 
sweeping — 

i  William  of  Malmsbnry  says,  that  in  his  time  the  extent  of 
the  ruins  of  the  monastery  bore  ample  witness  to  the  desolation 
•ccasioned  by  the  massacre  : — "  tot  semiruti  parietes  ecclesia- 
85 


From  Largs,  where  the  Scotch  gave  the  Northmen 
a  drilling — 

From  Ardrossan,  whose  harbor  cost  many  a  shil- 
ling— 

From  Old  Cumnock,  where  beds  are  as  hard  as  a 
plank,  sir — 

From  a  chop  and  green  pease,  and  a  chickeL  in 
Sanquhar, 

This  eve,  please  the  Fates,  at  Drumlanrig  we  an 
chor.  W.  S. 

[Sir  Walter's  companion  on  this  excursion  was 
Captain,  now  Sir  Adam  Ferguson. — See  Life,  voL 
v.  p.  234.] 


Jrom  Hob  Hog. 


1817. 


(1.)— TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  EDWARD  THE 
BLACK  PRINCE. 

"  A  blotted  piece  of  paper  dropped  out  of  the 
book,  and,  being  taken  up  by  my  father,  he  inter 
rupted  a  hint  from  Owen,  on  the  propriety  of  se- 
curing loose  memoranda  with  a  little  paste,  bv 
exclaiming,  'To  the  memory  of  Edward  the  Black 
Prince — What's  all  this  ? — verses ! — By  Heaven, 
Frank,  you  are  a  greater  blockhead  than  I  sup- 
posed you !' " 

0  for  the  voice  of  that  wild  horn, 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne, 

The  dying  l^ro's  call, 
That  told  imperial  Charlemagne, 
How  Paynim  sons  of  swarthy  Spain 

Had  wrought  lus  champion's  falL 

" '  Fontarabian  echoes  /'  continued  my  fathei , 
interrupting  himself ;  '  the  Fontarabian  Fair  would 
have  been  more  to  the  purpose. — Paynim? — 
What's  Paynim  ? — Could  you  not  say  Pagan  as 
well,  and  write  English,  at  least,  if  you  must 
needs  write  nonsense  V  " — 

Sad  over  earth  and  ocean  sounding, 
And  England's  distant  cliffs  astounding, 

Such  are  the  notes  should  say 
How  Britain's  hope,  and  France's  fear, 
Victor  of  Cressy  and  Poitier, 

In  Bourdeaux  dying  lay. 

mm,  tot  anfractus  porticum,  tanta  turba  rnderum  qnantnm  m. 
alibi  cernas." 


674 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


" '  Poitiers,  by  the  way,  is  always  spelled  with 
an  .<?,  and  I  know  no  reason  why  orthography  should 
give  place  to  rhyme.' " 

"  Raise  my  faint  head,  my  squires,"  he  said, 
"  And  let  the  casement  be  display'4. 
That  I  may  see  once  more 
The  splendor  of  the  setting  sun 
Gleam  on  thy  mirror'd  wave,  Garonne, 
And  Blaye's  empurpled  shore." 

" '  Garonne  and  sun  is  a  bad  rhyme.  Why, 
Frank,  you  do  not  even  understand  the  beggarly 
trade  you  have  chosen.'  " 

"  Like  me,  he  sinks  to  Glory's  sleep, 
His  fall  the  dews  of  evening  steep, 

As  if  in  sorrow  shed. 
So  soft  shall  fall  the  trickling  tear, 
"When  England's  maids  and  matrons  hear 

Of  their  Black  Edward  dead. 

u  And  though  my  sun  of  glory  set, 
Nor  France  nor  England  shall  forget 

The  terror  of  my  name  ; 
And  oft  shall  Britain's  heroes  rise, 
New  planets  in  these  southern  skies, 

Tlirough  clouds  of  blood  and  flame." 

"'A  cloud  of  flame  is  something  new — Good- 
morrow,  my  masters  all,  and  a  merry  Christmas 
to  you  ! — Why,  the  bellman  writes  better  lines  1'  " 

Chap.  ii. 


(2.)— TRANSLATION  FROM  ARIOSTO. 


1817. 


"  Miss  Vernon  proceeded  to  read  the  first  stanza, 
which  was  nearly  to  the  following  purpose  :" — 

Ladies,  and  knights,  and  arms,  and  love's  fair  flame, 

Deeds  of  emprize  and  courtesy,  I  sing ; 
What  time  the  Moors  from  sultry  Africk  came, 

Led  on  by  Agramant,  their  youthful  king — 
He  whom  revenge  and  hasty  ire  did  bring 

O'er  the  broad  wave,  in  France  to  waste  and  war ; 
Such  ills  from  old  Trojano's  death  did  spring, 

Which  to  avenge  he  came  from  realms  afar, 
And  menaced  Christian  Charles,  the  Roman  Em- 
peror. 

Of  dauntless  Roland,  too,  my  strain  shall  sound, 
In  import  never  known  in  prose  or  rhyme, 


How  He,  the  chief  of  judgment  deem'd  profound, 
For  luckless  love  was  crazed  upon  a  time — 

" '  There  is  a  great  deal  of  it,'  said  she,  glancing 
along  the  paper,  and  interrupting  the  sweetest 
sounds  which  mortal  ears  can  drink  in  ;  those  of  a 
youthful  poet's  verses,  namely,  read  by  the  lips 
which  are  dearest  to  them." 

Chap.  xvi. 


(3.)— M  0  T  T  0  E  S . 

(1.)— Chap.  x. 
In  the  wide  pile,  by  others  heeded  not, 
Hers  was  one  sacred  solitary  spot, 
Whose  gloomy  aisles  and  bending  shelves  contain, 
For  moral  hunger  food,  and  cures  for  moral  pain. 

Anonymous. 

"  The  library  at  Osbaldistone  Hall  was  a  gloomy 
room,"  &c. 

(2.) — Chap.  xiii. 
Dire  was  his  thought,  who  first  in  poison  steep'd 
The  weapon  form'd  for  slaughter — direr  Ins, 
And  worthier  of  damnation,  who  instill'd 
The  mortal  venom  in  the  social  cup, 
To  fill  the  veins  with  death  instead  of  life. 

Anonymous. 

(3.) — Chap.  xxn. 
Look  round  thee,  young  Astolpho :    Here's  the 

place 
Which  men  (for  being  poor)  are  sent  to  starve  in,— 
Rude  remedy,  I  trow,  for  sore  disease. 
Within  these  walls,  stifled  by  damp  and  stench, 
Doth  Hope's  fair  torch  expire  ;  and  at  the  snuff, 
Ere  yet  'tis  quite  extinct,  rude,  wild,  and  wayward, 
The  desperate  revelries  of  wild  despair, 
Kindling  their  hell-born  cressets,  light  to  deeds 
That  the  poor  captive  would  have  died  ere  prac- 
tised, 
Till  bondage  sunk  his  soul  to  his  condition. 

The  Prison,  Scene  hi.  Act  i. 

(4.) — Chap,  xxvii. 
Far  as  the  eye  could  leach  no  tree  was  seiii, 
Earth,  clad  in  russet,  scorn'd  the  lively  green ; 
No  birds,  except  as  birds  of  passage,  flew ; 
No  bee  was  heard  to  hum,  no  dove  to  coo ; 
No  streams,  as  amber  smooth,  as  amber  clear, 
Were  seen  to  glide,  or  heard  to  warble  here. 
Prophecy  of  Famine. 

(5.) — Chap.  xxxi. 
"  Woe  to  the  vanquish'd !"  was  stern  Brenno's  wor^ 
When  sunk  pt  oud  Rome  beneath  the  Gallic  sword— 


LYRICAL  AND  MLSCELLAJNEOUS  PlEOEa. 


675 


*  "Woo  to  the  vanquish'd  If  when  his  massive  blade 
Bore  down  the  scale  against  her  ransom  weigh'd, 
And  on  the  field  of  fought  en  battle  still, 
Who  knows  no  limit  save  the  victor's  will. 

Tlte  Gaulliad. 

(6.) — Chap,  xxxii. 
And  be  he  safe  restored  ere  evening  set, 
Or,  if  there's  vengeance  in  an  injured  heart, 
And  power  to  wreak  it  in  an  arm'd  hand, 
Your  land  shall  ache  for't. 

Old  Play. 

(7.) — Chap,  xxxvi. 
Farewell  to  the  land  where  the  clouds  love  to  rest, 
Like  the  shroud  of  the  dead  on  the  mountain's 

cold  breast ; 
To  the  cataract's  roar  where  the  eagles  reply, 
And  the  lake  her  lone  bosom  expands  to  the  sky. 


HpUojjue  to  t£e  Appeal.1 

spoken  by  mrs.  hexry  siddons, 
Feb.  16,  1818. 

A  cat  of  yore  (or  else  old  iEsop  lied) 
Was  changed  into  a  fair  and  blooming  bride, 
But  spied  a  mouse  upon  her  marriage  day, 
Forgot  her  spouse,  and  seized  upon  her  prey ; 
Even  thus  my  bridegroom  lawyer,  as  you  saw, 
Threw  off  poor  me,  and  pounced  upon  papa. 
His  neck  from  Hymen's  mystic  knot  made  loose. 
He  twisted  round  my  sire's  the  literal  noose. 
Such  are  the  fruits  of  our  dramatic  labor 
Since  the  New  Jail  became  our  next-door  neighbor. 

Yes,  times  are  changed ;  for,  in  your  fathers'  age, 
The  lawyers  were  the  patrons  of  the  stage ; 
However  high  advanced  by  future  fate, 
There  stands  the  bench  (points  to  the  Pit)  that  first 

received  their  weight. 
The  future  legal  sage,  'twas  ours  to  see, 
Doom  though  unwigg'd,  and  plead  without  a  fee. 

But  now,  astounding  each  poor  mimic  elf, 
Instead  of  lawyers  comes  the  law  herself; 
Tremendous  neighbor,  on  our  right  she  dwells, 
Builds  her  high  towers  and  excavates  her  cells ; 
While  on  the  left  she  agitates  the  town, 

i  "  The  Appeal,"  a  Tragedy,  by  John  Gait,  the  celebrated 
author  of  the  "  Annals  of  the  Parish,"  and  other  Novels,  was 
played  for  four  nights  at  this  time  in  Edinburgh. 

2  It  is  necessary  to  mention,  that  the  allusions  in  this  piece 
are  all  local,  and  addressed  only  to  the  Edinburgh  audience. 
The  new  prisons  of  the  city,  on  the  Calton  Hill,  are  not  far  from 
toe  theatre. 


With  the  tempestuous  question,  Up  or  down  \3 
'Twixt  Scylla  and  Chary  bdis  thus  stand  we, 
Law's  final  end,  and  law's  uncertainty. 
But,  soft  1  who  lives  at  Rome  the  Pope  must  flatter, 
And  jails  and  lawsuits  are  no  jesting  matter. 
Then — just  farewell !     We  wait  with  serious  awe 
Till  your  applause  or  censure  gives  the  law. 
Trusting  our  humble  efforts  may  assure  ye, 
We  hold  you  Court  and  Counsel,  Judge  and  Jury. 


iWacferfmwon's  3Lament.4 


1818. 


Air — "  Cha  till  mi  tuille."* 

Mackrimmon,  hereditary  piper  to  the  Laird  oj 
Macleod,  is  said  to  have  composed  this  Lament 
when  the  Clan  was  about  to  depart  upon  a  distant 
and  dangerous  expedition.  The  Minstrel  was 
impressed  with  a  belief,  which  the  event  verified, 
that  he  was  to  be  slaiit  in  the  approaching  feud , 
and  hence  the  Gaelic  words,  "  Cha  till  mi  tuille  ; 
ged  thillis  Macleod,  cha  till  Mackrimmon,"  "1 
shall  never  return ;  although  Macleod  returns, 
yet  Mackrimmon  shall  never  return  /"  The  piece 
is  but  too  well  known,  from  its  being  the  strain 
with  which  the  emigrants  from  the  West  High- 
lands and  Isles  usually  take  leave  of  their  native 
shore. 


Macleod's  wizard  flag  from  the  gray  castle  sallies, 
The  rowers  are  seated,  unmoor'd  are  the  galleys ; 
Gleam  war-axe  and  broadsword,  clang  target  and 

quiver, 
As  Mackrimmon  sings,  "Farewell  to  Dunvegan 

for  ever ! 
Farewell   to   each   cliff,  on   which  breakers   are 

foaming ; 
Farewell,  each  dark  glen,  in  which  red-deer  aia 

roaming ; 
Farewell,  lonely  Skye,  to  lake,  mountain,  and  river  > 
Macleod  may  return,  but  Mackrimmon  shall  never 

"  Farewell  the  bright  clouds  that  on  Quillan  arfi 

sleeping ; 
Farewell  the  bright  eyes  in  the  Dun  that  ar« 

weeping ; 

8  At  this  time  the  public  of  Edinburgh  was  much  agitated  by 
a  lawsuit  betwixt  the  Magistrates  and  many  of  the  Inhabitants 
of  the  City,  concerning  a  range  of  new  buildings  on  the  western 
side  of  the  North  Bridge  ;  which  the  latter  insisted  should  ** 
removed  as  a  deformity. 

*  Written  for  Albyn's  Anthology. 

6  "  We  return  no  more." 


676 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


To  each  minstrel  delusion,  farewell ! — and  for  ever ; 
Mackrimmon  departs,  to  return  to  you  never ! 
The  Banshee's  wild  voice  sings  the  death-dirge 

before  me,1 
The  pall  of  the  dead  for  a  mantle  hangs  o'er  me ; 
But  my  heart  shall  not  flag,  and  my  nerves  shall 
not  shiver, 
TThough  devoted  T  go — to  return  again  never  I 

*  Too  oft  shall   the  notes  of  Mackrimmon's  be- 
wailing 
Be  heard  when  the  Gael  on  their  exile  are  sailing ; 
Dear  land  !  to  the  shores,  whence  unwilling  we 

sever, 
Return — return — return  shall  we  never ! 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille ! 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille, 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille, 

Gea  thillis  Macleod,  cha  till  Mackrimmon  !" 


©onaltr  (EafrtTa  dome  0jjafti.9 

Air — "  Malcolm  Caird's  come  again."* 


1818. 


CHORUS. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  1 

Donald  Caird  can  lilt  and  sing, 
Blithely  dance  the  Hieland  fling, 
Drink  till  the  gudeman  be  blind, 
Fleech  till  the  gudewife  be  kind ; 
Hoop  a  leglin,  clout  a  pan, 
Or  crack  a  pow  wi'  ony  man ; 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird  can  wire  a  maukin, 
Kens  the  wiles  o'  dun-deer  staukin', 
Leisters  kipper,  makes  a  shift 
To  shoot  a  muir-fowl  in  the  drift ; 

i  Fee  a  note  on  Banshee,  Lady  of  the  Lake,  ante,  p.  250. 

2  Written  for  Albyn's  Anthology,  vol.  ii.,  1818,  and  set  to 
music  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Collection,  in  1822. 

8  Caird  signifies  Tinker. 

*  Mr.  D.  Thomson,  of  Galashiels,  produced  a  parody  on  this 
«ong  at  an  annual  dinner  of  the  manufacturers  there,  which 


"Water-bailiffs,  rangers,  keepers, 
He   can  wauk  when  they  are 

sleepers ; 
Not  for  bountith  or  reward 
Dare  ye  mell  wi'  Donald  Caird. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Gar  the  bagpipes  hum  amain, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird  can  drink  a  gill 
Fast  as  hostler-wife  can  fill ; 
Bka  ane  that  sells  gude  liquor 
Kens  how  Donald  bends  a  bicker ; 
When  he's  fou  he's  stout  and  saucy 
Keeps  the  cantle  o'  the  cawsey ; 
Hieland  chief  and  Lawland  laird 
Maun  gie  room  to  Donald  Caird  1 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  1 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  I 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen.^ 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Steek  the  amrie,  lock  the  kist, 
Else  some  gear  may  weel  be  mis't ; 
Donald  Caird  finds  orra  things 
Where  Allan  Gregor  fand  the  tings ; 
Dunts  of  kebbuck,  taits  o'  woo, 
Whiles  a  hen  and  whiles  a  sow, 
Webs  or  duds  frae  hedge  or  yard — 
'Ware  the  wuddie,  Donald  Caird  ! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  I 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Dinna  let  the  Shirra  ken 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

On  Donald  Caird  the  doom  was  ster* , 
Craig  to  tether,  legs  to  aim  ; 
But  Donald  Caird,  wi'  mickle  study 
Caught  the  gift  to  cheat  the  wuddie 
Rings  of  airn,  and  bolts  of  steel, 
Fell  like  ice  frae  hand  and  heel ! 
Watch  the  sheep  in  fauld  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again ! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Dinna  let  the  Justice  ken, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again.* 

Sir  Walter  Scott  usually  attended;  and  the  Poet  was  nigh  ?y 
amused  with  a  sly  allusion  to  his  two-fold  chaineter  of 
Sheriff  of  Selkirkshire,  and  author-suspect  of  "  Rob  Roy,"  ia 
the  chorus, — 

"  Think  ye,  does  the  Shirra  ken 
Rob  M'  Gregor1  s  come  again  ?'* 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


677 


irom  %  Heart  of  JHft-Cotljian. 


1818. 


(1.)— MADGE  WILDFIRE'S  SONGS. 

When  the  gledd's  in  the  blue  cloud, 

The  lavrock  lies  still ; 
When  the  hound's  in  the  green-wood, 

The  hind  keeps  the  liilL 

0  sleep  ye  sound,  Sir  James,  she  said, 

When  ye  suld  rise  and  ride  ? 
There's  twenty  men,  wi'  bow  and  blade, 

Are  seeking  where  ye  hide. 

Hey  for  cavaliers,  ho  for  cavaliers, 

Dub  a  dub,  dub  a  dub ; 

Have  at  old  Beelzebub, — 
Oliver's  running  for  fear. — 

I  glance    like  the  wildfire    through  country  and 

town  ; 
I'm  seen  on  the  causeway — I'm  seen  on  the  down ; 
The  lightning  that  flashes  so  bright  and  so  free, 
Is  scarcely  so  blithe  or  so  bonny  as  me. 

What  did  ye  wi'  the  bridal  ring — bridal  ring — 

bridal  ring  ? 
What  did  ye  wi'  your  wedding  ring,  ye  little  cutty 

quean,  O  ? 
I  gied  it  till  a  sodger,  a  sodger,  a  sodger, 
I  gied  it  till  a  sodger,  an  auld  true  love  o'  mine,  0. 

Good  even,  good  fair  moon,  good  even  to  thee  ; 
I  prithee,  dear  moon,  now  show  to  me 
The  form  and  the  features,  the  speech  and  de- 
gree, 
Df  the  man  that  true  lover  of  mine  shall  be. 

It  is  the  bonny  butcher  lad, 

That  wears  the  sleeves  of  blue, 
He  sells  the  flesh  on  Saturday, 
,  On  Friday  that  he  slew. 

There's  a  bloodhound  ranging  Tinwald  Wood, 

There's  harness  glancing  sheen ; 
There's  a  maiden  sits  on  Tinwald  brae, 

And  she  sings  loud  between. 

Up  in  the  air, 

On  my  bonnie  gray  mare, 

And  I  see,  and  I  see,  and  I  see  her  yet. 

In  the  bonnie  cells  of  Bedlam, 
Ere  I  was  ane  and  twenty, 
I  had  hempen  bracelets  strong, 


And  merry  whips,  ding-dong, 
And  prayer  and  fasting  plenty. 

My  banes  are  buried  in  yon  kirk-yard 

Sae  far  ayont  the  sea, 
And  it  is  but  my  blithsome  ghaist 

That's  speaking  now  to  thee. 

I'm  Madge  of  the  country,  I'm  Madge  of  the  towu^ 
And  I'm  Madge  of  the  lad  I  am  blithest  to  own— 
The  Lady  of  Beever  in  diamonds  may  shine, 
But  has  not  a  heart  half  so  lightsome  as  mine. 

I  am  Queen  of  the  Wake,  and  I'm  Lady  of  May, 
And  I  lead  the  blithe  ring  round  the  May-pole  to- 
day; 
The  wild-fire  that  flashes  so  far  and  so  free 
Was  never  so  bright,  or  so  bonnie  as  me. 

He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall, 

He  that  is  low  no  pride ; 
He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 

Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

Fulness  to  such  a  burthen  is 

That  go  on  pilgrimage ; 
Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss, 

Is  best  from  age  to  age. 

"  As  Jeanie  entered,  she  heard  first  the  air,  ana 
then  a  part  of  the  chorus  and  words  of  what  had 
been,  perhaps,  the  song  of  a  jolly  harvest-home." 

Our  work  is  over — over  now, 
The  goodman  wipes  his  weary  brow, 
The  last  long  warn  wends  slow  away, 
And  we  are  free  to  sport  and  play. 

The  night  comes  on  when  sets  the  sun, 
And  labor  ends  when  day  is  done. 
When  Autumn's  gone,  and  Winter's  come, 
We  hold  our  jovial  harvest-home. 

"  The  attendant  on  the  hospital  arranged  her  in 
her  bed  as  she  desired,  with  her  face  to  the  wall, 
and  her  back  to  the  light.  So  soon  as  she  was 
quiet  in  this  new  position,  she  began  again  to  sing 
in  the  same  low  and  modulated  strains,  as  if  she 
was  recovering  the  state  of  abstraction  which  the 
interruption  of  her  visitants  had  disturbed.  The 
strain,  however,  was  different,  and  rather  resem- 
bled the  music  of  the  methodist  hymns,  though 
the  measure  of  the  song  was  similar  to  that  of  th« 
former :" — 

When  the  fight  of  grace  is  fought, — 
When  the  marriage  vest  is  wrought, — 
When  Faith  has  chased  cold  Doubt  away, — 


078 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  Hope  but  sickens  at  delay, — 
When  Charity,  imprisoned  here, 
Longs  for  a  more  expanded  sphere ; 
Doff  thy  robe  of  sin  and  clay  ; 
Christian,  rise,  and  come  away. 

"  Her  next  seemed  to  be  the  fragment  of  some 
•»ld  ballad  :"— 

Cauld  is  my  bed,  Lord  Archibald, 

And  sad  my  sleep  of  sorrow : 
But  thine  sail  be  as  sad  and  cauld, 

My  fause  true-love  !  to-morrow. 

A.nd  weep  ye  not,  my  maidens  free, 
Though  death  your  mistress  borrow ; 

For  he  for  whom  I  die  to-day, 
Shall  die  for  me  to-morrow. 

"  Again  she  changed  the  tune  to  one  wilder,  less 
monotonous,  and  less  regular.  But  of  the  words 
only  a  fragment  or  two  could  be  collected  by  those 
who  listened  to  this  singular  scene :" — 

Proud  Maisie  is  in  the  wood, 

Walking  so  early ; 
Sweet  Robin  sits  on  the  bush, 

Singing  so  rarely. 

"  Tell  me,  thou  bonny  bird, 

When  shall  I  marry  me  ?" — 
"  When  six  brae  gentlemen 

Kirkward  shall  carry  ye." 

"  Who  makes  the  bridal  bed, 

Birdie,  say  truly  ?" — 
"  The  gray-headed  sexton 

That  delves  the  grave  duly. 

"  The  glow-worm  o'er  grave  and  stone 

Shall  light  thee  steady. 
The  owl  from  the  steeple  sing, 

'  Welcome,  proud  lady.' " 

"  Her  voice  died  away  with  the  last  notes,  and 
she  fell  into  a  slumber,  from  which  the  experienced 
attendant  assured  them,  that  she  would  never 
awake  at  all,  or  only  in  the  death-agony. 

"  Her  first  prophecy  was  true.  The  poor  maniac 
parted  with  existence,  without  again  uttering  a 
sound  of  any  kind." 

Chaps,  xv -xxxviii.  passim. 


»— MOTTOES. 
(1.) — Chap.  xix. 
To  man,  in  this  his  trial  state, 
The  privilege  is  given, 


When  lost  by  tides  of  human  fate, 
To  anchor  fast  in  Heaven. 

Watts'  Hymns 

(2.) — Chap,  xxiii. 
Law,  take  thy  victim  ! — May  she  find  the  mercy 
In  yon  mild  heaven  which  tliis  hard  world  denies  hei* 

(3.) — Chap,  xxvii. 
And  Need  and  Misery,  Vice  and  Danger,  bind 
In  sad  alliance,  each  degraded  mind. 

(4.) — Chap.  xxxv. 

I  beseech  you — 

These  tears  beseech  you,  and  these  chaste  hands 

woo  you, 
That  never  yet  were  heaved  but  to  things  holy — 
Things  like  yourself — You  are  a  God  above  us ; 
Be  as  a  God,  then,  full  of  saving  mercy ! 

The  Bloody  Brotlte* 

(5.) — Chap.  xlvi. 
Happy  thou  art !  then  happy  be, 

Nor  envy  me  my  lot ; 
Thy  happy  state  I  envy  thee, 
And  peaceful  cot. 

Lady  C C 1. 


Irom  t\)t  33rtk  of  £ammermoor 


1819. 


(1.)— LUCY  ASHTON'S  SONG. 

"  The  silver  tones  of  Lucy  Ashton's  voice  min- 
gled with  the  accompaniment  in  an  ancient  air,  to 
which  some  one  had  adapted  the  following  words  :— 

Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming, — 
Sit  thou  still  when  kings  are  arming, — 
Taste  not  when  the  wine-cup  glistens, — 
Speak  not  when  the  people  listens, — 
Stop  thine  ear  against  the  singer, — 
From  the  red  gold  keep  thy  finger,— 
Vacant  heart,  and  hand,  and  eye, 
Easy  live  and  quiet  die. 

Chap.  iii. 


(2.)— NORMAN  THE  FORESTER'S  SONG. 

"And  humming  his  rustic  roundelay,  the  yeo- 
man went  on  his   road,  the  sound  of   his  >*ough 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


t37& 


voice  gradually  dying  away  as  the  distance  be- 
twixt them  increased." 

The  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins  ring, 
The  abbot  may  sleep  to  their  chime ; 

But  the  \  eoman  must  start  when  the  bugles  sing, 
'Tis  time,  my  hearts,  'tis  time. 

There's  bucks  and  raes  on  Billhope  braes, 
There's  a  herd  on  Shortwood  Shaw ; 

But  a  lily  white  doe  in  the  garden  goes, 
She's  fairly  worth  them  a'. 

Chap.  iii. 


(3.)— THE  PROPHECY. 

"  "With  a  quivering  voice,  and  a  cheek  pale  with 
apprehension,  Caleb  faltered  out  the  following 
lines :" — 


When  the  last  Laird  of  Ravenswood  to  Ravens- 
wood  shall  ride, 
And  wooe  a  dead  maiden  to  be  his  bride, 
He  shall  stable  his  steed  in  the  Kelpie's  flow, 
And  his  name  shall  be  lost  for  evermoe  ! 

Chap,  xviii. 


(4.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap.  viii. 
The  hearth  in  hall  was  black  and  dead, 
No  board  was  dight  in  bower  within, 
Nor  merry  bowl  nor  welcome  bed ; 

"  Here's  sorry  cheer,"  quoth  the  Heir  of  Linne. 
Old  Ballad, 
[Altered from  "  The  Heir  of  Linne."~\ 

(2.) — Chap.  xiv. 
As,  to  the  Autumn  breeze's  bugle-sound, 
Various  and  vague  the  dry  leaves  dance  their 

round ; 
Or,  from  the  garner-door,  on  aether  borne, 
The  chaff  flies  devious  from  the  winnow'd  corn ; 
So  vague,  so  devious,  at  the  breath  of  heaven, 
From  their  fix'd  aim  are  mortal  counsels  driven. 

Anonymous. 

(3.) — Chap.  xvii. 

Here  is  a  father  now, 

"Will  truck  bis  daughter  for  a  foreign  venture, 
Make  her  the  stop-gap  to  some  canker'd  feud, 
Or  fling. her  o'er,  like  Jonah,  to  the  fishes, 
To  appease  the  sea  at  highest. 

Anonymous. 


(4.) — Chap.  xvm. 
Sir,  stay  at  home  and  take  an  old  man's  counsel 
Seek  not  to  bask  you  by  a  stranger's  hearth ; 
Our  own  blue  smoke  is  warmer  than  their  fite. 
Domestic  food  is  wholesome,  though  'tis  homely 
And  foreign  dainties  poisonous,  though  tasteful. 
The  French  Courtezax 

(5.) — Chap.  xxv. 
True-love,  an'  thou  be  true, 

Thou  has  ane  kittle  part  to  play, 
For  fortune,  fasliion,  fancy,  and  thou 

Maun  strive  for  many  a  day. 

I've  kend  by  mony  friend's  tale, 
Far  better  by  this  heart  of  mine, 

"What  time  and  change  of  fancy  avail, 
A  true  love-knote  to  untwine. 

Hendersoun. 

(6.) — Chap,  xxvii. 

"Why,  now  I  have  Dame  Fortune  by  the  forelock, 
And  if  she  'scapes  my  grasp,  the  fault  is  mine  ; 
He  that  hath  buffeted  with  stern  adversity, 
Best  knows  to  shape  his  course  to  favoring  breezes 

Old  Play. 


irom  tlje  jEegeutr  of  Jtlontroae. 


(1.)— ANCIENT  GAELIC  MELODY. 

"  So  saying,  Annot  Lyle  sate  down  at  a  little 
distance  upon  the  bench  on  which  Allan  M'Aulay 
was  placed,  and  tuning  her  clairshach,  a  small 
harp,  about  thirty  inches  in  height,  she  accompa- 
nied it  with  her  voice.  The  air  was  an  ancient 
Gaelic  melody,  and  the  words,  which  were  sup- 
posed to  be  very  old,  were  in  the  same  language ; 
but  we  subjoin  a  translation  of  them,  by  Secundus 
M'Pherson,  Esq.,  of  Glenforgen  ;  which,  although 
submitted  to  the  fetters  of  English  rhytlun,  w« 
trust  will  be  found  nearly  as  genuine  as  the  ver 
sion  of  Ossian  by  his  celebrated  namesake." 

1. 

Birds  of  omen  dark  and  foul, 
Night-crow,  raven,  bat,  and  owl, 
Leave  the  sick  man  to  his  dream — 
All  night  long  he  heard  you  scream. 
Haste  to  cave  and  ruin'd  tower, 
Ivy  tod,  or  dingled-bower, 
There  to  wink  and  mop.  for.  hark ! 
In  the  mid  air  sings  the  lark. 


680                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

2. 

The  lady  said,  "  An  orphan's  state 

Hie  to  moorish  gills  and  rocks, 

Is  hard  and  sad  to  bear ; 

Prowling  wolf  and  wily  fox, — 

Yet  worse  the  widow'd  mother's  fate, 

Hie  ye  fast,  nor  turn  your  view, 

Who  mourns  both  lord  and  heir. 

Though  the  lamb  bleats  to  the  ewe. 

Couch  your  trains,  and  speed  your  flight, 

"  Twelve  times  the  rolling  year  has  sped, 

Safety  parts  with  parting  night ; 

Since,  while  from  vengeance  wild 

And  on  distant  echo  borne, 

Of  fierce  Strathallan's  chief  I  fled, 

Comes  the  hunter's  early  horn. 

Forth's  eddies  whelm'd  my  child." — 

3. 

"  Twelve  times  the  year  its  course  has  borne," 

The  moon's  wan  crescent  scarcely  gleams, 

The  wandering  maid  replied, 

Ghost-like  she  fades  in  morning  beams ; 

"  Since  fishers  on  St.  Bridget's  morn 

Hie  hence,  each  peevish  imp  and  fay 

Drew  nets  on  Campsie  side. 

That  scare  the  pilgrim  on  his  way. — 

Quench,  kelpy !  quench,  in  bog  and  fen, 

"  St.  Bridget  sent  no  scaly  spoil ; 

Thy  torch,  that  cheats  benighted  men ; 

An  infant,  well  nigh  dead, 

Thy  dance  is  o'er,  thy  reign  is  done, 

They  saved,  and  rear'd  in  want  and  toil, 

Por  Benyieglo  hath  seen  the  sun. 

To  beg  from  you  her  bread." 

4. 

That  orphan  maid  the  lady  kiss'd, — 

"Wild  thoughts,  that,  sinful,  dark,  and  deep, 

"  My  husband's  looks  you  bear ; 

O'erpower  the  passive  mind  in  sleep, 

Saint  Bridget  and  her  morn  be  bless'd ! 

Pass  from  the  slumberer's  soul  away, 

You  are  his  widow's  heir." 

Like  night-mists  from  the  brow  of  day : 

Poul  hag,  whose  blasted  visage  grim 

They've  robed  that  maid,  so  poor  and  pale, 

Smothers  the  pulse,  unnerves  the  limb, 

In  silk  and  sandals  rare  ; 

Spur  thy  dark  palfrey,  and  begone  ! 

And  pearls,  for  drops  of  frozen  hail, 

Thou  darest  not  face  the  godlike  sun. 

Are  glistening  in  her  hair. 

Chap,  vi 

Chap,  ix 

(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(2.)— THE  ORPHAN"  MAID. 

(1.)— Chap.  x. 

Dark  on  their  journey  lour'd  the  gloomy  day, 

"Tuning  her  instrument,  and  receiving  an  as- 

Wild were  the  hills,  and  doubtful  grew  the  way ; 

senting  look  from  Lord  Monteith  and  Allan,  Annot 

More  dark,  more   gloomy,  and  more  doubtful, 

Lyle  executed   the    following   ballad,  which  our 

show'd 

friend,  Mr.  Secundus  M'Pherson,  whose  goodness 

The  mansion  which  received  them  from  the  road. 

we  had  before  to  acknowledge,  has  thus  translated 

The  Travellers,  a  Romance. 

into  the  English  tongue :" — 

(2.)— Chap.  xi. 

November's  hail-cloud  drifts  away, 

Is  this  thy  castle,  Baldwin  ?     Melancholy 

November's  sunbeam  wan 

Displays  her  sable  banner  from  the  donjon, 

Looks  coldly  on  the  castle  gray, 

Dark'ning  the  foam  of  the  whole  surge  beile.xth. 

When  forth  comes  Lady  Anne. 

Were  I  a  habitant,  to  see  this  gloom 

Pollute  the  face  of  nature,  and  to  hear 

The  orphan  by  the  oak  was  set, 

The  ceaseless  sound  of  wave  and  sea-bird's  sctt-au, 

Her  arms,  her  feet,  were  bare  ; 

I'd  wish  me  in  the  hut  that  poorest  peasant 

The  hail-drops  had  not  melted  yet,          <■ 

Ere  framed  to  give  him  temporary  shelter. 

Amid  her  raven  hair. 

Browne. 

"  And  dame,"  she  said,  "  by  all  the  ties 

(3.) — Chap.  xrv. 

That  cliild  and  mother  know, 

This  was  the  entry,  then,  these  stairs — but  whithei 

Aid  one  who  never  knew  these  joys, — 

after  ? 

Relieve  an  orphan's  woe." 

Yet  he  that's  sure  to  perish  on  the  land 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.                         081 

fclay  quit  the  nicety  of  card  and  compass, 

Let  grateful  love  quell  maiden  shame, 

And  trust  the  open  sea  without  a  pilot. 

And  grant  him  bliss  who  brings  thee  fame." 

Tragedy  of  Brennovalt. 

Chap,  xviii. 

Jrom  Jtoanljoe. 

(2.)— THE  BAREFOOTED  FRIAR. 

1 

(1.)— THE  CRUSADER'S  RETURN. 

Fix  give  thee,  good  fellow,  a  twelvemonth  or  twain, 

To   search   Europe    through  from    Byzantium  to 

1. 

Spain ; 

High  deeds  achieved  of  knightly  fame, 

But  ne'er  shall  you  find,  should  you  search  till  you 

From  Palestine  the  champion  came ; 

tire, 

The  cross  upon  his  shoulders  borne, 

So  happy  a  man  as  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

Battle  and  blast  had  dimm'd  and  torn. 

Each  dint  upon  his  batter' d  shield 

2. 

Was  token  of  a  foughten  field  ; 

Your  knight  for  his  lady  pricks  forth  in  career, 

And  thus,  beneath  his  lady's  bower,            x 

And  is  brought  home  at  even-song  prick'd  through 

He  sung,  as  fell  the  twilight  hour : 

with  a  spear ; 

I  confess  him  in  haste — for  his  lady  desires 

2. 

No  comfort  on  earth  save  the  Barefooted  Friar's. 

"  Joy  to  the  fair ! — thy  knight  behold, 

Return'd  from  yonder  land  of  gold ; 

3. 

No  wealth  he  brings,  nor  wealth  can  need, 

Your  monarch  ! — Pshaw !  many  a  prince  has  been 

Save  his  good  arms  and  battle-steed ; 

known 

His  spurs  to  dash  against  a  foe, 

To  barter  his  robes  for  our  cowl  and  our  gown ; 

His  lance  and  sword  to  lay  him  low ; 

But  which  of  us  e'er  felt  the  idle  desire 

Such  all  the  trophies  of  his  toil, 

To  exchange  for  a  crown  the  grajgfiood  of  a  Friar  ? 

Such — and  the  hope  of  Tekla's  smile  ! 

4_ 

3. 

The  Friar  has  walk'd  out,  and  where'er  he  has  gone, 

"  Joy  to  the  fair  !  whose  constant  knight 

The  land  and  its  fatness  is  mark'd  for  his  own ; 

Her  favor  fired  to  feats  of  might ! 

He  can  roam  where  he  lists,  he  can  stop  where  ho 

Unnoted  shall  she  not  remain 

tires, 

Where  meet  the  bright  and  noble  train ; 

For  every  man's  house  is  the  Barefooted  Friar's. 

Minstrel  shall  sing,  and  herald  tell — 

1  Mark  yonder  maid  of  beauty  well, 

5. 

'Tis  she  for  whose  bright  eyes  was  won 

He's  expected  at  noon,  and  no  wight,  till  he  comes, 

The  listed  field  of  Ascalon  1 

May  profane  the  great  chair,  or  the  porridge  of 

plums ; 

4. 

For  the  best  of  the  cheer,  and  the  seat  by  the  fire, 

" '  Note  well  her  smile  ! — it  edged  the  blade 

Is  the  undenied  right  of  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

Which  fifty  wives  to  widows  made, 

When,  vain  Ms  strength  and  Mahound's  spelL 

6. 

Iconium's  turban'd  Soldan  fell. 

He's  expected  at  night,  and  the  pasty's  made  hot, 

See'st  thou  her  locks,  whose  sunny  glow 

They  broach  the  brown  ale,  and  they  fill  the  black 

Half  shows,  half  shades,  her  neck  of  snow  ? 

pot; 

Twines  not  of  them  one  golden  thread, 

And  the  good-wife  would  wish  the  good-man  in  the 

But  for  its  sake  a  Paynim  bled.' 

mire, 

5. 

Ere  he  lack'd  a  soft  pillow,  the  Barefooted  Friar 

u  Joy  to  the  fair  ! — my  name  unknown, 

r. 

Each  deed,  and  all  its  praise,  thine  own ; 

Long  flourish  the  sandal,  the  cord,  and  the  cope, 

Then,  oh  !  unbar  this  churlish  gate, 

The  dread  of  the  devil  and  trust  of  the  Pope  ! 

The  night-dew  falls,  the  hour  is  late. 

For  to  gather  life's  roses,  unscathed  by  the  briei, 

Inured  to  Syria's  glowing  breath, 

Is  granted  alone  to  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

T  feel  the  north  breeze  chill  as  death ; 
86 

Chap,  xviii. 

682 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(3.)—  SAXON  WAR-SONG. 

"The  fire  was  spreading  rapidly  through  all 
parts  of  the  castle,  when  Ulrica,  who  had  first 
Kindled  it,  appeared  on  a  turret,  in  the  guise  of 
one  of  the  ancient  furies,  yelling  forth  a  war-song, 
such  as  was  of  yore  chanted  on  the  field  of  battle 
by  the  yet  heathen  Saxons.  Her  long  dishevelled 
gray  hair  flew  back  from  her  uncovered  head ;  the 
inebriating  delight  of  gratified  vengeance  contend- 
ed in  her  eyes  with  the  fire  of  insanity ;  and  she 
brandished  the  distaff  which  she  held  in  her  hand, 
as  if  she  had  been  one  of  the  Fatal  Sisters,  who 
spin  and  abridge  the  thread  of  human  life.  Tra- 
dition has  preserved  some  wild  strophes  of  the 
barbarous  hymn  which  she  chanted  wildly  amid 
that  scene  of  fire  and  slaughter  :" — 

1. 

"Whet  the  bright  steel, 

Sons  of  the  White  Dragon ! 

Kindle  the  torch, 

Daughter  of  Hengist !  [banquet, 

The  steel  glimmers  not  for  the  carving  of  the 

It  is  hard,  broad,  and  sharply  pointed  ; 

The  torch  goeth  not  to  the  bridal  chamber, 

It  steams  and  glitters  blue  with  sulphur. 

Whet  the  steel,  the  raven  croaks ! 

Light  the  tor<%  Zernebock  is  yelling  ! 

Whet  the  steel,  sons  of  the  Dragon ! 

Kindle  the  torch,  daughter  of  Hengist  \ 


The  black  clouds  are  low  over  the  thane/s  castle  : 

The  eagle  screams — he  rides  on  their  bosom. 

Scream  not,  gray  rider  of  the  sable  cloud, 

Thy  banquet  is  prepared  ! 

The  maidens  of  Valhalla  look  forth, 

The  race  of  Hengist  will  send  them  guests. 

Shake  your  black  tresses,  maidens  of  Valhalla  ! 

And  strike  your  loud  timbrels  for  joy  ! 

Many  a  haughty  step  bends  to  your  halls, 

Many  a  helmed  head. 

3. 

Dark  sits  the  evening  upon  the  thane's  castle, 
The  black  clouds  gather  round  ; 
Soon  shall  they  be  red  as  the  blood  of  the  valiant ! 
The  destroyer  of  forests  shall  shake  his  red  crest 

against  them  ; 
He,  the  bright  consumer  of  palaces, 
Broad  waves  he  his  blazing  banner, 
Red,  wide,  and  dusky, 
Over  the  strife  of  the  valiant ; 
His  joy  is  in  the  clashing  swords  and  broken 

bucklers ; 
He  loves  to  lick  the  hissing  blood  as  it  bursts 

warm  from  the  wound ! 


'       4. 
All  must  perish ! 
The  sword  cleaveth  the  helmet ; 
The  strong  armor  is  pierced  by  the  lance : 
Fire  devoureth  the  dwelling  of  princes, 
Engines  break  down  the  fences  of  the  battle. 
All  must  perish  1 
The  race  of  Hengist  is  gone — 
The  name  of  Horsa  is  no  more  1 
Shrink  not  then  from  your  doom,  sons  of  the 

sword ! 
Let  your  blades  drink  blood  like  wine : 
Feast  ye  in  the  banquet  of  slaughter, 
By  the  light  of  the  blazing  halls  1 
Strong  be  your  swords  while  your  blood  is  warm. 
And  spare  neither  for  pity  nor  fear, 
For  vengeance  hath  but  an  hour  ; 
Strong  hate  itself  shall  expire  1 
I  also  must  perish. 


Note. — "  It  will  readily  occur  to  the  antiquary, 
that  these  verses  are  intended  to  imitate  the  an- 
tique poetry  of  the  Scalds — the  minstrels  of  the 
old  Scandinavians — the  race,  as  the  Laureate  so 
happily  terms  them, 

'  Stern  to  inflict,  and  stubborn  to  endure, 
Who  smiled  in  death.' 

The  poetry  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  after  their  civili- 
zation and  conversion,  was  of  a  different  and  softer 
character  ;  but,  in  the  circumstances  of  Ulrica,  she 
may  be  not  unnaturally  supposed  to  return  to  the 
wild  strains  winch  animated  her  forefathers  during 
the  times  of  Paganism  and  untamed  ferocity." 

Chap,  xxxii. 


(4.)— REBEQCA'S  HYMN. 

"  It  was  in  the  twilight  of  the  day  when  her 
trial,  if  it  could  be  called  such,  had  taken  place, 
that  a  low  knock  was  heard  at  the  door  of  Re- 
becca's prisoi  chamber.  It  disturbed  not  the  in- 
mate, who  was  then  engaged  in  the  evening  prayer 
recommended  by  her  religion,  and  which  concluded 
with  a  hymn,  winch  we  have  ventured  this  tc 
translate  into  English  :" — 

When  Israel,  of  the  Lord  beloved, 

Out  from  the  land  of  bondage  came, 
Her  fathers'  God  before  her  moved, 

An  awful  guide  in  smoke  and  flame. 
By  day,  along  the  astonish'd  lands 

The  cloudy  pillar  glided  slow ; 
By  night,  Arabia's  criinson'd  sands 

Return'd  the  fiery  column's  glow. 


LYRICAL  A^D  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


68b 


There  rose  the  choral  hymn  of  praise, 

And  trump  and  timbrel  answer'd  keen, 
And  Zion's  daughters  pour'd  their  lays, 

With  priest's  and  warrior's  voice  between. 
No  portents  now  our  foes  amaze, 

Forsaken  Israel  wanders  lone  : 
Our  fathers  would  not  know  Thy  ways, 

And  Thou  hast  left  them  to  their  own. 

But  present  still,  though  now  unseen  ! 

When  brightly  shines  the  prosperous  day, 
Be  thoughts  of  Thee  a  cloudy  screen 

To  temper  the  deceitful  ray. 
And  oh,  when  stoops  on  Judah's  path 

In  shade  and  storm  the  frequent  night, 
Be  Thou,  long-suffering,  slow  to  wrath, 

A  burning  and  a  shining  light ! 

Our  harps  we  left  by  Babel's  streams, 

The  tyrant's  jest,  the  Gentile's  scorn  ; 
No  censer  round  our  altar  beams, 

And  mute  are  timbrel,  harp,  and  horn. 
But  Thou  hast  said,  The  blood  of  goat, 

The  flesh  of  rams  I  will  not  prize  ; 
A  contrite  heart,  a  humble  thought, 

Are  mine  accepted  sacrifice. 

Chap.  xL 


(5.)— THE  BLACK  KNIGHT'S  SONG. 

"  At  the  point  of  their  journey  at  winch  we  take 
them  up,  this  joyous  pair  were  engaged  in  singing 
a  virelai,  as  it  was  called,  in  which  the  clown  bore 
a  stiff  and  mellow  burden  to  the  better  instructed 
Knight  of  the  Fetterlock.  And  thus  ran  the  ditty :" 

Anna-Marie,  love,  up  is  the  sun, 

Anna-Marie,  love,  morn  is  begun, 

Mists  are  dispersing,  love,  birds  singing  free, 

Up  in  the  morning,  love,  Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie,  love,  up  in  the  morn, 

The  hunter  is  winding  blithe  sounds  on  his  horn, 

The  echo  rings  merry  from  rock  and  from  tree, 

'Tis  time  to  arouse  thee"  love,  Anna-Marie. 


0  Tybalt,  love,  Tybalt,  awake  me  not  yet, 
Around  my  soft  pillow  while  softer  dreams  flit ; 
For  what  are  the  joys  that  in  waking  we  prove, 
Compared  with  these  visions,  0  Tybalt !  my  love  ? 
Let  the  birds  to  the  rise  of  the  mist  carol  shrill, 
Let  the  hunter  blow  out  his  loud  horn  on  the  hill, 
Softer   sounds,  softer  pleasures,  in   slumber   I 

pr:>ve, 
But  think  not  I  dream'd  of  thee,  Tybalt,  my  love. 

Chap.  xli. 


(6.)— SONG. 
THE  black  knight  and  wamba. 
"The  Jester  next  struck  into  another  carol,  a 
sort  of  comic  ditty,  to  which  the  Knight,  catching 
up  the  tune,  replied  in  the  like  manner." 

KNIGHT  AND  WAMBA. 

There  came  three  merry  men  from  south,  west 
and  north, 

Ever  more  sing  the  roundelay ; 
To  win  the  Widow  of  Wycombe  forth, 

And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  them  nay  I 

The  first  was  a  knight,  and  from  Tynedale  lie  came, 

Ever  more  sing  the  roundelay ; 
And  his  fathers,  God  save  us,  were  men  of  great 
fame, 

And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  him  nay  ? 

Of  his  father  the  laird,  of  his  uncle  the  squire, 
He  boasted  in  rhyme  and  in  roundelay  ; 

She  bade  him  go  bask  by  Ins  sea-coal  fire, 
For  she  was  "the  widow  would  say  him  nay. 

WAMBA. 

The  next  that  came  forth,  swore  by  blood  and  hv 
nails,  0 

Merrily  sing  the  roundelay ; 
Hur's  a  gentleman,  God  wot,  and  hur's  lineage  was 
of  Wales, 
And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  him  nay ! 

Sir  David  ap  Morgan  ap  Griffith  ap  Hugh 
Ap  Tudor  ap  Rhice,  quoth  Ins  roundelay , 

She  said  that  one  widow  for  so  many  was  too  few, 
And  she  bade  the  Welshman  wend  his  way. 

But  then  next  came  a  yeoman,  a  yeoman  of  Kent, 

Jollily  singing  his  roundelay ; 
He  spoke  to  the  widow  of  living  and  rent, 

And  where  was  the  widow  could  say  him  nay  ? 

BOTH. 

So  the  knight  and  the  squire  were  both  left  in  the 
mire, 
There  for  to  sing  their  roundelay ; 
For  a  yeoman  of  Kent,  with  his  yearly  rent,    ■ 
There  ne'er  was  a  widow  could  say  him  nay. 

Chap.  xli. 


(7.)— FUNERAL  HYMN. 

"Four,  maidens,  Rowena  leading  the  choir 
raised  a  hymn  for  the  soul  of  the  deceased,  of  which 
we  have  only  been  able  to  decipher  two  or  three 
stanzas :" — 


684                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Dust  unto  dust, 

(4.) — Chap.  xxix. 

To  this  all  must ; 

This  wandering  race,  sever'd  from  other  men, 

The  tenant  hath  resign'd 

Boast  yet  their  intercourse  with  human  arts ; 

The  faded  form 

The   seas,   the   woods,   the    deserts    winch    they 

To  waste  and  worm — 

haunt, 

Corruption  claims  her  kind. 

Find  them  acquainted  with  their  secret  treasures 

And  unregarded  herbs,  and  flowers,  and  blossoms, 

Through  paths  unknown 

Display  undream'd-of  powers  when  gather'd  by 

Thy  soul  hath  flown, 

them. 

To  seek  the  realms  of  woe, 

The  Jew. 

Where  fiery  pain 

Shall  purge  the  stain 

(5.) — Chap.  xxxi. 

Of  actions  done  below. 

Approach  the  chamber,  look  upon  his  bed. 

His  is  the  passing  of  no  peaceful  ghost, 

In  that  sad  place, 

Which,  as  the  lark  arises  to  the  sky, 

By  Mary's  grace, 

'Mid  morning's  sweetest  breeze  and  softest  dew, 

Brief  may  thy  dwelling  be  1 

Is  wing'd  to  heaven  by  good  men's  sighs  and  tears 

Till  prayers  and  alms, 

Anselm  parts  otherwise. 

And  holy  psalms, 

Old  Play. 

Shall  set  the  captive  free. 

Chap,  xliii. 

(6.) — Chap,  xxxni. 

Trust  me,  each  state  must  have  its  policies : 
Kingdoms  have  edicts,  cities  have  their  charters ; 

Even  the  wild  outlaw,  in  his  forest-walk, 

(8.)— MOTTOES. 

Keeps  yet  some  touch  of  civil  discipline. 
For  not  since  Adam  wore  his  verdant  apron, 

(1.) — Chap.  ^xix. 

Hath  man  and  man  in  social  union  dwelt, 

But  laws  were  made  to  draw  that  union  closer. 

Away  !  our  journey  lies  through  dell  and  dingle, 

Old  Play. 

Where  the  blithe  fawn  trips  by  its  timid  mother, 

Where  the  broad  oak,  with  intercepting  boughs, 

(7.) — Chap,  xxxvi. 

Checkers  the  sunbeam  in  the  green   sward  al- 

ley— 
Up  and  away ! — for  lovely  paths  are  these 

Arouse  the  tiger  of  Hyrcanian  deserts, 

Strive  with  the  half-starved  lion  for  his  prey ; 

To  tread,  when  the  glad  sun  is  on  his  throne : 

Lesser  the  risk,  than  rouse  the  slumbering  fire 

Less  pleasant,   and   less   safe,   when   Cynthia's 

Of  wild  Fanaticism. 

lamp 

Anonymous 

With  doubtful  glimmer  lights  the  dreary  forest. 

»                                            Ettrick  Forest. 

(8.) — Chap,  xxxvii. 

Say  not  my  art  is  fraud — all  live  by  seeming. 

(2.) — Chap.  xxi. 

The  beggar  begs  with  it,  and  the  gay  courtier 

When  autumn  nights  were  long  and  drear, 

Gains  land  and  title,  rank  and  rule,  by  leeming; 

And  forest  walks  were  dark  and  dim, 

The  clergy  scorn  it  not,  and  the  bold  soldier 

How  sweetly  on  the  pilgrim's  ear 

Will  eke  with  it  his  service. — All  admit  it, 

Was  wont  to  steal  the  hermit's  hymn ! 

All  practise  it ;  and  he  who  is  content 

With  showing  what  he  is,  shall  have  small  credil 

Devotion  borrows  Music's  tone, 

In  church,  or  camp,  or  state. — So  wags  the  world 

And  Music  took  Devotion's  wing, 

Old  Play. 

And,  like  the  bird  that  hails  the  sun, 

They  soar  to  heaven,  and  soaring  sing. 

(9.) — Chap,  xxxvin. 

The  Hermit  of  St.  Clement's  Well. 

Stern  was  the  law  which  bade  its  vot'ries  leave 

At  human  woes  with  human  hearts  to  grieve ; 

(3.) — Chap,  xxvii. 

Stern  was  the  law,  which  at  the  winning  wile 

The  hottest  horse  will  oft  be  cool, 

Of  frank  and  harmless  mirth  forbade  to  smile ; 

The  dullest  will  show  fire ; 

But  sterner  still,  when  high  the  iron-rod 

The  friar  will  often  play  the  fool, 

Of  tyrant  power  she  shook,  and  call'd  that  powei 

The  fool  will  play  the  friar. 

of  God. 

Old  Song. 

The  Middle  Ages. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


685 


2Epftaj)&  on  Jfcrs.  SErsfcfne.1 


1819. 


Plain,  as  her  native  dignity  of  mind, 
Arise  the  tomb  of  her  we  have  resign'd  ; 
Unfiaw'd  and  stainless  be  the  marble  scroll, 
Emblem  of  lovely  form  and  candid  soul. — 
But,  oh !  what  symbol  may  avail,  to  tell 
The  kindness,  wit,  and  sense,  we  loved  so  well ! 
What  sculpture  show  the  broken  ties  of  life, 
Here  buried  with  the  parent,  friend,  and  wife  ! 
Or  on  the  tablet  stamp  each  title  dear, 
By  wluch  thine  urn,  Euphemia,  claims  the  tear  I 
Yet  taught,  by  thy  meek  sufferance,  to  assume 
Patience  in  anguish,  hope  beyond  the  tomb, 
Resign'd,  though  sad,  this  votive  verse  shall  flow, 
And  brief,  alas !  as  thy  brief  span  below. 


Irom  %  JHcmaatcq). 


1820. 


(l.)-SONGS  OF  THE  WHITE  LADY  OF  AYENEL. 


Oltf  TWEED  RIVER. 


Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 
Both  current  and  ripple  are  dancing  in  light. 
We  have  roused  the  night  raven,  I  heard  him 

croak, 
As  we  plash'd  along  beneath  the  oak 
That  flings  its  broad  branches  so  far  and  so  wide, 
Their  shadows  are  dancing  in  midst  of  the  tide. 
"  Who  wakens  my  nestlings  ?"  the  raven  he  said, 
"  My  beak  shall  ere  morn  in  his  blood  be  red  1 
For  a  blue  swollen  corpse  is  a  dainty  meal, 
And  I'll  have  my  share  with  the  pike  and  the  eeL" 

2. 
Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 
There's  a  golden  gleam  on  the  distant  height : 
There's  a  silver  shower  on  the  alders  dank, 
And  the  drooping  willows  that  wave  on  the  bank. 
I  see  the  Abbey,  both  turret  and  tower, 
It  is  all  astir  for  the  vesper  hour ; 
The  Monks  for  the  chapel  are  leaving  each  cell, 
But  where's  Father  Philip  should  toll  the  bell  ? 


l  Mrs.  Euphemia  Robinson,  wife  of  William  Erskine,  Esq.      buried  at  Saline,  in  the  county  of  Fife,  where  these  lines  aw 
fafterwards  Lord  Kinedder),  died  September,  1819,  and  was  ^  inscribed  on  the  tombstone. 


3. 
Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 
Downward  we  drift  through  shadow  and  light 
Under  yon  rock  the  eddies  sleep, 
Calm  and  silent,  dark  and  deep. 
The  Kelpy  has  rison  from  the  fathomless  pool, 
He  has  lighted  his  candle  of  death  and  of  dool : 
Look,  Father,  look,  and  you'll  laugh  to  see 
How  he  gapes  and  glares  with  his  eyes  on  thee 

4. 
Good  luck  to  your  fishing,  whom  watch  ye  to 

night  ? 
A  man  of  mean  or  a  man  of  might  ? 
Is  it  layman  or  priest  that  must  float  in  your  cove, 
Or  lover  who  crosses  to  visit  his  love  ? 
Hark !  heard  ye  the  Kelpy  reply  as  Ave  pass'd, — 
"God's  blessing  on  the  warder,  he  lock'd  the 

bridge  fast ! 
All  that  come  to  my  cove  are  sunk, 
Priest  or  layman,  lover  or  monk." 

Landed — landed  1  the  black  book  hath  woii, 
Else  had  you  seen  Berwick  with  morning  sun ! 
Sain  ye,  and  save  ye,  and  blithe  mot  ye  be, 
For  seldom  they  land  that  go  swimming  with  me. 

Chap.  v. 


TO  THE  SUB-PRIOR. 

Good  evening,  Sir  Priest,  and  so  late  as  you  ride, 
With  your  mule  so  fair,  and  your  mantle  so  wide  • 
But  ride  you  through  valley,  or  ride  you  o'er  hill, 
There  is  one  that  has  warrant  to  wait  on  you  stilL 

Back,  back, 

The  volume  black! 
I  have  a  warrant  to  carry  it  back. 

What,  ho !  Sub- Prior,  and  came  you  but  here 
To  conjure  a  book  from  a  dead  woman's  bier  \ 
Sain  you,  and  save  you,  be  wary  and  wise, 
Ride  back  with  the  book,  or  you'll  pay  for  your 
prize. 

Back,  back, 

There's  death  in  the  track ! 
In  the  name  of  my  master,  I  bid  thee  bear  back. 

"  In  the  name  of  my  Master,"  said  the  astoni.shod 
Monk,  "  that  name  before  winch  all  things  create.! 
tremble,  1  conjure  thee  to  say  what  thou  art  that 
hauntest  me  thus  ?" 

The  same  voice  replied, — 

That  which  is  neither  ill  nor  well, 

That  wluch  belongs  not  to  heaven  nor  to  helL 


386 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


A  wreath  of  the  mist,  a  bubble,  of  the  stream, 
Twixt  a  waking  thought  and  a  sleeping  dream ; 
A  form  that  men  spy 
With  the  half-shut  eye 
In  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  am  L 

Vainly,  Sir  Prior,  wouldst  thou  bar  me  my  right  I 
Like  the  star  when  it  shoots,  I  can  dart  through 

the  night ; 
I  can  dance  on  the  torrent,  and  ride  on  the  air, 
And  travel  the  world  with  the  bonny  night-mare. 
Again,  again, 
At  the  crook  of  the  glen, 
Where  bickers  the  burnie,  I'll  meet  thee  again. 

Men  of  good  are  bold  as  sackless,1 

Men  of  rude  are  wild  and  reckless. 
Lie  thou  still 
In  the  nook  of  the  hill, 

For  those  be  before  thee  that  wish  thee  ill. 

Chap.  ix. 


HALBERT'S  INCANTATION. 

Thrice  to  the  holly  brake — 
Thrice  to  the  well : — 

I  bid  thee  awake, 

White  Maid  of  Avenel  1 

Noon  gleams  on  the  Lake — 
Noon  glows  on  the  Fell — 

Wake  thee,  0  wake, 
White  Maid  of  Avenel. 


TO  HALBERT. 

Youth  of  the  dark  eye,  wherefore  didst  thou  call 

me? 
Wherefore  art  thou  here,  if  terrors  can  appal  thee  ? 
fie  that  seeks  to  deal  with  us  must  know  nor  fear, 

nor  failing; 
To  coward  and  churl  our  speech  is  dark,  our  gifts 

are  unavailing. 
The  breeze  that  brought   me   hither  now  must 

sweep  Egyptian  ground, 
The  fleecy  cloud  on  winch  I  ride  for  Araby  is 

bound ; 
The  fleecy  cloud  is  drifting  by,  the  breeze  sighs  for 

my  stay, 
For  I  must  sail  a  thousand  miles  before  the  close 

of  day. 

What  I  am  I  must  not  show — 
What  I  am  thou  couldst  not  know — 

1  Sackless— Innocent.  , 


Something  betwixt  heaven  and  hell — 
Something  that  neither  stood  nor  fell — 
Something  that  through  thy  wit  or  will 
May  work  thee  good — may  work  thee  ill 
Neither  substance  quite,  nor  shadow, 
Haunting  lonely  moor  and  meadow, 
Dancing  by  the  haunted  spring, 
Riding  on  the  whirlwind's  wing ; 
Aping  in  fantastic  fashion 
Every  change  of  human  passion, 
While  o'er  our  frozen  minds  they  pass, 
Like  shadows  from  the  mirror'd  glass. 
Wayward,  fickle,  is  our  mood, 
Hovering  betwixt  bad  and  good, 
Happier  than  brief-dated  man, 
Liviug  ten  times  o'er  his  span ; 
Far  less  happy,  for  we  have 
Help  nor  hope  beyond  the  grave  ! 
Man  awakes  to  joy  or  sorrow  ; 
Ours  the  sleep  that  knows  no  morrow. 
This  is  all  that  I  can  show — 
This  is  all  that  thou  may'st  know. 

Ay !  and  I  taught  thee  the  word  and  the  spell, 
To  waken  me  here  by  the  Fairies'  Well. 
But  thou  hast  loved  the  heron  and  hawk, 
More  than  to  seek  my  haunted  walk ; 
And  thou  hast  loved  the  lance  and  the  sword, 
More  than  good  text  and  holy  word ; 
And  thou  hast  loved  the  deer  to  track, 
More  than  the  lines  and  the  letters  black; 
And  thou  art  a  ranger  of  moss  and  wood, 
And  scornest  the  nurture  of  gentle  blood. 

Thy  craven  fear  my  truth  accused, 

Thine  idlehood  my  trust  abused  ; 

He  that  draws  to  harbor  late, 

Must  sleep  without,  or  burst  the  gate. 

There  is  a  star  for  thee  which  burn'd, 

Its  influence  wanes,  its  course  is  turn'd ; 

Valor  and  constancy  alone 

Can  bring  thee  back  the  chance  that's  flown. 

Within  that  awful  volume  lies 
The  mystery  of  mysteries ! 
Happiest  they  of  human  race, 
To  whom  God  has  granted  grace 
To  read,  to  fear,  to  hope,  to  pray, 
To  lift  the  latch,  and  force  the  way ; 
And  better  had  they  ne'er  been  born, 
Who  read  to  doubt,  or  read  to  scorn. 

Many  a  fathom  dark  and  deep 
I  have  laid  the  book  to  sleep ; 
Ethereal  fires  around  it  glowing — 
Ethereal  music  ever  flowing — 
The  sacred  pledge  of  Heav'n 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


68', 


All  things  revere, 
Each  in  his  sphere, 

Save  man  for  whom  'twas  giv'n : 
Lend  thy  hand,  and  thou  shalt  spy- 
Things  ne'er  seen  by  mortal  eye. 

Fearest  thou  to  go  with  me  ? 
Still  it  is  free  to  thee 

A  peasant  to  dwell ; 
Thou  may'st  drive  the  dull  steer, 
And  chase  the  king's  deer, 
But  never  more  come  near 

This  haunted  well. 

Here  lies  the  volume  thou  boldly  hast  sought ; 
Touch  it,  and  take  it,  'twill  dearly  be  bought, 

Rash  thy  deed, 
Mortal  weed 
To  immortal  flames  applying ; 
Rasher  trust 
Has  thing  of  dust, 
On  his  own  weak  worth  relying : 
Strip  thee  of  such  fences  vain, 
Strip,  and  prove  thy  luck  again. 

Mortal  war])  and  mortal  woof 
Cannot  brook  this  charmed  roof; 
All  that  mortal  art  hath  wrought 
In  our  cell  returns  to  naught. 
The  molten  gold  returns  to  clay, 
The  polish'd  diamond  melts  away ; 
All  is  altered,  all  is  flown, 
Naught  stands  fast  but  truth  alone. 
Not  for  that  thy  quest  give  o'er : 
Courage  !  prove  thy  chance  once  more. 

Alas !  alas ! 

Not  ours  the  grace 

These  holy  characters  to  trace : 

Idle  forms  of  painted  air, 

Not  to  us  is  given  to  share 
The  boon  bestow'd  on  Adam's  race. 

With  patience  bide, 

Heaven  will  provide 
The  fitting  time,  the  fitting  guide. 

Chap.  xii. 


BALBERT'S  SECOND  INTERVIEW  WITH 
THE  WHITE  LADY  OF  AVENEL. 

"  She  spoke,  and  her  speech  was  still  song,  or 
rather  measured  chant ;  but  if,  as  now,  more  famil- 
iar, it  flowed  occasionally  in  modulated  blank-verse, 
and,  at  other  times,  in  the  lyrical  measure  which 
H'-g  had  used  at  their  former  meeting." 


This  is  the  day  when  the  fairy  kind 

Sit  weeping  alone  for  their  hopeless  lot, 

And    the  wood-maiden    sighs   to    the    sighing 

wind, 
And  the  mennaiden  weeps  in  her  crystal  grot 
For  this  is  a  day  that  the  deed  was  wrought 
In  which  we  have  neither  part  nor  share, 
For  the  children  of  clay  was  salvation  bought, 
But  not  for  the  forms  of  sea  or  air ' 
And  ever  the  mortal  is  most  forlorn, 
Who  meeteth  our  race  on  the  Friday  morn. 

Daring  youth  1  for  thee  it  is  welL 

Here  calling  me  inJiaunted  dell, 

That  thy  heart  has  not  quail'd, 

Nor  thy  courage  fail'd, 

And  that  thou  couldst  brook 

The  angry  look 

Of  Her  of  Avenel. 

Did  one  limb  shiver 

Or  an  eyelid  quiver, 

Thou  wert  lost  for  ever. 

Though  I  am  form'd  from  the  ether  blue, 

And  my  blood  is  of  the  unfallen  dew, 

And  thou  art  framed  of  mud  and  dust, 

'Tis  thine  to  speak,  reply  I  must 

A  mightier  wizard  far  than  T 
Wields  o'er  the  universe  his  power ; 
Him  owns  the  eagle  in  the  sky, 
The  turtle  in  the  bower. 
Changeful  in  shape,  yet  mightiest  still, 
He  wields  the  heart  of  man  at  will, 
From  ill  to  good,  from  good  to  ill, 
In  cot  and  castle-tower. 

Ask  thy  heart,  whose  secret  cell 
Is  fill'd  with  Mary  Avenel ! 
Ask  thy  pride,  why  scornful  look 
In  Mary's  view  it  will  not  brook  ? 
Ask  it,  why  thou  seek'st  to  rise 
Among  the  mighty  and  the  wis^  — 
Why  thou  spurn'st  thy  lowly  lot, — 
Why  thy  pastimes  are  forgot, — 
Why  thou  wouldst  in  bloody  stnie 
Mend  thy  luck  or  lose  thy  life  ? 
Ask  thy  heart,  and  it  shall  tell, 
Sighing  from  its  secret  cell, 
'Tis  for  Mary  AveneL 

Do  not  ask  me ; 

On  doubts  like  these  thou  canst  not  task  me 

We  only  see  the  passing  show 

Of  human  passions'  ebo  and  flow ; 

And  view  the  pageant's  idle  glance 

As  mortals  eye  the  northern  dance, 

When  thousand  streamers,  flosliing  bright 

Career  it  o'er  the  brow  of  night; 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  gazers  mark  their  changeful  gleams, 
But  feel  no  influence  from  their  beams. 

By  ties  mysterious  link'd,  our  fated  race 
Holds  strange  connection  with  the  sons  of  men. 
The  star  that  rose  upon  the  House  of  Avenel, 
"When  Norman  Ulric  first  assumed  the  name, 
That  star,  when  culminating  in  its  orbit, 
Shot  from  its  sphere  a  drop  of  diamond  dew, 
And  this  bright  font  received  it — and  a  Spirit 
Rose  from  the  fountain,  and  her  date  of  life 
Hath  coexistence  with  the  House  of  Avenel, 
And  with  the  star  that  rules  it. 

Look  on  my  girdle — on  this  thread  of  gold — 
'Tis  fine  as  web  of  lightest  gossamer, 
And,  but  there  is  a  spell  on't,  would  not  bind, 
Light  as  they  are,  the  folds  of  my  thin  robe. 
But  when  'twas  donn'd,  it  was  a  massive  chain, 
Such  as  might  bin  1  the  champion  of  the  Jews, 
Even  when    his   locks  were   longest  —  it  hath 

dwindled, 
Hath  'minish'd  in  its  substance  and  its  strength, 
As  sunk  the  greatness  of  the  House  of  Avenel. 
When  this  frail  thread  gives  way,  I  to  the  ele- 
ments 
.Resign  the  principles  of  life  they  lent  me. 
Ask  me  no  more  of  this ! — the  stars  forbid  it. 

Dim  burns  the  once  bright  star  of  Avenel, 
Dim  as  the  beacon  when  the  morn  is  nigh, 
And  the  e'er-wearied  warder  leaves  the  light- 
house ; 
There  is  an  influence  sorrowful  and  fearful, 
That    dogs    its   downward    course.     Disastrous 

passion, 
Fierce  hate  and  rivalry,  are  in  the  aspect 
That  lowers  upon  its  fortunes. 

Complain  not  on  me,  child  of  clay, 
If  to  thy  harm  I  yield  the  way. 
We,  who  soar  thy  sphere  above, 
Know  not  aught  of  hate  or  love ; 
As  will  or  wisdom  rules  thy  mood, 
My  gifts  to  evil  turn  or  good. 

When  Piercie  Shafton  boasteth  high, 
Let  this  token  meet  his  eye, 
The  sun  is  westering  from  the  dell, 
Thy  wish  is  granted — fare  thee  well ! 

Chap.  xvii. 


THE  WHITE  LADY  TO  MARY  AVENEL. 

Maiden,  whose  sorrows  wail  the  Living  Dead, 
Whoft  eyes  shall  commune  with  the  Dead  Alive, 


Maiden,  attend  !  Beneath  my  foot  lies  hid 

The  Word,  the  Law,  the  Path  which  thou  d  »s« 
strive 
To  find,  and  canst  not  find. — Could  Spirits  shed 

Tears  for  their  lot,  it  were  my  lot  to  weep, 
Showing  the  road  which  I  shall  never  tread, 

Though  my  foot  points  it.— Sleep,  eternal  sleep 
Dark,  long,  and  cold  forgetfulness  my  lot ! — 

But  do  not  thou  at  human  ills  repine  ; 
Secure  there  lies  full  guerdon  in  tins  spot 

For  all  the  woes  that  wait  frail  Adam's  line — 
Stoop  then  and  make  it  yours, — I  may  not  mala 
it  mine  1 

Chap.  xxx. 


THE  WHITE  LADY  TO  EDWARD 
GLENDLNNTNG. 

Thou  who  seek'st  my  fountain  lone, 
With  tl  mghts  and  hopes  thou  dar'st  not  own 
Whose  heart  within  leap'd  wildly  glad, 
When  most  his  brow  seem'd  dark  and  sad  j 
Hie  thee  back,  thou  find'st  not  here 
Corpse  or  coffin,  grave  or  bier  ; 
The  Dead  Alive  is  gone  and  fled — 
Go  thou,  and  join  the  Living  Dead ! 

The  Living  Dead,  whose  sober  brow 

Oft  shrouds  such  thoughts  as  thou  hast  now, 

Whose  hearts  within  are  seldom  cured 

Of  passions  by  their  vows  abjured  ; 

Where,  under  sad  and  solemn  show, 

Vain  hopes  are  nursed,  wild  wishes  glow. 

Seek  the  convent's  vaulled  room, 

Prayer  and  vigil  be  thy  doom  ; 

Doff  the  green,  and  don  the  gray, 

To  the  cloister  hence  away  1 

Chap,  xxxa 


THE  WHITE  LADY'S  FAREWELL. 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  Holly  green  ! 

Thou  shalt  seldom  now  be  seen, 

With  all  thy  glittering  garlands  bending, 

As  to  greet  my  slow  descending, 

Startling  the  bewilder'd  hind, 

Who  sees  thee  wave  without  a  wind. 

Farewell,  Fountain  !  now  not  long 
Shalt  thou  murmur  to  my  song, 
While  thy  crystal  bubbles  glancing, 
Keep  the  time  in  mystic  dancing, 
Rise  and  swell,  are  burst  and  lost, 
Like  mortal  schemes  by  fortune  cross'd. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


689 


The  knot  of  fate  at  length  is  tied, 
The  Churl  is  Lord,  the  Maid  is  Bride  I 
Vainly  did  my  magic  sleight 
Send  the  lover  from  her  sight ; 
Wither  bush,  and  perish  well, 
Fall'n  is  lofty  Avenel ! 

Chap,  xxxvii. 


(2.)— BORDER  BALLAD. 


March,  march,  Ettrick  and  Teviotdale, 

Why  the  deil  dinna  ye  march  forward  in  order  ? 
March,  march,  Eskdale  and  Liddesdale, 

All  the  Blue  Bonnets  are  bound  for  the  Border. 
Many  a  banner  spread, 
Flutters  above  your  head, 
Many  a  crest  that  is  famous  in  story. 
Mount  and  make  ready  then, 
Sons  of  the  mountain  glen, 
Fight  for  the  Queen  and  our  old  Scottish  glory. 


Come  from  the  hills  where  your  hirsels  are  grazing, 

Come  from  the  glen  of  the  buck  and  the  roe ; 
Come  to  the  crag  where  the  beacon  is  blazing, 
Come  with  the  buckler,  the  lance,  and  the  bow. 
Trumpets  are  sounding, 
War-steeds  are  bounding, 
Otand  to  your  arms,  and  march  in  good  order, 
England  shall  many  a  day 
Tell  of  the  bloody  fray, 
When  the  Blue  Bonnets  came  over  the  Border. 
Chap.  xxv. 


(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  i. 

0  at  !  the  Monks,  the  Monks,  they  did  the  mis- 

chief ! 
Theirs  all  the  grossncss,  all  the  superstition 
Of  a  most  gross  and  superstitious  age. — 
May  He  be  praised  that  sent  the  healthful  tem- 
pest, 
And  scatter'd  all  these  pestilential  vapors ; 
But  that  we  owed  them  all  to  yonder  Harlot 
Throned  on  the  seven  hills  with  her  cup  of  gold, 

1  will  as  soon  believe,  with  kind  Sir  Roger, 

That  old  Moll  White  took  wing  with  cat  and  broom- 
stick, 
And  raised  the  last  night's  thunder. 

Old  Play. 


(2.)— Chap.  n. 
In  yon  lone  vale  his  early  youth  was  bred. 
Not  solitary  then — the  bugle-horn 
Of  fell  Alecto  often  waked  its  windings, 
From  where  the  brook  joins  the  majestic  river, 
To  the  wild  northern  bog,  the  curlieu's  haunt, 
Where  oozes  forth  its  first  and  feeble  streamlet 

Old  Play. 

(3.)— Chap.  v. 
A  priest,  ye  cry,  a  priest ! — lame  shepherds  they, 
How  shall  they  gather  in  the  straggling  flock  ? 
Dumb  dogs  which  bark  not — how  shall  they  compel 
The  loitering  vagrants  to  the  Master's  fold  ? 
Fitter  to  bask  before  the  blazing  fire, 
And  snuff  the  mess  neat-handed  Phillis  dresses, 
Than  on  the  snow-wreath  battle  with  the  wolf. 

Reformation. 

(4.) — Chap,  vl 
Now  let  us  sit  in  conclave.    That  these  weeds 
Be  rooted  from  the  vineyard  of  the  Church, 
That  these  foul  tares  be  sever  d  from  the  whea«, 
We  are,  I  trust)  agreed. — Yet  how  to  do  this, 
Nor  hurt  the  wholesome   crop  and  tender  vine 

plants, 
Craves  good  advisement. 

TJie  Reformation. 

(5.)— Chap.  viii. 
Nay,  dally  not  with  time,  the  wise  man's  treasui^ 
Though  fools  are  lavish  on't— the  fatal  Fisher 
Hooks  souls,  while  we  waste  moments. 

Old  Play. 

(6.) — Chap,  xl 
You  call  this  education,  do  you  not  ? 
Why,  'tis  the  forced  march  of  a  herd  of  bullocks 
Before  a  shouting  drover.     The  glad  van 
Move  on  at  ease,  and  pause  a  while  to  snatch 
A  passing  morsel  from  the  dewy  green-sward. 
While  all  the  blows,  the  oaths,  the  indignation, 
Fall  on  the  croupe  of  the  ill-fated  laggard 
That  cripples  in  the  rear. 

Old  Play. 

(7.) — Chap.  xn. 
There's  something  in  that  ancient  superstition, 
Which,  erring  as  it  is,  our  fancy  loves. 
The  spring  that,  with  its  thousand  crystal  bubbles 
Bursts  from  the  bosom  of  some  desert  rock 
In  secret  solitude,  may  well  be  deem'd 
The  haunt  of  something  purer,  more  refined, 
And  mightier  than  ourselves.  Old  Play. 

(8.) — Chap.  xtv. 
Nay,  let  me  have  the  friends  who  eat  my  victual* 
As  various  as  my  dishes.    The  feast's  naught, 


690                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Where  one  huge  plate  predominates. — John  Plain- 

(14.)— Chap,  xxiil 

text, 

'Tis  when  the  wound  is  stiffening  with  the  cold, 

He  shall  be  mighty  beef,  our  English  staple ; 

The  warrior  first  feels  pain — 'tis  when  the  heat 

The  worthy  Alderman,  a  butter'd  dumpling ; 

And  fiery  fever  of  his  soul  is  past, 

Yon  pair  of  whisker'd  Cornets,  ruffs  and  rees ; 

The  sinner  feels  remorse. 

Their  friend  the  Dandy,  a  green  goose  in  sippets. 

Old  Play. 

And  so  the  board  is  spread  at  once  and  fill'd 

On  the  same  principle — Variety. 

(15.) — Chap.  xxrv. 

New  Play. 

I'll  walk  on  tiptoe ;  arm  my  eye  with  caution, 

My  heart  with  courage,  and  my  hand  with  weapon 

(9.) — Chap.  xv. 

Like  him  who  ventures  on  a  lion's  den. 

He  strikes  no  coin,  'tis  true,  but  coins  new  phrases, 

Old  Play. 

And  vends  them  forth  as  knaves  vend  gilded 

counters, 

(16.) — Chap,  xxvii. 

Which  wise  men  scorn,  and  fools  accept  in  pay- 

Now, by  Our  Lady,  Sheriff,  'tis  hard  reckoning, 

ment. 

That  I,  with  every  odds  of  birth  and  barony, 

Old  Play. 

Should  be  detain'd  here  for  the  casual  death 

Of  a  wild  forester,  whose  utmost  having 

(10.)— Chap.  xvi. 

Is  but  the  brazen  buckle  of  the  belt 

A  courtier  extraordinary,  who  by  diet 

In  which  he  sticks  his  hedge-knife. 

Of  meats  and  drinks,  his  temperate  exercise, 

Old  Play. 

Choice  music,  frequent  bath,  his  horary  shifts 

Of  shirts  and  waistcoats,  means  to  immortalize 

(17.) — Chap.  xxx. 

Mortality  itself,  and  makes  the  essence 

You  call  it  an  ill  angel — it  may  be  so ; 

Of  his  whole  happiness  the  trim  of  court. 

But  sure  I  am,  among  the  ranks  wlrich  fell, 

Magnetic  Lady. 

'Tis  the  first  fiend  e'er  counsell'd  man  to  rise, 

And  win  the  bliss  the  sprite  himself  had  forfeited. 

(11.) — Chap.  xix. 

Old  Play. 

Now  choose  thee,  gallant,  betwixt  wealth  and 

honor ; 

(18.) — Chap.  xxxi. 

There  lies  the  pelf,  in  sum  to  bear  thee  through 

At  school  I  knew  him — a  sharp-witted  youth, 

The  dance  of  youth,  and  the  turmoil  of  manhood, 

Grave,  thoughtful,  and  reserved  amongst  Ins  mates, 

Yet.  leave  enough  for  age's  chimney-corner ; 

Turning  the  hours  of  sport  and  food  to  labor, 

But  an  thou  grasp  to  it,  farewell  Ambition ! 

Starving  his  body  to  inform  his  mind. 

Farewell  each  hope  of  bettering  thy  condition, 

Old  Play. 

And  raising  thy  low  rank  above  the  churls 

That  till  the  earth  for  bread ! 

(19.) — Chap,  xxxiii. 

Old  Play. 

Now  on  my  faith  this  gear  is  all  entangled, 

Like  to  the  yarn-clew  of  the  drowsy  knitter, 

(12.) — Chap.  xxi. 

Dragg'd  by  the  frolic  kitten  through  the  cabin, 

Indifferent,  but  indifferent — pshaw!   he  doth   it 

While  the  good  dame  sits  nodding  o'er  the  fire — 

not 

Masters,  attend ;  'twill  crave  some  skill  to  clear  it. 

Like  one  who  is  his  craft's  master — ne'ertheless 

Old  Play. 

I  have  seen  a  clown  confer  a  bloody  coxcomb 

.  On  one  who  was  a  master  of  defence. 

(20.) — Chap,  xxxiv. 

Old  Play. 

It  is  not  texts  will  do  it — Church  artillery 

Are  silenced  soon  by  real  ordnance, 

(13.) — Chap.  xxn. 

And  canons  are  but  yain  opposed  to  cannon. 

Yes,  life  hath  left  him — every  busy  thought, 

Go,  coin  your  crosier,  melt  your  church  plate 

Each  fiery  passion,  every  strong  affection, 

down, 

The  sense  of  outward  ill  and  inward  sorrow, 

Bid  the  starved  soldier  banquet  in  your  halls, 

Are  fled  at  once  from  the  pale  trunk  before  me ; 

And  quaff  your  long-sa-*  ed  hogsheads — Turn  them 

Arid  I  have  given  that  which  spoke  and  moved, 

'  out 

Thought,  acted,  suffer'd,  as  a  living  man, 

Thus  primed  with  your  good  cheer,  to  guard  your 

To  be  a  ghastly  form  of  bloody  clay, 

wall, 

Soon  the  foul  food  for  reptiles. 

And  they  will  venture  for  % 

Old  Play. 

Old  Play, 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


691 


Irani  %  abbot. 


1820. 


(I.)— THE  PARDONER'S  ADVERTISEMENT. 

"  At  length  the  pardoner  pulled  from  his  scrip 
a  small  phial  of  clear  water,  of  which  he  vaunted 
Lhe  quality  in  the  following  verses :" — 

Listneth,  gode  people,  everiche  one, 
Eor  in  the  londe  of  Babylone, 
Far  eastward  I  wot  it  lyeth, 
And  is  the  first  londe  the  sonne  espieth, 
Ther,  as  he  cometh  fro  out  the  se ; 
In  this  ilk  londe,  as  thinketh  me, 
Right  as  holie  legendes  tell, 
Snottreth  from  a  roke  a  well, 
And  falleth  into  ane  bath  of  ston, 
Wher  chast  Susanne  in  times  long  gon, 
"Was  wont  to  wash  her  bodie  and  lim — 
Mickle  vertue  hath  that  streme, 
As  ye  shall  se  er  that  ye  pas, 
Ensample  by  this  little  glas — 
Through  nightCd  cold  and  dayes  hote, 
Hiderward  I  have  it  brought ; 
Hath  a  wife  made  slip  or  slide, 
Or  a  maiden  stepp'd  aside  ; 
Putteth  this  water  under  her  nese, 
Wold  she  nold  she,  she  shall  snese. 

Chap,  xxvii. 


(2).— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  v. 
In  the  wild  storm. 


The  seaman  hews  his  mast  down,  and  the  merchant 
Heaves  to  the  billows  wares  he  once  deem'd  pre- 
cious : 
So  prince  and  peer,  'mid  popular  contentions, 
Cast  off  their  favorites. 

Old  Play. 

/       (2.)— Chap.  vi. 
Thou  hast  each  secret  of  the  household,  Francis. 
I  dare  be  sworn  thou  hast  been  in  the  buttery 
Steeping  thy  curious  humor  in  fat  ale, 
And  in  the  butler's  tattle— ay,  or  chatting 
With  the  glib  waiting-woman  o'er  her  comfits — 
These  bear  the  key  to  each  domestic  mystery. 

Old  Play. 


(3.)— Chap.  vm.    * 
The  sacred  tapers'  lights  are  gone, 
Gray  moss  has  clad  the  altar  stone, 
The  holy  image  is  o'erthrown, 


The  bell  has  ceased  to  toll. 
The  long-ribb'd  aisles  are  burst  and  shrunk, 
The  holy  shrines  to  ruin  sunk, 
Departed  is  the  pious  monk, 
God's  blessing  on  his  soul ! 

Pediviva 
(4.)— Chap.  xi. 
Life  hath  its  May,  and  all  is  mirthful  then: 
The  woods  are  vocal,  and  the  flowers  all  odor , 
Its  very  blast  has  mirth  in  't,— and  the  maidens, 
The  while  they  don  their  cloaks  to  skreen  theii 

kirtles, 
Laugh  at  the  rain  that  wets  them. 

Old  Play. 

(5.) — Chap.  xn. 
Nay,  hear  me,  brother— I  am  elder,  wiser, 
And  holier  than  thou ;  and  age,  and  wisdom, 
And  holiness,  have  peremptory  claims, 
And  will  be  listen'd  to.  Old  Play 

(6.) — Chap.  xtv. 
Not  the  wild  billow,  when  it  breaks  its  barrier — 
Not  the  wild  wind,  escaping  from  its  cavern — 
Not  the  wild  fiend,  that  mingles  both  together, 
And  pours  their  rage  upon  the  ripening  harvest. 
Can  match  the  wild  freaks  of  this  mirthful  meet 

ing— 
Comic,  yet  fearful— droll,  and  yet  destructive. 
The  Conspiracy. 

(7.)— Chap.  xvl 
Youth !  thou  wear'st  to  manhood  now 
Darker  lip  and  darker  brow, 
Statelier  step,  more  pensive  mien, 
In  thy  face  and  gait  are  seen : 
Thou  must  now  brook  midnight  watches, 
Take  thy  food  and  sport  by  snatches ! 
For  the  gambol  and  the  jest, 
Thou  wert  wont  to  love  the  best, 
Graver  follies  must  thou  follow, 
But  as  senseless,  false,  and  hollow. 

Life,  a  Poem. 

(8.) — Chap.  xix. 
It  is  and  is  not — 'tis  the  thing  I  sought  for, 
Have  kneel' d  for,  pray'd  for,  risk'd  my  fame  and 

life  for,    - 
And  yet  it  is  not — no  more  than  the  shadow 
Upon  the  hard,  cold,  flat,  and  polish'd  mirror, 
Is  the  warm,  graceful,  rounded,  living  substanee 
Which  it  presents  in  form  and  lineament. 

OUPlm 

(9.) — Chap.  xxm. 
Give  me  a  morsel  on  the  greensward  rather, 
Coarse  as  you  will  the  cooking — Let  the  fieah 
spring 


692                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Bubble  beside  my  napkin — and  the  free  birds, 

Flatter  the  waiting-woman,  bribe  the  valet ; 

Twittering    and    chirping,   hop   from    bough    to 

But  know,  that  I  her  father  play  the  Gryphon, 

bough, 

Tameless  and  sleepless,  proof  to  fraud  or  bribe, 

To  claim  the  crums  I  leave  for  perquisites — 

And  guard  the  hidden  treasure  of  her  beauty. 

Your  prison-feasts  I  like  not. 

The  Spanish  Father. 

The  Woodman,  a  Drama. 

(16.) — Chap.  xxxv. 

(10.) — Chap.  xxrv. 

It  is  a  time  of  danger,  not  of  revel, 

When  churchmen  turn  to  masquers. 

Vaults  overhead,  and  grates  and  bars  around  me, 

The  Spanish  Father. 

And  my  sad  hours  spent  with  as  sad  companions, 

Whose  thoughts  are  brooding  o'er  their  own  mis- 

(1*7.)— Chap,  xxxvii. 

chances, 

Ay,  sir — our  ancient  crown,  in  these  wild  times, 

Far,  far  too  deeply  to  take  part  in  mine. 

Oft  stood  upon  a  cast — the  gamester's  ducat, 

T/ie  Woodsman. 

So  often  staked,  and  lost,  and  then  regain' d, 

Scarce  knew  so  many  hazards. 

(11.) — Chap.  xxv. 

TJie  Spanish  Father 

And  when  Love's  torch  hath  set  the  heart  in  flame, 

Comes  Seignor  Reason,  with  his  saws  and  cautions, 

Giving  such  aid  as  the  old  gray-beard  Sexton, 

•> 

Who  from  the  church-vault  drags  his  crazy  engine, 

1 

To  ply  its  dribbling  ineffectual  streamlet 

Against  a  conflagration. 

Old  Play. 

(12.) — Chap,  xxviii. 

Jrom  KemliDortl). 

1821. 

Yes,  it  is  she  whose  eyes  look'd  on  thy  childhood, 

And  watch'd  with  trembling  hope  thy  dawn  of 
youth, 

(l.)_GOLDTHRED'S  SONG. 

That  now,  with  these  same  eye-balls,  dimm'd  with 

"  Aftee  some  brief  interval,  Master  Goldtnre^ 

age, 

at  the  earnest  instigation  of  mine  host,  ana  the 

And  dimmer  yet  with  tears,  sees  thy  dishonor. 

joyous  concurrence  of  his  guests,  indulged  the  com- 

Old Play. 

pany  with  the  following  morsel  of  melody :" — 

(13.) — Chap.  xxx. 

Of  all  the  birds  on  bush  or  tree, 

In  some  breasts  passion  lies  conceal'd  and  silent, 

Commend  me  to  the  owl, 

Like  war's  swart  powder  in  a  castle  vault, 

Since  he  may  best  ensample  be 

Until  occasion,  like  the  linstock,  lights  it ; 

To  those  the  cup  that  trowl. 

Then  comes  at  once  the  lightning  and  the  thun- 

For when  the  sun  hath  left  the  west, 

der, 

He  chooses  the  tree  that  he  loves  the  best, 

And  distant  echoes  tell  that  all  is  rent  asunder. 

And  he  whoops  out  his  song,  and  he  laughs  at  his 

Old  Play. 

jest, 

(14.) — Chap.  xxxm. 

Then,  though  hours  be  late,  and  weather  foul, 

We'll  drink  to  the  health  of  the  bonny,  bonny 

Death  distant  ? — No,  alas !  he's  ever  with  us, 

owl. 

And  shakes  the  dart  at  us  in  all  our  actings : 

He  lurks  within  our  cup,  while  we're  in  health ; 

The  lark  is  but  a  bumpkin  fowl, 

Sits  by  our  sick-bed,  mocks  our  medicines  ; 

He  sleeps  in  his  nest  till  morn ; 

We  cannot  walk,  or  sit,  or  ride,  or  travel, 

But  my  blessing  upon  the  jolly  owl, 

But  death  is  by  to  seize  us  when  he  lists. 

That  all  night  blows  his  horn. 

The  Spanish  Father. 

Then  up  with  your  cup  till  you  stagger  in  speech, 

And  match  me  this  catch,  till  you  swagger  and 

(15.) — Chap,  xxxrv. 

screech, 

Ay,  Pedro, — Come  you  here  with  mask  and  lan- 

And drink  till  you  wink,  my  merry  men  each ; 

tern, 

For,  though  hours  be  late,  and  weather  be  foul, 

Ladder  of  ropes,  and  other  moonshine  tools — 

We'll  drink  to  the  health  of  the  bonny,  bonny 

Why,    youngster,    thou    may'st    cheat    the    old 

owL 

Duenna, 

Chap,  ii 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


69fc 


(2.)_SPEECH  OF  THE  PORTER  AT 
KENILWORTH. 

"At  the  approach  of  the  Queen,  upon  sight 
of  whom,  as  struck  by  some  heavenly  vision,  the 
gigantic  warder  dropped  his  club,  resigned  his 
keys,  and  gave  open  way  to  the  Goddess  of  the 
night,  and  all  her  magnificent  train." 

What  stir,  what  turmoil,  have  we  for  the  nones  ? 
Stand  back,  my  masters,  or  beware  your  bones ! 
Sirs,  I'm  a  warder,  and  no  man  of  straw ; 
My  voice  keeps  order,  and  my  club  gives  law. 

Yet  soft — nay  stay — what  vision  have  we  here  ? 
What  dainty  darling's  this — what  peerless  peer  ? 
What  loveliest  face,  that  loving  ranks  enfold, 
Like  brightest  diamond  chased  in  purest  gold  ? 
Dazzled  and  blind,  mine  office  I  forsake, 
My  club,  my  key,  my  knee,  my  homage  take. 
Bright  paragon,  pass  on  in  joy  and  bliss ; — 
Beshrew  the  gate  that  opes  not  wide  at  such  a 
sight  as  this  I1 

Chap.  xxx. 


(3.)— MOTTOES. 
(1.)— Chap.  iv. 

Not  serve  two  masters  ? — Here  's  a  youth  will 

try  it- 
Would  fain  serve  God,  yet  give  the  devil  his  due ; 
Says  grace  before  he  doth  a  deed  of  villany, 
And  returns  his  thanks  devoutly  when  'tis  acted. 

Old  Play. 

(2.)— Chap.  v. 

He  was  a  man 

Versed  in  the  world  as  pilot  in  his  compass. 
The  needle  pointed  ever  to  that  interest 
Which  was  his  loadstar,  and  he  spread  his  sails 
With  vantage  to  the  gale  of  others'  passion. 

The  Deceiver — a  Tragedy. 

(3.) — Chap.  vii. 

This  is  He 

Who  rides  on  the  cOurt-gale  ;  controls  its  tides ; 
Knows  all  their  secret  shoals  and  fatal  eddies ; 
Whose  frown  abases,  and  whose  smile  exalts. 
He  shines  like  any  rainbow — and,  perchance, 
His  colors  are  as  transient. 

Old  Play. 


1  "  This  is  an  imitation  of  Gascoigne's  verses,  spoken  by  the 
Herculean  porter,  as  mentioned  in  the  text  [of  the  Novel]. 
vhe  original  may  be  found  in  the  republication  of  the  Princely 
pleasures  of  Kenilworth,  by  the  same  author,  in  the  History  of 
tenilworth.     Chiswick,  1821. 


(4.) — Chap.  xrv. 
This  is  rare  news  thou  tell'st  me,  my  good  fellow ; 
There  are  two  bulls  fierce  battling  on  the  green 
For  one  fair  heifer — if  the  one  goes  down, 
The  dale  will  be  more  peaceful,  and  the  herd, 
Which  have  small  interest  in  their  brulziement, 
May  pasture  there  in  peace. 

Old  Play 

(5.) — Chap.  xvii. 
Well,  then,  our  course  is  chosen ;  spread  the  sail, — 
Heave  oft  the  lead,  and  mark  the  soundings  well; 
Look  to  the  helm,  good  master ;  many  a  shoal 
Marks  this  stern  coast,  and  rocks  where  sits  the 

siren, 
Who,  like  ambition,  lures  men  to  their  ruin. 

The  Shipwreck. 

(6.) — Chap,  xxiii. 
Now  God  be  good  to  me  in  this  wild  pilgrimage  I 
All  hope  in  human  aid  I  cast  behind  me. 
Oh,  who  would  be  a  woman  ?  who  that  fool 
A  weeping,  pining,  faithful,  loving  woman  ? 
She  hath  hard   measure   still  where  she  hope* 

kindest, 
And  all  her  bounties  only  make  ingrates. 

Love's  Pilgrimage. 

(7.) — Chap.  xxv. 
Hark  I  the  bells  summon,  and  the  bugle  calls, 
But  she  the  fairest  answers  not ;  the  tide 
Of  nobles  and  of  ladies  throngs  the  halls, 
But  she  the  loveliest  must  in  secret  hide. 
What  eyes  were  thine,  proud  Prince,  which  in  the 

gleam 
Of  yon  gay  meteors  lost  that  better  sense, 
That  o'er  the  glow-worm  doth  the  star  esteem, 
And  merit's  modest  blush  o'er  courtly  insolence  ? 
The  Glass  Slipper. 

(8.) — Chap,  xxviii. 
What,  man,  ne'er  lack  a  draught,  when  the  full 

can 
Stands  at  thine  elbow,  and  craves  emptying ! — 
Nay,  fear  not  me,  for  I  have  no  delight 
To  watch  men's  vices,  since  I  have  myself 
Of  virtue  naught  to  boast  of. — I'm  a  striker, 
Would  have  the  world  strike  with  me,  pell-mell. 

all. 

Pandcemonium 

(9.) — Chap.  xxix. 
Now  fare  thee  well,  my  master  1  if  true  service 
Be  guerdon'd  with  hard  looks,  e'en  cut  the  tow- 
line, 
And  let  our  barks  across  the  pathless  flood 
Hold  different  courses. 

Shtpwruk. 


694 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(10.) — Chap.  xxx. 
Now  bid  the  steeple  rock — she  comes,  she  comes ! 
Speak   for  us,  bells !  speak  for  us,  shrill-tongued 

tuckets ! 
Stand  to  the  linstock,  gunner ;  let  thy  cannon 
Play  such  a  peal,  as  if  a  Paynim  foe 
Came  stretch'd  in  turban'd  ranks  to  storm  the 

ramparts. 
We  will  have  pageants  too ;  but  that  craves  wit, 
And  I'm  a  rough-hewn  soldier. 

The  Virgin- Queen,  a  Tragi-Comedy. 

(11.) — Chap,  xxxii. 
The  wisest  sovereigns  err  like  private  men, 
And  royal  hand  has  sometimes  laid  the  sword 
Of  chivalry  upon  a  worthless  shoulder, 
Which  better  had  been  branded  by  the  hangman. 
What  then  ?  Kings  do  their  best, — and  they  and  we 
Must  answer  for  the  intent,  and  not  the  event. 

Old  Play. 

(12.) — Chap,  xxxiii. 
Here  stands  the  victim — there  the*proud  betrayer, 
E'en  as  the  hind  pull'd  down  by  strangling  dogs 
Lies  at  the  hunter's  feet,  who  courteous  proffers 
To  some  liigh  dame,  the  Dian  of  the  chase, 
To  whom  he  looks  for  guerdon,  his  sharp  blade, 
To  gash  the  sobbing  throat. 

The  Woodsman. 

(13.)— Chap.  xl. 
High  o'er  the  eastern  steep  the  sun  is  beaming, 
And  darkness  flies  with  her  deceitful  shadows ; 
So  truth  prevails  o'er  falsehood. 

Old  Play. 


irom  %  pirate. 


1821. 


(1.)— THE  SONG  OF  THE  TEMPEST. 

"  A  Norwegian  invocation,  still  preserved  in  the 
island  of  Unst,  under  the  name  of  the  Song  of  the 
Reim-kennar,  though  some  call  it  the  Song  of  the 
Tempest.  The  following  is  a  free  translation,  it 
being  impossible  to  render  literally  many  of  the 
elliptical  and  metaphorical  terms  of  expression  pe- 
culiar to  the  ancient  Northern  poetry  :" — 

1. 
Stern  eagle  of  the  far  north-west, 
Thou  that  bearest  in  thy  grasp  the  thunderbolt, 
Thou  whose  rushing  pinions  stir  ocean  to  madness, 


Thou  the  destroyer  of  herds,  thou  the  scatterer  oi 

navies, 
Amidst  the  scream  of  thy  rage, 
Amidst  the  rushing  of  thy  onward  wings, 
Though  thy  scream  be  loud  as  the  cry  of  a  perish- 
ing nation, 
Though  the  rushing  of  thy  wings  be  like  the  roar 

of  ten  thousand  waves, 
Yet  hear,  in  thine  ire  and  thy  haste, 
Hear  thou  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar. 

2. 

Thou  hast  met  the  pine-trees  of  Drontheim, 
Their  dark-green  heads  lie  prostrate  beside  their 

uprooted  stems  ; 
Thou  hast  met  the  rider  of  the  ocean, 
The  tall,  the  strong  bark  of  the  fearless  rover, 
And  she  has  struck  to  thee  the  topsail 
That  she  had  not  veil'd  to  a  royal  armada: 
Thou  hast  met  the  tower  that  bears  its  crest  among 

the  clouds,  [days, 

The  battled  massive  tower  of  the  Jarl  of  former 
And  the  cope-stone  of  the  turret 
Is  lying  upon  its  hospitable  hearth ; 
But  thou  too  shalt  stoop,  proud  compeller  of  clouds, 
When  thou  hearest  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar. 

3. 
There  are  verses  that  can  stop  the  stag  in  the 

forest, 
Ay,  and  when  the  dark-color'd  dog  is  opening  on 

his  track ; 
There  are  verses  can  make  the  wild  hawk  pause 

on  the  wing, 
Like  the  falcon  that  wears  the  hood  and  the  jesses, 
And  who  knows  the  shrill  whistle  of  the  fowler. 
Thou  who  canst  mock  at  the  scream  of  the  drown- 
ing mariner, 
And  the  crash  of  the  ravaged  forest, 
And  the  groan  of  the  overwhelm'd  crowds, 
When  the  church  hath  fallen  in  the  moment  of 

prayer ; 
There  are  sounds  which  thou  also  must  list, 
When  they  are  chanted  by  the  voice  of  the  Reim- 
kennar. 

4. 
Enough  of  woe  hast  thou  wi  ought  on  the  ocean, 
The  widows  wring  their  hands  on  the  beach  ; 
Enough  of  woe  hast  thou  wrought  on  the  land, 
The  husbandman  folds  his  arms  in  despair ; 
Cease  thou  the  waving  of  thy  pinions, 
Let  the  ocean  repose  in  her  dark  strength ; 
Cease  thou  the  flashing  of  thine  eye, 
Let  the  thunderbolt  sleep  in  the  armory  of  Odin , 
Be  thou  still  at  my  bidding,  viewless  racer  of  the 

north-western  heaven, — 
Sleep  thou  at  the  voice  of  Noma  the  Reini-kenna? 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


69S 


5. 
Eagle  of  the  far  north-western  waters, 
Thou  hast  heard  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar, 
Thou  hast  closed  thy  wide  sails  at  her  bidding, 
And  folded  them  in  peace  by  thy  side. 
My  blessing  be  on  thy  retiring  path ; 
When  thou  stoopest  from  thy  place  on  high, 
Soft  be  thy  slumbers  in  the  caverns  of  the  unknown 

ocean, 
Refet  till  destiny  shall  again  awaken  thee  ; 
Eagle  of  the  north-west,  thou  hast  heard  the  voice 

of  the  Reim-kennar. 

Chap,  vl 


(2.)— CLAUD  HALCRO'S  SONG. 


Farewell  to  Northmaven, 

Gray  Hillswicke,  farewell  1 
To  the  calms  of  thy  haven, 

The  storms  on  thy  fell — 
To  each  breeze  that  can  vary 

The  mood  of  thy  main, 
And  to  thee,  bonny  Mary ! 

We  meet  not  again  1 

Farewell  the  wild  ferry, 

Which  Hacon  could  brave, 
When  the  peaks  of  the  Skerry 

Were  white  in  the  wave. 
There's  a  maid  may  look  over 

These  wild  waves  in  vain, — 
For  the  skiff  of  her  lover — 

He  comes  not  again  1 

The  vows  thou  hast  broke, 

On  the  wild  currents  fling  them ; 
On  the  quicksand  and  rock 

Let  the  mermaidens  sing  them. 
New  sweetness  they'll  give  her 

Bewildering  strain ; 
But  there's  one  who  will  never 

Believe  them  again. 

0  wer*  there  an  island, 

Though  ever  so  wild, 
Where  woman  could  smile,  and 

No  man  be  beguiled — 
Too  tempting  a  snare 

To  poor  mortals  were  given ; 
And  the  hope  would  fix  there, 

That  should  anchor  in  heaven. 

Chap.  xii. 


(3).— THE  SONG  OF  HAROLD  HARFAGER 

The  sun  is  rising  dimly  red, 
The  wind  is  wailing  low  and  dread ; 
From  his  cliff  the  eagle  sallies, 
Leaves  the  wolf  his  darksome  valleys  ; 
In  the  mist  the  ravens  hover, 
Peep  the  wild  dogs  from  the  cover, 
Screaming,  croaking,  baying,  yelling, 
Each  in  his  wild  accents  telling, 
"  Soon  we  feast  on  dead  and  dying, 
FaLv-hair'd  Harold's  flag  is  flying." 

Many  a  crest  on  air  is  streaming, 
Many  a  helmet  darkly  gleaming, 
Many  an  arm  the  axe  uprears, 
Doom'd  to  hew  the  wood  of  spears. 
All  along  the  crowded  ranks 
Horses  neigh  and  armor  clanks ; 
Cliiefs  are  shouting,  clarions  ringing, 
Louder  still  the  bard  is  singing, 
u  Gather  footmen,  gather  horsemen, 
To  the  field,  ye  valiant  Norsemen  ! 

"  Halt  ye  not  for  food  or  slumber, 
View  not  vantage,  count  not  number ; 
Jolly  reapers,  forward  still, 
Grow  the  crop  on  vale  or  hilL 
Thick  or  scatter'd,  stiff  or  lithe, 
It  shall  down  before  the  scythe. 
Forward  with  your  sickles  bright, 
Reap  the  harvest  of  the  fight. — 
Onward  footmen,  onward  horsemen, 
To  the  charge,  ye  gallant  Norsemen ! 

"Fatal  Choosers  of  the  Slaughter, 
O'er  you  hovers  Odin's  daughter  ; 
Hear  the  choice  she  spreads  before  ye,— 
Victory,  and  wealth,  and  glory ; 
Or  old  Valhalla's  roaring  hail, 
Her  ever-circling  mead  and  ale, 
Where  for  eternity  unite 
The  joys  of  wassail  and  of  fight. 
Headlong  forward,  foot  and  horsemen, 
Charge  and  fight,  and  die  like  Norsemen  Y  - 

Chap,  xv 


(4.)" 


-SONG  OF  THE  MERMAIDS  AND 
MERMEN. 


Fathoms  deep  beneath  the  wave, 
Stringing  beads  of  glistering  pearl 

Singing  the  achievements  brave 
Of  many  an  old  Norwegian  earl ; 


69d                                        SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Dwelling  where  the  tempest'1  raving, 

Daughters  of  northern  Magnus,  hail ! 

Falls  as  light  upon  our  eai; 

The  lamp  is  lit,  the  flame  is  clear, — 

As  the  sigh  of  lover,  craving 

To  you  I  come  to  tell  my  tale, 

Pity  from  his  lady  dear, 

Awake,  arise,  my  tale  to  hear  I 

Children  of  wild  Thule,  we, 

Chap,  six 

From  the  deep  caves  of  the  sea, 
As  the  lark  springs  from  the  lea, 

Hither  come,  to  share  your  glee. 

(6.)— CLAUD  HALCRO  AND  NORNA 

MERMAN. 

CLAUD  HALCRO. 

From  reining  of  the  water-horse, 

That   bounded  till   the  waves  were   foam- 

Mother darksome,  Mother  dread, 

ing, 

Dweller  on  the  Fitful-head, 

Watching  the  infant  tempest's  course, 

Thou  canst  see  what  deeds  are  done 

Chasing  the  sea-snake  in  his  roaming ; 

Under  the  never-setting  sun. 

From  winding  charge-notes  on  the  shell, 

Look  through  sleet,  and  look  through  frost, 

When  the  huge  whale  and  sword-fish  duel, 

Look  to  Greenland's  caves  and  coast, — 

Or  tolling  shroudless  seamen's  knell, 

By  the  ice-berg  is  a  sail 

When  the  winds  and  waves  are  cruel ; 

Chasing  of  the  swarthy  whale  ; 

Children  of  wild  Thule,  we 

Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread, 

Have  plough'd  such  furrows  on  the  sea, 

Tell  us,  has  the  good  ship  sped  ? 

As  the  steer  draws  on  the  lea, 

And  hither  we  come  to  share  your  glee. 

NORNA. 

The  thought  of  the  aged  is  ever  on  gear, — 

MERMAIDS  AND  MERMEN. 

On  his  fishing,  lus  furrow,  his  flock,  and  his  steer ; 

We  heard  you  in  our  twilight  caves, 

But  thrive  may  his  fishing,  flock,  furrow,  and  herdj 

A  hundred  fathom  deep  below, 

While  the  aged  for  anguish  shall  tear  his  gray 

For  notes  of  joy  can  pierce  the  waves, 

beard. 

That  drown  each  sound  of  war  and  woe. 

The  ship,  well-laden  as  bark  need  be, 

Those  who  dwell  beneath  the  sea 

Lies  deep  in  the  furrow  of  the  Iceland  sea ; — 

Love  the  sons  of  Thule  well ; 

The  breeze  for  Zetland  blows  fair  and  soil, 

Thus,  to  aid  your  mirth,  bring  we 

And  gayly  the  garland  is  fluttering  aloft : 

Dance,  and  song,  and  sounding  shell. 

Seven  good  fishes  have  spouted  their  last, 

Children  of  dark  Thule,  know, 

And  their  jaw-bones  are  hanging  to  yard  and  maat 

Those  who  dwell  by  haaf  and  voe, 

Two  are  for  Lerwick,  and  two  for  Kirkwall, — 

Where  your  daring  shallops  row, 

Three  for  Burgh  Westra,  the  choicest  of  alL 

Come  to  share  the  festal  show. 

Chap,  xvi, 

CLAUD  HALCRO. 

Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful-head, 

Thou  hast  Conn'd  full  many  a  rhyme, 

(5.)— NORNA'S  SONG. 

That  lives  upon  the  surge  of  time : 

Tell  me,  shall  my  lays  be  sung, 

For  leagues  along  the  watery  way, 

Like  Hacon's  of  the  golden  tongue, 

Through  gulf  and  stream  my  course  has  been ; 

Long  after  Halcro's  dead  and  gone  ? 

The  billows  know  my  Runic  lay, 

Or,  shall  Hialtland's  minstrel  own 

And  smooth  their  crests  to  silent  green. 

One  note  to  rival  glorious  John  ? 

The  billows  know  my  Runic  lay, — 

NORNA. 

The  gulf  grows  smooth,  the  stream  is  still ; 

The  infant  loves  the  rattle's  noise ; 

But  human  hearts,  more  wild  than  they, 

Age,  double  childhood,  hath  its  toys  ; 

Know  but  the  rule  of  wayward  will 

But  different  far  the  descant  rings, 

As  strikes  a  different  hand  the  strings. 

One  hour  is  mine,  in  all  the  year, 

The  eagle  mounts  the  polar  sky — 

To  tell  my  woes, — and  one  alone ; 

The  Imber-goose,  unskill'd  to  fly, 

When  gleams  this  magic  lamp,  'tis  here, — 

Must  be  content  to  glide  along, 

When  dies  the  mystic  light,  'tis  gone. 
1 

Where  seal  and  sea-dog  list  his  song. 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


69< 


CLAUD  HALCRO. 

Be  mine  the  Imber-goose  to  play, 
And  haunt  lone  cave  and  silent  bay ; 
The  archer's  aim  so  shall  I  shun — 
So  shall  I  'scape  the  levell'd  gun — 
Content  my  verses'  tuneless  jingle, 
With  Thule's  sounding  tides  to  mingle, 
While,  to  the  ear  of  wondering  wight, 
Upon  the  distant  headland's  height, 
Soften'd  by  murmur  of  the  sea, 
The  rude  sounds  seem  like  harmony  1 
*  #  *  *  * 

Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful-head, 
A  gallant  bark  from  far  abroad, 
Saint  Magnus  hath  her  in  his  road, 
With  guns  and  firelocks  not  a  few — 
A  silken  and  a  scarlet  crew, 
Deep  stored  with  precious  merchandise, 
Of  gold,  and  goods  of  rare  device — 
What  interest  hath  our  comrade  bold 
In  bark  and  crew,  in  goods  and  gold  ? 

NORNA. 

Gold  is  ruddy,  fair,  and  free, 

Blood  is  crimson,  and  dark  to  see : — 

I  look'd  out  on  Saint  Magnus  Bay, 

And  I  saw  a  falcon  that  struck  her  prey, — 

A  gobbet  of  flesh  in  her  beak  she  bore, 

And  talons  and  singles  are  dripping  with  gore  ; — 

Let  he  that  asks  after  them  look  on  his  hand, 

And  if  there  is  blood  on't,  he's  one  of  their  band. 

CLAUD  HALCRO. 

Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful-head, 
Well  thou  know'st  it  is  thy  task 
To  tell  what  Beauty  will  not  ask ; — 
Then  steep  thy  words  in  wine  and  milk, 
And  weave  a  doom  of  gold  and  silk, — 
For  we  would  know,  shall  Brenda  prove 
In  love,  and  happy  in  her  love  ? 

NORNA. 

Untouch'd  by  love,  the  maiden's  breast 
Is  like  the  snow  on  Rona's  crest, 
High  seated  in  the  middle  sky, 
In  bright  and  barren  purity ; 
But  by  the  sunbeam  gently  kiss'd, 
Scarce  by  the  gazing  eye  'tis  miss'd, 
Ere,  down  the  lonely  valley  stealing, 
Fresh  grass  and  growth  its  course  revealing, 
It  cheers  the  flock,  revives  the  flower, 
And  decks  some  happy  shepherd's  bower. 

MAGNUS  TROIL. 

Mother  speak,  and  do  not  tarry, 
Here's  a  maiden  fain  would  marry. 


Shall  she  marry,  ay  or  not  ? 
II  she  marry,  what's  her  lot  ? 

NORNA. 

"Dntouch'd  by  love,  the  maiden's  breast 
Is  like  the  snow  on  Rona's  crest ; 
So  pure,  so  free  from  earthy  dye, 
It  seems,  wliilst  leaning  on  the  sky, 
Part  of  the  heaven  to  which  'tis  nigh ; 
But  passion,  like  the  wild  March  rain, 
May  soil  the  wreath  with  many  a  stain. 
We  gaze — the  lovely  vision's  gone — 
A  torrent  fills  the  bed  of  stone, 
That  hurrying  to  destruction's  shock, 
Leaps  headlong  from  the  lofty  rock. 

Chap.  xxL 


(V.)— SONG  OF  THE  ZETLAND  FISHERMAN. 

"  While  they  were  yet  within  hearing  of  the 
shore,  they  chanted  an  ancient  Norse  ditty,  appro- 
priate to  the  occasion,  of  wliich  Claud  Halcro  had 
executed  the  following  literal  translation :" — 

Farewell,  merry  maidens,  to  song,  and  to  laugh, 
For  the  brave  lads  of  Westra  are  bound  to  the 

Haaf; 
And  we  must  have  labor,  and  hunger,  and  pain, 
Ere  we  dance  with  the  maids  of  Dunrossness  again. 

For  now,  in  our  trim  boats  of  Noroway  deal 

We  must  dance  on  the  waves,  with  the  porpoise 

and  seal ; 
The  breeze  it  shall  pipe,  so  it  pipe  not  too  high, 
And  the  gull  be  our  songstress  whene'er  she  flits  by. 

Sing  on,  my  brave  bird,  while  we  follow,  like  thee, 
By  bank,  shoal,  and  quicksand,  the  swarms  of  the 

sea; 
And  when  twenty-score  fishes  are  straining  our  line, 
Sing  louder,  brave  bird,  for  their  spoils  shall  be  thine. 

We'll  sing  while  we  bait,  and  we'll  sing  while  we 

haul, 
For  the  deeps  of  the  Haaf  have  enough  for  us  all : 
There  is  torsk  for  the  gentle,  and  skate  for  the  carle 
And  there's  wealth  for  bold  Magnus,  the  son  of  the 

earL 

Huzza!  my  brave  comrades,  give  way  for  the 

Haaf, 
We  shall  sooner  come  back  to  the  dance  and  the 

laugh ; 
For  light  without  mirth  is  a  lamp  without  oil ; 
Then,  mirth  and  long  life  to  the  bold  Magnus  Troil ' 

Chap,  xxii 


698                                         SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

(8.)— CLEVELAND'S  SONGS. 

And  you  shall  deal  my  lands  so  wide, 

1. 

And  deal  my  castles  nine. 

Love  wakes  and  weeps 

But  deal  not  vengeance  for  the  deed, 

While  Beauty  sleeps! 

And  deal  not  for  the  crime  ; 

0  for  Music's  softest  numbers, 

The  body  to  its  place,  and  the  soul  to  Heaven's 

To  prompt  a  theme, 

grace, 

For  Beauty's  dream, 

And  the  rest  in  God's  own  time. 

Soft  as  the  pillow  of  her  slumbers  I 



2. 

Saint  Magnus  control  thee,  that  martyr  of  trea- 
son; 
Saint  Ronan  rebuke  thee,  with  rhyme  and  with 

Through  groves  of  palm 

Sigh  gales  of  balm, 

reason ; 

Fire-flies  on  the  air  are  wheeling; 

By  the  mass  of  Saint  Martin,  the  might  of  Saint 

While  through  the  gloom 

Mary, 

Comes  soft  perfume, 

Be  thou  gone,  or  thy  weird  shall  be  worse  if 

The  distant  beds  of  flowers  revealing. 

thou  tarry ! 

If  of  good,  go  hence  and  hallow  thee  ; — 

3. 

If  of  ill,  let  the  earth  swallow  thee  ; — 

0  wake  and  live  1 

If  thou'rt  of  air,  let  the  gray  mist  fold  thee  ; — 

No  dream  can  give 

If  of  earth,  let  the  swart  mine  hold  thee  ; — 

A  shadow'd  bliss,  the  real  excelling ; 

If  a  Pixie,  seek  thy  ring ; — 

No  longer  sleep, 

If  a  Nixie,  seek  thy  spring ; — 

From  lattice  peep, 

If  on  middle  earth  thou'st  been 

And  list  the  tale  that  Love  is  telling. 

Slave  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  sin, 



Hast  eat  the  bread  of  toil  and  strife, 

Farewell !  Farewell  1  the  voice  you  hear, 

And  dree'd  the  lot  which  men  call  life ; 

Has  left  its  last  soft  tone  with  you, — 

Begone  to  thy  stone  !  for  thy  coffin  is  scant  of 

Its  next  must  join  the  seaward  cheer, 

thee, 

And  shout  among  the  shouting  crew. 

The  worm,  thy  play-fellow,  wails  for  the  want 

of  thee: 

The  accents  which  I  scarce  could  form 

Hence,  houseless  ghost !  let  the  earth  hide  thee, 

Beneath  your  frown's  controlling  check, 

Till  Michael  shall  blow  the  blast,  see  that  there 

Must  give  the  word,  above  the  storm, 

thou  bide  thee ! — 

To  cut  the  mast,  and  clear  the  wreck. 

Phantom,  fly  hence !  take  the  Cross  for  a  token, 

Hence  pass  till  Hallowmass ! — my  spell  is  spoken. 

The  timid  eye  I  dared  not  raise, — 



The  hand,  that  shook  when  press'd  to  thine, 

Where  corpse-light 

Must  point  the  guns  upon  the  chase — 

Dances  bright, 

Must  bid  the  deadly  cutlass  shine. 

Be  it  by  day  or  night, 

Be  it  by  light  or  dark, 

To  all  I  love,  or  hope,  or  fear, — 

There  shall  corpse  lie  stiff  and  stark. 

Honor,  or  own,  a  long  adieu ! 



To  all  that  life  has  soft  and  dear, 

Menseful  maiden  ne'er  should  rise, 

Farewell  1  save  memory  of  you  1 

Till  the  first  beam  tinge  the  skies ; 

Chap,  xxiii 

Silk-fringed  eyelids  still  should  close, 

Till  the  sun  has  kiss'd  the  rose  ; 
Maiden's  foot  we  should  not  view, 

Mark'd  with  tiny  print  on  dew, 

(9.)— CLAUD  HALCRO'S  VERSES. 

Till  the  opening  flowerets  spread 

Carpet  meet  for  beauty's  tread. 

Ani»  you  shall  deal  the  funeral  dole  ; 

Chap,  xxiii. 

Ay,  deal  it,  mother  mine, 
To  weary  body,  and  to  heavy  soul, 

The  white  bread  and  the  wine. 

(10.)— NORNA'S  INCAN  TATIONS. 

And  you  shall  deal  my  horses  of  pride ; 

CnAMPiON,  famed  for  warlike  toil, 

Ay,  deal  them,  mother  mine  ; 

Art  thou  silent,  Ribolt  Troil  ? 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


t)99 


Sand,  and  dust,  and  pebbly  stones, 
Are  leaving  bare  thy  giant  bones. 
Who  dared  touch  the  wild  bear's  skit. 
Ye  slumber'd  on,  while  life  was  in  ? — 
A  woman  now,  or  babe,  may  come 
And  cast  the  covering  from  thy  tomb. 

Y^t  be  not  wrathful,  Chief,  nor  blight 

Mine  eyes  or  ears  with  sound  or  sight  1 

I  come  not,  with  unhallow'd  tread, 

To  wake  the  slumbers  of  the  dead, 

Or  lay  thy  giant  reliques  bare ; 

But  what  I  seek  thou  well  canst  spare. 

Be  it  to  my  hand  allow'd 

To  shear  a  merk's  weight  from  thy  shroud ; 

Yet  leave  thee  sheeted  lead  enough 

To  shield  thy  bones  from  weather  rough. 

See,  I  draw  my  magic  knife — 

Never,  while  thou  wert  in  life, 

Laidst  thou  still  for  sloth  or  fear, 

When  point  and  edge  were  glittering  near; 

See,  the  cerements  now  I  sever — 

Waken  now,  or  sleep  for  ever  1 

Thou  wilt  not  wake — the  deed  is  done  ! — 

The  prize  I  sought  is  fairly  won. 

Thanks,  Ribolt,  thanks, — for  this  the  sea 
Shall  smooth  its  ruffled  crest  for  thee — 
And  while  afar  its  billows  foam, 
Subside  to  peace  near  Ribolt's  tomb. 
Thanks,  Ribolt,  thanks — for  this  the  might 
Of  wild  winds  raging  at  their  height. 
When  to  thy  place  of  slumber  ni^, , 
Shall  soften  to  a  lullaby. 

She,  the  dame  of  doubt  and  dread, 
Noma  of  the  Fitful-head, 
Mighty  in  her  own  despite, — 
Miserable  in  her  might ; 
In  despair  and  phrensy  great, 
In  her  greatness  desolate  ; 
Wisest,  wickedest  who  lives, — 
Well  can  keep  the  word  she  gives. 

Chap.  xxv. 

[AT  INTERVIEW  WITH  MINNA.] 

Thou,  so  needful,  yet  so  dread, 
With  cloudy  crest,  and  wing  of  red ; 
Thou,  without  whose  genial  breath 
The  North  would  sleep  the  sleep  of  death,- 
Who  deign'st  to  warm  the  cottage  hearth, 
Yet  hurls  proud  palaces  to  earth, — 
Brightest,  keenest  of  the  Powers, 
Which  form  and  rule  this  world  of  ours, 
With  my  rhyme  of  Runic,  I 
Thank  thee  for  thy  agency. 


Old  Reim-kennar,  to  thy  art 
Mother  Hertha  sends  her  part ; 
She,  whose  gracious  bounty  gives 
Needful  food  for  all  that  lives, 
From  the  deep  mine  of  the  North 
Came  the  mystic  metal  forth, 
Doom'd  amidst  disjointed  stones, 
Long  to  cere  a  champion's  bones, 
Disinhumed  my  charms  to  aid — 
Mother  Earth,  my  thanks  are  paid. 

Girdle  of  our  islands  dear, 
Element  of  Water,  hear  I 
Thou  whose  power  can  overwhelm 
Broken  mounds  and  ruin'd  realm 

On  the  lowly  Belgian  strand  , 
All  thy  fiercest  rage  can  never 
Of  our  soil  a  furlong  sever 

From  our  rock-defended  land ; 
Play  then  gently  thou  thy  part, 
To  assist  old  Noma's  art. 

Elements,  each  other  greeting, 

Gifts  and  power  attend  your  meeting  I 

Thou,  that  over  billows  dark 
Safely  send'st  the  fisher's  bark, — 
Giving  him  a  path  and  motion 
Through  the  wilderness  of  ocean ; 
Thou,  that  when  the  billows  brave  ye, 
O'er  the  shelves  canst  drive  the  navy,— 
Didst  thou  chafe  as  one  neglected, 
While  thy  brethren  were  respected  ? 
To  appease  thee,  see,  I  tear 
This  full  grasp  of  grizzled  hair  ; 
Oft  thy  breath  hath  through  it  sung, 
Softening  to  my  magic  tongue, — 
Now,  'tis  thine  to  bid  it  fly 
Through  the  wide  expanse  of  sky, 
'Mid  the  countless  swarms  to  sail 
Of  wild-fowl  wheeling  on  thy  gale ; 
Take  thy  portion  and  rejoice, — 
Spirit,  thou  hast  heard  my  voice  1 

She  who  sits  by  haunted  well, 

Is  subject  to  the  Nixies'  spell ; 

She  who  walks  on  lonely  beach, 

To  the  Mermaid's  charmed  speech ; 

She  who  walks  round  ring  of  green, 

Offends  the  peevish  Fairy  Queen ; 

And  she  who  takes  rest  in  the  Dwarfie's  cave, 

A  weary  weird  of  woe  shall  have. 

By  ring,  by  spring,  by  cave,  by  shore, 
Minna  Troil  has  braved  all  this  and  more ; 
And  yet  hath  the  root  of  her  sorrow  and  ill 
A  source  that's  more  deep  and  more  mystical 
stilL— 


700 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Thou  art  within  a  demon's  hold, 

More  wise  than  Heims,  more  strong  than  Trolld ; 

No  siren  sings  so  sweet  as  he, — 

No  fay  springs  lighter  on  the  lea ; 

No  elfin  power  hath  half  the  art 

To  soothe,  to  move,  to  wring  the  heart  — 

Life-blood  from  the  cheek  to  drain, 

Drench  the  eye,  and  dry  the  vein. 

Maiden,  ere  we  farther  go, 

D_ist  thou  note  me,  ay  or  no  ? 

MINNA. 

I  mark  thee,  my  mother,  both  word,  look,  and 

sign ; 
Speak  on  with  thy  riddle — to  read  it  be  mine. 


Mark  me  !  for  the  word  I  speak 

Shall  bring  the  color  to  thy  cheek. 

This  leaden  heart,  so  light  of  cost, 

The  symbol  of  a  treasure  lost, 

Thou  shalt  wear  in  hope  and  in  peace, 

That  the  cause  of  your  sickness  and  sorrow  may 

cease, 
"When  crimson  foot  meets  crimson  hand 
In  the  Martyr's  Aisle,  and  in  Orkney  land. — 

Be  patient,  be  patient ;  for  Patience  hath  power 

To  ward  us  in  danger,  like  mantle  in  shower ; 

A  fairy  gift  you  best  may  hold 

In  a  chain  of  fairy  gold  ! — 

The  chain  and  the  gift  are  each  a  true  token, 

That  not  without  warrant  old  Noma  has  spoken ; 

But  thy  nearest  and  dearest  must  never  behold 

them, 
Till  time  shall  accomplish  the  truths  I  have  told 

them. 

Chap,  xxviii. 


(::.)— BRYCE  SNAILSFOOT'S  ADVERTISE- 
MENT. 

Poor  sinners  whom  the  snake  deceives, 
Are  fain  to  cover  them  with  leaves. 
Zetland  hath  no  leaves,  'tis  true, 
Because  that  trees  are  none,  or  few ; 
But  we  have  flax  and  taits  of  woo', 
For  linen  cloth  and  wadmaal  blue ; 
And  we  have  many  of  foreign  knacks 
Of  finer  waft,  than  woo'  or  flax. 
Ye  gallanty  Lambmas  lads  appear, 
And  bring  your  Lambmas  sisters  here, 
Bryce  Snailsfoot  spares  not  cost  or  care, 
To  pleasure  every  gentle  pair. 

Chap,  xxxii. 


(12.)— MOTTOES. 
(1.)— Chap.  ii. 
Tis  not  alone  the  scene — the  man,  Anselmo, 
The  man  finds  sympathies  in  these  wild  wastes. 
And  roughly  tumbling  seas,  which  fairer  views 
And  smoother  waves  deny  him. 

Ancient  Drama. 

(2.)— Chap.  vii. 
She  does  no  work  by  halves,  yon  raving  ocean  ; 
Engulphing  those  she  strangles,  her  wild  womb 
Affords  the  mariners  whom  she  hath  dealt  on, 
Their  death  at  once,  and  sepulchre. 

Old  Play. 

(3.)— Chap.  ix. 
This  is  a  gentle  trader,  and  a  prudent — 
He's  no  Autolycus,  to  blear  your  eye, 
With  quips  of  worldly  gauds  and  gamesomenesa ; 
But  seasons  all  his  glittering  merchandise 
With  wholesome  doctrine  suited  to  the  use, 
As  men  sauce  goose  with  sage  and  rosemary. 

Old  Play. 

(4.) — Chap.  xi. 

All  your  ancient  customs, 

And  long-descended  usages,  I'll  change. 
Ye  shall  not  eat,  nor  drink,  nor  speak,  nor  move, 
Think,  look,  or  walk,  as  ye  were  wont  to  do ; 
Even  your  marriage-beds  shall  know  mutation ; 
The  bride  shall  have  the  stock,  the  groom  the  wall 
For  all  old  practice  will  I  turn  and  change, 
And  call  it  reformation — marry,  will  I ! 

,rTis  Even  that  we're  at  Odds. 

(5.) — Chap.  xrv. 
We'll  keep  our  customs — what  is  law  itself, 
But  old  establish'd  custom  ?     "What  religion 
(I  mean,  with  one-half  of  the  men  that  use  it), 
Save  the  good  use  and  wont  that  carries  them 
To  worship  how  and  where  their  fathers  worshipp'd  f 
All  things  resolve  in  custom — we'll  keep  ours. 

Old  Play. 

(6.) — Chap.  xxv. 
1  do  love  these  ancient  ruins  1 


"We  never  tread  upon  them  but  we  set 
Our  foot  upon  some  reverend  history, 
And  questionless,  here  in  this  open  court 
(Which  now  lies  naked  to  the  injuries 
Of  stormy  weather),  some  men  lie  interr'd, 
Loved  the  Church  so  well,  and  gave  so  largely  to  it, 
They  thought  it  should  have  canopied  their  bo-aes 
Till  doomsday ; — but  all  things  have  their  end — 
Churches  and  cities,  which  have  diseases  like  to  men, 
Must  have  like  death  wbich  we  have. 

Duchess  of  Malfy. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


701 


(7.) — Chap.  xxix. 
See  yonder  woman,  -whom  our  swains  revere, 
And  dread  in  secret,  while  they  take  her  counsel 
When  sweetheart  shall  be  kind,  or  when  cross 

dame  shall  die ; 
Where  lurks  the  thief  who  stole  the  silver  tankard, 
And  how  the  pestilent  murrain  may  be  cured ; — 
This  sage  adviser's  mad,  stark  mad,  my  friend; 
Yet,  in  her  madness,  hath  the  art  and  cunning 
To  wring  fools'  secrets  from  their  inmost  bosoms, 
And  pay  inquirers  with  the  coin  they  gave  her. 

Old  Play. 

(8.) — Chap.  xxx. 

What  ho,  my  jovial  mates !  come  on !  we'll  frolic  it 
Like  fairies  frisking  in  the  merry  moonshine, 
Seen  by  the  curtal  friar,  who,  from  some  chris- 
tening, 
Or  some  blithe  bridal,  hies  belated  cell-ward — 
He  starts,  and  changes  his  bold  bottle  swagger 
To  churchman's  pace  professional, — and,  ransacking 
His  treacherous  memory  for  some  holy  hymn, 
Finds  but  the  roundel  of  the  midnight  catch. 

Old  Play. 

(9.) — Chap,  xxxii. 
I  strive  like  to  the  vessel  in  the  tide-way, 
Which,  lacking  favoring  breeze,  hath  not  the  power 
To  stem  the  powerful  current. — Even  so, 
Resolving  daily  to  forsake  my  vices, 
Habit,  strong  circumstance,  renew'd  temptation, 
Sweep  me  to  sea  again. — 0  heavenly  breath, 
Fill  thou  my  sails,  and  aid  the  feeble  vessel 
Which  ne'er  can  reach  the  blessed  port  without 
thee ! 

'Tis  Odds  when  Evens  meet. 

(10.) — Chap,  xxxiii. 
Parental  love,  my  friend,  has  power  o'er  wisdom, 
And  is  the  charm,  which,  like  the  falconer's  lure, 
Can  bring  from  heaven  the  highest  soaring  spir- 
its.— 
So,  when  famed  Prosper  doff'd  his  magic  robe,  . 
It  was  Miranda  pluck'd  it  from  his  shoulders. 

Old  Play. 

(11.)— Chap,  xxxrv. 
Hark  to  the  insult  loud,  the  bitter  sneer, 
The  fierce  threat  answering  to  the  brutal  jeer ; 
Oaths  fly  like  pistol-shots,  and  vengeful  words 
Clash  with  each  other  like  conflicting  swords. — 

i  Written  after  a  week's  shooting  and  fishing,  in  which  the 
poet  had  been  engaged  with  some  friends.  The  reader  may  see 
these  verses  set  to  music  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  Melodies 
for  1828. 

'  See  the  famous  salmon-spearing  scene  in  Guy  Mannering. — 
WavcrUy  Novels,  vol.  iii.  p.  259-63. 


The  robber's  quarrel  by  such  sounds  is  shown, 
And  true  men  have  some  chance  to  gain  their  own 
Captivity,  a  Poem 

(12.) — Chap,  xxxvii. 
Over  the  mountains  and  under  the  waves, 
Over  the  fountains  and  under  the  graves, 
Over  floods  that  are  deepest, 

Which  Neptune  obey, 
Over  rocks  that  are  steepest, 
Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Old  Song 


©n  Httrfcft  fioxtfsVs  ifcountafns  Bun 


1822. 


On  Ettrick  Forest's  mountains  dun, 
'Tis  blithe  to  hear  the  sportsman's  gun, 
And  seek  the  heath-frequenting  brood 
Far  through  the  noon-day  solitude : 
By  many  a  cairn  and  trenched  mound, 
Where  chiefs  of  yore  sleep  lone  and  sound, 
And  springs,  where  gray-hair'd  shepherds  tell 
That  still  the  fairies  love  to  dwell 

Along  the  silver  streams  of  Tweed, 
'Tis  blithe  the  mimic  fly  to  lead, 
When  to  the  hook  the  salmon  springs, 
And  the  line  whistles  through  the  rings ; 
The  boiling  eddy  see  him  try, 
Then  dashing  from  the  current  high, 
Till  watchful  eye  and  cautious  hand 
Have  led  his  wasted  strength  to  land. 

'Tis  blithe  along  the  midnight  tide, 
With  stalwart  arm  the  boat  to  guide ; 
On  high  the  dazzling  blaze  to  rear, 
And  heedful  plunge  the  barbed  spear ; 
Rock,  wood,  and  scaur,  emerging  bright, 
Fling  on  the  stream  their  ruddy  light, 
And  from  the  bank  our  band  appears 
Like  Genii,  arm'd  with  fiery  spears.1 

'Tis  blithe  at  eve  to  tell  the  tale, 
How  we  succeed,  and  how  we  fail, 
Whether  at  Alwyn's3  lordly  meal, 
Or  lowlier  board  of  Ashestiel  ;4 

9  Jilwyn,  the  seat  of  the  Lord  Somerville  ;  now,  alas  f  un- 
tenanted, by  the  lamented  death  of  that  kind  and  hospitable 
nobleman,  the  author's  nearest  neighbor  and  intimate  friend 
Lord  S.  died  in  February,  1819. 

*  Ashestiel,  the  poet's  residence  at  that  time. 


702 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"While  the  gay  tapers  cheerly  shine, 
Bickers  the  fire,  and  flows  the  wine — 
Days  free  from  thought,  and  nights  from  care, 
My  blessing  on  the  Forest  fair  1 


ffaretoell  to  t|)c  ittuse.1 


1822. 


Enchantress,  fare  well,  who  so  oft  has  decoy'd  me, 
At  the  close  of  the  evening  through  woodlands 
to  roam, 
Where  the  forester,  lated,  with  wonder  espied  me 
Explore  the  wild  scenes  he  was  quitting   for 
home. 
Farewell,  and  take  with  thee  thy  numbers  wild 
speaking 
The  language  alternate  of  rapture  and  woe : 
Oh !  none  but  some  lover,  whose  heart-strings  are 
breaking, 
The  pang  that  I  feel  at  our  parting  can  know. 

Each  joy  thou  couldst  double,  and  when  there 
came  sorrow, 
Or  pale  disappointment  to  darken  my  way, 
What  voice  was  like  thine,  that  could  sing  of  to- 
morrow, 
Till  forgot  in  the  strain  was  the  grief  of  to- 
day  !  _ 
But  when  friends  drop  around  us  in  life's  weary 
waning, 
The  grief,  Queen  of  Numbers,  thou  canst  not 
assuage ; 
Nor  the  gradual  estrangement  of  those  yet  re- 
maining, 
The  languor  of  pain,  and  the  dullness  of  age. 

'Twas  thou  that  once  taught  me,  in  accents  be- 
wailing, 
To   sing  how  a  warrior  lay  stretch'd   on  the 
plain, 
Arid  a  maiden  hung  o'er  him  with  aid  unavailing, 

And  held  to  his  lips  the  cold  goblet  in  vain ; 
As  vain  thy  enchantments,  O  Queen  of  wild  Num- 
bers, 
To  a  bard  when  the  reign  of  liis  fancy  is  o'er, 
And  the  quick  pulse  of  feeling  in  apathy  slum- 
bers— 
Farewell,  then,  Enchantress !  I  meet  thee  no 
more  1 


i  Written,  during  illness,  for  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  Col- 
ection,  awl  first  published  in  1822,  united  to  an  air  composed 
jy  George  Kinloch  of  Kinloch,  Esq. 


E\tz  ittafO  of  Xsla. 

Air—"  The  Maid  of  Isla.'" 

WRITTEN  FOR  MR.  GEORGE  THOMSON'S  SCOTTISH 
MELODIES. 


1822. 


Oh,  Maid  of  Isla,  from  the  cliff, 

That  looks  on  troubled  wave  and  sky, 
Dost  thou  not  see  yon  little  skiff 

Contend  with  ocean  gallantly  ? 
Now  beating  'gainst  the  breeze  and  surge, 

And  steep'd  her  leeward  deck  in  foam, 
"Why  does  she  war  unequal  urge  ? — 

Oh,  Isla's  maid,  she  seeks  her  home. 

Oh,  Isla's  maid,  yon  sea-bird  mark,  [spray 

Her  white  wing   gleams  through  mist   and 
Against  the  storm-cloud,  lowering  dark, 

As  to  the  rock  she  wheels  away ; — 
"Where  clouds  are  dark  and  billows  rave, 

"Why  to  the  shelter  should  she  come 
Of  cliff,  exposed  to  wind  and  wave  ? — 

Oh,  maid  of  Isla,  'tis  her  home  1 

As  breeze  and  tide  to  yonder  skiff, 

Thou'rt  adverse  to  the  suit  I  bring, 
And  cold  as  is  yon  wintry  cliff, 

"Where  sea-birds  close  their  wearied  wing. 
Yet  cold  as  rock,  unkind  as  wave, 

Still,  Isla's  maid,  to  thee  I  come ; 
For  in  thy  love,  or  in  his  grave, 

Must  Allan  Vourich  find  his  home. 


<&arle,   nob   t\)t  Xfcftifl's   conu, 

BEING   NEW   WORDS   TO   AN   AULD   SPRING. 


1822. 


The  news  has  flown  frae  mouth  to  mouth, 
The  North  for  ance  has  bang'd  the  South ; 
The  deil  a  Scotsman's  die  o'  drouth, 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come .'. 

CHORUS. 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 
Thou  shalt  dance,  and  I  will  sing 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  1 

2  This  imitation  of  an  old  Jacobite  ditty  was  writter  on  tna 
appearance,  in  the  Frith  of  Forth,  of  the  fleet  which  cc*  »eyed 
his  Majesty  King  George  the  Fourth  to  Scotland,  in  Awjust, 
1822  ;  and  was  published  as  a  broadside. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


703 


Auld  England  held  him  lang  and  fast ; 
And  Treland  had  a  joyfu'  cast ; 
But  Scotland's  turn  is  come  at  last — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

Auld  Reekie,  in  her  rokelay  gray, 
Thought  never  to  have  seen  the  day ; 
He's  been  a  weary  time  away — 

But,  Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

She's  skirling  frae  the  Castle-hill ; 
The  Carline'8  voice  is  grown  sae  shrill, 
Yell  hear  her  at  the  Canon-mill — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Up  bairns !"  she  cries,  "  baith  grit  and  sma', 
And  busk  ye  for  the  weapon-shaw ! 
Stand  by  me,  and  we'll  bang  them  a' — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come  from  Newbattle's  ancient  spires, 
Bauld  Lothian,  with  your  knights  and  squires, 
And  match  the  mettle  of  your  sires — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  You're  welcome  hame,  my  Montagu ! 
Bring  in  your  hand  the  young  Buccleuch ; 
I'm  missing  some  that  I  may  rue — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  I1 

"  Come,  Haddington,  the  kind  and  gay, 
You've  graced  my  causeway  mony  a  day ; 
I'll  weep  the  cause  if  you  should  stay — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  !2 

"  Come,  premier  Duke,3  and  carry  doun 
Frae  yonder  craig*  his  ancient  croun ; 
It's  had  a  lang  sleep  and  a  soun' — 

But,  Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Come,  Athole,  from  the  hill  and  wood, 
Bring  down  your  clansmen  like  a  clud ; 
Come,  Morton,  show  the  Douglas'  blood, — ° 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come,  Tweeddale,  true  as  sword  to  sheath , 
Come,  Hopetoun,  fear'd  on  fields  of  death ; 


1  Lord  Montagu,  uncle  and  guardian  to  the  young  Duke  of 
Buccleuch,  placed  his  Grace's  residence  of  Dalkeith  at  his  Ma- 
esty's  disposal  during  his  visit  to  Scotland. 

2  Charles,  the  tenth  Earl  of  Haddington,  died  in  1828. 

8  The  Duke  of  Hamilton,  as  Earl  of  Angus,  carried  the  an- 
ient royal  crown  of  Scotland  on  horseback  in  King  George's 
procession,  from  Holyrood  to  the  Castle. 
.  *  The  Castle. 
6  MS. — "  Come,  Athole,  from  yonr  hills  and  woods, 
Bring  lown  your  Hielandmen  in  cluds, 
With  bannet,  brogue,  and  tartan  duds." 
«  Sir  George  Clerk  of  Pennycuik,  Bart.     The  Baron  of  Pen- 
»ycuik  is  bound  by  his  tenure,  whenever  the  King  comes  to 


Come,  Clerk,8  and  give  your  bugle  breath ; 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come,  Wemyss,  who  modest  merit  aids ; 
Come,  Rosebery,  from  Dalmeny  shades ; 
Breadalbane,  bring  your  belted  plaids ; 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come,  stately  Niddrie,  auld  and  true, 
Girt  with  the  sword  that  Minden  knew  ■ 
We  have  o'er  few  such  lairds  as  you — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  King  Arthur's  grown  a  common  crier 
He's  heard  in  Fife  and  far  Cantire, — 
1  Fie,  lads,  behold  my  crest  of  fire  !' T 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Saint  Abb  roars  out,  <  I  see  him  pass, 
Between  Tantallon  and  the  Bass !' 
Calton,  get  out  your  keeking-glass — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come !" 

The  Carline  stopp'd ;  and,  sure  I  am, 
For  very  glee  had  ta'en  a  dwam, 
But  Oman8  help'd  her  to  a  dram. — 

Cogie,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

Cogie,  now  the  King's  come ! 
Cogie,  now  the  King's  come  ! 
I'8e  be  fou'  and  ye's  be  toom," 
Cogie,  now  the  King's  come  1 


CARLE,  NOW  THE  KING'S  COME 


PART  SECOND. 


A  Hawick  gill  of  mountain  dew, 
Heised  up  Auld  Reekie's  heart,  I  trow, 
It  minded  her  of  Waterloo — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

Again  I  heard  her  summons  swell, 
For,  sic  a  dirdum  and  a  yell, 


Edinburgh,  to  receive  him  at  the  Harestone  (in  which  the 
standard  of  James  IV.  was  erected  when  his  army  encamped 
on  the  Boroughmuir,  before  his  fatal  expedition  to  England), 
now  built  into  the  park-wall  at  the  end  of  Tipperlin  Lone, 
near  the  Boroughmuir-head  ;  and,  standing  thereon,  to  give 
three  blasts  on  a  horn. 
*  MS. — "  Brave  Arthur's  Seat's  a  story  higher  ; 
Saint  Abbe  is  shouting  to  Kintire, — 
'  You  lion,  light  up  a  crest  of  fire.'  " 
As  seen  from  the  west,  the  ridge  of  Arthur's  Seat  bean  a 
marked  resemblance  to  a  lion  couchant. 

8  Mr.  Oman,  landlord  of  the  Waterloo  Hotel. 

9  Empty. 


704 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


It  droWd  St.  Giles's  jowing  bell — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

u  My  trusty  Provost,  tried  and  tight, 
Stand  forward  for  the  Good  Town's  right, 
There's  waur  than  you  been  made  a  knight — - 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  My  reverend  Clergy,  look  ye  say 
The  best  of  thanksgivings  ye  ha'e. 
And  warstle  for  a  sunny  day — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  1 

"  My  Doctors,  look  that  you  agree, 
Cure  a'  the  town  without  a  fee  ; 
My  Lawyers,  dinna  pike  a  plea — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Come  forth  each  sturdy  Burgher's  bairn, 
That  dints  on  wood  or  clanks  on  aim, 
That  fires  the  o'en,  or  winds  the  pirn — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

•  Come  forward  with  the  Blanket  Blue,' 
Your  sires  were  loyal  men  and  true, 
As  Scotland's  foemen  oft  might  rue — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Scots  downa  loup,  and  rin,  and  rave, 
"We're  steady  folks  and  something  grave, 
We'll  keep  the  causeway  firm  and  brave — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Sir  Thomas,3  thunder  from  your  rock,4 
Till  Pentland  dinnles  wi'  the  shock, 

i  The  Lord  Provost  had  the  agreeable  surprise  to  hear  his 
health  proposed,  at  the  civic  banquet  given  to  George  IV.  in 
the  Parliament-House,  as  "  Sir  William  Arbuthnot,  Bart." 

3  The  Blue  Blanket  is  the  standard  of  the  incorporated  trades 
of  Edinburgh,  and  is  kept  by  their  convener,  "  at  whose  ap- 
pearance therewith,"  observes  Maitland,  "  'tis  said,  that  not 

>nly  the  artificers  of  Edinburgh  are  obliged  to  repair  to  it,  but 
all  the  artificers  or  craftsmen  within  Scotland  are  bound  to  fol- 

ow  it,  and  fight  under  the  convener  of  Edinburgh  as  aforesaid." 
According  to  an  old  tradition,  this  standard  was  used  in  the 
Holy  Wars  by  a  body  of  crusading  citizens  of  Edinburgh,  and 
was  the  first  that  was  planted  on  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  when 
that  city  was  stormed  by  the  Christian  army  under  the  famous 
Godfrey.  But  the  real  history  of  it  seems  to  be  this  : — James 
III.,  a  prince  who  had  virtues  which  the  rude  age  in  which  he 
lived  could  not  appreciate,  having  been  detained  for  nine 
months  in  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh  by  his  factious  nobles,  was 
relieved  by  the  citizens  of  Edinburgh,  who  assaulted  the  castle 
*nd  took  it  by  surprise  ;  on  which  occasion  James  presented 
the  citizens  with  this  banner,  "  with  a  power  to  display  the 
same  in  defence  of  their  king,  country,  and  their  own  rights." 
•  -Note  to  this  stanza  in  the  "  Account  of  the  King's  Visit,'* 
&c,  8vo.  1822. 

8  Sir  Thomas  Bradford,  then  commander  of  the  forces  in 

Scotland . 

*  Edinburgh  Castle. 

6  Lord  Melville  was  colonel  of  the  Mid-Lothian  Yeomanry 
Cavalry  :  Sir  John  Hope  of  Pinkie,  Bart.,  Major ;  and  Robert 


And  lace  wi'  fire  my  snood  o'  smoke — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Melville,  bring  out  your  bands  of  blue, 
A'  Louden  lads,  baith  stout  and  true, 
"With  Elcho,  Hope,  and  Cockburn,  too — ■ 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  And  you,  who  on  yon  bluidy  braes 
Compell'd  the  vanquish'd  Despot's  praise, 
Rank  out — rank  out — my  gallant  Grays — * 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Cock  o'  the  North,  my  Huntly  bra', 
Where  are  you  with  the  Forty -twa  V 
Ah  !  wae's  my  heart  that  ye're  awa' — ■ 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  But  yonder  come  my  canty  Celts, 
With  durk  and  pistols  at  their  belts, 
Thank  God,  we've  still  some  plaids  and  kilts- 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Lord,  how  the  pibrochs  groan  and  yell ! 
Macdonnell's8  ta'en  the  field  himsell, 
Macleod  comes  branking  o'er  the  fell — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Bend  up  your  bow,  each  Archer  spark, 
For  you're  to  guard  him  light  and  dark ; 
Faith,  lads,  for  ance  ye've  hit  the  mark — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Young  Errol,9  take  the  sword  of  state, 
The  sceptre,  Panie-Morarchate  ;10 

Cockburn,  Esq.,  and  Lord  Elcho,  were  captains  in  the  same 
corps,  to  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  formerly  belonged. 

6  The  Scots  Grays,  headed  by  their  gallant  colonel,  General 
Sir  James  Stewart  of  Coltness,  Bart.,  were  on  duty  at  Edin- 
burgh during  the  King's  visit.  Bonaparte's  exclamation  at 
Waterloo  is  well  known:  "  Ces  beaux  chevaux  gris,  comme 
ils  travaillent !" 

7  Marquis  of  Huntly,  who  since  became  the  last  Duke  of 
Gordon,  was  colonel  of  the  42d  Regiment,  and  died  in  1836. 

8  Colonel  Ronaldson  Macdonell  of  Glengarry — who  died  in 
January,  1828. 

9  The  Earl  of  Errol  is  hereditary  Lord  High-Constable  of 
Scotland. 

io  In  more  correct  Gaelic  orthography,  Banamhorar-Chat, 
or  the  Great  Lady  (literally  Female  Lord  of  the  Chatte)  ;  th* 
Celtic  title  of  the  Countess  of  Sutherland.  "  Evin  unto  this 
day,  the  countrey  of  Sutherland  is  yet  called  Cattey,  the  in- 
habitants Catteigh,  and  the  Earl  of  Sutherland  Morweir  Cat- 
tey, in  old  Scottish  or  Irish  ;  which  language  the  inhabitants 
of  this  countrey  doe  still  use." — Gordon's  Genealogical  His- 
tory of  the  Earls  of  Sutherland,  p.  18.  It  was  determined 
by  his  Majesty,  that  the  right  of  carrying  the  sceptre  lay  with 
this  noble  family  ;  and  Lord  Francis  Leveson  Gower  (now 
Egerton),  second  son  of  the  Countess  (afterwards  Duchess)  of 
Sutherland,  was  permitted  to  act  as  deputy  for  his  mother  in 
that  honorable  office.  After  obtaining  his  Majesty's  nermis- 
sion  to  depart  for  Dunrobin  Castle,  his  place  was  supplied  by 
the  Honorable  John  M.  Stuart,  second  son  of  the  Earl  of  Mo 
ray. — Ed. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


705 


Knight  Mareschal,1  see  ye  clear  the  gate- 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

«  Kind  cummer,  Leith,  ye/ve  been  mis-set, 
But  dinna  be  upon  the  fret — 
Yese  hae  the  handsel  of  him  yet, 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  My  daughters,  come  with  een  sae  blue, 
Your  garlands  weave,  your  blossoms  strew : 
He  ne'er  saw  fairer  flowers  than  you — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

*  What  shall  we  do  for  the  propine — 
We  used  to  offer  something  fine, 

But  ne'er  a  groat's  in  pouch  of  mine — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

*  Deil  care — for  that  I'se  never  start, 
We'll  welcome  him  with  Highland  heart ; 
Whate'er  we  have  he's  get  a  part — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  I'll  show  him  mason-work  this  day — 
Nane  of  your  bricks  of  Babel  clay, 
But  towers  shall  stand  till  Time's  away — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  1 

"  I'll  show  him  wit,  I'll  show  him  lair, 
And  gallant  lads  and  lasses  fair, 
And  what  wad  kind  heart  wish  for  mair  ? — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  1 

*  Step  out,  Sir  John,2  of  projects  rife, 
Come  win  the  the  thanks  of  an  auld  wife, 
And  bring  him  health  and  length  of  life — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  !" 


iiow  %  JForttHu*  of  Jfigel. 


1822. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  i. 
Now  Scot  and  English  are  agreed, 
And  Saunders  hastes  to  cross  the  Tweed, 
Where,  such  the  splendors  that  attend  him, 
His  very  mother  scarce  had  ken'd  him. 

i  The  Author's  friend  and  relation,  the  late  Sir  Alexander 
Keith,  of  Dunottar  and  Ravelstone. 

a  MS.—"  Rise  up,  Sir  John,  of  projects  rife, 

And  wuss  him  health  and  length  of  life, 
And  win  the  thanks  of  an  auld  wife." 


His  metamorphosis  behold, 
From  Glasgow  freeze  to  cloth  of  gold ; 
His  back-sword  with  the  iron-hilt, 
To  rapier,  fairly  hatch'd  and  gilt ; 
Was  ever  seen  a  gallant  braver  ! 
His  very  bonnet's  grown  a  beaver. 

The  Reformation, 

(2.)— Chap.  n. 
This,  sir,  is  one  among  the  Seignory, 
Has  wealth,  at  will,  and  will  to  use  his  wealth. 
And  wit  to  increase  it.    Marry,  his  worst  folly 
Lies  in  a  thriftless  sort  of  charity, 
That  goes  a-gadding  sometimes  after  objects, 
Which  wise  men  will  not  see  when  tlirust  upon 
them.  The  Old  Couple. 

(3.)— Chap.  rv. 
Ay,  sir,  the  clouted  shoe  hath  ofttimes  craft  in't, 
As  says  the  rustic  proverb  ;  and  your  citizen, 
In's  grogram   suit,  gold   chain,  and  well-black'd 

shoes, 
Bears  under  his  flat  cap  ofttimes  a  brain 
Wiser  than  burns  beneath  the  cap  and  feather, 
Or  seethes  within  the  statesman's  velvet  nightcap. 
Read  me  my  Riddle. 

(4.)— Chap.  v. 
Wherefore  come  ye  not  to  court  ? 
Certain  'tis  the  rarest  sport ; 
There  are  silks  and  jewels  glistening, 
Prattling  fools  and  wise  men  listening, 
Bullies  among  brave  men  justling, 
Beggars  amongst  nobles  bustling  ; 
Low-breath'd  talkers,  minion  lispers, 
Cutting  honest  throats  by  whispers ; 
Wherefore  come  ye  not  to  court  ? 
Skelton  swears  'tis  glorious  sport. 

Skelton  Skeltonizeth. 

(5.) — Chap.  vt. 

0,  I  do  know  him — 'tis  the  mouldy  lemon 
Which  our  court  wits  will  wet  their  lips  withai, 
When  they  would  sauce  their  honeyed  conversa- 
tion 
With  somewhat  sharper  flavor. — Marry,  sir, 
That  virtue's  wellnigh  left  him — all  the  juice 
That  was  so  sharp  and  poignant,  is  squeezed  out ; 
While  the  poor  rind,  although  as  sour  as  ever, 
Must  season  soon  the  draff  we  give  our  grunters, 
For  two-legg'd  things  are  weary  on't. 

The  Chamberlain — A  Comedy. 

The  Right  Honorable  Sir  John  Sinclair,  Bart.,  author  of  "  The 
Code  of  Health  and  Longevity,"  &c.  &c.,—  the  well-known 
patron  and  projector  of  national  and  patriotic  plans  and  im 
provements  innumerable,  died  21st  December,  1835,  in  his 
eighty-second  year. — Ed 


706 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS 


(6.)— Chap.  vii. 
Things  needful  we  have  thought  on  ;  but  the  thing 
Of  all  most  needful — that  which  Scripture  terms, 
As  if  alone  it  merited  regard, 
The  one  thing  needful — that's  yet  unconsider'd. 
The  Chamberlain. 

(7.) — Chap.  viii. 
Ah !  mark  the  matron  well — and  laugh  not,  Harry, 
At  her  old  steeple-hat  and  velvet  guard — 
I've  call'd  her  like  the  ear  of  Dionysius ; 
I  mean  that  ear-form'd  vault,  built  o'er  the  dun- 
geon, 
To  catch  the  groans  and  discontented  murmurs 
Of  his  poor  bondsmen. — Even  so  doth  Martha 
Drink  up,  for  her  own  purpose,  all  that  passes, 
Or  is  supposed  to  pass,  in  this  wide  city — 
She  can  retail  it  too,  if  that  her  profit 
Shall  call  on  her  to  do  so  ;  and  retail  it 
For  your  advantage,  so  that  you  can  make 
Your  profit  jump  with  hers. 

The  Conspiracy. 

(8.)— Chap.  x. 

Bid  not  thy  fortune  troll  upon  the  wheels 
Of  yonder  dancing  cubs  of  mottled  bone  ; 
And  drown  it  not,  like  Egypt's  royal  harlot, 
Dissolving  her  rich  pearl  in  the  brimm'd  wine-cup. 
These  are  the  arts,  Lothario,  wluch  shrink  acres 
Into  brief  yards — bring  sterling  pounds    to   far- 
things, 
Credit  to  infamy  ;  and  the  poor  gull, 
Who  might  have  lived  an  honor'd,  easy  life, 
To  ruin,  and  an  unregarded  grave. 

The  Changes. 

(9.) — Chap.  xii. 

This  is  the  very  barn-yard, 

Where  muster  daily  the  prime  cocks  o'  the  game, 
Ruffle  their  pinions,  crow  till  they  are  hoarse, 
And  spar  about  a  barleycorn.     Here,  too,  chickens 
The  callow,  unfledged  brood  of  forward  folly, 
Learn  first  to  rear  the  crest,  and  aim  the  spur, 
And  tune  their  note  like  full-plumed  Chanticleer. 
The  Bear  Garden. 

(10.)— Chap.  xiii. 
Let  the  proud  salmon  gorge  the  feather'd  hook, 
Then  strike,  and  then  you  have  him. — He  will 

wince ; 
Spin  out  your  line  that  it  shall  whistle  from  you 
Some  twenty  yards  or  so,  yet  you  shall  have  him — 
Marry  !  you  must  have  patience — the  stout  rock 
Which  is  his  trust,  hath  edges  something  sharp  ; 
And  the  deep  pool  hath  ooze  and  sludge  enough 
To  mar  your  fishing — 'less  you  are  more  careful. 
Albion,  or  the  Double  Kings. 


(11.) — Chap.  xvi. 
Give  way — give  way — I  must  and  will  have  justice 
And  tell  me  not  of  privilege  and  place ; 
Where  I  am  injured,  tjiere  I'll  sue  redress. 
Look  to  it,  every  one  who  bars  my  access ; 
I  have  a  heart  to  feel  the  injury, 
A  hand  to  right  myself,  and,  by  my  honor, 
That  hand  shall  grasp  what  gray -beard  Law  denies 
me.  The  Chamberlain. 

(12.) — Chap.  xvii. 
Come  hither,  young  one — Mark  me  !  Thou  art  now 
'Mongst  men  o'  the  sword,  that  live  by  reputation 
More  than  by  constant  income — Single-suited 
They  are,  I  grant  you  ;  yet  each  single  suit 
Maintains,  on  the  rough  guess,  a  thousand  follow 

ers — 
And  they  be  men,  who,  hazarding  their  all, 
Needful  apparel,  necessary  income, 
And  human  body,  and  immortal  soul, 
Do  in  the  very  deed  but  hazard  nothing — 
So  strictly  is  that  all  bound  in  reversion ; 
Clothes  to  the  broker,  income  to  the  usurer, — 
And  body  to  disease,  and  soul  to  the  foul  fiend; 
Who  laughs  to  see  Soldadoes  and  fooladoes, 
Play  better  than  himself  his  igame  on  earth. 

The  Mohocks. 

(13.) — Chap,  xviii. 
Mother.  What !    dazzled  by  a  flash  of  Cupid's 
mirror, 
With  which  the  boy,  as  mortal  urchins  wont, 
Flings  back  the  sunbeam  in  the  eye  of  passengers- 
Then  laughs  to  see  them  stumble  ! 

Daughter.  Mother  !  no — 
It  was  a  lightning-flash  which  dazzled  me, 
And  never  shall  these  eyes  see  true  again. 

Beef  and  Pudding — An  Old  English  Comedy. 

(14.) — Chap.  xix. 
By  this  good  light,  a  wench  of  matchless  mettle !    \ 
This  were  a  leaguer-lass  to  love  a  soldier, 
To  bind  his  wounds,  and  kiss  his  bloody  brow, 
And  sing  a  roundel  as  she  help'd  to  arm  him, 
Though  the  rough  foeman's  drums  were  beat  so  nigh, 
They  seem'd  to  bear  the  burden. 

Old  Play. 

(15.) — Chap.  xx. 
Credit  me,  friend,  it  hath  been  ever  thus, 
Since  the  ark  rested  on  Mount  Ararat. 
False  man  hath  sworn,  and  woman  hath  believed— 
Repented  and  reproach' d,  and  then  believed  once 
more.  The  New  World. 

(16.) — Chap.  xxi. 
Rove  not  from  pole  to  pole — the  man  lives  here 
Whose  razor's  only  equall'd  by  his  beer  j 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


101 


And  where  in  either  sense,  the  cockney-put 
May,  if  he  pleases,  get  confounded  cut. 
Oh  the  Sign  of  an  Alehouse  kept  by  a  Barber. 

(17.) — Chap.  xxii. 
Chance  will  not  do  the  work — Chance  sends  the 

breeze ; 
But  if  the  pilot  slumber  at  the  helm, 
The  very  wind  that  wafts  us  towards  the  port 
May  dash  us  on  the  shelves. — The  steersman's  part 

is  vigilance, 
Blow  it  or  rough  or  smooth. 

Old  Play. 

(18.) — Chap,  xxiv, 
This  is  the  time — Heaven's  maiden-sentinel 
Hath  quitted  her  high  watch — the  lesser  spangles 
Are  paling  one  by  one  ;  give  me  the  ladder 
And  the  short  lever — bid  Anthony 
Keep  with  his  carabine  the  wicket-gate  ; 
And  do  thou  bare  thy  knife  and  follow  me, 
For  we  will  in  and  do  it — darkness  like  this 
Is  dawning  of  our  fortunes. 

Old  Play. 

(19.) — Chap.  xxv. 
Death  finds  us  'mid  our  playthings — snatches  us, 
As  a  cross  nurse  might  do  a  wayward  child, 
From  all  our  toys  and  baubles.     His  rough  call 
Unlooses  all  our  favorite  ties  on  earth ; 
And  well  if  they  are  such  as  may  be  answer'd 
In  yonder  world,  where  all  is  judged  of  truly. 

Old  Play. 

(20.)— Chap.  xxvi. 
Give  us  good  voyage,  gentle  stream — we  stun  not 
Thy  sober  ear  with  sounds  of  revelry ; 
Wake  not  the  slumbering  echoes  of  thy  banks 
With  voice  of  flute  and  horn — we  do  but  seek 
On  the  broad  pathway  of  thy  swelling  bosom 
To  glide  in  silent  safety. 

The  Double  Bridal. 

(21.) — Chap.  xxvn. 
This  way  lie  safety  and  a  sure  retreat ; 
Yonder  lie  danger,  shame,  and  punishment. 
Most  welcome  danger  then — Nay,  let  me  say, 
Though  spoke  with  swelling  heart — welcome  e'en 

shame ; 
And  welcome  punishment — for,  call  me  guilty, 
I  do  but  pay  the  tax  that's  due  to  justice ; 
And  call  me  guiltless,  then  that  punishment 
Is  shame  to  those  alone  who  do  inflict  it. 

The  Tribunal. 

(22,)— Chap.  xxix. 
How  fares  the  man  on  whom  good  men  would  look 
With  eyes  where  scorn  and  censure  combated, 


But  that  kind  Christian  love  hath  taught  the  les- 
son— 
That  they  who  merit  most  contempt  and  hate, 
Do  most  deserve  our  pity Old  Play. 

(23.)— Chap.  xxxi. 
Marry,  come  up,  sir,  with  your  gentle  blood ! 
Here's  a  red   stream   beneath   this    coarse   blue 

doublet, 
That  warms  the  heart  as  kindly  as  if  drawn 
From  the  far  source  of  old  Assyrian  kings, 
Who  first  made  mankind  subject  to  their  sway. 

Old  Play. 

(24.) — Chap.  xxxv. 
We  are  not  worse  at  once — the  course  of  evil 
Begins  so  slowly,  and  from  such  slight  source, 
An  infant's  hand  might  stem  its  breach  with  clay 
But  let  the  stream  get  deeper,  and  philosophy- 
Ay,  and  religion  too, — shall  strive  in  vain 
To  turn  the  headlong  torrent. 

Old  Play. 


Jrom  $n)cril  of  %  ijpeak, 


1823. 


MOTTOES. 
(1.) — Chap.  ii. 
Why  then,  we  will  have  bellowing  of  beeves, 
Broaching  of  barrels,  brandishing  of  spigots  ; 
Blood  shall  flow  freely,  but  it  shall  be  gore 
Of  herds  and  flocks,  and  venison  and  poultry, 
Join'd  to  the  brave  heart's-blood  of  John-a-Barley 
corn  1  Old  Play. 

(2.)— Chap.  rv. 
No,  sir, — I  will  not  pledge — I'm  one  of  those 
Who  think  good  wine  needs  neither  bush  nor  preface 
To  make  it  welcome.     If  you  doubt  my  word, 
Fill  the  quart-cup,  and  see  if  I  will  choke  on't. 

Old  Play. 

(3.) — Chap.  vi. 
Tou  shall  have  no  worse  prison  than  my  chamber 
Nor  jailer  than  myself. 

The  Captain. 

(4.) — Chap.  xvi. 

Ascasto.    Can  she  not  speak  ? 

Oswald.     If  speech  be  only  in  accented  sounds, 
Framed  by  the  tongue  and  lips,  the  maiden's  dumb 
But  if  by  quick  and  apprehensive  look, 
By  motion,  sign,  and  glance,  to  give  each  meaning 


'08 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Express  as  clothed  in  language,  be  term'd  speech, 
She  hath  that  wondrous  faculty ;  for  her  eyes, 
Like  the  bright  stars  of  heaven,  can  hold  discourse, 
Though  it  be  mute  and  soundless. 

Old  Play. 

(5.) — Chap.  xvii. 
This  is  a  lore  meeting  ?     See  the  maiden  mourns, 
And  the  sad  suitor  bends  his  looks  on  earth. 
There's  more  hath  pass'd  between  them  than  be- 
longs 
To  Love's  sweet  sorrows. 

Old  Play. 

(6.) — Chap.  xix. 
Now,  hoist  the  anchor,  mates — and  let  the  sails 
Give  their  broad  bosom  to  the  buxom  wind, 
Like  lass  that  woos  a  lover. 

Anonymous. 

(7.) — Chap.  xxn. 
He  was  a  fellow  in  a  peasant's  garb ; 
Yet  one  could  censure  you  a  woodcock's  carving, 
Like  any  courtier  at  the  ordinary. 

The  Ordinary. 

(8.) — Chap.  xxrv. 
"We  meet,  as  men  see  phantoms  in  a  dream, 
Which  glide  and  sigh,  and  sign,  and  move  their  lips, 
But  make  no  sound ;  or,  if  they  utter  voice, 
'Tis  but  a  low  and  undistinguish'd  moaning, 
Which  has  nor  word  nor  sense  of  utter'd  sound. 

The  Chieftain. 

(9.) — Chap.  xxv. 
The  course  of  human  life  is  changeful  still 
As  is  the  fickle  wind  and  wandering  rill ; 
Or,  like  the  light   dance  which   the  wild-breeze 

weaves 
Amidst  the  faded  race  of  fallen  leaves ; 
Which  now  its  breath  bears  down,  now  tosses  high, 
Beats  to  the  earth,  or  wafts  to  middle  sky. 
Such,  and  so  varied,  the  precarious  play 
Of  fate  with  man,  frail  tenant  of  a  day  ! 

Anonymous. 

(10.) — Chap.  xxvi. 
Necessity — thou  best  of  peacemakers, 
A.S  well  as  surest  prompter  of  invention — 
Help  us  to  composition ! 

Anonymous. 

(11.) — Chap.  xxvn. 
This  is  some  creature  of  the  elements 


Most  like  your  sea-gull.     He  can  wheel  and  whistle 
His  screaming  song,  e'en  when  the  storm  is  loud- 
est— 
Take  for  his  sheeted  couch  the  restless  foam 


Of  the  wild  wave-crest — slumber  in  the  calm, 
And  dally  with  the  storm.     Yet  'tis  a  gull, 
An  arrant  gull,  with  all  this. 

The  Chieftain. 

(12.) — Chap.  xxxi. 
I  fear  the  devil  worst  when  gown  and  cassock, 
Or,  in  the  lack  of  them,  old  Calvin's  cloak, 
Conceals  his  cloven  hoof. 

Anonymous. 

(13.) — Chap,  xxxiii. 
'Tis  the  black  ban-dog  of  our  jail — Pray  look  on  him, 
But  at  a  wary  distance — rouse  him  not — 
He  bays  not  till  he  worries. 

The  Black  Dog  of  Newgate. 

(14.) — Chap,  xxxviii. 
"Speak  not  of  niceness,  when  there's  chance  of 

wreck," 
The  captain  said,  as  ladies  writhed  their  neck 
To  see  the  dying  dolphin  flap  the  deck : 
"  If  we  go  down,  on  us  these  gentry  sup ; 
We  dine  upon  them,  if  we  haul  them  up. 
Wise  men  applaud  us  when  we  eat  the  eaters, 
As  the  devil  laughs  when  keen  folks  cheat  the 

cheaters." 

The  Sea  Voyage. 

(15.) — Chap.  xl. 

Contentions  fierce, 

Ardent,  and  dire,  spring  from  no  petty  cause. 

Albion. 

(16.) — Chap,  xliii. 
He  came  amongst  them  like  a  new-raised  spirit, 
To  speak  of  dreadful  judgments  that  impend, 
And  of  the  wrath  to  come. 

The  Reformer. 

(17.) — Chap.  xliv. 
And  some  for  safety  took  the  dreadful  leap ; 
Some  for  the  voice  of  Heaven  seem'd  calling  on 

them ; 
Some  for  advancement,  or  for  lucre's  sake — 
I  leap'd  in  frolic. 

The  Dream. 

(18.) — Chap.  xlv. 
High  feasting  was  there  there — the  gilded  roofs 
Rung  to  the  wassail-health — the  dancer's  step 
Sprung  to  the  chord  responsive — the  gay  gamestel 
To  fate's  disposal  flung  his  heap  of  gold, 
And  laugh'd  alike  when  it  increased  or  lessen'd : 
Such  virtue  hath  court-air  to  teach  us  patience 
Which  schoolmen  preach  in  vain. 

Why  come  ye  not  to  Court  f 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


109 


(19.)— Chap.  xivi. 
Here  stand  I  tight  and  trim, 
Quick  of  eye,  though  little  of  limb; 
He  who  denieth  the  word  I  have  spoken, 
Betwixt  him  and  me  shall  lances  be  broken. 

Lay  of  the  Little  John  de  Saintre. 


Itom  dHuentin  JDurtoari. 


1823. 


(1.)— SONG— COUNTY  GUY. 

Ah  1  County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh, 

The  sun  has  left  the  lea, 
The  orange  flower  perfumes  the  bower, 

The  breeze  is  on  the  sea. 
The  lark,  his  lay  who  thrill'd  all  day, 

Sits  hush'd  his  partner  nigh ; 
Breeze,  bird,  and  flower,  confess  the  hour, 

But  where  is  County  Guy  ? 

The  village  maid  steals  through  the  shade, 

Her  shepherd's  suit  to  hear ; 
To  beauty  shy,  by  lattice  high, 

Sings  high-born  Cavalier. 
The  star  of  Love,  all  stars  above, 

Now  reigns  o'er  earth  and  sky ; 
And  high  and  low  the  influence  know — 

But  where  is  County  Guy  ? 

Chap.  iv. 


(2.)— MOTTOES, 

(1.) — Chap.  xi. 
Painters  show  Cupid  blind— Hath  Hymen  eyes? 
Or  is  his  sight  warp'd  by  those  spectacles 
Which  parents,  guardians,  and  advisers,  lend  him, 
That  he  may  look  through  them  on  lands  and  man- 
sions, 
On  jewels,  gold,  and  all  such  rich  donations, 
And  see  their  value  ten  times  magnified  ? — 
Methinks  'twill  brook  a  question. 

The  Miseries  of  Enforced  Marriage, 

(2.)— Chap.  xii. 
This  is  a  lecturer  so  skill'd  in  policy, 
That  (no  disparagement  to  Satan's  cunning) 
He  well  might  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil, 
Ao.d  teach  the  old  seducer  new  temptations. 

Old  Play. 


(3.) — Chap.  xiv. 
I  see  thee  yet,  fair  France — thou  favor'd  land 
Of  art  and  nature — thou  art  still  before  me ; 
Thy  sons,  to  whom  their  labor  is  a  sport, 
So  well  thy  grateful  soil  returns  its  tribute ; 
Thy  sun-burnt  daughters,  with  their  laughing  eyes 
And  glossy  raven-locks.     But,  favor'd  France, 
Thou  hast  had  many  a  tale  of  woe  to  tell, 
In  ancient  times  as  now. 


(4.) — Chap.  xv. 
He  was  a  son  of  Egypt,  as  he  told  me, 
And  one  descended  from  those  dread  magicians, 
Who  waged   rash  war,   when   Israel   dwelt   in 

Goshen, 
With  Israel  and  her  Prophet — matching  rod 
With  his  the  sons  of  Levi's — and  encountering 
Jehovah's  miracles  with  incantations, 
Till  upon  Egypt  came  the  avenging  Angel, 
And  those  proud  sages  wept  for  their  first-born, 
As  wept  the  unletter'd  peasant. 

Anonymous 

(5.) — Chap.  xxrv. 
Rescue  or  none,  Sir  Knight,  I  am  your  captive ; 
Deal  with  me  what  your  nobleness  suggests — 
Thinking  the  chance  of  war  may  one  day  place 

you 
Where  I  must  now  be  reckon'd — i'  the  roll 
Of  melancholy  prisoners. 

Anonymous. 

(6.) — Chap.  xxv. 
No  human  quality  is  so  well  wove 
In  warp  and  woof,  but  there's  some  flaw  in  it ; 
I've  known  a  brave  man  fly  a  shepherd's  cur, 
A  wise  man  so  demean  him,  drivelling  idiocy 
Had  well   nigh   been   ashamed  on't.     For  youi 

crafty, 
Your  worldly-wise  man,  he,  above  the  rest, 
Weaves  his  own  snares  so  fine,  he's  often  caught 

in  them. 

Old  Play. 

(7.) — Chap.  xxvi. 
When  Princes  meet,  astrologers  may  mark  it 
An  ominous  conjunct! in,  full  of  boding, 
Like  that  of  Mars  with  Saturn. 

Old  Play. 

(8.) — Chap.  xxix. 
Thy  time  is  not  yet  out — the  devil  thou  servest 
Has  not  as  yet  deserted  thee.     He  aids 
The  friends  who  drudge  for  him,  as  the  blind  man 
Was  aided  by  the  guide,  who  lent  his  shoulder 
O'er  rough  and  smooth,  until  he  reach'd  the  brink 
Of  the  fell  precipice — then  hurl'd  him  downward 

Old  Play. 


710 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


(9.) — Chap.  xxx. 
Our  counsels  waver  like  the  unsteady  bark, 
That  reels  amid  the  strife  of  meeting  currents. 

Old  Play. 

(10.) — Chap.  xxxi. 
Hold   fast   thy  truth,    young   soldier.  —  Gentle 

maiden, 
Keep  you  your  promise  plight — leave  age  its  sub- 
tleties, 
And  gray-hair'd  policy  its  maze  of  falsehood ; 
But  be  you  candid  as  the  morning  sky,     , 
Ere  the  high  sun  sucks  vapors  up  to  stain  it. 

The  Trial 


irom  0t.  Honan'0  ilMl. 


1823. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap.  ii. — The  Guest. 
Quis  novus  hie  hospes  ? 

Dido  apud  Virgilium. 

Ch'm-maid ! — The  German  in  the  front  parlor ! 
Boots's  free  Translation  of  the  Eneid. 

(2.)— Chap.  hi. 
There  must  be  government  in  all  society — 
Bees  have  their  Queen,  and  stag  herds  have  their 

leader ; 
Rome  had  her  Consuls,  Athens  had  her  Archons, 
And  we,  sir,  have  our  Managing  Committee. 

The  Album  of  St.  Ronans. 

(3.)— Chap.  x. 
Come,  let  me  have  thy  counsel,  for  I  need  it ; 
Thou  art  of  those,  who  better  help  their  friends 
With  sage  advice,  than  usurers  with  gold, 
Or  brawlers  with  their  swords — I'll  trust  to  thee, 
For  I  ask  only  from  thee  words,  not  deeds. 

The  Devil  hath  met  his  Match. 

(4.) — Chap.  xi. 
Nearest  of  blood  should  still  be  next  in  love ; 
And  when  I  see  these  happy  children  playing, 
While  William  gathers  flowers  for  Ellen's  ringlets, 
And  Ellen  dresses  flies  for  William's  angle, 
I  scarce  can  think,  that  in  advancing  life, 
Coldness,  unkindness,  interest,  or  suspicion, 
Will  e'er  divide  that  unity  so  sacred, 
Which  Nature  bound  at  birth. 

Anonymous. 


(5.) — Chap,  xxiii. 
Oh !  you  would  be  a  vestal  maid,  I  warrant, 
The  bride  of  Heaven — Come — we  may  shake  youl 

purpose : 
For  here  I  bring  in  hand  a  jolly  suitor 
Hath  ta'en  degrees  in  the  seven  sciences 
That  ladies  love  best — He  is  young  and  noble, 
Handsome  and  valiant,  gay  and  rich,  and  liberal. 

The  Nun. 

(6.) — Chap,  xxxii. 
It  comes — it  wrings  me  in  my  parting  hour, 
The  long-lud  crime — the  well-disguised  guilt. 
Bring  me  some  holy  priest  to  lay  the  spectre ! 

Old  Play 

(7.) — Chap.  xxxv. 
Sedet  post  equitem  atra  cura 


Still  though  the  headlong  cavalier, 
O'er  rough  and  smooth,  in  wild  career, 

Seems  racing  with  the  wind ; 
His  sad  companion — ghastly  pale, 
And  darksome  as  a  widow's  veil, 

Cake — keeps  her  seat  behind. 

Horace. 

(8.) — Chap,  xxxviii. 
What   sheeted  ghost   is  wandering  through   the 

storm  ? 
For  never  did  a  maid  of  middle  earth 
Choose  such  a  time  or  spot  to  vent  her  sorrows. 

Old  Play. 

(9.) — Chap,  xxxix. 
Here  come  we  to  our  close — for  that  which  follows 
Is  but  the  tale  of  dull,  unvaried  misery. 
Steep  crags  and  headlong  lins  may  court  the  pencil 
Like  sudden  haps,  dark  plots,  and  strange  adven- 
tures ; 
But  who  would  paint  the  dull  and  fog- wrapt  moor, 
In  its  long  tract  of  sterile  desolation  ? 

Old  Play. 


Sjje  38annata?ne  erlufc.1 


1823. 


Assist  me,  ye  friends  of  Old  Books  and  Old  Wine, 
To  sing  in  the  praises  of  sage  Bannatyne, 

i  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  the  first  President  of  the  Club,  ana 
wrote  these  verses  for  the  anniversary  dinner  of  March,  1823 
—See  Life,  vol.  vii.  p.  137. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


Ill 


Who  left  such  a  treasure  of  old  Scottish  lore 
As  enables  each  age  to  print  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume 

more, 
"We'll   ransack   old   Banny  for    one   volume 
more. 

II. 

And  first,  Allan  Ramsay,  was  eager  to  glean 
From  Bannatyne's  Hortus  his  bright  Evergreen ; 
Two  little  light  volumes  (intended  for  four) 
Still  leave  us  the  task  to  print  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  <fec. 

III. 

His  ways  were  not  ours,  for  he  cared  not  a  pin 
How  much  he  left  out,  or  how  much  he  put  in ; 
The   truth   of  the   reading  he   thought   was  a 

bore, 
So  this  accurate  age  calls  for  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  &c. 

IV. 

Correct  and  sagacious,  then  came  my  Lord  Hailes, 

And  weigh'd  every  letter  in  critical  scales, 

But  left  out  some  brief  words,  which  the  prudish 

abhor, 
And  castrated  Banny  in  one  volume  more. 

One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume 

more, 
We'll  restore  Banny's  manhood  in  one  volume 
more. 

V. 

John  Pinkerton  next,  and  I'm  truly  concern'd 
I  can't  call  that  worthy  so  candid  as  learn'd ; 
He  rail'd  at  the  plaid  and  blasphemed  the  clay- 
more, 
And   set  Scots   by  the  ears  in  his  one  volume 
more. 
One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume 

more, 
Celt  and  Goth  shall  be  pleased  with  one  vol- 
ume more. 

1  In  accordance  with  his  own  regimen,  Mr.  Ritson  published 
a  volume  entitled,  "  An  Essay  on'  Abstinence  from  Animal 
F  x>d  as  a  Moral  Duty.     1802." 

2  See  an  account  of  the  Metrical  Antiquarian  Researches  of 
Piikerton,  Ritson,  and  Herd,  &c.  in  the  Introductory  Remarks 
#n  Popular  Poetry,  ante,  p.  544,  et  seq. 

3  James  Sibbald,  editor  of  Scottish  Poetry,  &c.  "The 
Yeditur,"  was  the  name  given  him  by  the  late  Lord  Eldin, 
then  Mr.  John  Clerk,  advocate.  The  description  of  him  here 
is  very  accurate. 

4  David  Herd,  editor  of  Songs  and  Historical  Ballads.  2 
vols.  He  was  called  Greysteel  by  his  intimates,  from  having 
been  long  in  unsuccessful  quest  of  the  romance  of  that 
iame. 

6  This  club  was  instituted  in  the  year  1822,  for  the  publication 
or  reprint  of  rare  and  curious  works  connected  with  the  history 


VI. 

As  bitter  as  gall,  and  as  sharp  as  a  zazor, 
And  feeding  on  herbs  as  a  Nebuchadnezzar,1 
His  diet  too  acid,  his  temper  too  sour, 
Little  Ritson  came  out  with  his  two  volumes  more.1 
But  one  volume,  my  friends,  one  volume  more, 
We'll  dine  on  roast-beef  and  print  one  volume 
more. 

VII. 
The  stout  Gothic  yeditur,  next  on  the  roll,8 
With  his  beard  like  a  brush  and  as  black  as  a  coal , 
And  honest  Greysteel4  that  was  true  to  the  core, 
Lent  their  hearts  and  their  hands  each  to  one  vol- 
ume more. 

One  volume  more,  &c. 

VIIL 
Since  by  these  single  champions  what  wonders 

were  done, 
What  may  not  be  achieved  by  our  Thirty  and  One  ? 
Law,  Gospel,  and  Commerce,  we  count  in  our  corps, 
And  the  Trade  and  the  Press  join  for  one  volume 
more. 

One  volume  more,  &c. 

IX. 

Ancient  libels  and  contraband  books,  I  assure  ye, 
We'll  print  as  secure  from  Exchequer  or  Jury ; 
Then  hear  your  Committee  and  let  them  count  o'ei 
The  Chiels  they  intend  in  their  three  volumes  more. 
Three  volumes  more,  <fec. 

X. 

They'll  produce  you  King  Jamie,  the  sapient  and 

Sext, 
And  the  Rob  of  Dumblane  and  her  Bishops  come 

next ; 
One  tome  miscellaneous  they'll  add  to  your  store, 
Resolving  next  year  to  print  four  volumes  more. 
Four  volumes  more,  my  friends,  four  volume.-* 

more ; 
Pay  down  your  subscriptions  for  four  volumes 
more.6 

and  antiquities  of  Scotland.  It  consisted,  at  first,  of  a  very  few 
members,— -gradually  extended  to  one  hundred,  at  which  num- 
ber it  has  now  made  a  final  pause.  They  assume  the  name  of 
the  Bannatyne  Club  from  George  Bannatyne,  of  whom  little  is 
known  beyond  that  prodigious  eflbrt  which  produced  his  pres- 
ent honors,  and  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most  singular  instances 
of  its  kind  which  the  literature  of  any  country  exhibits.  His 
labors  as  an  amanuensis  were  undertaken  during  the  time  of 
pestilence,  in  1568.  The  dread  of  infection  had  induced  him 
to  retire  into  solitude,  and  under  such  circumstances  he  had 
the  energy  to  form  and  execute  the  plan  of  saving  the  literature 
of  the  whole  nation  ;  and,  undisturbed  by  the  general  mourn- 
ing for  the  dead,  and  general  fears  of  the  living,  to  devote 
himself  to  the  task  of  collecting  and  recording  the  triumphs  of 
human  genius  in  the  poetry  of  his  age  and  country  ; — thus, 
amid  the  wreck  of  all  that  was  mortal,  employing  himself  it 


712 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


2To  3.  <&.  Hocfcfjart,  15*%. 

ON   THE   COMPOSITION   OF   MAIDA's   EPITAPH. 


1824. 


"  Maidse  Marmorea  dortnis  sub  imagine  Maida  I 
Ad  ianuam  domini  sit  tibi  terra  levis." 

See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  vii.  pp.  275-281. 

"  Dear  John, — I  some  time  ago  wrote  to  inform  his 

Fat  worship  of  jaces,  misprinted  for  dortnis  ; 

But  that  several  Southrons  assured  me  the  januam 

Was  a  twitch  to  both  ears  of  Ass  Priscian's  cra- 
nium. 

You,  perhaps,  may  observe  that  one  Lionel  Ber- 
guer, 

In  defence  of  our  blunder  appears  a  stout  arguer : 

But  at  length  I  have  settled,  I  hope,  all  these 
clatters, 

By  a  rowt  in  the  papers — fine  place  for  such 
matters. 

I  have,  therefore,  to  make  it  for  once  my  com- 
mand, sir, 

That  my  gudeson  shall  leave  the  whole  thing  in 
my  hand,  sir, 

And  by  no  means  accomplish  what  James  says 
you  threaten, 

Some  banter  in  Blackwood  to  claim  your  dog- 
Latin. 

I  have  various  reasons  of  weight,  on  my  word,  sir, 

For  pronouncing  a  step  of  this  sort  were  absurd, 
sir. — 

Firstly,  erudite  sir,  'twas  against  your  advising 

I  adopted  the  lines  this  monstrosity  lies  in ; 

For  you  modestly  hinted  my  English  translation 

Would  become  better  far  such  a  dignified  station. 

Second — how,  in  God's  name,  would  my  bacon  be 
saved, 

preserving  the  lays  by  which  mortality  is  at  once  given  to 
others,  and  obtained  for  the  writer  himself.  He  informs  us  of 
some  of  the  numerous  difficulties  he  had  to  contend  with  in 
this  self-imposed  task.  The  volume  containing  his  labors, 
deposited  in  the  Library  of  the  Faculty  of  Advocates  at  Edin- 
burgh, is  no  less  than  eight  hundred  pages  in  length,  and  very 
neatly  and  closely  written,  containing  nearly  all  the  ancient 
poetry  of  Scotland  now  known  to  exist. 

This  Caledonian  association,  which  boasts  several  names  of 
distinction,  both  from  rank  and  talent,  has  assumed  rather  a 
broader  foundation  than  the  parent  society,  the  Roxburghe 
Club  in  London,  which,  in  its  plan,  being  restricted  to  the 
reprinting  of  single  tracts,  each  executed  at  the  expense  of  an 
individual  member,  it  follows  as  almost  a  necessary  conse- 
quence, that  no  volume  of  considerable  size  has  emanated  from 
it,  and  its  range  has  been  thus  far  limited  in  point  of  utility. 
The  Bannatyne,  holding  the  same  system  with  respect  to  the 
ordinary  species  of  club  reprints,  levies,  moreover,  a  fund 
among  its  members  of  about  .£500  a  year,  expressly  to  be 
applied  for  the  editing  and  printing  of  works  of  acknowledged 
importance,  and  likely  to  be  attended  with  expense  beyond 
the  reasonable  bounds  of  an  individual's  contribution.  In  this 
way  ei  her  a  member  of  the  Club,  or  a  competent  person  under 


By  not  having  writ  what  I  clearly  engraved  ? 

On  the  contrary,  I,  on  the  whole,  think  it  better 

To  be  whipp'd  as  the  thief,  than  his  lousy  re» 
setter. 

Thirdly — don't  you  perceive  that  I  don't  care  a 
boddle 

Although  fifty  false  metres  were  flung  it  my 
noddle, 

For  my  back  is  as  broad  and  as  hard  as  Benlo- 
mon's, 

And  I  treat  as  I  please  both  the  Greeks  and  the 
Romans ; 

Whereas  the  said  heathens  might  rather  look 
serious 

At  a  kick  on  their  drum  from  the  scribe  of  Va- 
lerius. 

And,  fourthly  and  lastly — it  is  my  good  pleasure 

To  remain  the  sole  source  of  that  murderous 
measure. 

So  stet  pro  ratione  voluntas — be  tractile, 

Invade  not,  I  say,  my  own  dear  little  dactyl ; 

If  you  do,  you'll  occasion  a  breach  in  our  inter- 
course : 

To-morrow  will  see  me  in  town  for  the  winter- 
course, 

But  not  at  your  door,  at  the  usual  hour,  sir, 

My  own  pye-house  daughter's  good  prog  to  de- 
vour, sir. 

Ergo — peace  ! — on  your  duty,  your  squearnisliness 
throttle, 

And  we'll  soothe  Priscian's  spleen  with  a  canny 
third  bottle. 

A  fig  for  all  dactyls,  a  fig  for  all  spondees, 

A  fig  for  all  dunces  and  dominie  Grundys ; 

A  fig  for  dry  thrapples,  south,  north,  east,  and 
west,  sir, 

Speates  and  raxes1  ere  five  for  a  famishing  guest, 
sir; 


its  patronage,  superintends  a  particular  volume,  or  set  of  vol- 

!   umes.    Upon  these  occasions,  a  very  moderate  number  of  copies 

I   are  thrown  off  for  general  sale  ;  and  those  belonging  to  the 

i   Club  are  only  distinguished  from  the  others  by  being  printed 

'  on  the  paper,  and  ornamented  with  the  decorations,  peculiar  to 

the  Society.     In  this  way  several  useful  and  eminently  valua- 

I   ble  works  have  recently  been  given  to  the  public  for  the  first 

time,   or  at  least  with  a  degree  of  accuracy  and  authenticity 

'  which  they  had  never  before  attained. — Abridged  from  the 

Quarterly  Review — Art.  Pitcairn's  Ancient  Criminal  Tri~ 

als.     February,  1831. 

i  There  is  an  excellent  story  (but  toi  iong  for  quotation)  in  the 

Memoireof  the  Somervilles  (vol.  i.  p.  240)  about  an  old  Lord 

!  of  that  family,  who,  when  he  wished  preparations  to  be  made 

!   for  high  feasting  at  his  Castle  of  Cowthally,  used  to  send  on  a 

billet  inscribed  with  this  laconic  phrase,  "  Speates  and  raxes," 

i.  e.  spits  and  ranges.     Upon  one  occasion,  Lady  Somerville 

(being  newly  married,  and  not  yet  skilled  in  her  husband's 

;  hieroglyphics)  read  the  mandates  as  spears  and  jacks,  and 

sent  forth   200  armed   horsemen,    whose   appearance   on    the 

moors  greatly  alarmed  Lord   Somerville  and   his  guest,   who 

happened  to  be  no  less  a  person  than  King  James  III. — See 

Scott's  Miscellaneous  Prose,  vol.  xxii.  p.  312. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


713 


And  as  Fataman1  and  I  have  some  topics  for  ha- 
ver, he'll 

Be  invited,  I  hope,  to  meet  me  and  Dame  Pev- 
erii, 

Upon  whom,  to  say  nothing  of  Oury  and  Anne, 
you  a 

Dog  shall  be  deem'd  if  you  fasten  your  Janua. 


3Ltnts 


ADDRESSED    TO    MONSIEUR    ALEXANDRE,*    THE    CELE- 
BRATED VENTRILOQUIST. 


1824. 


Of  yore,  in  old  England,  it  was  not  thought  good 

To  carry  two  visages  under  one  hood ; 

What  should  folk  say  to  you  ?  who  have  faces  such 

plenty, 
That  from  under  one  hood,  you  last  night  show'd 

us  twenty ! 
Stand  forth,  arch  deceiver,  and  tell  us  in  truth, 
Are  you  handsome  or  ugly,  in  age  or  in  youth  ? 
Man,  woman,  or  child — a  dog  or  a  mouse  ? 
Or  are  you,  at  once,  each  live  tlnng  in  the  house  ? 
Each  live  thing,  did  I  ask  ? — each  dead  implement, 

too, 
A  work-shop   in  your   person, — saw,  chisel,  and 

screw  1 
Above  all,  are  you  one  individual  ?  I  know 
You  must  be  at  least  Alexandre  and  Co. 
But  I  think   you're  a  troop — an   assemblage — a 

mob, 
And  that  I,  as  the  Sheriff,  should  take  up  the 

job; 
And  instead  of  rehearsing  your  wonders  in  verse, 
Must  read   you   the  Riot-Act,  and  bid   you  dis- 
perse. 
Abbots  ford,  23<f  April? 


1  Fatsman  was  one  of  Mr.  James  Ballantyne's  many  aliases. 
Another  (to  which  Constable  mostly  adhered)  was  Mr.  "Bas- 
ka'.Sll" — an  al\usion  to  the  celebrated  printer  Baskerville. 

'  "  When  Monsieur  Alexandre,  the  celebrated  ventrilo- 
quist, was  in  Scotland,  in  1824,  he  paid  a  visit  to  Abbots- 
ford,  where  he  entertained  his  distinguished  host,  and  the 
other  visitors,  with  his  unrivalled  imitations.  Next  morn- 
ing, when  he  was  al>:ut  to  depart,  Sir  Walter  felt  a  good 
deal  embarrassed  as  to  the  sort  of  acknowledgment  he  should 
offer ;  but  at  length,  resolving  that  it  would  probably  be  most 
agreeable  to  the  young  foreigner  to  be  paid  in  professional 
coin,  if  in  any,  he  stepped  aside  for  a  few  minutes,  and  on 
returning,  presented  him  with  this  epigram.  The  reader 
need  hardly  be  reminded  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  held  the  of- 
fice of  Sheriff  of  the  county  of  Selkirk."— Scotch  newspaper, 
1°30. 

The  lines,  with  thia  date,  appeared  in  the  Edinburgh  An- 
aJ  Register  of  1824 
90 


Baflosue 

TO  THE  DRAMA  FOUNDED  ON  "  ST.  RONAN's  WELT  " 


1824. 


"After  the  play,  the  following  humorous  address 
(ascribed  to  an  eminent  literary  character)  was 
spoken  with  infinite  effect  by  Mr.  Mackay  in  the 
character  of  Meg  Dodds." — Edinburgh  Weekly 
Journal,  9th  June,  1824. 

Enter  Meg  Dodds,  encircled  by  a  crowd  of  unruly 
boys,  whom  a  town' 's-officer  is  driving  off. 

That's  right,  friend — drive  the  gaitlings  back, 
And  lend  yon  muckle  ane  a  whack ; 
Your  Embro'  bairns  are  grown  a  pack, 

Sae  proud  and  saucy, 
They  scarce  will  let  an  auld  wife  walk 

Upon  your  causey. 

I've  seen  the  day  they  would  been  scaur' d 
Wi'  the  Tolbooth,  or  wi'  the  Guard, 
Or  maybe  wud  hae  some  regard 

For  Jamie  Laing — * 
The  Water-hole8  was  right  weel  wared 

On  sic  a  gang. 

But  whar's  the  gude  Tolbooth6  gane  now 
Whar's  the  auld  Claught,7  wi'  red  and  blue  ? 
Whar's  Jamie  Laing  ?  and  whar's  John  Doo  ?" 

And  whar's  the  Weigh-house?* 
Deil  hae't  I  see  but  what  is  new, 

Except  the  Playhouse  1 

Yoursells  are  changed  frae  head  to  heel, 
There's  some  that  gar  the  causeway  reel 
With  clashing  hufe  and  rattling  wheel, 

And  horses  canterin', 
Wha's  fathers  daunder'd  hame  as  weel 

Wi'  lass  and  lantern. 


4  James  Laing-  was  one  of  the  Depute-Clerks  of  the  city  v 
Edinburgh,  and  in  his  official  connection  with  the  Police  and 
the  Council-Chamber,  his  name  was  a  constant  terror  to  ct'1- 
doers.     He  died  in  February,  1806. 

6  The  Watch-hole. 

«  The  Tolbooth  of  Edinburgh,  The  Heart  of  Mid -Lothian, 
was  pulled  down  in  1817. 

">  The  ancient  Town  Guard.  The  reduced  remnant  of  thii 
body  of  police  was  finally  disbanded  in  1817. 

8  John  Doo,  or  Dhu — a  terrific-looking  and  high-spirited 
member  of  the  Town  Guard,  and  of  whom  there  is  a  print  by 
Kay,  etched  in  1784. 

»  The  Weigh-House,  situated  at  the  head  of  the  West  Bow, 
Lawnmarket,  and  which  had  long  been  looked  upon  as  an  en- 
cumbrance to  the  street,  was  demolished  in  order  to  make  way 
for  the  royal  procession  to  the  Castle,  which  took  place  on  tho 
22d  of  August,  1822. 


714 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Mysell  being  in  the  public  line, 

I  look  for  howfs  I  kenn'd  lang  syne, 

Whar  gentles  used  to  drink  gude  wine, 

And  eat  cheap  dinners  ; 
But  deil  a  soul  gangs  there  to  dine, 

Of  saints  or  sinners ! 

fortune's1  and  Hunter's2  gane,  alas ! 
And  Bayle's3  is  lost  in  empty  space ; 
And  now  if  folk  would  splice  a  brace, 

Or  crack  a  bottle, 
They  gang  to  a  new-fangled  place 

They  ca'  a  Hottle. 

The  deevil  hottle  them  for  Meg ! 
They  are  sae  greedy  and  sae  gleg, 
That  if  ye're  served  but  wi'  an  egg 

(And  that's  puir  pickin'), 
In  comes  a  chiel  and  makes  a  leg, 

And  charges  chicken  1 

"  And  wha  may  ye  be,"  gin  ye  speer, 

"  That  brings  your'  auld-warld  clavers  here  I" 

Troth,  if  there's  onybody  near 

That  kens  the  roads, 
I'll  haud  ye  Burgundy  to  beer, 

He  kens  Meg  Dodds. 

I  came  a  piece  frae  west  o'  Currie ; 
And,  since  I  see  you're  in  a  hurry, 
Your  patience  I'll  nae  laager  worry, 

But  be  sae  crouse 
As  speak  a  word  for  ane  Will  Murray,4 

That  keeps  tins  house. 

Plays  are  auld-fashion'd  things,  in  truth, 
And  ye've  seen  wonders  mair  uncouth  ; 
Yet  actors  shouldna  suffer  drouth, 

Or  want  of  dramock, 
Although  they  speak  but  wi'  their  mouth, 

Not  with  their  stamock. 

But  ye  tak  care  of  a'  folk's  pantry ; 

And  surely  to  hae  stooden  sentry 

Ower  this  big  house  (that's  far  frae  rent-free), 

For  a  lone  sister, 
Is  claims  as  gude's  to  be  a  ventri — 

How'st  ca'd — loqu:3te** 

i  Fortune's  Tavern — a  house  on  the  west  side  of  the  Old 
Stamp-office  Close,  High  Street,  and  which  was,  in  the  early 
part  of  the  last  century,  the  mansion  of  the  Earl  of  Eglintoun. 
— The  Lord  High  Commissioner  to  the  General  Assembly  of 
the  day  held  his  levees  and  dinners  in  this  tavern. 

2  Hunter's — another  once  much-frequented  tavern,  in  Wri- 
ter's Court,  Royal  Exchange. 

3  Bayle's  Tavern  and  Coffeehouse,  originally  on  the  North 
Bridge,  east  side,  afterwards  in  Shakspeare  Square,  b:it  re- 
moved to  admit  of  the  opening  of  Waterloo  Place.  Such  was 
the  dignified  charactei  of  this  house,  that  the  waiter  always 


Weel,  sirs,  gude'en,  and  have  a  care, 
The  banns  mak  fun  o'  Meg  nae  mair  ; 
For  gin  they  do,  she  tells  you  fair, 

And  without  failzie, 
As  sure  as  ever  ye  sit  there, 

She'll  tell  the  Bailie 


Hpflofltte.6 


1824. 


The  sages — for  authority,  pray  look 

Seneca's  morals,  or  the  copy-book — 

The  sages  to  disparage  woman's  power, 

Say,  beauty  is  a  fair,  but  fading  flower  ; — 

I  cannot  tell — I've  small  philosophy — 

Yet,  if  it  fades,  it  does  not  surely  die, 

But,  like  the  violet,  when  decayed  in  bloom, 

Survives  through  many  a  year  in  rich  perfume. 

Witness  our  theme  to-night,  two  ages  gone, 

A  third  wanes  fast,  since  Mary  fill'd  the  throne. 

Brief  was  her  bloom,  with  scarce  one  sunny  day, 

'Twixt  Pinkie's  field  and  fatal  Fotheringay : 

But  when,  while  Scottish  hearts  and  blood  you 

boast, 
Shall  sympathy  with  Mary's  woes  be  lost  ? 
O'er  Mary's  mem'ry  the  learned  quarrel, 
By  Mary's  grave  the  poet  plants  his  laurel, 
Time's  echo,  old  tradition,  makes  her  name 
The  constant  burden  of  his  fault'ring  theme ; 
In  each  old  hall  his  gray-hair'd  heralds  tell 
Of  Mary's  picture,  and  of  Mary's  cell, 
And  show — my  fingers  tingle  at  the  thought — ■ 
The   loads  of  tapestry  which  that   poor   Queen 

wrought, 
In  vain  did  fate  bestow  a  double  dower 
Of  ev'ry  ill  that  waits  on  rank  and  pow'r, 
Of  ev'ry  ill  on  beauty  that  attends — 
False  ministers,  false  lovers,  and  false  friends. 
Spite  of  three  wedlocks  so  completely  curst, 
They  rose  in  ill  from  bad  to  worse,  and  worst, 
In  spite  of  errors — I  dare  not  say  more, 
For  Duncan  Targe  lays  hand  on  his  claymore. 
In  spite  of  all,  however,  humors  vary, 
There  is  a  talisman  in  that  word  Mary, 

appeared  in  full  dress,  am.  u&bjdy  was  admitted  who  had  not 
a  white  neckcloth — then  cai^sidered  an  indispensable  insignium 
of  a  gentleman 

*  Mr.  William  Murray  became  manager  of  the  Edinburgh 
Theatre  in  1815. 

6  "  I  recovered  the  above  with  some  difficulty.  I  believe  it 
was  never  spoken,  but  written  for  some  play,  afterwards  with- 
drawn, in  which  Mrs.  H.  Siddons  was  to  have  spoken  it  in  the 
character  of  Queen  Mary." — Extract  from  a  Letter  of  Sir 
W«l*V  Scott  to  Mr.  Constable,  92d  October,  1824. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  IJiECES. 


7U 


That  unto  Scottish  bosoms  all  and  some 
Is  found  the  genuine  open  semvium  I 
In  history,  ballad,  poetry,  or  novel, 
ft  charms  alike  the  castle  and  the  hovel, 
Er.n  you — forgive  me — who,  demure  and  shy, 
Gorge  not  each  bait,  nor  stir  at  every  fly, 
Must  rise  to  this,  else  in  her  ancient  reign 
The  Roee  of  Scotland  has  survived  in  vain. 


from  JUijcttrntlet. 


1824. 


"  It  was  but  three  nights  ago,  that,  worn 

out  by  the  uniformity  of  my  confinement,  I  had 
manifested  more  symptoms  of  despondence  than  I 
had  before  exhibited,  which  I  conceive  may  have 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  domestics,  through 
whom  the  circumstance  might  transpire.  On  the 
next  morning,  the  following  lines  lay  on  my  table  ; 
but  how  conveyed  there,  I  cannot  tell.  The  hand 
in  which  they  are  written  is  a  beautiful  Italian 
manuscript." — Dairsie  Latimer's  Journal,  Chap.  x. 

As  lords  their  laborers'  hire  delay, 
Fate  quits  our  toil  with  hopes  to  come, 

"Which,  if  far  short  of  present  pay, 
Still  owns  a  debt  and  names  a  sum. 

Quit  not  the  pledge,  frail  sufferer,  then, 
Although  a  distant  date  be  given; 

Despair  is  treason  towards*  man, 
And  blasphemy  to  Heaven. 


from  (HI)*  Betrotljeir. 


1825. 


(1.)— SONG— SOLDIER,  WAKE. 

L 

Soldier,  wake — the  day  is  peeping, 
Honor  ne'er  was  won  in  sleeping, 
Never  when  the  sunbeams  still 
Lay  unreflected  on  the  hill : 
'Tis  when  they  are  glinted  back 
From  axe  and  armor,  spear  and  jack, 
That  they  promise  future  story 
Many  a  page  of  deathless  glory. 
Shields  that  are  the  foeman's  terror, 
Ever  are  the  morning's  mirror. 


IL 

Arm  and  up — the  morning  beam 
Hath  call'd  the  rustic  to  his  team, 
Hath  call'd  the  falc'ner  to  the  lake, 
Hath  call'd  the  huntsman  to  the  brake  • 
The  early  student  ponders  o'er 
His  dusty  tomes  of  ancient  lore. 
Soldier,  wake — thy  harvest,  fame ; 
Thy  study,  conquest ;  war,  thy  game. 
Shield,  that  would  be  foeman's  terror, 
Still  should  gleam  the  morning's  mirror. 

III. 
Poor  hire  repays  the  rustic's  pain  ; 
More  paltry  still  the  sportsman's  gain : 
Vainest  of  all  the  student's  theme 
Ends  in  some  metaphysic  dream  : 
Yet  each  is  up,  and  each  has  toil'd 
Since  first  the  peep  of  dawn  has  smiled . 
And  each  is  eagerer  in  his  aim 
Than  he  who  barters  life  for  fame. 
Up,  up,  and  arm  thee,  son  of  terror ! 
Be  thy  bright  shield  the  morning's  mirror. 

Chap.  xix. 


(2.)— SONG— THE  TRUTH  OF  WOMAN. 


Woman's  faith,  and  woman's  trust — 
"Write  the  characters  in  dust ; 
Stamp  them  on  the  running  stream, 
Print  them  on  the  moon's  pale  beam, 
And  each  evanescent  letter 
Shall  be  clearer,  firmer,  better, 
And  more  permanent,  I  ween, 
Than  the  thing  those  letters  mean. 

II. 
I  have  strain'd  the  spider's  thread 
'Gainst  the  promise  of  a  maid ; 
I  have  weigh'd  a  grain  of  sand 
'Gainst  her  plight  of  heart  and  hand , 
I  told  my  true-love  of  the  token, 
How  her  faith  proved  fight,  and  her  word  wsa 

broken : 
Again  her  word  and  truth  she  plight, 
And  I  believed  them  again  ere  night. 

Chap,  xx 


(3.)_SONG— I  ASKED  OF  MY  HARP. 

"The  minstrel  took  from  his  side  a  rote, 

and  striking,  from  time  to  time,  a  Welsh  descant 


716                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

sung  at  others  a  lay,  of  which  we  can  offer  oily  a 

Dull  Peace  !  the  valley  yields  to  thee, 

few  fragments,  literally  translated  from  the  an- 

And owns  thy  melancholy  sway. 

cient  language  in  which  they  were  chanted,  pre- 

Welsh Poem, 

mising  that  they  are  in  that  excursive  symbolical 

style  of  poetry,  winch  Taliessin,  Llewarch,  Hen, 

(2.)— Chap.  vn. 

and  other  bards,  had  derived  perhaps  from  the 

0,  sadly  shines  the  morning  sun 

time  of  the  Druids." 

On  leaguer'd  castle  wall, 

When  bastion,  tower,  and  battlement, 

T  ask'd  of  my  harp,  "  Who  hath  injured  thy  chords  ?" 

Seem  nodding  to  their  fall. 

And  she  replied,  "The  crooked  finger,  which  I 

Old  Ballad. 

mocked  in  my  tune." 

A  blade  of  silver  may  be  bended — a  blade  of  steel 

(3.) — Chap.  xii. 

abideth — 

Now  all  ye  ladies  of  fair  Scotland, 

Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

And  ladies  of  England  that  happy  would 

prove, 

The  sweet  taste  of  mead  passeth  from  the  lips, 

Marry  never  for  houses,  nor  marry  for  land, 

But  they  are  long  corroded  by  the  juice  of  worm- 

Nor marry  for  nothing  but  only  love. 

wood; 

Family  Quarrels, 

The  lamb  is  brought  to  the  shambles,  but  the  wolf 

rangeth  the  mountain ; 

(4.) — Chap.  xiii. 

Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

Too  much  rest  is  rust, 

There's  ever  cheer  in  changing ; 

I  ask'd  the  red-hot  iron,  when  it  glimmer'd  on  the 

We  tyne  by  too  much  trust, 

anvil, 

So  we'll  be  up  and  ranging. 

"Wherefore  glowest  thou  longer  than  the  fire- 

Old Song. 

brand  ?" 

"  I  was  born  in  the  dark  mine,  and  the  brand  in 

(5.) — Chap.  xvii. 

the  pleasant  greenwood." 

Ring  out  the  merry  bells,  the  bride  approaches. 

Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

The  blush  upon  her  cheek  has  shamed  the  morning 

For  that  is  dawning  palely.     Grant,  good  saints, 

I  ask'd  the  green  oak  of  the  assembly,  wherefore 

These  clouds  betoken  naught  of  evil  omen  ! 

its  boughs  were  dry  and  sear'd  like  the 

Old  Play. 

horns  of  the  stag ; 

And  it  show'd  me  that  a  small  worm  had  gnaw'd 

(6.) — Chap,  xxvii 

its  roots. 

Julia.         Gentle  sir, 

The  boy  who  remembered  the  scourge,  undid  the 

You  are  our  captive — but  we'll  use  you  so, 

wicket  of  the  castle  at  midnight. 

That  you  shall  think  your  prison  joys  may  match 

Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

Whate'er  your  liberty  hath  known  of  pleasure. 

Roderick.  No,  fairest,  we  have  trifled  here  too 

Lightning  destroyeth  temples,  though  their  spires 

long ; 

pierce  the  clouds ; 

And,  lingering  to  see  your  roses  blossom. 

Storms  destroy  armadas,  though  their  sails  inter- 

I've let  my  laurels  wither. 

cept  the  gale. 

Old  Play. 

He  that  is  in  his  glory  falleth,  and  that  by  a  con- 

temptible enemy. 

Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

Chap.  xxxi. 

Svom  ®Ije  Salteman. 

(4.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.) — Chap.  ii. 
In  Madoc's  tent  the  clarion  sounds, 

1825. 

(1.)— AHPJMAN. 

With  rapid  clangor  hurried  far ; 

"  So  wiyiner,  ithe  Saracen  proceeded  to  chant 

Each  hill  and  dale  the  note  rebounds, 

verses,  very  ancient  in  the  language  and  structure 

But  when  return  the  sons  of  war  1 

which  some  have  thought  denve  their  source  fi  om 

Thou,  born  of  stern  Necessity, 

the  worshippers  of  Arimanes,  the  Evil  Principle." 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.                        71r4 

Dark  Ahriman,  whom  Irak  still 

Thou  rul'st  the  fate  of  men  ; 

Holds  origin  of  woe  and  ill ! 

Thine  are  the  pangs  of  life's  last  hour, 

When,  bending  at  thy  shrine, 

And — who  dare  answer  ? — is  thy  power, 

We  view  the  world  with  troubled  eye, 

Dark  Spirit  1  ended  Then  ? 

Where  see  we  'neath  the  extended  sky, 

Chap.  hi. 

An  empire  matching  thine ! 
If  the  Benigner  Power  can  yield 

A  fountain  in  the  desert  field, 

Where  weary  pilgrims  drink ; 

(2.)— SONG  OF  BLONDEL.— THE  BLOODY 

Thine  are  the  waves  that  lash  the  rock, 

VEST. 

Thine  the  tornado's  deadly  shock, 

Where  countless  navies  sink  I 

"  The  song  of  Blondel  was,  of  course,  in  the  Nor 

man  language  ;   but  the  verses  winch  follow  ex 

Or  if  He  bid  the  soil  dispense 

press  its  meaning  and  its  manner." 

Balsams  to  cheer  the  sinking  sense, 

How  few  can  they  deliver 

'Twas  near  the  fair  city  of  Benevent, 

From  lingering  pains,  or  pang  intense, 

When  the  sun  was  setting  on  bough  and  bent, 

Red  Fever,  spotted  Pestilence, 

And  knights  were  preparing  in  bower  and  tent. 

The  aiTows  of  thy  quiver ! 

On  the  eve  of  the  Baptist's  tournament ; 

When  in  Lincoln-green  a  stripling  gent, 

Chief  in  Man's  bosom  sits  thy  sway, 

Well  seeming  a  page  by  a  princess  sent, 

And  frequent,  while  in  words  we  pray 

Wander'd  the  camp,  and,  still  as  he  went, 

Before  another  throne, 

Inquired  for  the  Englishman,  Thomas  a  Kent. 

Whate'er  of  specious  form  be  there, 

The  secret  meaning  of  the  prayer 

Far  hath  he  fared,  and  farther  must  fare, 

Is,  Ahriman,  thine  own. 

Till  he  finds  his  pavilion  nor  stately  nor  rare, — 

Little  save  iron  and  steel  was  there  ; 

Say,  hast  thou  feeling,  sense,  and  form, 

And,  as  lacking  the  coin  to  pay  armorer's  care, 

Thunder  thy  voice,  thy  garments  storm, 

Witli  his  sinewy  arms  to  the  shoulders  bare, 

As  Eastern  Magi  say ; 

The  good  knight  with  hammer  and  file  did  repair 

With  sentient  soul  of  hate  and  wrath, 

The  mail  that  to-morrow  must  see  him  wear, 

And  wings  to  sweep  thy  deadly  path, 

For  the  honor  of  Saint  John  and  his  lady  fair. 

And  fangs  to  tear  thy  prey  ? 

"  Thus  speaks  my  lady,"  the  page  said  he, 

Or  art  thou  mix'd  in  Nature's  source, 

And  the  knight  bent  lowly  both  head  and  knee. 

An  ever-operating  force, 

"  She  is  Bene  vent's  Princess  so  high  in  degree, 

Converting  good  to  ill ; 

And  thou  art  as  lowly  as  knight  may  well  be — 

An  evil  principle  innate, 

He  that  would  climb  so  lofty  a  tree, 

Contending  with  our  better  fate, 

Or  spring  such  a  gulf  as  divides  her  from  thee, 

And  oh !  victorious  still  ? 

Must  dare  some  high  deed,  by  winch  all  men  may 

Howe'er  it  be,  dispute  is  vain. 

see 
His  ambition  is  back'd  by  his  high  chivalrie. 

On  all  without  thou  hold'st  thy  reign, 

Nor  less  on  all  within ; 

"  Therefore  thus  speaks  my  lady,"  the  fair  page  he 

Each  mortal  passion's  fierce  career, 

said, 

Love,  hate,  ambition,  joy,  and  fear, 

And  the  knight  lowly  louted  with  hand  and  with 

Thou  goadest  into  sin. 

head, 

"  Fling  aside  the  good  armor  in  which  thou  art  clad, 

Whene'er  a  sunny  gleam  appears, 

And  don  thou  this  weed  of  her  night-gear  instead, 

To  brighten  up  our  vale  of  tears, 

For  a  hauberk  of  steel,  a  kirtle  of  thread ; 

Thou  art  not  distant  far  ; 

And  charge,  thus  attired,  in  the  tournament  dread, 

'Mid  such  brief  solace  of  our  lives, 

And  fight  as  thy  wont  is  where  most  blood  is  shed, 

Thou  whett'st  our  very  banquet-knives 

And  bring  honor  away,-  or  remain  with  the  dead." 

To  tools  of  death  and  war. 

Untroubled  in  his  look,  and  untroubled  in  his  I  reast, 

Thus,  from  the  moment  of  our  birth, 

The  knight  the  weed  hath  taken,  and  reverently 

Long  as  we  linger  on  the  earth, 

hath  kiss'd : 

H8 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  Now  bless'd  be  the  moment,  the  messenger  be 

blest ! 
Much  honor'd  do  I  hold  me  in  my  lady's  high  behest ! 
Ami  say  unto  my  lady,  in  this  dear  night -wee  I 

dress'd, 
To  the  best  arm'd  champion  I  will  not  veil  my 

crest ; 
But  if  I  live  and  bear  me  well,  'tis  her  turn  to  take 

the  test." 
Here,  gentles,  ends  the  foremost  fytte  of  the  Lay 

of  the  Bloody  Vest. 


THE  BLOODY  VEST. 


FYTTE  SECOND. 


The  Baptist's  fair  morrow  beheld  gallant  feats — 
There  was  winning  of  honor,  and  losing  of  seats — 
There  was  hewing  with  falchions,  and  splintering 

of  staves, 
The  victors  won  glory,  the  vanquish'd  won  graves. 
0,  many  a  knight  there  fought  bravely  and  well, 
Yet  one  was  accounted  his  peers  to  excel, 
And  'twas  he  whose  sole  armor  on  body  and  breast, 
Seem'd  the  weed  of  a  damsel  when  boune  for  her 

rest. 

There  were  some    dealt  him  wounds   that  were 

bloody  and  sore, 
But  others  respected  his  plight,  and  forbore. 
"  It  is  some  oath  of  honor,"  they  said,  "  and  I  trow, 
'Twere  unknightly  to  slay  him  achieving  his  vow." 
Then  the  Prince,  for  his  sake,  bade  the  tournament 

cease, 
He  flung  down   his  warder,  the   trumpets    sung 

peace ; 
And  the  judges  declare,  and  competitors  yield, 
That  the  Knight  of  the  Night-gear  was  first  in  the 

field. 

The  feast  it  was  nigh,  and  the  mass  it  was  nigher, 
When  before  the  fair  Princess  low  louted  a  squire, 
And  deliver'd  a  garment  unseemly  to  view, 
With  sword-cut  and  spear-thrust,  all  hack'd  and 

pierced  through ; 
All  rent  and  all  tatter'd,  all  clotted  with  blood, 
With  foam  of  the  horses,  with  dust,  and  with  mud, 
Not  the  point  of  that  lady's  small  finger,  I  ween, 
Could  have  rested  on  spot  was  unsullied  and  clean. 

"  Tins  token  my  master,  Sir  Thomas  a  Kent, 
Restores  to  the  Princess  of  fair  Benevent ; 
He  that  climbs  the  tall  tree  has  won  right  to  the 
fruit,  [suit ; 

He  that  leaps  the  wide  gulf  should  prevail  in  his 
Through  life's  utmost  peril  the  prize  I  have  won, 


And  now  must  the  faith  of  my  mistress  be  shown 
For  she  who  prompts  knights  on  such  danger  to  run 
Must  avouch  his  true  service  in  front  of  the  sun. 

u '  I  restore,'  says  my  master,  '  the  garment  I've 

worn, 
And  I  claim  of  the  Princess  to  don  it  in  tui*n ; 
For  its  stains  and  its  rents  she  should  prize  it  the 

more, 
Since  by  shame  'tis  unsullied,  though  crimson'd 

with  gore.' "  [press'd 

Then  deep  blush'd  the  Princess — yet  kiss'd  she  and 
The  blood-spotted  robes  to  her  lips  and  her  breast. 
"  Go  tell  my  true  knight,  church  and  chamber  shall 

show 
If  I  value  the  blood  on  this  garment  or  no." 

And  when  it  was  time  for  the  nobles  to  pass, 
In  solemn  procession  to  minster  and  mass, 
The  first  walk'd  the  Princess  in  purple  and  pall, 
But  the  blood-besmear'd  night-robe  she  wore  ovei 

all; 
And  eke,  in  the  hall,  where  they  all  sat  at  dine 
When  she  knelt  to  her  father  and  proffer'd  the  wine, 
Over  all  her  rich  robes  and  state  jewels,  she  wore 
That  wimple  unseemly  bedabbled  with  gore. 

Then  lords  whisper'd  ladies,  as  well  you  may  think, 
And  ladies  replied,  with  nod,  titter,  and  wink  ; 
And  the  Prince,  who  in  anger  and  shame  had  look'd 

down,  [a  frown : 

Tum'd  at  length  to  his  daughter,  and  spoke  with 
"  Now  since  thou  hast  publish'd  thy  folly  and  guilt, 
E'en  atone  with  thy  hand  for  the  blood  thou  hast 

spilt ; 
Yet  sore  for  your  boldness  you  both  will  repent, 
When  you  wander  as  exiles  from  fair  Benevent." 

Then  out  spoke  stout  Thomas,  in  hall  where  he 

stood, 
Exhausted  and  feeble,  but  dauntless  of  mood : 
"  The  blood  that  I  lost  for  this  daughter  of  thine, 
I  pour'd  forth  as  freely  as  flask  gives  its  wine ; 
And  if  for  my  sake  she  brooks  penance  and  blame, 
Do  not  doubt  I  will  save  her  from  suffering  and 

shame ; 
And  light  will  she  reck  of  thy  princedom  and  rent, 
When  I  hail  her,  in  England,  the  Countess  of  Kent." 

Chap,  xxvl 


(3.)— M  0  T  T  0  E  S . 

(1.) — Chap.  ix. 
This  is  the  Prince  of  Leeches  ;  fever,  plague, 
Cold  rheum,  and  hot  podagra,  do  but  look  on  him 
And  quit  their  grasp  upon  the  tortured  sinews. 

Anonymous. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


719 


(2.) — Chap.  xi. 
One  thing  is  certain  in  our  Northern  land, 
Allow  that  birth,  or  valor,  wealth,  or  wit, 
Give  each  precedence  to  their  possessor, 
Envy,  that  follows  on  such  eminence, 
As  conies  the  lyme-hound  on  the  roebuck's  trace, 
Shall  pull  them  down  each  one. 

Sir  David  Lindsay. 

(3.) — Chap.  xiii. 
You  talk  of  Gayety  and  Innocence  ! 
The  moment  when  the  fatal  fruit  was  eaten, 
They  parted  ne'er  to  meet  again  ;  and  Malice 
Has  ever  since  been  playmate  to  light  Gayety 
From  the  first  moment  when  the  smiling  infant 
Destroys  the  flower  or  butterfly  he  toys  with, 
To  the  last  chuckle  of  the  dying  miser, 
Who  on  his  deathbed  laughs  his  last  to  hear 
His  wealthy  neighbor  has  become  a  bankrupt. 

Old  Play. 

(4.) — Chap.  xvi. 
'Tis  not  her  sense — for  sure,  in  that 

There's  nothing  more  than  common ; 
And  all  her  wit  is  only  chat, 

Like  any  other  woman.  Song. 

(5.) — Chap.  xvn. 
Were  every  hair  upon  his  head  a  life, 
And  every  life  were  to  be  supplicated 
By  numbers  equal  to  those  hairs  quadrupled, 
Life  after  life  should  out  like  waning  stars 
Before  the  daybreak — or  as  festive  lamps, 
Which  have  lent  lustre  to  the  midnight  revel, 
Each  after  each  are  quench'd  when  guests  depart. 

Old  Play. 

(6.) — Chap.  xix. 
Must  we  then  sheath  our  still  victorious  sword  ; 
Turn  back  our  forward  step,  wliich  ever  trode 
O'er  foemen's  necks  the  onward  path  of  glory  ; 
Unclasp  the  mail,  which  with  a  solemn  vow, 
In  God's  own  house  we  hung  upon  our  shoulders ; 
That  vow,  as  unaccomplished  as  the  promise 
Which  village  nurses  make  to  still  their  children, 

And  after  think  no  more  of  ? 

The  Crusade,  a  Tragedy. 

(1.) — Chap.  xx. 
When  beauty  leads  the  lion  in  her  toils, 
Such  are  her  charms,  he  dare  not  raise  his  mane, 
Far  less  expand  the  terror  of  his  fangs, 
So  great  Alcides  made  his  club  a  distaff, 
And  spun  to  please  fair  Omphale.   . 


Till  the  bewildering  sceues  around  us  seem 
The  vain  productions  of  a  feverish  dream. 

Astoljjho,  a  Romance. 

(9.) — Chap.  xxiv. 
A  grain  of  dust 


Soiling  our  cup,  will  make  our  sense  reject 
Fastidiously  the  draught  which  we  did  thirst  for , 
A  rusted  nail,  placed  near  the  faithful  compass, 
Will  sway  it  from  the  truth,  and  wreck  the  argosy 
Even  this  small  cause  of  anger  and  disgust 
Will  break  the  bonds  of  amity  'mongst  princes, 
And  wreck  their  noblest  purposes. 

The  Crusade 

(10.) — Chap.  xxvt. 
The  tears  I  shed  must  ever  fall ! 

I  weep  not  for  an  absent  swain, 
For  time  may  happier  hours  recall, 

And  parted  lovers  meet  again. 

I  weep  not  for  the  silent  dead, 

Their  pains  are  past,  their  sorrows  o'er, 

And  those  that  loved  their  steps  must  treac 
When  death  shall  join  to  part  no  more 

But  worse  than  absence,  worse  than  death, 
She  wept  her  lover's  sullied  fame, 

And,  fired  with  all  the  pride  of  birth, 
She  wept  a  soldier's  injured  name. 

Ballad 


%\iz  of  Napoleon 


June,  1825. 


(8.) — Chap.  xxm. 
'Mid  these  wild  scenes  Enchantment  waves  her 

hand, 
To  change  the  face  of  the  mysterious  land ; 


While  Scott  was  engaged  in  writing  the  life  of 
Napoleon,  Mr.  Lockhart  says,  —  "  The  rapid  ac- 
cumulation of  books  and  MSS.  was  at  once  flatter- 
ing and  alarming ;  and  one  of  his  notes  to  me, 
about  the  middle  of  June,  had  these  rhymes  bv 
way  of  postscript : — 

When  with  Poetry  dealing 
Room  enough  in  a  shieling : 
Neither  cabin  nor  hovel 
Too  small  for  a  novel : 
Though  my  back  I  should  rub 
On  Diogenes'  tub, 
How  my  fancy  could  prance 
In  a  dance  of  romance  1 
But  my  house  I  must  swap 
With  some  Brobdignag  chap, 
Ere  I  grapple,  God  bless  me  !  with  Emperot 
Nap." 

Life,  vol.  vii.  p.  39L 


720 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


JFrom  tUootrstock. 


1826. 


(1.)— AN  HOUR  WITH  THEE. 

An  hour  with  thee  ! — When  earliest  day 
Dapples  with  gold  the  eastern  gray, 
Oh,  w  hat  can  frame  my  mind  to  beai 
The  toil  and  turmoil,  cark  and  care, 
New  griefs,  which  coming  hours  unfold, 
And  sad  remembrance  of  the  old  ? 

One  hour  with  thee. 

One  hour  with  thee  ! — When  burning  June 

Waves  his  red  flag  at  pitch  of  noon ; 

What  shall  repay  the  faithful  swain, 

His  laboi  on  the  sultry  plain ; 

And  more  than  cave  or  sheltering  bough, 

Cool  feverish  blood,  and  throbbing  brow  ? — 

One  hour  with  thee. 

One  hour  with  thee  ! — When  sun  is  set, 

0,  what  can  teach  me  to  forget 

The  thankless  labors  of  the  day ; 

The  hopes,  the  wishes,  flung  away ; 

The  increasing  wants,  and  lessening  gains, 

The  master's  pride,  who  scorns  my  pains  ? — 

One  hour  with  thee. 
Chap.  xxvi. 


(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  n. 

Come  forth,  old  man — Thy  daughter's  side 
Is  now  the  fitting  place  for  thee : 

When  Time  hath  quell'd  the  oak's  bold  pride, 

The  youthful  tendril  yet  may  hide 
The  ruins  of  the  parent  tree. 

(2.)— Chap.  hi. 
Now,  ye  wild  blades,  that  make  loose  inns  your 

stage, 
To  vapor  forth  the  acts  of  this  sad  age, 
Stout   Edgehill   fight,   the   Newberries  and   the 

West, 
And  northern  clashes,  where  you  still  fought  best ; 
Your  strange  escapes,  your  dangers  void  of  fear, 
When  bullets  flew  between  the  head  and  ear, 
Whether  you  fought  by  Damme  or  the  Spirit, 
Of  you  I  speak. 

Legend  of  Captain  Jones. 


(3.)— Chap.  rv. 
Yon  path  of  greensward 


Winds  round  by  sparry  grot  and  gay  pavilion ; 
There  is  no  flint  to  gall  thy  tender  foot, 
There's  ready  shelter  from  each  breeze  or  show- 
er.— 
But  Duty  guides  not  that  way — see  her  stand, 
With  wand   entwined  with   amaranth,  near   yos 

cliffs. 
Oft  where  she  leads  thy  blood  must  mark  thy  foot- 
steps, 
Oft  where    she    leads  thy  head  must  bear  tha 

storm, 
And   thy  shrunk    form    endure    heat,   cold,  and 

hunger ; 
But  she  will  guide  thee  up  to  noble  heights, 
Which  he  who  gains  seems  native  of  the  sky, 
While  earthly  things  lie    stretch'd    beneath    hia 
feet, 

Diminish'd,  shrunk,  and  valueless 

Anonymous. 

(4.)— Chap.  v. 
My  tongue  pads  slowly  under  this  new  language, 
And  starts  and  stumbles  at  these  uncouth  phra- 
ses. 
They  may  be  great  in  worth  and  weight,  but  hang 
Upon  the  native  glibness  of  my  language 
Like  Saul's  plate-armor  on  the  shepherd  boy, 
Encumbering  and  not  arming  him. 

J.B. 

(5.) — Chap.  x. 

Here  we  have  one  head 

Upon  two  bodies — your  two-headed  bullock 

Is  but  an  ass  to  such  a  prodigy. 

These  two  have   but  one  meaning,  thought,  and 

counsel ; 
And  when  the  single  noddle  has  spoke  out, 
The  four  legs  scrape  assent  to  it. 

Old  Play. 

(6.) — Chap.  xrv. 
Deeds  are  done  on  earth, 


Which    have    their    punishment    ere    the    earth 

closes 
Upon  the  perpetrators.     Be  it  the  working 
Of  the  remorse-stirr'd  fancy,  or  the  vision, 
Distinct  and  real,  of  unearthly  being, 
All  ages  witness,  that  beside  the  couch 
Of  the  fell  homicide  oft  stalks  the  ghost 
Of  him  he  slew,  and  shows  the  shadowy  wound. 

Old  Play. 

(1.) — Chap.  xvii. 
We  do  that  in  our  zeal, 
Our  calmer  moments  are  afraid  to  answer. 

Anonymou*. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


721 


The 


(8.) — Chap.  xxrv. 
deadliest    snakes   are    those  which,   twined 
'mongst  flowers, 
Blend  their  bright  coloring  with  the  varied  blos- 
soms, 
Their  fierce  eyes  glittering  like  the  spangled  dew- 
drop  ; 
In  all  so  like  what  nature  has  most  harmless, 
That  sportive  innocence,  which  dreads  no  danger, 
Is  poison'd  unawares. 

Old  Play. 


aifnes  to  Sfr  €utf)6ert  Sfjarp. 


1821 


"  Sir  Cuthbert  Sharp,  who  had  been  particu- 
larly kind  and  attentive  to  Scott  when  at  Sunder- 
land, happened,  in  writing  to  him  on  'Some  matter 
of  business,  to  say  he  hoped  he  had  not  forgotten 
his  friends  in  that  quarter.  Sir  Walter's  answer 
to  Sir  Cuthbert  (who  had  been  introduced  to  him 
by  hie  old  and  dear  friend  Mr.  Surtees  of  Mains- 
fo**'  )  begins  thus :" — 

Forget  thee  ?  No  !  my  worthy  fere  I 
Forget  blithe  mirth  and  gallant  cheer ! 
Death  sooner  stretch  me  on  my  bier  1 

Forget  thee  ?    No. 

Forget  the  universal  shout1 

When  "  canny  Sunderland"  spoke  out — 

A  truth  which  knaves  affect  to  doubt — 

Forget  thee  ?    No. 

Forget  you  ?    No — though  now-a-day 
Fve  heard  your  knowing  people  say, 
Disown  the  debt  you  cannot  pay, 
You'll  find  it  far  the  thriftiest  way — 

But  I  ?— 0  no. 

Forget  your  kindness  found  for  all  room, 

In  what,  though  large,  seem'd  still  a  small 

room, 
forget  my  Surtees  in  a  ball-room — 

Forget  you  ?    No. 

forget  your  sprightly  dumpty-diddles, 
And  beauty  tripping  to  the  fiddles, 
Forget  my  lovely  friends  the  Liddells— 

Forget  you  ?    No. 

»  An  allusion  to  the  enthusiastic  reception  of  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  at  Sunderland. — Ed. 
«  This  lay  has  been  set  to  beautiful  music  b    a  lady  whose 


"So  much  for  oblivion,  my  dear  Sir  C. ;  and 
now,  having  dismounted  from  my  Pegasus,  who  is 
rather  spavined,  I  charge  a-foot,  like  an  old  dra- 
goon as  I  am,"  &c.  &c. — Life  of  Scott,vo\.  ix.  p.  165. 


Jrom  dJjronUUa  of  \\)t  (tfanongate 


1827. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

Chap.  n.  * 

Were  ever  such  two  loving  friends ! — 

How  could  they  disagree  ? 
0  thus  it  was  he  loved  him  dear, 

And  thought  how  to  requite  him, 
And  having  no  friend  left  but  he, 
He  did  resolve  to  fight  liim. 

Duke  upon  Duke. 


(2.)— MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

There  are  times 
When  Fancy  plays  her  gambols,  in  despite 
Even  of  our  watchful  senses,  when  in  sooth 
Substance  seems  shadow,  shadow  substance  seems, 
When  the  broad,  palpable,  and  marked  partition, 
'Twixt  that  which  is  and  is  not,  seems  dissolved, 
As  if  the  mental  eye  gain'd  power  to  gaze 
Beyond  the  limits  of  the  existing  world. 
Such  hours  of  shadowy  dreams  I  better  love 
Than  all  the  gross  realities  of  life. 

Anonymous 


Jrom  \\)t  laxx  Jttcuir  of  $*rtl) 


1828. 


(1.)— THE  LAY  OF  POOR  LOUISE." 

Ah,  poor  Louise !  the  livelong  day 
She  roams  from  cot  to  castle  gay ; 

composition,  to  say  nothing  of  her  singing,  might  make  any 
poet  proud  of  his  verses,  Mrs.  Robert  Arkwright,  birn  Misa 
Kerable. 


722                                       SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

And  still  her  voice  and  viol  say, 

2. 

Ah,  maids,  beware  the  woodland  way, 

Pause  upon  thy  pinion's  flight, 

Think  on  Louise. 

Be  thy  course  to  left  or  right ; 

Be  thou  doom'd  to  soar  or  sink, 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !  The  sun  was  high, 

Pause  upon  the  awful  brink. 

It  smirch'd  her  cheek,  it  dimm'd  her  eye, 

The  woodland  walk  was  cool  and  nigh, 

3. 

"Where  birds  with  clunung  streamlets  vie 

To  avenge  the  deed  expelling 

To  cheer  Louise. 

Thee  untimely  from  thy  dwelling, 

Mystic  force  thou  shalt  retain 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !  The  savage  bear 

O'er  the  blood  and  o'er  the  brain. 

Made  ne'er  that  lovely  grove  his  lair  ; 

The  wolves  molest  not  paths  so  fair — 

4. 

But  better  far  had  such  been  there 

When  the  form  thou  shalt  espy 

For  poor  Louise. 

That  darken'd  on  thy  closing  eye ; 

When  the  footstep  thou  shalt  hear, 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !  In  woody  wold 

That  thrill'd  upon  thy  dying  ear ; 

She  met  a  huntsman  fair  and  bold ; 

His  baldric  was  of  silk  and  gold, 

5. 

And  many  a  witching  tale  he  told 

Then  strange  sympathies  shall  wake, 

To  poor  Louise. 

The  flesh  shall  thrill,  the  nerves  shall  quake 

The  wounds  renew  their  clotter'd  flood, 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !  Small  cause  to  pine 

And  every  drop  cry  blood  for  blood. 

Hadst  thou  for  treasures  of  the  mine  ; 

Chap.  xxii. 

For  peace  of  mind  that  gift  divine, 

And  spotless  innocence,  were  thine, 

Ah,  poor  Louise ! 

Ah,  poor  Louise  !  Thy  treasure's  reft ! 

I  know  not  if  by  force  or  theft, 

(3.)— SONG  OF  THE  GLEE-MAIDEN 

Or  part  by  violence,  part  by  gift ; 

But  misery  is  all  that's  left 

To  poor  Louise. 

*  She    sung   a  melancholy   dirge    in    Norman 
French ;  the  words,  of  which  the  following  is  an 

imitation,  were  united  to  a  tune  as  doleful  as  they 
are  themselves." 

Xet  poor  Louise  some  succor  have  I 

She  will  not  long  your  bounty  crave, 

3r  tire  the  gay  with  warning  stave — 

1. 

Tor  heaven  has  grace,  and  earth  a  grave, 
For  poor  Louise. 

Chap.  x. 

Yes,  thou  mayst  sigh, 
And  look  once  more  at  all  around, 

At  stream  and  bank,  and  sky  and  ground. 

. 

Thy  life  its  final  course  has  found, 

And  thou  must  die. 

(2.)— DEATH  CHANT. 

2. 

"  Ere  he  guessed  where  he  was  going,  the 

Yes,  lay  thee  down, 

leech  was  hurried  into  the  house  of  the  late  Oliver 

And  while  thy  struggling  pulses  flutter, 

Proudfute,  from  which  he  heard  the  chant  of  the 

Bid  the  gray  monk  his  soul-mass  mutter, 

•women,  as  they  swathed  and  dressed  the  corpse 

And  the  deep  bell  its  death-tone  utter — 

">f  the  umquhile  Bonnet-maker,  for  the  ceremony 

Thy  life  is  gone. 

of  next  morning;  of  which  chant,  the  following 

rerses  may  be  received  as  a  modern  imitation :" — 

3. 

Be  not  afraid. 

1. 

'Tis  but  a  pang,  and  then  a  thrill, 

v'iewless  Essence,  thin  and  bare, 

A  fever  fit,  and  then  a  chill ; 

Wellnigh  melted  into  air  ; 

And  then  an  end  of  human  ill, 

Still  with  fondness  hovering  near 

For  thou  art  dead. 

The  earthly  form  thou  once  didst  wear ; 

Chap,  xxx 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


1^3 


^     (4.)— M  OTTOES. 

( 1 .) INTRODUCTORY. 

The  ashes  here  of  murder'd  Kings 

Beneath  my  footsteps  sleep ; 
And  yonder  lies  the  scene  of  death, 

Where  Mary  learn'd  to  weep. 

Captain  MarjoribanJcs. 

(2.)— Chap,  i. 
«  Behold  the  Tiber  !"  the  vain  Roman  cried, 
Viewing  the  ample  Tay  from  Baiglie's  side  ; 
But  where's  the  Scot  that  would  the  vaunt  repay, 
And  hail  the  puny  Tiber  for  the  Tay  ? 

Anonymous. 

(3.) — Chap.  xi. 
Fair  is  the  damsel,  passing  fair — 

Sunny  at  distance  gleams  her  smile  1 
Approach — the  cloud  of  woeful  care 
Hangs  trembling  in  her  eye  the  while. 

Lucinda,  a  Ballad. 

(4.) — Chap.  xv. 
O  for  a  draught  of  power  to  steep 
The  soul  of  agony  in  sleep  1 

Bertha. 

(5.) — CnAP.  xxni. 
Lo  !  where  he  lies  embalm'd  in  gore, 

His  wound  to  Heaven  cries  ; 
The  floodgates  of  his  blood  implore 
For  vengeance  from  the  skies. 

Uranus  and  Psyche. 


STfte  JDeatf)  of  25-eeltrar 


1828. 

Percy  or  Percival  Rede  of  Trochend,  in  Redes- 
dale,  Northumberland,  is  celebrated  in  tradition  as 
a  huntsman,  and  a  soldier.  He  was,  upon  two 
occasions,  singularly  unfortunate ;  once,  when  an 
arrow,  which  he  had  discharged  at  a  deer,  killed 
his  celebrated  dog  Keeldar ;  and  again,  when,  be- 
ing on  a  hunting  party,  he  was  betrayed  into  the 
hands  of  a  clan  called  Crossar,  by  whom  he  was 
murdered.  Mr.  Cooper's  painting  of  the  first  cf 
these  incidents,  suggested  the  following  stanzas. 

i  These  stanzas,  accompanying  an  engraving  from  Mr.  Coop- 
er's subject,  "  The  Death  of  Keeldar,"  appeared  in  The  Gem 
of  1829,  a  literary  journal  edited  by  Thomas  Hood,  Esq.  In 
the  acknowledgment  to  his  contributors,  Mr.  Hood  says,  "  To 
Sir  Walter  Scott— not  merely  a  literary  feather  in  my  cap,  but 


Up  rose  the  sun,  o'er  moor  and  mead ; 
Up  with  the  sun  rose  Percy  Rede ; 
Brave  Keeldar,  from  his  couples  freed, 

Career'd  along  the  lea ; 
The  Palfrey  sprung  with  sprightly  bound, 
As  if  to  match  the  gamesome  hound  ; 
His  horn  the  gallant  huntsman  wound : 

They  were  a  jovial  three  ! 

Man,  hound,  or  horse,  of  higher  fame, 
To  wake  the  wild  deer  never  came, 
Since  Alnwick's  Earl  pursued  the  game 

On  Cheviot's  rueful  day ; 
Keeldar  was  matchless  in  his  speed, 
Than  Tarras,  ne'er  was  stancher  steed, 
A  peerless  archer,  Percy  Rede : 

And  right  dear  friends  were  they. 

The  chase  engross'd  their  joys  and  woes 
Together  at  the  dawn  they  rose, 
Together  shared  the  noon's  repose, 

By  fountain  or  by  stream  ; 
And  oft,  when  evening  skies  were  red, 
The  heather  was  their  common  bed, 
Where  each,  as  wildering  fancy  led, 

Still  hunted  in  his  dream. 

Now  is  the  thrilling  moment  near, 

Of  silvan  hope  and  silvan  fear, 

Yon  thicket  holds  the  h arbor' d  deer, 

The  signs  the  hunters  know ; — 
With  eyes  of  flame,  and  quivering  ears, 
The  brake  sagacious  Keeldar  nears ; 
The  restless  palfrey  paws  and  rears : 

The  archer  strings  his  bow. 

The  game's  afoot ! — Halloo !  Halloo ! 
Hunter,  and  horse,  and  hound  pursue ; — 
But  woe  the  shaft  that  erring  flew — 

That  e'er  it  left  the  string ! 
And  ill  betide  the  faithless  yew ! 
The  stag  bounds  scatheless  o'er  the  dew, 
And  gallant  Keeldar's  life-blood  true 

Has  drench'd  the  gray-goose  wing. 

The  noble  hound — he  dies,  he  dies, 
Death,  death  has  glazed  his  fixed  eyes, 
Stiff  on  the  bloody  heath  he  lies, 

Without  a  groan  or  quiver. 
Now  day  may  break  and  bugle  sound. 
And  whoop  and  hollow  ring  around, 
And  o'er  his  couch  the  stag  may  bound, 

But  Keeldar  sleeps  for  ever. 

a  whole  plume  of  them— I  owe,  and  with  the  hand  of  my  heart 
acknowledge,  a  deep  obligation.  A  poem  from  his  pen  is  like- 
ly to  confer  on  the  book  that  contains  it,  if  not  perpetuity,  at 
least  a  very  Old  Mortality."— Preface,  p.  4.  The  original 
painting  by  Cooper,  remains  at  Abbotsford.    -Ed. 


724                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Dilated  nostrils,  staring  eyes, 

the  Black  Friars  of  Saint  Francis's  Order,  wearing 

Mark  the  poor  palfrey's  mute  surprise, 

their  cowls  drawn  over  their  heads,  so  as  to  con- 

He knows  not  that  his  comrade  dies, 

ceal  their  features.     They  appeared  anxiously  en- 

Nor  what  is  death — but  still 

gaged  in  measuring  off  a  portion  of  the  apartment ; 

His  aspect  hath  expression  drear 

and,  while  occupied  in  that  employment,  they  sung. 

Of  grief  and  wonder,  mix'd  witli  fear, 

in  the  ancient  German  language,  rhymes  more  rude 

Like  startled  children  when  they  hear 

than  Philipson  could  well  understand,  but  which 

Some  mystic  tale  of  ill. 

may  be  imitated  thus :" — 

But  he  that  bent  the  fatal  bow, 

Measurers  of  good  and  evil, 

Can  well  the  sum  of  evil  know, 

Bring  the  square,  the  line,  the  level, — 

And  o'er  his  favorite,  bending  low, 

Rear  the  altar,  dig  the  trench, 

\                   In  speechless  grief  recline ; 

Blood  both  stone  and  ditch  shall  drench. 

Can  think  he  hears  the  senseless  clay, 

Cubits  six,  from  end  to  end, 

In  unreproachful  accents  say, 

Must  the  fatal  bench  extend, — 

"  The  hand  that  took  my  life  away^ 

Cubits  six,  from  side  to  side, 

Dear  master,  was  it  thine  ? 

Judge  and  culprit  must  divide. 

On  the  east  the  Court  assembles. 

"  And  if  it  be,  the  shaft  be  bless'd, 

On  the  west  the  Accused  trembles — 

Which  sure  some  erring  aim  address'd, 

Answer,  brethren,  all  and  one, 

Since  in  your  service  prized,  caress'd 

Is  the  ritual  rightly  done  ? 

I  in  your  service  die ; 



And  you  may  have  a  fleeter  hound, 

On  life  and  soul,  on  blood  and  bone, 
One  for  all,  and  all  for  one, 

To  match  the  dun-deer's  merry  bound, 

But  by  your  couch  will  ne'er  be  found 

We  warrant  this  is  rightly  done. 

So  true  a  guard  as  L" 



How  wears  the  night  ? — Doth  morning  shine 

And  to  his  last  stout  Percy  rued 

In  early  radiance  on  the  Rhine  ? 

The  fatal  chance,  for  when  he  stood 

What  music  floats  upon  his  tide  ? 

'Gainst  fearful  odds  in  deadly  feud, 

Do  birds  the  tardy  morning  chide  ? 

And  fell  amid  the  fray, 

Bretliren,  look  out  from  hill  and  height, 

E'en  with  his  dying  voice  he  cried, 

And  answer  true,  how  wears  the  night  ? 

"  Had  Keeldar  but  been  at  my  side, 



Your  treacherous  ambush  had  been  spied — 

The  night  is  old ;  on  Rhine's  broad  breast 

I  had  not  died  to-day  1" 

Glance  drowsy  stars  which  long  to  rest. 

No  beams  are  twinkling  in  the  east. 

Remembrance  of  the  erring  bow 

There  is  a  voice  upon  the  flood, 

Long  since  had  join'd  the  tides  which  flow, 

The  stern  still  call  of  blood  for  blood ; 

Conveying  human  bliss  and  woe 

'Tis  time  we  listen  the  behest. 

Down  dark  oblivion's  river ; 



But  Art  can  Time's  stern  doom  arrest, 

Up,  then,  up !     When  day's  at  rest, 

And  snatch  his  spoil  from  Lethe's  breast, 

'Tis  time  that  such  as  we  are  watchers ; 

And,  in  her  Cooper's  colors  drest, 

Rise  to  judgment,  brethren,  rise  ! 

The  scene  shall  live  for  ever. 

Vengeance  knows  not  sleepy  eyes, 

He  and  night  are  matchers. 

Chap,  xx 

irom  3lnne  of  (SbAtxttAn. 

(2.)— MOTTOES 
(1.) — Chap.  hi. 

1829. 

Cursed  be  the  gold  and  silver,  which  persuade 
Weak  man  to  follow  far  fatiguing  trade. 

(1.)— THE  SECRET  TRIBUNAL. 

The  lily,  peace,  outshines  the  silver  store, 

And  life  is  dearer  than  the  golden  ore.              • 

—  "  Philipson  could  perceive  that  the  lights 

Yet  money  tempts  us  o'er  the  desert  brown, 

proceeded  from  many  torches,  borne  by  men  muf- 

To every  distant  mart  and  wealthy  town. 

fled  in  black  cloaks,  like  mourners  at  a  funeral,  or 

Hassan,  or  the  Camel-Driv*  , 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


726 


(<?.)_Chap.  v. 


I  was  one 


Who  loved  the  greenwood  bank  and  lowing  herd, 
The  russet  prize,  the  lowly  peasant's  life, 
Season'd  with  sweet  content,  more  than  the  halls 
"Where  revellers  feast  to  fever-height.    Believe  me, 
There  ne'er  was  poison  mix'd  in  maple  bowl. 

Anonymous. 

(3.) — Chap.  vi. 
"When  wc  two  meet,  we  meet  like  rushing  torrents ; 
Like  warring  winds,  like  flames  from  various  points, 
That  mate  each  other's  fury — there  is  naught 
Of  elemental  strife,  were  fiends  to  guide  it, 
Can  match  the  wrath  of  man. 

Frenaud. 

(4.) — Chap.  x. 
We  know  not  when  we  sleep  nor  when  we  wake. 
Visions  distinct  and  perfect  cross  our  eye, 
Which  to  the  slumberer  seem  realities ; 
And  while  they  waked,  some  men  have  seen  such 

sights 
As  set  at  naught  the  evidence  of  sense, 
And  left  them  well  persuaded  they  were  dreaming. 

Anonymous. 

(5.) — Chap.  xi. 
These  be  the  adept's  doctrines — every  element 
Is  peopled  with  its  separate  race  of  spirits. 
The  airy  Sylphs  on  the  blue  ether  float ; 
Deep  in  the  earthy  cavern  skulks  the  Gnome ; 
The  sea-green  Naiad  skims  the  ocean-billow, 
And  the  fierce  fire  is  yet  a  friendly  home 
To  its  peculiar  sprite — the  Salamander. 

Anonymous. 

(6.) — Chap,  xviii. 
Upon  the  Rhine,  upon  the  Rhine  they  cluster, 

The  grapes  of  juice  divine, 
Which  make  the  soldier's  jovial  courage  nw+er ; 
0,  blessed  be  the  Rhine ! 

Drinking  Song.1 

(7.) — Chap.  xxii. 
Tell  me  not  of  it — I  could  ne'er  abide 
The  mummery  of  all  that  forced  civility. 
"  I*ray>  seat  yourself,  my  lord."    With  cringing  hams 
The  speech  is  spoken,  and  with  bended  knee, 
Heard  by  the  smiling  courtier. — "  Before  you,  sir  ? 
It  must  be  on  the  earth,  then."     Hang  it  all ! 
The  pride  which  cloaks  itself  in  such  poor  fashion 
Is  scarcely  fit  to  swell  a  beggar's  bosom. 

Old  Play. 

-  This  is  one  of  the  best  and  most  popular  of  the  German 
ditties  • — 

*'  A.m  Rhein,  am  Rhein,  da  wachsen  unscre  Reben, 


(8.) — Chap.  xxvm. 
A  mirthful  man  he  was — the  snows  of  ago 
Fell,  but  they  did  not  chill  him.     Gayety, 
Even  in  life's  closing,  touch'd  his  teeming  brain 
With  such  wild  visions  as  the  setting  sun 
Raises  in  front  of  some  hoar  glacier, 
Painting  the  bleak  ice  with  a  thousand  hues. 

Old  Flay. 

(9.) — Chap.  xxx. 
Ay,  this  is  he  who  wears  the  wreath  of  bays 
Wove  by  Apollo  and  the  Sisters  Nine, 
"Which  Jove's  dread  lightning  scathes  not.    He  hath 

doft 
The  cumbrous  helm  of  steel,  and  flung  aside 
The  yet  more  galling  diadem  of  gold ; 
While,  with  a  leafy  circlet  round  his  brows, 
He  reigns  the  King  of  Lovers  and  of  Poets. 


(10.)- 


-Chap.  xxxi. 
Want  you  a  man 


Experienced  in  the  world  and  its  affairs? 
Here  he  is  for  your  purpose. — He's  a  monk. 
He  hath  forsworn  the  world  and  all  its  work — 
The  rather  that  he  knows  it  passing  welL 
'Special  the  worst  of  it,  for  he's  a  monk. 

Old  Flay. 

(11.) — Chap,  xxxiu. 
Toll,  toll  the  bell! 
Greatness  is  o'er, 
The  heart  has  broke, 
To  ache  no  more  ; 
An  unsubstantial  pageant  all — 
Drop  o'er  the  scene  the  funeral  palL 

Old  Poem. 

(12.) — Chap.  xxxv. 

Here's  a  weapon  now, 

Shall  shake  a  conquering  general  in  his  tent, 
A  monarch  on  his  throne,  or  reach  a  prelate, 
However  holy  be  his  offices, 
E'en  while  he  serves  the  altar. 

Old  Play 


SET  TO  MUSIC  BY  JOHN  WHITEFIELD,  MUS.  DOC.  CAM. 


1830. 


The  last  of  our  steers  on  the  board  has  been  spread, 
And  the  last  flask  of  wine  in  our  goblet  is  red , 

Gesegnet  sei  der  Rhein,"  &c. 
2  Set  to  music  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  Collection,  pttb- 
lished  in  1830. 


/26 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Up !  up,  my  brave  kinsmen !  belt  swords  and  be- 
gone, 

There  are  dangers  to  dare,  and  there's  spoil  to  be 
won. 

The  eyes,  that  so  lately  mix'd  glances  with  ours, 
For  a  space  must  be  dim,  as  they  gaze  from  the 

towers, 
And  strive  to  distinguish   through  tempest   and 

gloom, 
The  prance  of  the  steed,  and  the  toss  of  the  plume. 

The  rain  is  descending ;  the  wind  rises  loud ; 
And  the  moon  her  red  beacon  has  veil'd  with  a 

cloud ; 
'Tis  the  better,  my  mates !  for  the  warder's  dull 

eye 
Shall  in  confidence  slumber,  nor  dream  we  are  nigh. 

Our  steeds  are  impatient !  I  hear  my  blithe  Gray ! 
There  is  life  in  his  hoof-clang,  and  hope  in  his  neigh ! 
Like  the  flash  of  a  meteor,  the  glance  of  his  mane 
Shall  marshal  your  march  through  the  darkness 
and  rain. 

The  drawbridge  has  dropp'd,  the  bugle  has  blown ; 

.One  pledge  is  to  quaff  yet — then  mount  and  be- 
gone ! — 

To  their  honor  and  peace,  that  shall  rest  with  the 
slain ; 

To  their  health  and  their  glee,  that  see  Teviot 
again! 


Xnscrfp  t to  11 

FOR  THE  MONUMENT  OF  THE  REV.  GEORGE  SCOTT  ' 


1830. 


To  youth,  to  age,  alike,  this  tablet  pale 
Tells  the  brief  moral  of  its  tragic  tale. 
Art  thou  a  parent  ?  Reverence  this  bier, 
The  parents'  fondest  hopes  he  buried  here. 
Art  thou  a  youth,  prepared  on  life  to  start, 
With  opening  talents  and  a  generous  heart, 
Fair  hopes  and  flattering  prospects  all  thine  own  ? 
Lo  1  here  their  end — a  monumental  stone. 
But  let  submission  tame  each  sorrowing  thought, 
Heaven  crown'd  its  champion  ere  the  fight  was 
fought. 

i  This  young  gentleman,  a  son  of  the  author's  friend  and 
relation,  Hugh  Scott  of  Harden,  Esq.  (now  Lord  Polwarth),' 
became  Rector  of  Kentisbeare,  in  Devonshire,  in  1828,  and 
died  there  the  9th  of  June,  1830.  This  epitaph  appears  on  his 
tomb  i :.  the  chancel  there. 


JLlntn  on  jFortune, 


1831. 


"  By  the  advice  of  Dr.  Ebenezer  Clarkson,  Sir 
"Walter  consulted  a  skilful  mechanist,  by  nama  For- 
tune,  about  a  contrivance  for  the  support  of  the  lame 
limb,  which  had  of  late  given  him  much  pain,  as  well 
as  inconvenience.  Mr.  Fortune  produced  a  clever 
piece  of  handiwork,  and  Sir  Walter  felt  at  not 
great  relief  from  the  use  of  it :  insomuch  that  hia 
spirits  rose  to  quite  the  old  pitch,  and  his  letter  to 
me  upon  the  occasion  overflows  with  merry  ap- 
plications of  sundry  maxims  and  verses  about 
Fortune.  '  Fortes  Fortuna  adjuvat ' — he  says — 
'never  more  sing  I 

" '  Fortune,  my  Foe,  why  dost  thou  frown  on  me  ? 
And  will  my  Fortune  never  better  be  ? 
Wilt  thou,  I  say,  for  ever  breed  my  pain  ? 
And  wilt  thou  ne'er  return  my  joys  again  ?2 

No — let  my  ditty  be  henceforth — 

Fortune,  my  Friend,  how  well  thou  favorest  me  1 

A  kinder  Fortune  man  did  never  see  ! 

Thou  propp'st  my  thigh,  thou  rid'st  my  knee  of 

pain, 
I'll  walk,  I'll  mount — I'll  be  a  man  again.'  " — 
Life,  vol  x.  p.  38. 


5rom  (Eount  Hobtrt  of  JJctra, 


1831. 


Othus. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  ii. 
This  superb  successor 


Of  the  earth's  mistress,  as  thou  vainly  speakest, 
Stands  'midst  these  ages  as,  on  the  wide  ocean, 
The  last  spared  fragment  of  a  spacious  land. 
That  in  some  grand  and  awful  ministration 
Of  mighty  nature  has  engulfed  been, 
Doth  lift  aloft  its  dark  and  rocky  cliffs 
O'er  the  wild  waste  around,  and  sadly  frowns 
In  lonely  majesty. 

Constantine  Paleologus,  Scene  I, 

2  "  I  believe  this  is  the  only  verse  of  the  old  song  (often  al- 
luded to  by.fchakspeare  and  his  contemporaries)  that  has  at 
yet  been  recovered." — Lockhart,  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  X. 
p.  38. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.                        727 

(2.) — Chap.  hi. 

To  meet  a  lover's  onset. — But  though  Nature 

Here,  youth,  thy  foot  unbrace, 

Was  outraged  thus,  she  was  not  overcome. 

Here,  youth,  thy  brow  unbraid, 

Feudal  Times 

Each  tribute  that  may  grace 

!• 

The  threshold  here  be  paid. 

(8.)— Chap.  xi. 

Walk  with  the  stealthy  pace 

Without  a  ruin,  broken,  tangled,  cumbrous, 

Which  Nature  teaches  deer, 

Within  it  was  a  little  paradise, 

When,  echoing  in  the  chase, 

Where  Taste  had  made  her  dwelling.     Statuary, 

The  hunter's  horn  they  hear. 

First-born  of  human  art,  moulded  her  images, 

Tlie  Court. 

And  bade  men  mark  and  worship. 

Anonymous. 

(3.)— Chap.  v. 

The  storm  increases — 'tis  no  sunny  shower, 

(9.) — Chap.  xn. 

Foster'd  in  the  moist  breast  of  March  or  April, 

The  parties  met.    The  wily,  wordy  Greek, 

Or  such  as  parched  Summer  cools  his  lip  with ; 

Weighing  each  word,  and  canvassing  each  syllable  ■ 

Heaven's   windows   are   flung  wide ;   the  inmost 

Evading,  arguing,  equivocating. 

deeps 

And  the  stern  Frank  came  with  his  two-hand 

Call  in  hoarse  greeting  one  upon  another ; 

sword, 

On  comes  the  flood  in  all  its  foaming  horrors, 

Watching  to  see  which  way  the  balance  sways, 

And  where's  the  dike  shall  stop  it ! 

That  he  may  throw  it  in,  and  turn  the  scales. 

The  Deluge,  a  Poem. 

Palestine 

See  Life,  voL  x.  p.  37. 

(10.)— Chap.  xvi. 

(4.) — Chap.  vi. 

Strange  ape  of  man !  who  loathes  thee  while  he 

Vain  man  1  thou  mayst  esteem  thy  love  as  fair 

scorns  thee ; 

As  fond  hyperboles  suffice  to  raise. 

Half  a  reproach  to  us  and  half  a  jest. 

She  may  be  all  that's  matchless  in  her  person, 

What  fancies  can  be  ours  ere  we  have  pleasure 

And  all-divine  in  soul  to  match  her  body  ; 

In  viewing  our  own  form,  our  pride  and  passions, 

But  take  this  from  me — thou  shalt  never  call  her 

Reflected  in  a  shape  grotesque  as  thine  1 

Superior  to  her  sex,  while  one  survives, 

Anonymous. 

And  I  am  her  true  votary. 

Old  Play. 

(11.) — Chap.  xvii. 

'Tis  strange  that,  in  the  dark  sulphureous  mine, 

(5.) — Chap.  vra. 

Where  wild  ambition  piles  its  ripening  stores 

Through  the  vain  webs  which  puzzle  sophists'  skill, 

Of  slumbering  thunder,  Love  will  interpose 

Plain  sense  and  honest  meaning  work  their  way ; 

His  tiny  torch,  and  cause  the  stern  explosion 

So  sink  the  varying  clouds  upon  the  hill, 

To  burst,  when  the  deviser's  least  aware. 

When  the  clear  dawning  brightens  into  day. 

Anonymous. 

Dr.  Watts. 

(12.) — Chap.  xxtv. 

(6.) — Chap.  ix. 

All  is  prepared — the  chambers  of  the  mine 

Between  the  foaming  jaws  of  the  white  torrent, 

Are  cramm'd  with  the  combustible,  which,  harm- 

The skilful  artist  draws  a  sudden  mound ; 

less 

By  level  long  he  subdivides  their  strength, 

While  yet  unkindled,  as  the  sable  sand, 

Stealing  the  waters  from  their  rocky  bed, 

Needs  but  a  spark  to  change  its  nature  so, 

First  to  diminish  what  he  means  to  conquer ; 

That  he  who  wakes  it  from  its  slumbrous  mood, 

Then,  for  the  residue  he  forms  a  road, 

Dreads  scarce   the   explosion  less  than  he  wha 

Easy  to  keep,  and  painful  to  desert, 

knows 

And  guiding  to  the  end  the  planner  aim'd  at. 

That  'tis  his  towers  which  meet  its  fury. 

The  Engineer. 

Anonymous. 

(7.) — Chap.  x. 

(13.)— Chap.  xxv. 

These  were  wild  times — the  antipodes  of  ours : 

Heaven  knows  its  time ;  the  bullet  has  its  billet, 

Ladies  were  'there,  who  oftener  saw  themselves 

Arrow  and  javelin  each  its  destined  purpose  • 

In  the  broad  lustre  of  a  foeman's  shield 

The  fated  beasts  of  Nature's  lower  strain 

Than  in  a  mirror,  and  who  rather  sought 

Have  each  their  separate  task. 

To  match  themselves  in  battle,  than  in  dalliance 

~" 

Old  Play. 

28 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


from  dastU  ?Dangerott0. 


1831. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  v. 
A.  tale  of  sorrow,  for  your  eyes  may  weep ; 
A  tale  of  horror,  for  your  flesh  may  tingle ; 
A  tale  of  wonder,  for  the  eyebrows  arch, 
And  the  flesh  curdles  if  you  read  it  rightly. 

Old  Play. 

(2.) — Chap.  xi. 

Where  is  he  ?   Has  the  deep  earth  swallow'd  him  ? 
Or  hath  he  melted  like  some  airy  phantom 
That  shuns  the  approach  of  morn  and  the  young  sun  ? 
Or  hath  he  wrapt  him  in  Cimmerian  darkness, 
And  pass'd  beyond  the  circuit  of  the  sight 
With  tilings  of  the  night's  shadows  ? 

Anonymous. 

(3.) — Chap.  xrv. 
The  way  is  long,  my  children,  long  and  rough — 
The  moors  are  dreary,  and  the  woods  are  dark ; 


But  he  that  creeps  from  cradle  on  to  grave, 
UnskilI'd  save  in  the  velvet  course  ol  iort\ja.% 
Hath  miss'd  the  discipline  of  noblt  hearts. 

Ola  Hay. 

(4.) — Chap,  xvtii. 
His  talk  was  of  another  world — his  ^odementa 
Strange,   doubtful,   and   mysterious ;    those   whc 

heard  him 
Listen'd  as  to  a  man  in  feverish  dreams, 
Who  speaks  of  other  objects  than  the  present, 
And  mutters  like  to  him  who  sees  a  vision. 

Old  Play. 

(5.) — Chap.  xx. 
Cry  the  wild  war-note,  let  the  champions  pass, 
Do  bravely  each,  and  God  defend  the  right ; 
Upon  Saint  Andrew  thrice  can  they  thus  cry, 
Ana  thrice  they  shout  on  height, 
And  then  marked  them  on  the  Englishmen, 
As  I  have  told  you  right. 
Saint  George  the  bright,  our  ladies'  knight, 
To  name  they  were  full  fain ; 
Our  Englishmen  they  cried  on  height, 
And  thrice  they  shout  again. 

Old  Ballad 


DRAMATIC    PIECES. 


$aH&on    fill:' 

A   DRAMATIC    SKETCH    FROM    SCOTTISH    HISTORY, 


PREFACE. 

Though  the  Public  seldom  feel  much  interest  in 
such  communications  (nor  is  there  any  reason  why 
they  should),  the  Author  takes  the  liberty  of  stat- 
ing, that  these  scenes  were  commenced  with  the 
purpose  of  contributing  to  a  miscellany  projected 
by  a  much-esteemed  friend.3  But  instead  of  being 
confined  to  a  scene  or  two,  as  intended,  the  work 
gradually  swelled  to  the  size  of  an  independent 
publication.  It  is  designed  to  illustrate  military 
antiquities,  and  the  manners  of  chivalry.  The 
drama  (if  it  can  be  termed  one)  is,  in  no  particular, 
either  designed  or  calculated  for  the  stage.3 

The  subject  is  to  be  found  in  Scottish  history ; 
but  not  to  overload  so  slight  a  publication  with 
antiquarian  research,  or  quotations  from  obscure 
chronicles,  may  be  sufficiently  illustrated  by  the 
following  passage  from  Pinkerton's  History  of 
Scotland,  vol.  i.  p.  *72. 

"The  Governor  (anno  1402)  dispatched  a  con- 
siderable force  under  Murdac,  his  eldest  son :  the 
Earls  of  Angus  and  Moray  also  joined  Douglas, 
who  entered  England  with  an  army  of  ten  thou- 
sand men,  carrying  terror  and  devastation  to  the 
walls  of  Newcastle. 

"Henry  IV.  was  now  engaged  in  the  "Welsh 
war   against  Owen  Glendour ;   but   the  Earl  of 

i  Published  by  Constable  &  Co.,  June,  1822,  in  8vo.     6s. 

3  The  author  alludes  to  a  collection  of  small  pieces  in  verse, 
edited,  for  a  charitable  purpose,  by  Mrs.  Joanna  Baillie. — See 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  vii.  pp.  7,  18,  169-70. 

3  In  the  first  edition,  the  text  added,  "  In  case  any  attempt 
shall  be  made  to  produce  it  in  action  (as  has  happened  in  simi- 
lar cases),  the  author  takes  the  present  opportunity  to  in- 
timate, that  it  shall  be  at  the  peril  of  those  who  make  such 
an  experiment."  Adverting  to  this  passage,  the  New  Edin- 
burgh Review  (July,  1822)  said,—"  We,  nevertheless,  do  not 
believe  that  any  thing  more  essentially  dramatic,  in  so  far  as 
k  goes,  more  capable  of  stage  effect,  has  appeared  in  England 
g.nce  the  days  of  her  greatest  genius  ;  and  giving  Sir  Walter, 
therefore,  full  credit  for  his  coyness  on  the  present  occasion, 
we  ardently  hope  that  he  is  but  trying  his  strength  in  the 
«ost  arduous  of  all  literary  enterprises,  and  that,  ere  long,  he 


Northumberland,  and  his  son,  the  Hotspur  Percy 
with  the  Earl  of  March,  collected  a  numerous  array 
and  awaited  the  return  of  the  Scots,  impeded  with 
spoil,  near  Milfield,  in  the  north  part  of  Northum- 
berland. Douglas  had  reached  Wooler,  in  his  re- 
turn ;  and,  perceiving  the  enemy,  seized  a  strong 
post  between  the  two  armies,  called  Homildon- 
hill.  In  this  method  he  rivalled  his  predecessor  at 
the  battle  of  Otterburn,  but  not  with  like  success. 
The  English  advanced  to  the  assault,  and  Henry 
Percy  was  about  to  lead  them  up  the  hill,  when 
March  caught  his  bridle,  and  advised  him  to  ad- 
vance no  farther,  but  to  pour  the  dreadful  shower 
of  English  arrows  into  the  enemy.  This  advice 
was  followed  by  the  usual  fortune  ;  for  in  all  ages 
the  bow  was  the  English  instrument  of  victory 
and  though  the  Scots,  and  perhaps  the  French, 
were  superior  in  the  use  of  the  spear,  yet  this 
weapon  was  useless  after  the  distant  bow  had  de- 
cided the  combat.  Robert  the  Great,  sensible  of 
this  at  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  ordered  a  pre- 
pared detachment  of  cavalry  to  rush  among  the 
English  archers  at  the  commencement,  totally  to 
disperse  them,  and  stop  the  deadly  effusion.  But 
Douglas  now  used  no  such  precaution,  and  the  con- 
sequence was,  that  his  people,  drawn  up  on  the 
face  of  the  hill,  presented  one  general  mark  to  the 
enemy,  none  of  whose  arrows  descended  in  vain 

will  demonstrate  his  right  to  the  highest  honors  of  the  tragic 
muse."  The  British  Critic,  for  October,  1822,  says,  on  the 
same  head,  "  Though  we  may  not  accede  to  the  author's  dec* 
laration,  that  it  is  '  in  no  particular  calculated  for  the  stage, 
we  must  not  lead  our  readers  to  look  for  any  thing  amounting 
to  a  regular  drama.  It  would,  we  think,  form  an  underplot 
of  very  great  interest,  in  an  historical  play  of  customary  length  ; 
and  although  its  incidents  and  personages  are  mixed  up,  in 
these  scenes,  with  an  event  of  real  history,  there  is  nothing  in 
either  to  prevent  their  being  interwoven  in  the  plot  of  i*y 
drama  of  which  the  action  should  lie  in  the  confines  of  Eng.ant* 
and  Scotland,  at  any  of  the  very  numerous  periods  of  Border 
warfare.  The  whole  interest,  indeed,  of  the  story,  is  engrossed 
by  two  characters,  imagined,  as  it  appears  to  us,  with  great 
force  and  probability,  and  contrasted  with  considerable  skill 
and  effect." 


730 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  Scots  fell  without  fight,  and  unrevenged,  till 
a  spirited  knight,  Swinton,  exclaimed  aloud, '  0  my 
brave  countrymen !  what  fascination  has  seized 
you  to-day,  that  you  stand  like  deer  to  be  shot,  in- 
stead of  indulging  your  ancient  courage,  and  meet- 
ing your  enemies  hand  to  hand  ?  Let  those  who 
will,  descend  with  me,  that  we  may  gain  victory, 
or  life,  or  fall  like  men.'1  This  being  heard  by 
Adam  Gordon,  between  whom  and  Swinton  there 
remained  an  ancient  deadly  feud,  attended  with 
the  mutual  slaughter  of  many  followers,  he  in- 
stantly fell  on  his  knees  before  Swinton,  begged 
his  pardon,  and  desired  to  be  dubbed  a  knight  by 
him  whom  he  must  now  regard  as  the  wisest  and 
the  boldest  of  that  order  in  Britain.  The  ceremony 
performed,  Swinton  and  Gordon  descended  the 
hill,  accompanied  only  by  one  hundred  men ;  and 
a  desperate  valor  led  the  whole  body  to  death. 
Had  a  similar  spirit  been  shown  by  the  Scottish 
army,  it  is  probable  that  the  event  of  the  day 
would  have  been  different.  Douglas,  who  was  cer- 
tainly deficient  in  the  most  important  qualities  of 
a  general,  seeing  his  army  begin  to  disperse,  at 
length  attempted  to  descend  the  hill;  but  the 
English  archers,  retiring  a  little,  sent  a  flight  of  ar- 
rows so  sharp  and  strong,  that  no  armor  could 
withstand  ;  and  the  Scottish  leader  himself,  whose 
panoply  was  of  remarkable  temper,  fell  under  five 
wounds,  though  not  mortal.  The  English  men-of- 
arms,  knights,  or  squires,  did  not  strike  one  blow, 
but  remained  spectators  of  the  rout,  which  was 
now  complete.  Great  numbers  of  the  Scots  were 
slain,  and  near  five  hundred  perished  in  the  river 
Tweed  upon  their  flight.  Among  the  illustrious 
captives  was  Douglas,  whose  chief  wound  deprived 
him  of  an  eye ;  Murdac,  son  of  Albany ;  the  Earls 
of  Moray  and  Angus  ;  and  about  twenty-four  gen- 
tlemen of  eminent  rank  and  power.  The  clrief 
slain  were,  Swinton,  Gordon,  Livingston  of  Calen- 
dar, Ramsay  of  Dalhousie,  Walter  Sinclair,  Roger 
Gordon,  Walter  Scott,  and  others.  Such  was  the 
issue  of  the  unfortunate  battle  of  Homildon." 

It  may  be  proper  to  observe,  that  the  scene  of 
action  has,  in  the  following  pages,  been  transferred 
from  Homildon  to  Halidon  Hill.  For  this  there 
was  an  obvious  reason ; — for  who  would  again  ven- 
ture to  introduce  upon  the  scene  the  celebrated 
Hotspur,  who  commanded  the  English  at  the  for- 
mer battle  ?  There  are,  however,  several  coinci- 
dences which  may  reconcile  even  the  severer  anti- 
quary to  the  substitution  of  Halidon  Hill  for 
Homildon.  A  Scottish  army  was  defeated  by  the 
English  on  both  occasions,  and  under  nearly  the 

i  "  Miles  magnanimus  dominus  Johannes  Swinton,  tanquam 
voce  iiorrida  prseconis  exelamavit,  dicens,  O  commilitones 
inclyti  !  quis  vos  hodie  faseinavit  non  indulgere  solitae  probi- 
tati,  quod  nee  dextris  conseritis,  nee  ut  viri  corda  erigitis,  ad 

vadendum  aemulos,  qui  vos,  tanquam  damulos  vel  hinnulos 


same  circumstances  of  address  on  the  part  of  the 
victors,  and  mismanagement  on  that  of  the  van- 
quished, for  the  English  long-bow  decided  the  day 
in  both  cases.  In  both  cases,  also,  a  Gordon  waa 
left  on  the  field  of  battle ;  and  at  Halidon,  as  at 
Homildon,  the  Scots  were  commanded  by  an  ill- 
fated  representative  of  the  great  house  of  Douglas 
He  of  Homildon  was  surnamed  Tineman,  i.  e.  Lose 
man,  from  his  repeated  defeats  and  miscarriages; 
and,  with  all  the  personal  valor  of  his  race,  seems 
to  have  enjoyed  so  small  a  portion  of  their  saga- 
city, as  to  be  unable  to  learn  military  experience 
from  reiterated  calamity.  I  am  far,  however,  from 
intimating,  that  the  traits  of  imbecility  and  envy 
attributed  to  the  Regent  in  the  following  sketch, 
are  to  be  historically  ascribed  either  to  the  elder 
Douglas  of  Halidon  Hill,  or  to  him  called  Tineman^ 
who  seems  to  have  enjoyed  the  respect  of  Ins 
countrymen,  notwithstanding  that,  like  the  cele- 
brated Anne  de  Montmorency,  he  was  either  de- 
feated, or  wounded,  or  made  prisoner,  in  every 
battle  which  he  fought.  The  Regent  of  the  sketch 
is  a  character  purely  imaginary. 

The  tradition  of  the  Swinton  family,  which  still 
survives  in  a  lineal  descent,  and  to  which  the  au- 
thor has  the  honor  to  be  related,  avers,  that  the 
Swinton  who  fell  at  Homildon  in  the  manner  re- 
lated in  the  preceding  extract,  had  slain  Gordon's 
father ;  which  seems  sufficient  ground  for  adopting 
that  circumstance  into  the  following  dramatic 
sketch,  though  it  is  rendered  improbable  by  other 
authorities. 

If  any  reader  will  take  the  trouble  of  looking  at 
Froissart,  Fordun,  or  other  historians  of  the  period, 
he  will  find,  that  the  character  of  the  Lord  of 
Swinton,  for  strength,  courage,  and  conduct,  is  by 
no  means  exaggerated. 

W.  S. 

Abbotsford,  1822. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

SCOTTISH. 

The  Regent  of  Scotland. 

Gordon, 

Swinton, 

Lennox, 

Sutherland, 


Scottish  Chiefs  and  Noble*. 


Maxwell, 

Johnstone, 

Lindesay, 


imparcatos,  sagittarum  jaculis  perdere  festina.nl.  Descen 
dant  mecum  qui  velint,  et  in  nomine  Domini  hos;es  penetra* 
bimus,  ut  vel  sic  vita  poliamur,  vel  saltern  ut  milites  cum  ho« 
nore  occumbamus  "  &c. — Fordun,  Scot i-Chron 'con,  vol  ii 
p.  434. 


HAL1D0N  HILL. 


731 


Adam  de  Yipont,  a  Knight  Te  iplar. 

The  Prior  of  Maison-Dieu. 

Reynald,  Swinton's  Squire. 

Hon  Hattely,  a  Border  Moss-Trooper. 

Heralds. 

ENGLISH. 
King  Edward  III. 
Chandos,  } 

Percy,  >  English  and  Norman  Nobles. 

RlBAUMONT,         ) 

The  Abbot  of  Walthamstow. 


fjattiron    f)Ul. 


ACT  I— SCENE  I. 

The  northern  side  of  the  eminence  of  Halidon.  Tlie 
back  Scene  represents  the  summit  of  the  ascent, 
occupied  by  the  Bear-guard  of  the  Scottish  army. 
Bodies  of  armed  Men  appear  as  advancing  from 
different  points,  to  join  the  main  Body. 

Enter  De  Vipont  and  the  Prior  of  Maison-Dieu. 

Vip.  No  further,  Father — here  I  need  no  guid- 
ance— 

I  have  already  brought  your  peaceful  step 

Too  near  the  verge  of  battle. 

Pri.  Fain  would  I  see  you  join  some  Baron's 
banner, 

Before  I  say  farewell.     The  honor'd  sword 

That  fought  so  well  in  Syria,  should  not  wave 

Amid  the  ignoble  crowd. 

Vip.  Each  spot  is  noble  in  a  pitched  field, 

So  that  a  man  has  room  to  fight  and  fall  on't. 

But  I  shall  find  out  friends.     'Tis  scarce  twelve 
years 

Since  I  left  Scotland  for  the  wars  of  Palestine, 

And  then  the  flower  of  all  the  Scottish  nobles 

Were  known  to  me ;  and  I,  in  my  degree, 

Not  all  unknown  to  them. 
Pri,  Alas !  there  have  been  changes  since  that 
tune  ! 

The  Royal  Bruce,  with  Randolph,  Douglas,  Gra- 
hame, 

Then  shook  in  field  the  banners  wluch  now  moulder 

Over  their  graves  i'  the  chancel. 
Vip.  And  thence  comes  it, 

That  while  I  look'd  on  many  a  well-kncwn  crest 

And  blazon'd  shield,1  as  hitherward  we  came, 

The  faces  of  the  Barons  who  display'd  them 


'  MS. — "  I've  look'd  on  many  a  well-known  pennon 
Playing  the  air,"  &c. 


"Were  all  unknown  to  me.     Brave   youths   thej 

seem'd ; 
Yet,  surely,  fitter  to  adorn  the  tilt-yard, 
Than  to  be  leaders  of  a  war.     Their  followers, 
Young  like  themselves,  seem  like  themselves  un 

practised — 
Look  at  their  battle-rank. 

Pri.  I  cannot  gaze  on't  with  undazzled  eye, 
So  thick  the  rays  dart  back  from  shield  and  hel- 
met, 
And  sword  and  battle-axe,  and  spear  and  pennon. 
Sure  'tis  a  gallant  show  !     The  Bruce  himself 
Hath  often  conquer'd  at  the  head  of  fewer 
And  worse  appointed  followers. 

Vip.  Ay,  but  'twas  Bruce  that  led  them.     Rev 
erend  Father, 
'Tis  not  the  falchion's  weight  decides  a  combat ; 
It  is  the  strong  and  skilful  hand  that  wields  it. 
Ill  fate,  that  we  should  lack  the  noble  King, 
And  all  his  champions  now  !  Time  call'd  them  not. 
For  when  I  parted  hence  for  Palestine, 
The  brows  of  most  were  free  from  grizzled  hair. 
Pri.  Too  true,  alas !    But  well  you  know,  in  Scot- 
land 
Few  hairs  are  silver'd  underneath  the  helmet ; 
'Tis  cowls  like  mine  which  hide  them.     'Mongsi 

the  laity, 
War's  the  rash  reaper,  who  thrusts  in  his  sickle 
Before  the  grain  is  white.     In  threescore  year* 
And  ten,  which  I  have  seen,  I  have  outlived 
Wellnigh  two  generations  of  our  nobles. 
The  race  winch  holds2  yon  summit  is  the  third. 
Vip.  Thou  mayst  outlive  them  also. 
Pri.  Heaven  forfend  I 

My  prayer  shall  be,  that  Heaven  will  close  my 

eyes, 
Before  they  look  upon  the  wrath  to  come. 

Vip.  Retire,   retire,   good   Father !  —  Pray  for 
Scotland — 
Think  not  on  me.     Here  comes  an  ancient  friend, 
Brother  in  arms,  with  whom  to-day  I'll  join  me. 
Back  to   your  choir,  assemble  all   your   brother- 
hood, 
And  weary  Heaven  with  prayers  for  victory.3 

Pri.  Heaven's  blessing  rest  with  thee, 
Champion  of  Heaven,  and  of  thy  suffering  country  1 
[Exit  Prior.     Vipont  draws  a  little  aside 
and  lets  down  the  beaver  of  his  helme. 

Enter  Swinton,  followed  by  Reynald  and  others,  tc 
whom  he  speaks  as  he  enters. 

Swi.  Halt  here,  and  plant  my  pennon,  till  the 
Regent 
Assign  our  band  its  station  in  the  host. 


2  MS.- 
SMS. 


The  youths  who  hold,"  &c.  "are." 
"  with  prayers  for  Scotland's  weal 


732 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Rey.  That  must  be  by  the  Standard.     We  have 
had 
That  right  since  good  Saint  David's  reign  at  least. 
Fain  would  I  see  the  Marcher  would  dispute  it. 
Swi.  Peace,  Reynald !  Where  the  general  plants 
the  soldier, 
There  is  his  place  of  honor,  and  there  only 
His  valor  can  win  worship.     Thou'rt  of  those, 
Who  would  have  war's  deep  art  bear  the  wild  sem- 
blance 
Of  some  disorder'd  hunting,  where,  pell-mell, 
Each  trusting  to  the  swiftness  of  his  horse, 
Gallant!  press  on  to  see  the  quarry  fall. 
Yon  steel-clad  Southrons,  Reynald,  are  no  deer ; 
And  England's  Edward  is  no  stag  at  bay. 

Yip.  {advancing.)  There  needed  not,  to  blazon 
forth  the  Swinton, 
His  ancient  burgonet,  the  sable  Boar 
Chain'd  to  the  gnarl'd  oak,1 — nor  his  proud  step, 
Nor  giant  stature,  nor  the  ponderous  mace, 
Which  only  he,  of  Scotland's  realm,  can  wield : 
His  discipline  and  wisdom  mark  the  leader, 
As  doth   his   frame  the   champion.      Hail,  brave 
Swinton  1 
Swi.  Brave  Templar,  thanks !    Such  your  cross'd 
shoulder  speaks  you ; 
But  the  closed  visor,  which  conceals  your  features, 
Forbids  more  knowledge.     Umfraville,  perhaps — 
Vip.  (unclosing  his  helmet.)  No ;  one  less  worthy 
of  our  sacred  Order. 
Yet,  unless  Syrian  suns  have  scorch'd  my  features 
Swart  as  my  sable  visor,  Alan  Swinton 
Will  welcome  Symon  Vipont. 

Swi.  {embracing  him.)  As  the  blithe  reaper 
Welcomes  a  practised  mate,  when  the  ripe  harvest 
Lies  deep  before  him,  and  the  sun  is  high  ! 
Thou'lt  follow  yon  old  pennon,  wilt  thou  not  ? 
Tis  tatter' d  since   thou  saw'st  it,  and  the  Boar- 
heads 
Look  as  if  brought  from  off  some  Christmas  board, 
Where  knives  had  notch'd  them  deeply. 

Vip.  Have  with  them,  ne'ertheless.   The  Stuart's 
Chequer, 
The  Bloody  Heart  of  Douglas,  Ross's  Lymphads, 
Sutherland's  Wild-cats,  nor  the  royal  Lion, 
Rampant  in  golden  treasure,  wins  me  from  them. 
We'll  back  the  Boar-heads  bravely.     I  see  round 

them 
A  chosen  band  of  lances — some  well  known  to  me. 
Where's  the  main  body  of  thy  followers  ? 

Swi.  Symon  de  Vipont,  thou  dost  see  them  all 
That  Swinton's  bugle-horn  can  call  to  battle, 
However  loud  it  rings.     There's  not  a  boy 
Left  in  my  halls,  whose  arm  has  strength  enough 

*  "  The  armorial  bearings  of  the  ancient  family  of  Swinton 
ire  sable,  a  cheveron,  or,  between  three  boars'  heads  erased, 
argent.  Crest — a  boar  chained  to  a  tree,  and  above,  on  an 
iscroll,  J'espere.     Supporters — two   boars  standing  on  a 


To  bear  a  sword — there's  not  a  man  behind, 
However  old,  who  moves  without  a  staff. 
Striplings  and  gray  beards,  every  one  is  here, 
And  here  all  should  be — Scotland  needs  them  all 
And  more  and  better  men,  were  each  a  Hercules, 
And  yonder  handful  centuplied. 

Vip.  A  -thousand  followers — such,  with  friends 

and  kinsmen, 
Allieo  and  vassals,  thou  wert  wont  to  lead — 
A  thousand  followers  slirunk  to  sixty  lances 
In  twelve  years'  space  ? — And  thy  brave  sons,  Sir 

Alan? 
Alas !  I  fear  to  ask. 

Swi.  All  slain,  De  Vipont.     In  my  empty  home 
A  puny  babe  lisps  to  a  widow'd  mother, 
"  Where    is    my   grandsire  !    wherefore    do   you 

weep  ?" 
But  for  that  prattler,  Lyulph's  house  is  heirless. 
I'm  an  old  oak,  from  which  the  foresters 
Have  hew'd  four  goodly  boughs,  and  left  beside 

me 
Only  a  sapling,  which  the  fawn  may  crush 
As  he  springs  over  it. 
Vip.  All  slain '{ — alas ! 

Swi.  Ay,  all,  De  Vipont.     And  their  attributes, 
John  with  the  Long  Spear — Archibald  with  the 

Axe — 
Richard  the  Ready — and  my  youngest  darling, 
My  Fair-hair'd  William — do  but  now  survive 
In  measures  which  the  gray-hair'd  minstrels  sing, 
When  they  make  maidens  weep. 

Vip.  These  wars  with  England,  th^j  have  rooted 

out 
The  flowers  of  Christendom.     KrJghts,  who  might 

win 
The  sepulchre  of  Christ  from  the  rude  heathen, 
Fall  in  unholy  warfare  ! 

Swi.  Unholy  warfare  ?  ay,  well  hast  thou  named 

it; 

But  not  with  England — wo-_dd  her  cloth-yard  shafta 
Had  bored  their  cuirasses* !     Their  lives  had  been 
Lost  like  their  grandsire's,  in  the  bold  defence 
Of  their  dear  country2 — but  in  private  feud 
With    the  proud  Gordon,  fell    my  Long-spear'd 

John, 
He  with  the  Axo,  and  he  men  call'd  the  Ready, 
Ay,  and  my  y&ir-hair'd  Will — the  Gordon's  wrath 
Devour'd  my  gallant  issue. 

Vip.  bmce  thou  dost  weep,  their  death  is  un- 
avenged? 
S  sstl  Templar,  what    think'st    thou  me  ? — See 
yonder  rock, 
From  which  the  fountain  gushes — is  it  less 
Compact  of  adamant,  though  waters  flow  from  it  t 


compartment,  whereon  are  the  words,  Je  Pense. 
Baronage,  p.  132. 


-Douglas*  i 


2  MS. — "  Of  the  dear  land  that  nursed  them — but  in  feud- 


HALIDON  HILL. 


'33 


Firm    hearts    have    moister    eyes.  —  They   are 

avenged ; 
I  wept  not  till  they  were^-till  the  proud  Gordon 
Had  with  his  life-blood  dyed  my  father's  sword, 
In  guerdon  that  he  thinn'd  my  father's  lineage, 
And  then  I  wept  my  sons ;  and,  as  the  Gordon 
Lay  at  my  feet,  there  was  a  tear  for  him, 
Which    mingled  with  the  rest.      We  had    been 

friends, 
Had  shared  the  banquet  and  the  chase  together, 
Fouo-ht  side  by  side, — and  our  cause  of  strife, 
Woe  to  the  pride  of  both,  was  but  a  light  one ! 
Vip.  Yon  are  at  feud,  then,  with   the  mighty 

Gordon  ? 
Swi.    At  deadly  feud.     Here  in  this  Border- 
land, 
Where  the  sire's  quarrels  descend  upon  the  son, 
As  due  a  part  of  his  inheritance, 
As  the  strong  castle  and  the  ancient  blazon, 
Where  private  Vengeance  holds  the  scales  of  jus- 
tice, 
Weighing  each  drop  of  blood  as  scrupulously 
As  Jews  or  Lombards  balance  silver  pence, 
Not  in  this  land,  'twixt  Solway  and  Saint  Abb's, 
Rages  a  bitterer  feud  than  mine  and  theirs, 
The  Swinton  and  the  Gordon. 

Vip.  You,  with  some  threescore  lances — and  the 
Gordon 
Leading  a  thousand  followers. 

Swi   You  rate  him  far  too  low.     Since   you 
sought  Palestine, 
He  hath  had  grants  of  baronies  and  lordships 
In  the  far-distant  North.     A  thousand  horse 
His  southern  friends  and  vassals  always  number' d. 
Add  Badenoch  kerne,  and  horse  from  Dey  and 

Spey, 
He'll  count  a  thousand  more. — And  now,  De  Vi- 

pont, 
If  the  Boar-heads  seem  in  your  eyes  less  worthy 
For  lack  of  followers — seek  yonder  standard — 
The  bounding  Stag,  with  a  brave  host  around  it ; 
There  the  young  Gordon  makes  his  earliest  field, 
And  pants  to  win  his  spurs.     His  father's  friend, 
As  well  as  mine,  thou  wert — go,  join  his  pennon, 
And  grace  him  with  thy  presence. 
Vip.  When  you  were  friends,  I  was  the  friend 
of  both, 
And  now  I  can  be  enemy  to  neither ; 
But  my  poor  person,  though  but  slight  the  aid, 
Joins  on  this  field  the  banner  of  the  two 
Which  hath  the  smallest  following. 
Swi.  Spoke  like  the  generous  Knight,  who  gave 
up  all, 
Leading  and  lordship,  in  a  heathen  land 
To  fight,  a  Christian  soldier  1     Yet,  in  earnest, 


IMS— "Sharply." 

*  MS. — "  As  we  do  pass, 


&c. 


I  pray,  De  Vipont,  you  would  join  the  Gordon 

In  tins  high  battle.     'Tis  a  noble  youth, — 

So  fame  doth  vouch  him, — amorous,  quick,  and 

valiant ; 
Takes  knighthood,  too,  this  day,  and  well  may  use 
His  spurs  too  rashly1  in  the  wish  to  win  them. 
A  friend  like  thee  beside  him  in  the  fight, 
Were  worth  a  hundred  spears  to  rein  his  valor 
And  temper  it  with  prudence : — 'tis  the  aged  eagle 
Teaches  his  brood  to  gaze  upon  the  sun, 
With  eye  undazzled. 

Vip.  Alas !  brave  Swinton !  Wouldst  thou  train 

the  hunter 
That  soon  must  bring  thee  to  the  bay?     Your 

custom, 
Your  most  unchristian,  savage,  fiend-like  custom, 
Binds  Gordon  to  avenge  his  father's  death. 

Swi.  Why,  be  it  so !  I  look  for  nothing  else : 
My  part  was  acted  when  I  slew  his  father, 
Avenging  my  four  sons — Young  Gordon's  sword, 
If  it  should  find  my  heart,  can  ne'er  inflict  there 
A  pang  so  poignant  as  his  father's  did. 
But  I  would  perish  by  a  noble  hand, 
And  such  will  his  be  if  he  bear  him  nobly, 
Nobly  and  wisely  on  this  field  of  Halidon. 

Enter  a  Pursuivant. 
Pub.  Sir  Knights,  to  Council ! — 'tis  the  Regent  t 
order, 
That  knights  and  men  of  leading  meet  him  in- 
stantly 
Before  the  royal  standard.     Edward's  army 
Is  seen  from  the  hill-summit. 

Swi.  Say  to  the  Regent,  we  obey  his  orders. 
[Exit  Pursuivant. 
[To  Reynald.]   Hold  thou  my  casque,  and  fur* 
my  pennon  up 
Close  to  the  staff.     I  will  not  show  my  crest, 
Nor  standard,  till  the  common  foe  shall  challenge 

them. 
I'll  wake  no  civil  strife,  nor  tempt  the  Gordon 
With  aught  that's  like  defiance. 

Vip.  Will  he  not  know  your  features  ? 
Swi.  He  never  saw  me.     In  the  distant  North 
Against  his  will,  'tis  said,  his  friends  detain'd  him 
During  his  nurture — caring  not,  belike, 
To  trust  a  pledge  so  precious  near  the  Boar-tusks. 
It  was  a  natural  but  needless  caution : 
I  wage  no  war  with  children,  for  I  think 
Too  deeply  on  mine  own. 

Vip.    I  have  thought  on  it,  and  will  see  the 
Gordon 
As  we  go  hence2  to  council.     I  do  bear 
A  cross,  which  binds  me  to  be  Christian  priest, 
As  well  as  Christian  champion.3     God  may  grant, 


s  MS. 


1  The  cross  I  wear  appoints  me  Christiau  priest 
As  well  as  Christian  warrior."  &c 


734 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


That  I,  at  once  his  father's  friend  and  yours, 
May  make  some  peace  betwixt  you.1 

Swi.  When  that  your  priestly  zeal,  and  knightly 
valor, 
Shall  force  the  grave  to  render  up  the  dead. 

[Exeunt  severally. 


SCENE  IL 


The  summit  of  Halidon  Hill,  before  the  Regent's 
Tent.  The  Royal  Standard  of  Scotland  is  seen 
in  the  background,  with  the  Pennons  and  Ban- 
ners of  the  principal  Nobles  around  it. 

Council  of  Scottish  Nobles  and  Chiefs.  Suther- 
land, Ross,  Lennox,  Maxwell,  and  other  No- 
bles of  the  highest  rank,  are  close  to  the  Regent's 
person,  and  in  the  act  of  keen  debate.  Vipont 
with  Gordon  and  others,  remain  grouped  at  some 
distance  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Stage.  On  the 
left,  standing  also  apart,  is  Swinton,  alone  and 
bare-headed.  The  Nobles  are  dressed  in  Highland 
or  Lowland  habits,  as  historical  costume  requires. 
Trumpets,  Heralds,  dec.  are  in  attendance. 

Len.    Nay,  Lordings,  put  no  shame  upon  my 
counsels. 
I  did  but  say,  if  we  retired  a  little, 
We  should  have  fairer  field  and  better  vantage. 
I've  seen  King  Robert — ay,  The  Bruce  himself — 
Retreat  six  leagues  in  length,  and  think  no  shame 
on't. 
Reg.    Ay,  but  King  Edward  sent  a  haughty 
message, 
Defying  us  to  battle  on  this  field, 
This  very  hill  of  Halidon ;  if  we  leave  it 
Unfought  withal,  it  squares  not  with  our  honor. 
Swi.  [apart.)  A  perilous  honor,  that  allows  the 
enemy, 
And  such  an  enemy  as  this  same  Edward, 
To  choose  our  field  of  battle  !     He  knows  how 
To  make  our  Scottish  pride  betray  its  master 
Into  the  pitfall. 

[During  this  speech  the  debate  among  the  No- 
bles is  continued. 
Suth.  (aloud.)  We  will  not  back  one  furlong — 
not  one  yard, 
S"c,  nor  one  inch ;  where  er  we  find  the  foe, 
Or  where  the  foe  finds  us,  there  will  we  fight  him. 
Retreat  will  dull  the  spirit  of  our  followers, 
Who  now  stand  prompt  for  battle. 

Ross.  My  Lords,  methinks  great  Morarchat2  has 
doubts, 
That,  if  his  Northern  clans  once  turn  the  seam 

1  In  the  MS.  the  scene  terminates  with  this  line. 

2  Morarchate  is  the  ancient  Gaelic  designation  of  the  Earls 
»f  Sutherland.     See  ante,  page  704,  note. 


Of  their  check'd  hose  behind,  it  will  be  hard 
To  halt  and  rally  them. 

Suth.  Say'st  thou,  MacDonnell  ? — Add  another: 
falsehood, 
And  name  when  Morarchat  was  coward  or  traitor  ? 
Thine  island  race,  as  chronicles  can  tell, 
Were  oft  affianced  to  the  Southron  cause  ; 
Loving  the  weight  and  temper  of  their  gold, 
More  than  the  weight  and  temper  of  their  steel. 

Reg.  Peace,  my  Lords,  ho ! 

Ross   (throwing  down  his  Glove.)    MacDonnell 
will  not  peace  !     There  lies  my  pledge, 
Proud  Morarchat,  to  witness  thee  a  liar. 

Max.  Brought  I  all  Nithsdale  from  the  Western 
Border ; 
Left  I  my  towers  exposed  to  foraying  England, 
And  thieving  Annandale,  to  see  such  misrule  ? 

John.  Who  speaks  of  Annandale  ?     Dare  Max- 
well slander 
The  gentle  House  of  Lochwood  ?3 

Reg.  Peace,  Lordings,  once  again.    We  represent 
The  Majesty  of  Scotland — in  our  presence 
Brawling  is  treason. 

Suth.  Were  it  in  presence  of  the  King  himself 
What  should  prevent  my  saying — 

Enter  Lindesay 

Lin.  You  must  determine  quickly.  Scarce  a  mile 

Parts  our  vanguard  from  Edward's.     On  the  plain 

Bright  gleams  of  armor  flash  through  clouds  of  dust, 

Like  stars  through  frost-mist — steeds  neigh,  and 

weapons  clash — 
And  arrows  soon  will  whistle — the  worst  sound 
That  waits  on  English  war. — You  must  determine. 
Reg.  We  are  determined.    We  will  spare  proud 
Edward 
Half  of  the  ground  that  parts  us. — Onward,  Lords , 
Saint  Andrew  strike  for  Scotland  !     We  will  lead 
The  middle  ward  ourselves,  the  Royal  Standard 
Display'd  beside  us ;  and  beneath  its  shadow 
Shall  the  young  gallants,  whom  we  knight  this  day, 
Fight  for  their  golden  spurs. — Lennox,  thou'rt  wise, 
And  wilt  obey  command — lead  thou  the  rear. 
Len.  The  rear ! — why  I  the  rear  ?  The  van  were 
fitter 
For  him  who  fought  abreast  with  Robert  Bruce. 
Swi.  (apart.)  Discretion  hath  forsaken  Lennox 
tool 
The  wisdom  he  was  forty  years  in  gathering 
Has  left  him  in  an  instant.     'Tis  contagious 
Even  to  witness  phrensy. 

Suth.  The  Regent  hath  determined  well.    Th*» 
rear 
Suits  him  the  best  who  counsell'd  our  retreat. 

3  Lochwood  Castle  was  the  ancient  seat  of  the  J ilmstonei, 
Lords  of  Annandale. 


HALIDON  HILL. 


735 


Lkn.  Proud  Northern  Thane,  the  van  were  soon 
the  rear, 
Were  thy  disorder' d  followers  planted  there. 

Simr.  Then,  for  that  very  word,  I  make  a  vow 
By  my  broad  Earldom,  and  my  father's  soul, 
That,  if  I  have  not  leading  of  the  van, 
[  will  not  fight  to-day ! 

Ross.  Morarchat !  thou  the  leading  of  the  van ! 
Not  whilst  MacDonnell  lives. 

Swi.  {apart.)  Nay,  then  a  stone  would  speak. 
[Addresses  the  Regent.]  May't  please  your  Grace, 
And  you,  great  Lords,  to  hear  an  old  man's  counsel, 
That  hath  seen  fights  enow.    These  open  bickerings 
Dishearten  all  our  host.     If  that  your  Grace, 
With  these  great  Earls  and  Lords,  must  needs 

debate, 
Let  the  closed  tent  conceal  your  disagreement ; 
Else  'twill  be  said,  ill  fares  it  with  the  flock, 
If  shepherds  wrangle,  when  the  wolf  is  nigh. 
Reg.  The  old  Knight  counsels  well.     Let  every 
Lord, 
Or  Chief,  who  leads  five  hundred  men  or  more, 
Follow  to  council — others  are  excluded — 
We'll  have  no  vulgar  censurers  of  our  conduct — 

[Looking  at  Swinton. 
Young  Gordon,  your  high  rank  and  numerous  fol- 
lowing 
Give  you  a  seat  with  us,  though  yet  unknighted. 
Gordon.  I  pray  you,  pardon  me.     My  youth's 
unfit 
To  sit  in  council,  when  that  Knight's  gray  hairs 
And  wisdom  wait  without. 
Reg.  Do  as  you  will ;  we  deign  not  bid  you  twice. 
[The    Regent,   Ross,    Sutherland,    Lennox, 
Maxwell,  dec.  enter  the  Tent.     The  rest  re- 
main grouped  about  the  Stage. 
Gor.   {observing    Swi.)     That    helmetless    old 
Knight,  his  giant  stature, 
His  awful  accents  of  rebuke  and  wisdom, 
Have  caught  my  fancy  strangely.     He  doth  seem 
Like  to  some  vision'd  form  which  I  have  dream'd  of, 
But  never  saw  with  waking  eyes  till  now. 
I  will  accost  him. 

Vip.  Pray  you,  do  not  so ; 
Anon  I'll  give  you  reason  why  you  should  not. 

There's  other  work  in  hand 

Gor.  I  will  but  ask  his  name.     There's  in  his 
presence 
Something  that  works  upon  me  like  a  spell, 
Or  like  the  feeling  made  my  childish  ear 
Dote  upon  tales  of  superstitious  dread, 
Attracting  while  they  chill'd  my  heart  with  fear. 
Now,  born  the  Gordon,  I  do  feel  right  well 
I'm  bound  to  fear  naught   earthly — and   I   fear 
naught. 

'  "  A  name  unmusical  to  Volscian  ears, 

And  harsh  in  sound  to  thine."— Coriolanua. 


I'll  know  who  this  man  is 

[Accosts  Swinton; 
Sir  Knight,  I  pray  you,  of  your  gentle  courtesy, 
To  tell  your  honor'd  name.     I  am  ashamed, 
Being  unknown  in  arms,  to  say  that  mine 
Is  Adam  Gordon. 

Swinton  {shoios  emotion,  but  instantly  subdues  it.) 
It  is  a  name  that  soundeth  in  my  ear 
Like  to  a  death-knell — ay,  and  like  the  call 
Of  the  shrill  trumpet  to  the  mortal  lists ; 
Yet,  'tis  a  name  which  ne'er  hath  been  dishonor \l. 
And  never  will,  I  trust — most  surely  never 
By  such  a  youth  as  thou. 

Gor.  There's  a  mysterious  courtesy  in  this, 
And  yet  it  yields  no  answer  to  my  question. 
I  trust  you  hold  the  Gordon  not  unworthy 
To  know  the  name  he  asks  ? 

Swi.  Worthy  of  all  that  openness  and  honor 
May  show  to  friend  or  foe — but  for  my  name. 
Vipont  will  show  it  you  ;  and,  if  it  sound 
Harsh  in  your  ear,1  remember  that  it  knells  there 
But  at  your  own  request.     This  day,  at  least, 
Though  seldom  wont  to  keep  it  in  concealment, 
As  there's  no  cause  I  should,  you  had  not  heard  it 

Gor.  This  strange 

Vip.  The  mystery  is  needful.     Follow  me. 

[They  retire  behind  the  side  scene, 

Swi.  {looking  after  them)  'Tis  a  brave  youth 
How  blush'd  his  noble  cheek, 
While  youthful  modesty,  and  the  embarrassment 
Of  curiosity,  combined  with  wonder, 
And  half  suspicion  of  some  slight  intended, 
All  mingled  in  the  flush  ;  but  soon  'twill  deepen 
Into  revenge's  glow.     How  slow  is  Vipont ! — 
I  wait  the  issue,  as  I've  seen  spectators 
Suspend  the  motion  even  of  the  eyelids, 
When  the  slow  gunner,  with  his  lighted  match, 
Approach'd  the  charged  cannon,  in  the  act 
To  waken  its  dread  slumbers. — Now  'tis  out ; 
He  draws  his  sword,  and  rushes  towards  me, 
Who  will  nor  seek  nor  shun  him. 

Enter  Gordon,  withheld  by  Vipont. 
Vip.  Hold,  for  the  sake  of  Heaven  !    0,  for  the 
sake  [your  father, 

Of  your  dear  country,  hold  ! — Has  Swinton  slain 
And  must  you,  therefore,  be  yourself  a  parricide, 
And  stand  recorded  as  the  selfish  traitor, 
Who,  in  her  hour  of  need,  his  country's  cause 
Deserts,  that  he  ma}  wreak  a  private  wrong  ? 
Look  to  yon  banner — that  is  Scotland's  standard ; 
Look  to  the  Regent — he  is  Scotland's  general ; 
Look  to  the  English — they  are  Scotland's  foemenj 
Bethink  thee,  then,  thou  art  a  son  of  Scotland, 
And  think  on  naught  beside.2 

2  In  the  MS.  the  five  last  lines  of  Vipont's  speech  are  intei 
polated. 


736 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Gor.  He  hath  come  here  to  brave  me! — Off! 
unhand  me  ! 
Thou  canst  not  be  my  father's  ancient  friend, 
That  stands  'twixt  me  and  him  who  slew  my  father. 

Vip.  You  know  not  Swinton.     Scarce  one  pass- 
ing thought 
Of  his  high  mind  was  with  you ;  now,  his  soul 
Is  fixd  on  this  day's  battle.     You  might  slay  him 
At  unawares  before  he  saw  your  blade  drawn. — 
Stand  still,  and  watch  him  close.1 

Enter  Maxwell  from  the  tent. 

Swi.  How  go  our  councils,  Maxwell,  may  I  ask  ? 

Max.  As  wild  as  if  the  very  wind  and  sea 
With  every  breeze  and  every  billow  battled 
For  their  precedence.2 

Swi.  Most  sure  they  are  possess'd !     Some  evil 
spirit, 
To  mock  their  valor,  robs  them  of  discretion. 
Fie,  fie  upon't ! — 0,  that  Dunfermline's  tomb 
Could  render  up  The  Bruce  !  that  Spain's  red  shore 
Could  give  us  back  the  good  Lord  James  of  Doug- 
las ! 
Or  that  fierce  Randolph,  with  his  voice  of  terror, 
Were  here,  to  awe  these  brawlers  to  submission ! 

Vip.  to  Gor.  Thou  hast  perused  him  at  more 
leisure  now. 

Gor.  I  see  the  giant  form  which  all  men  speak  of, 
The  stately  port — but  not  the  sullen  eye, 
Not  the  bloodthirsty  look,  that  should  belong 
To  him  that  made  me  orphan.     I  shall  need 
To  name  my  father  twice  ere  I  can  strike 
At  such  gray  hairs,  and  face  of  such  command ; 
Yet  my  hand  clenches  on  my  falchion  hilt, 
In  token  he  shall  die. 

Vir.  Need  I  again  remind  you,  that  the  place 
Permits  not  private  quarrel. 

Gor.  I'm  calm.     I  will  not  seek — nay,  I  will 
shun  it — 
And  yet  methinks  that  such  debate's  the  fashion. 
You've  heard  how  taunts,  reproaches,  and  the  lie, 
The  lie  itself,  have  flown  from  mouth  to  mouth ; 
As  if  a  band  of  peasants  were  disputing 
About  a  foot-ball  match,  rather  than  Chiefs 
Were  ordering  a  battle.     I  am  young, 
And  lack  experience ;  tell  me,  brave  De  Vipont, 
Is  such  the  fashion  of  your  wars  in  Palestine  ? 

Vip.  Such  it  at  times  hath  been ;  and  then  the 
Cross 
Hath  sunk  before  the  Crescent.     Heaven's  cause 
Won  us  not  victory  where  wisdom  was  not. — 
Behold  yon  English  host  come  slowly  on, 
With  equal  front,  rank  marshall'd  upon  rank, 
As  if  one  spirit  ruled  one  moving  body ; 

i  MS. — "  You  must  not  here— not  where  the  Royal  Standard 
Awaits  the  attack  of  Scotland's  enemies, 
Against  the  common  foe — wage  private  quarrel. 
He  braves  you  not — his  thought  is  on  the  event 


The  leaders,  in  their  places,  each  prepared 
To  charge,  support,  and  rally,  as  the  fortune 
Of  changeful  battle  needs :  then  look  on  ours, 
Broken,  disjointed,  as  the  tumbling  surges 
Which  the  winds  wake  at  random.     Look  on  both 
And  dread  the  issue  ;  yet  there  might  be  succor. 

Gor.  We're  fearfully  o'ermatch'd  in  discipline ; 
So  even  my  inexperienced  eye  can  judge. 
What  succor  save  in  Heaven  ? 

Vip.  Heaven  acts  by  human  means.     The  art- 
ist's skill 
Supplies  in  war,  as  in  mechanic  crafts, 
Deficiency  of  tools.     There's  courage,  wisdom, 
And  skill  enough,  live  in  one  leader  here, 
As,  flung  into  the  balance,  might  avail 
To  counterpoise  the  odds  'twixt  that  ruled  host 
And  our  wild  multitude. — I  must  not  name  him. 

Gor.  I  guess,  but  dare  not  ask. — What  band  is 
yonder, 
Arranged  so  closely  as  the  English  discipline 
Hath  marshall'd  their  best  files  ? 

Vip.  Know'st  thou  not  the  pennon  ? 
One  day,  perhaps,  thou'lt  see  it  all  too  closely ; — 
It  is  Sir  Alan  Swinton's. 

Gor.   These,  then,  are   his, — the   relics   of  his 
power ; 
Yet  worth  an  host  of  ordinary  men. — 
And  I  must  slay  my  country's  sagest  leader, 
And  crush  by  numbers  that  determined  handful, 
When  most  my  country  needs  their  practised  aid 
Or  men  will  say,  "  There  goes  degenerate  Gordon 
His  father's  blood  is  on  the  Swinton's  sworcl, 
And  his  is  in  his  scabbard  !"  [Muses 

Vip.  (apart.)  High  blood  and  mettle,  mix'd  with 
early  wisdom, 
Sparkle  in  this  brave  youth.     If  he  survive 
This  evil-omen'd  day,  I  pawn  my  word 
That,  in  the  ruin  which  I  now  forbode, 
Scotland  has  treasure  left. — How  close  he  eyes 
Each  look  and  step  of  Swinton !     Is  it  hate, 
Or  is  it  admiration,  or  are  both 
Commingled  strangely  in  that  steady  gaze  ? 
[Swinton  and  Maxwell  return  from  the  bottom 
of  the  stage. 

Max.  The  storm  is  laid  at  length  amongst  these 
counsellors ; 
See,  they  come  forth. 

Swi.  And  it  is  more  than  time  ; 
For  I  can,  mark  the  vanguard  archery 
Handling  their  quivers — bending  up  their  bows. 

Enter  the  Regent  and  Scottish  Lords. 
Reg.  Thus  shall  it  be,  then,  since  we  may  lie 
better : 

Of  this  day's  field.     Stand  still  and  watch  him 
closer. ' ' 
2  "  Mad  as  the  sea  and  wind,  when  both  contend 
Which  is  the  mightier." — Hamlet. 


HALIDON  HILL. 


737 


A.nd,  since  no  Lord  will  yield  one  jot  of  way 
To  this  high  urgency,  or  give  the  vanguard 
Up  to  another's  guidance,  we  will  abide  them 
Even  on  this  bent ;  and  as  our  troops  are  rank'd, 
So  shall  they  meet  the  foe.     Chief,  nor  Thane, 
Nor  Nol  le,  can  complain  of  the  precedence 
Which  eianee  has  thus  assign'd  lum. 

Swi.  (apart)  O,  sage  discipline. 
That  leaves  to  chance  the  marshalling  of  a  battle ! 
Gor.  Move  him  to  speech,  De  Vipont. 
Vip.  Move  him  I — Move  whom  ? 
Gor.  Even  lum,  whom,  but  brief  space  since, 
My  hand  did  burn  to  put  to  utter  silence. 

Vip.  I'll  move  it  to  him. — Swinton,  speak  to 
them, 
They  lack  thy  counsel  sorely. 

Swi.  Had  I  the  thousand  spears  which  once  I  led, 
I  had  not  thus  been  silent.     But  men's  wisdom 
Is  rated  by  their  means.     From  the  poor  leader 
Of  sixty  lances,  who  seeks  words  of  weight  ? 
Gor.  (steps  forward.)  Swinton,  there's  that  of 
wisdom  on  thy  brow, 
And  valor  in  thine  eye,  and  that  of  peril 
In  this  most  urgent  hour,  that  bids  me  say, — 
Bids  me,  thy  mortal  foe,  say, — Swinton,  speak, 
For  King  and  Country's  sake  ! 

Swi.  Nay,  if  that  voice  commands  me,  speak  I 
will; 
It  sounds  as  if  the  dead  lays  charge  on  me. 

Reg.  (To  Lennox,  with  whom  he  has  been  consult- 
ing.) 
'Tis  better  than  you  think.     This  broad  hill-side 
Affords  fair  compass  for  our  power's  display, 
Rank  above  rank  rising  in  seemly  tiers ; 

So  that  the  rearward  stands'  as  fair  and  open 

Swi.  As  e'er  stood  mark  before  an  English  archer. 
Reg.  Who  dares  to  say  so  ? — Who  is't  dare  im- 
peach 
Our  rule  of  discipline  ? 
Swi.  A  poor  Knight  of  these  Marches,  good  my 
Lord  ; 
Alan  of  Swinton,  who  hath  kept  a  house  here, 
He  and  his  ancestry,  since  the  old  days 
Of  Malcolm,  called  the  Maiden. 
Reg.  You  have  brought  here,  even  to  this  pitched 
field, 
In  which  the  Royal  Banner  is  display'd, 
I  think  some  sixty  spears,  Sir  Knight  of  Swinton ; 
Our  musters  name  no  more. 

Swi.  I  brought  each  man  I  had ;  and  Chief,  or 
Earl, 
Thane,  Duke,  or  dignitary,  brings  no  more ; 
And  with  them  brought  I  what  may  here  be  use- 
ful— 
An  aged  eye ;  whK,h,  what  in  England,  Scotland, 
Spain,  France,  and  Flanders,  hath  seen  fifty  battles, 
A_nd  ta'en  soue  judgment  of  them ;  a  stark  hand 
too,  \ 

93 


Which  plays  as  with  a  straw  with  this  same  mace, 
Which  if  a  young  arm  here  can  wield  more  lightly, 
I  never  more  will  offer  word  of  counsel. 

Len.  Hear  him,  my  Lord  ;  it  is  the  noble  Swin- 
ton— 
He  hath  had  high  experience. 

Max.  He  is  noted 

The  wisest  warrior  'twixt  the  Tweed  and  Solway, — 
I  do  beseech  you,  hear  him. 

John.  Ay,  hear  the  Swinton — hear  stout  old  Sir 
Alan; 
Maxwell  and  Johnstone  both  agree  for  once 

Reg.  Where's  your  impatience  now  ? 
Late  you  were  all  for  battle,  would  not  hear 
Ourself  pronounce  a  word — and  now  you  gaze 
On  yon  old  warrior  in  his  antique  armor, 
As  if  he  were  arisen  from  the  dead, 
To  bring  us  Bruce's  counsel  for  the  battle. 

Swi.  'Tis  a  proud  word  to  speak ;  but  he  whc 
fought 
Long  under  Robert  Bruce,  may  something  guess. 
Without  communication  with  the  dead, 
At  what  he  would  have  counsell'd. — Bruce  had 

bidden  ye 
Review  your  battle-order,  marshall'd  broadly 
Here  on  the  bare  hill-side,  and  bidden  you  mark 
Yon  clouds  of  Southron  archers,  bearing  down 
To  the  green  meadow-lands  which  stretch  beneath— 
The  Bruce  had  warn'd  you,  not  a  shaft  to-day 
But  shall  find  mark  witliin  a  Scottish  bosom, 
If  thus  our  field  be  order'd.     The  callow  boys, 
Who  draw  but  four-foot  bows,  shall  gall  our  front, 
While  on  our  mainward,  and  upon  the  rear, 
The  cloth-yard  shafts  shall  fall  like  death's  own 

darts, 
And,  though  blind  men  discharge  them,  find  a  mark. 
Thus  shall  we  die  the  death  of  slaughter'd  deer, 
Which,  driven  into  the  toils,  are  shot  at  ease 
By  boys  and  women,  while  they  toss  aloft 
All  idly  and  m  vain  their  branchy  horns, 
As  we  shall  snake  our  unavailing  spears. 

Reg.  Tush,  tell  not  me !  If  their  shot  fall  like 
hail, 
Our  men  have  Milan  coats  to  bear  it  out. 

Swi.  Never  did  armorer  temper  steel  on  stithy 
That  made  sure  fence  against  an  English  arrow ; 
A  cobweb  gossamer  were  guard  as  good1 
Against  a  wasp-sting. 

Reg.  Who  fears  a  wasp-sting  ? 

Swi.  I,  my  Lord,  fear  none 

Yet  should  a  wise  man  brush  the  insect  off, 
Or  he  may  smart  for  it. 

Reg.   We'll  keep  the  hill;  it  is  the  vantage- 
ground 
When  the  main  battle  joins. 

Swi.  It  ne'er  will  join,  while  their  light  archer* 


iMS.- 


guard  as  thick.' 


738 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Can  foil  our  spearmen  and  our  barbed  horse. 
To  hope  Plantagenet  would  seek  close  combat 
When  he  can  conquer  riskless,  is  to  deem 
Sagacious  Edward  simpler  than  a  babe 
In  battle-knowledge.     Keep  the  hill,  my  Lord, 
With  the  main  body,  if  it  is  your  pleasure ; 
But  let  a  body  of  your  chosen  horse 
Make  execution  on  yon  waspish  archers. 
I've  done  such  work  before,  and  love  it  well; 
If  'tis  your  pleasure  to  give  me  the  leading, 
The  dames  of  Sherwood,  Inglewood,  and  Weardale, 
Shall  sit  in  widowhood  and  long  for  venison, 
And  long  in  vain.     Whoe'er  remembers  Bannock- 
burn, — 
And  when  shall  Scotsman,  till  the  last  loud  trumpet, 
Forget  that  stirring  word ! — knows  that  great  battle 
Even  thus  was  fought  and  won. 

Lkn.  This  is  the  shortest  road  to  bandy  blows ; 
For  when  the  bills  step  forth  and  bows  go  back, 
Then  is  the  moment  that  our  hardy  spearmen, 
With  their  strong  bodies,  and  their  stubborn  hearts, 
And  limbs  well  knit  by  mountain  exercise, 
At  the  ''lose  tug  shall  foil  the  short-breath' d  South- 
ron. 

Swi.  I  do  not  say  the  field  will  thus  be  won ; 
The  English  host  is  numerous,  brave,  and  loyal; 
Their  Monarch  most  accomplish'd  in  war's  art, 
Skill' d,  resolute,  and  wary 

Beg.  And  if  your  scheme  secure  not  victory,1 
What  does  it  promise  us  ? 

Swi.  This  much  at  least — 

Darkling  we  shall  not  die  :  the  peasant's  shaft, 
Loosen'd  perchance  without  an  aim  or  purpose, 
Shall  not  drink  up  the  life-blood  we  derive 
From  those  famed  ancestors,  who  made  their  breasts 
This  frontier's  barrier  for  a  thousand  years. 
We'll  meet  these  Southron  bravely  hand  to  hand, 
And  eye  to  eye,  and  weapon  against  weapon ; 
Each  man  who  falls  shall  see  the  foe  who  strikes 

him. 
While  our  good  blades  are  faithful  to  the  hilts, 
And  our  good  hands  to  these  good  blades  are  faith- 
ful, 
Blow  shall  meet  blow,  and  none  fall  unavenged — 
We  shall  not  bleed  alone. 

Reg.  And  this  is  all 

Your  wisdom  hath  devised  ? 

Swi.  Not  all ;  for  I  would  pray  you,  noble  Lords 
(If  one,  among  the  guilty  guiltiest,  might), 
For  this  one  day  to  charm  to  ten  hours'  rest 
The  never-dying  worm  of  deadly  feud, 

i  "  The  generous  abandonment  of  private  dissension,  on  the 
part  of  Gordon,  which  the  historian  has  described  as  a  momen- 
tary impulse,  is  depicted  by  the  dramatisj,  with  great  skill  and 
knowledge  of  human  feeling,  as  the  result  of  many  powerful 
and  conflicting  emotions.  He  has,  we  think,  been  very  suc- 
cessful in  his  attempt  to  express  the  hesitating,  and  sometimes 
retrograde  movements  of  a  young  and  ardent  mind,  in  its  tran- 
sition from  the  first  glow  of  indignation  aga  nst  his  hereditary 


That  gnaws  our  vexed  hearts — think  no  one  foe 

Save  Edward  and  his  host : — days  will  remain,2 

Ay,  days  by  far  too  many  will  remain, 

To  avenge  old  feuds  or  struggles  for  precedence  ;-  - 

Let  this  one  day  be  Scotland's. — For  myself, 

If  there  is  any  here  may  claim  from  me 

(As  well  may  chance)  a  debt  i  X  blood  and  hatred, 

My  life  is  his  to-morrow  unresisting, 

So  he  to-day  will  let  me  do  the  best 

That  my  old  arm  may  achieve  for  the  dear  country 

That's  mother  to  us  both. 

[Gordon  shows  much  emotion  during  this 
and  the  preceding  speech  o/Swinton. 

Reg.  It  is  a  dream — a  vision ! — if  one  troop 
Rush  down  upon  the  archers,  all  will  follow, 
And   order  is  destroy'd — we'll  keep  the  battle- 
rank 
Our  fathers  wont  to  do.     No  more  on't. — Ho !. 
Where  be  those  youths  seek  knighthood  from  our 
sword  ? 

Her.  Here  are  the  Gordon,  Somerville,  and  Hay, 
And  Hepburn,  with  a  score  of  gallants  more. 

Reg.  Gordon,  stand  forth. 

Gor.  I  pray  your  Grace,  forgive  me. 

Reg.  How  1  seek  you  not  for  knighthood  ? 

Gor.  I  do  thirst  for't. 

But,  pardon  me — 'tis  from  another  sword. 

Reg.  It  is  your  Sovereign's — seek  you  for  a  wor- 
thier ? 

Gor.  Who  would  drink  purely,  seeks  the  secret 
fountain, 
How  small  soever — not  the  general  stream, 
Though  it  be  deep  and  wide.     My  Lord,  I  seek 
The  boon  of  knighthood  from  the  honor' d  weapon 
Of  the  best  knight,  and  of  the  sagest  leader, 
That  ever  graced  a  ring  of  chivalry. 
— Therefore,  I  beg  the  boon  on  bended  knee, 
Even  from  Sir  Alan  Swinton.  \Kneel%. 

Reg.  Degenerate  boy  !     Abject  at  once  and  in- 
solent ! — 
See,  Lords,  he  kneels  to  him  that  slew  his  father ! 

Gor.  {starting  up)  Shame  be  on  him,  who  speaks 
such  shameful  word ! 
Shame  be  on  him,  whose  tongue  would  sow  dissen- 
sion, 
When  most  the  time  demands  that  native  Scotsmen 
Forget  each  private  wrong  ! 

Swi.  (interrupting  him.)  Youth,  since  you  crave 
me 
To  be  your  sire  in  chivalry,  I  remina  you 
War  has  its  duties,  Office  has  its  reverence 


2  MS. 


foeman,  the  mortal  antagonist  of  his  father,  to  the  no  less ' 
and  generous  devotion  of  feeling  which  is  inspired  in  it  by  the 
contemplation  of  that  foeman 's  valor  and  virtues." — British 
Critic. 

For  this  one  day  to  chase  our  country's  curse 
From  your  vex'd  bosoms,  and  think  no  one  enemy 
But  those  in  yonder  army — days  enow, 
Ay  days."  &c. 


HALIDON  HILL. 


73a 


Who  governs  in  the  Sovereign's  name  is  Sover- 
eign ;— 
Crave  the  Lord  Regent's  pardon. 

Gor.  You  task  me  justly,  and  I  crave  his  pardon, 
[Bows  to  the  Regent. 
Lis  and  these  noble  Lords' ;  and  pray  them  all 
Bear  witness  to  my  words. — Ye  noble  presence, 
Here  I  remit  unto  the  Knight  of  Swinton 
All  bitter  memory  of  my  father's  slaughter, 
All  thoughts  of  malice,  hatred,  and  revenge : 
By  no  base  fear  or  composition  moved, 
But  by  the  thought,  that  in  our  country's  battle 
All  hearts  should  be  as  one.     I  do  forgive  him 
As  freely  as  I  pray  to  be  forgiven, 
And  once  more  kneel  to  him  to  sue  for  knighthood. 

Swi.  {affected,  and  drawing  his  sword.) 
Alas !  brave  youth,  'tis  I  should  kneel  to  you, 
And,  tendering  thee"  the  hilt  of  the  fell  sword 
That  made  thee  fatherless,  bid  thee  use  the  point 
After  thine  own  discretion.     For  thy  boon — 
Trumpets  be  ready — In  the  Holiest  name, 
And  in  Our  Lady's  and  Saint  Andrew's  name, 

[Touching  his  shoulder  with  his  sword. 
I  dub  thee  Knight ! — Arise,  Sir  Adam  Gordon ! 
Be  faithful,  brave,  and  0,  be  fortunate, 
Should  this  ill  hour  permit ! 

[The  trumpets  sound;  tlie  Heralds  cry 
"  Largesse,"  and  the  Attendants  shout 
"  A  Gordon !     A  Gordon  !" 

Reg.  Beggars  and  flatterers !  Peace,  peace,  I  say ! 
We'll  to  the  Standard  ;  knights  shall  there  be  made 
Who  will  with  better  reason  crave  your  clamor. 

Len.  What  of  Swinton's  counsel  ? 
Here's  Maxwell  and  myself  think  it  worth  noting. 

Reg.  (with  concentrated  indignation.) 
Let  the  best  knight,  and  let  the  sagest  leader, — 
So  Gordon  quotes  the  man  who  slew  his  father, — 
With  his  old  pedigree  and  heavy  mace, 
Essay  the  adventure  if  it  pleases  him, 
With  his  fair  threescore  horse.     As  for  ourselves, 
We  will  not  peril  aught  upon  the  measure. 

Gor.  Lord  Regent,  you  mistake ;  for  if  Sir  Alan 
Shall  venture  such  attack,  each  man  who  calls 
The  Gordon  chief,  and  hopes  or  fears  from  him 
Or  good  or  evil,  follows  Swinton's  banner 
In  this  achievement. 

Reg.  Why,  God  ha'  mercy !  This  is  of  a  piece. 
Let  young  and  old  e'en  follow  their  own  counsel, 
Since  none  will  list  to  mine. 

Ross.   The  Border  cockerel  fain  would  be  on 
horseback ; 
'Tis  safe  to  be  prepared  for  fight  or  flight : 
And  this  conies  of  it  to  give  Northern  lands 
To  the  false  Norman  blood. 

Gor.  Hearken,  proud  Chief  of  Isles !     Within 
my  stalls 
I  have  two  hundred  horse ;  two  hundred  riders 
Mount  guard  upon  my  castle,  who  would  tread 


Into  the  dust  a  thousand  of  your  Redshanks, 
Nor  count  it  a  day's  service. 

Swi.  Hear  I  this 

From  thee,  young  man,  and  on  the  day  of  battle  ? 
And  to  the  brave  MacDonnell  ? 

Gor.  'Twas  he  that  urged  me;  but  I  am  re- 
buked. 
Reg.  He  crouches  like  a  leash-hound  to  his  mas- 
ter I1 
Swi.  Each  hound  must  do  so  that  would  head 
the  deer — 
'Tis  mongrel  curs  that  snatch  at  mate  or  master. 
Reg.  Too  much  of  this.   Sirs,  to  the  Royal  Stand- 
ard! 
I  bid  you  in  the  name  of  good  King  David. 
Sound  trumpets — sound  for  Scotland   and  King 
David ! 
[The  Regent  and  the  rest  go  off,  and  the 
Scene  closes.     Manent  Gordon,  Swin- 
ton, and  Vipont,  with  Reynald  and  fol- 
lowers.     Lennox  folloios   the   Regent; 
but  returns,  and  addresses  Swinton. 
Len.  0,  were  my  western  horsemen  but  come  up, 
I  would  take  part  with  you  ! 

Swi.  Better  that  you  remain. 

They  lack  discretion ;  such  gray  head  as  yours 
May  best  supply  that  want. 
Lennox,  mine  ancient  friend,  and  honor'd  lord, 
Farewell,  I  think,  for  ever  1 

Len.  Farewell,  brave    friend!  —  and  farewell, 
noble  Gordon, 
Whose  sun  will  be  eclipsed  even  as  it  rises ! — 
The  Regent  will  not  aid  you. 

Swi.  We  will  so  bear  us,  that  as  soon  the  blood- 
hound 
Shall  halt,  and  take  no  part,  what  time  his  com- 
rade 
Is  grappling  with  the  deer,  as  he  stand  still, 
And  see  us  overmatch'd. 

Len.  Alas !  thou  dost  not  know  how  mean  his 
pride  is, 
How  strong  his  envy.  [him. 

Swi.  Then  we  will  die,  and  leave  the  shame  with 

[Exit  Lennox. 
Vip.  (to  Gordon.)  What  ails  thee,  noble  youth  I 


What  means  this 


pause 


Thou  dost  not  rue  thy  generosity  ? 

Gor.  I  have  been  hurried  on  by  strong  impulse, 
Like  to  a  bark  that  scuds  before  the  storm, 
Till  driven  upon  some  strange  and  distant  coast, 
Which  never  pilot  dream'd  of. — Have  I  not  for- 
given ? 
And  am  I  not  still  fatherless  ? 

Swi.  Gordon,  no ; 

For  while  we  live  I  am  a  father  to  thee.  [be. 

Gor.  Thou,  Swinton  ? — no ! — that  cannot,  cannot 

i  In  the  MS.  this  speech  and  the  next  are  interpolated 


740 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Swi.  Then   change   the  phrase,  and  say,  that 
while  we  live, 
Gordon  shall  be  my  son.     If  thou  art  fatherless, 
Am  I  not  childless  too  ?     Bethink  thee,  Gordon, 
Our  death-feud  was  not  like  the  household  fire, 
Which  the  poor  peasant  hides  among  its  embers, 
To  smoulder  on,  and  wait  a  time  for  waking. 
Ours  was  the  conflagration  of  #ie  forest, 
Which,  in  its  fury,  spares  nor  sprout  nor  stem, 
Hoar  oak,  nor  sapling — not  to  be  extinguish'd, 
Till  Heaven,  in  mercy,  sends  down  all  her  waters ; 
But,  once  subdued,  its  flame  is  quench'd  for  ever ; 
And  spring  shall  hide  the  tract  of  devastation,1 
With    foliage    and  with  flowers. — Give  me  thy 
hand. 
Gob.  My  hand  and  heart ! — And  freely  now ! — 

to  fight ! 
Vip.  How  will  you  act  ?  [IToSwinton.]  The  Gor- 
don's band  and  thine 
Are  in  the  rearward  left,  I  think,  in  scorn — 
111  post  for  them  who  wish  to  charge  the  foremost ! 
Swi.  We'll  turn  that  scorn  to  vantage,  and  de- 
scend 
Sidelong  the  hill — some  winding  path  there  must 

be— 
0,  for  a  well-skill'd  guide  ! 

[Hob  Hattely  starts  up  from  a  Thicket. 
Hob.  So  here  he  stands. — An  ancient  friend,  Sir 
Alan. 
Hob  Hattely,  or,  if  you  like  it  better, 
Hob  of  the  Heron  Plume,  here  stands  your  guide. 
Swi.  An    ancient    friend  ?  —  a   most    notorious 
knave, 
Whnse  throat  I've  destined  to  the  dodder'd  oak 
Before  my  castle,  these  ten  months  and  more. 
Was  it  not  you  who  drove  from  Simprim-mains, 
And  Swinton-quarter,  sixty  head  of  cattle  ? 

Hob.  What   then,   if  now  I   lead    your   sixty 
lances 
Upon  the  English  flank,  where  they'll  find  spoil 
,  s  worth  six  hundred  beeves  ? 
Swi.  Why,  thou  canst  do  it,  knave.    I  would  not 
trust  thee 
With  one  poor  bullock ;  yet  would  risk  my  life, 
And  all  my  followers,  on  thine  honest  guidance. 

Hob.  There  is  a  dingle,  and  a  most  discreet  one 
(I've  trod  each  step  by  star-light),  that  sweeps 

round 
The  reavward  of  this  hill,  and  opens  secretly 
Upon  the  archers'  flank. — Will  not  that  serve 
Your  present  turn,  Sir  Alan  ? 

Swi.  Bravely,  bravely  1 

Gor.  Mount,  sirs,  and  cry  my  slogan. 
Let  all  who  love  the  Gordon  follow  me  ! 
Swl  Ay,  let  all  follow — but  in  silence  follow. 


*  MS. — "  But,  once  extinguish'd,  it  is  quench'd  for  ever, 
And  spring  shall  hide  the  blackness  of  its  ashes. 


Scare  not  the  hare  that's  couchant  on  her  form— 
The  cushat  from  her  nest — brush  not,  if  possible, 
The  dew-drop  from  the  spray — 
Let  no  one  whisper,  until  I  cry,  "  Havoc !" 
Then  shout  as  loud  's  ye  will. — On,  on,  brave  Hob 
On,  thou  false  thief,  but  yet  most  faithful  Scots- 
man! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I. 

A  rising  Ground  immediately  in  front  of  the  Posi- 
tion of  the  English  Main  Body.  Percy,  Chandos; 
Ribaumont,  and  other  English  and  Norman  No- 
bles, are  grouped  on  the  Stage. 

Per.  The  Scots  still  keep  the  hill — the  sun  grows 

high. 
Would  that  the  charge  would  sound. 

Cha.  Thou  scent'st  the  slaughter,  Percy. — Whc 

comes  here  ? 

Enter  the  Abbot  of  Walthamstow. 
Wow,  by  my  life,  the  holy  priest  of  Walthamstow 
Like  to  a  lamb  among  a  herd  of  wolves  1 
See,  he's  about  to  bleat. 

Ab.  The  King,  me  thinks,  delays  the  onset  long. 

Cha.  Your  general,  Father,  like  your  rat-catcher 
Pauses  to  bait  his  traps,  and  set  his  snares. 

Ab.  The  metaphor  is  decent. 

Cha.  Reverend  sir, 

I  will  uphold  it  just.     Our  good  King  Edward 
Will  presently  come  to  this  battle-field, 
And  speak  to  you  of  the  last  tilting  match, 
Or  of  some  feat  he  did  a  twenty  years  since  ; 
But  not  a  word  of  the  day's  work  before  him. 
Even  as  the  artist,  sir,  whose  name  offends  you, 
Sits  prosing  o'er  his  can,  until  the  trap  fall, 
Announcing  that  the  vermin  are  secured, 
And  then  'tis  up,  and  on  them. 

Per.  Chandos,  you  give  your  tongue  too  t>old  a 
license. 

Cha.  Percy,  I  am  a  necessary  evil. 
King  Edward  would  not  want  me,  if  he  could, 
And  could  not,  if  he  would.     I  know  my  value. 
My  heavy  hand  excuses  my  light  tongue. 
So  men  wear  weighty  swords  in  their  defence, 
Although  they  may  offend  the  tender  shin, 
When  the  steel-boot  is  doff 'd. 

Ab.  My  Lord  of  Chandos, 

This  is  but  idle  speech  on  brink  of  battle, 
When  Christian  men  should  think  upon  their  sins, 
For  as  the  tree  falls,  so  the  trunk  must  lie, 
Be  it  for  good  or  evil.     Lord,  bethink  thee, 
Thou  hast  withheld  from  our  most  reverend  house 
The  tithes  of  Everingham  and  Settleton ; 


HALIDON  HILL. 


74i 


Wilt  thou  make  satisfaction  to  the  Church 
Before  her  thunders  strike  thee  ?     I  do  warn  thee 
In  most  paternal  sort. 

Cha.  I  thank  you,  Father,  filially. 
Though  but  a  truant  son  of  Holy  Church, 
I  would  not  choose  to  undergo  her  censures, 
When  Scottish  blades  are  waving  at  my  throat. 
I'll  make  fair  composition. 

Ab.  No  composition ;  I'll  have  all,  or  none. 

Cha.  None,  then — 'tis  soonest  spoke.     I'll  take 
my  chance, 
And  trust  my  sinful  soul  to  Heaven's  mercy, 
Rather  than  risk  my  worldly  goods  with  thee — 
My  hour  may  not  be  come. 

Ab.  Impious — impenitent — 

Per.  Hush  !  the  King — the  King ! 

Enter  King  Edward,  attended  bg  Baliol  and 
others. 
King  {apart  to  Cha.)  Hark  hither,  Chandos ! — 
Have  the  Yorkshire  archers 
Y  et  join'd  the  vanguard  ? 

Cha.  They  are  marching  thither. 
K.  Ed.  Bid  them  make  haste,  for  shame — send 
a  quick  rider. 
The  loitering  knaves  !  were  it  to  steal  my  venison, 
Their  steps  were  light  enough. — How  now,  Sir 

Abbot? 
Say,  is  your  Reverence  come  to  study  with  us 
The  princely  art  of  war  ? 

Ab.  I've  had  a  lecture  from  my  Lord  of  Chandos, 
In  which  he  term'd  your  Grace  a  rat-catcher. 
K.  Ed.  Chandos,  how's  tins  ? 
Cha.  0,  I  will  prove  it,  sir ! — These  skipping 
Scots 
Have  changed  a  dozen  times  'twixt  Bruce  and 

Baliol, 
Quitting  each  House  when  it  began  to  totter ; 
They're  fierce  and  cunning,  treacherous,  too,  as 

rats, 
And  we,  as  such,  will  smoke  them  in  their  fast- 
nesses. 
K.  Ed.  These  rats  have  seen  your  back,  my  Lord 
of  Chandos, 
And  noble  Percy's  too. 

Per.  Ay  ;  but  the  mass  which  now  lies  welter- 
ing 
On  yon  hill  side,  like  a  Leviathan 
That's  stranded  on  the  shallows,  then  had  soul 

in't, 
Order  and  discipline,  and  power  of  action. 
Now  'tis  a  headless  corpse,  which  only  shows, 
By  wild  convulsions,  that  some  life  remains  in't. 
K  Ed.  True,  they  had  once  a  head ;  and  'twas  a 
wise, 
Although  a  rebel  head. 
Ab.  (bowing  to  the  King.)  Would  he  were  here  1 
we  should  find  one  to  match  him. 


K.  Ed.  There's  something  in  that  wish  which 
wakes  an  echo 
Within  my  bosom.     Yet  it  is  as  well, 
Or  better,  that  The  Bruce  is  in  Ins  grave. 
We  have  enough  of  powerful  foes  on  earth, — 
No  need  to  summon  them  from  other  worlds. 
Per,  Your  Grace  ne'er  met  The  Bruce  ? 
K.  Ed.  Never  himself;  but  in  my  earliest  field, 
I  did  encounter  with  his  famous  captains, 
Douglas  and  Randolph.     Faith  !  they  press'd  me 
hard. 
Ab.  My  Liege,  if  I  might  urge  you  with  a  ques- 
tion, 
Will  the  Scots  fight  to-day  ? 

K.  Ed.  (sharply.)  Go  look  your  breviary. 
Cha.  (apart.)  The  Abbot  has  it — Edward  will 
not  answer 
On  that  nice  point.     We  must  observe  his  hu- 
mor.— 

[Addresses  the  King. 
Your  first   campaign,  my  Liege  ? — That  was  in 

Weardale, 
When  Douglas  gave  our  camp  yon  midnight  ruffle, 
And  tura'd  men's  beds  to  biers  ? 

K.  Ed.  Ay,  by  Saint  Edward  ! — I  escaped  right 
nearly. 
I  was  a  soldier  then  for  holidays, 
And  slept  not  in  mine  armor :  my  safe  rest 
Was  startled  by  the  cry  of  "  Douglas  !  Douglas  1" 
And  by  my  couch,  a  grisly  chamberlain, 
Stood  Alan  Swinton,  with  his  bloody  mace. 
It  was  a  churchman  saved  me — my  stout  chaplain, 
Heaven  quit  his  spirit !  caught  a  weapon  up, 
And  grappled  with  the  giant. — How  now,  Louis  ? 

Enter  an  Officer,  who  whispers  the  Kino. 

K.  Ed.  Say  to  him, — thus — and  thus 

[  Whispers. 
Ab.  That  Swinton's  dead.     A  monk  of  ours  re- 
ported, 
Bound  homeward  from  St.  Ninian's  pilgrimage, 
The  Lord  of  Gordon  slew  him. 

Per.  Father,  and  if  your  house  stood  on  oui 
borders, 
You  might  have  cause  to  know  that  Swinton  lives, 
And  is  on  horseback  yet. 

Cha.  He  slew  the  Gordon, 

That's  all  the  difference — a  very  trifle. 

Ab.  Trifling  to  those  who  wage  a  war  more 
noble 
Than  with  the  arm  of  flesh. 

Cha.  (apart.)  The  Abbot's  vex'd,  Til  rub  the 
sore  for  him. — 
(Alovd.)  I  have  seen  priests  that  used  that  arm  oi 

flesh, 
And  used  it  sturdily. — Most  reverend  Father, 
What  say  you  to  the  chaplain's  deed  of  arms 
In  the  King's  tent  at  Weardale  ? 


142 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Ab.  It  was  most  sinful,  being  against  the  canon 
Prohibiting  all  churchmen  to  bear  weapons ; 
And  as  he  fell  in  that  unseemly  guise, 
Perchance  his  soul  may  rue  it. 
K.  Ed.  {overhearing  the  last  words.)  Who  may 
rue? 
And  what  is  to  be  rued  ? 

Cha.  (apart.)  I'll  match  his  Reverence  for  the 
tithes  of  Everingham. 
— The  Abbot  says,  my  Liege,  the  deed  was  sinful, 
By  which  your  chaplain,  wielding  secular  weap- 
ons, 
Secured  your  Grace's  life  and  liberty, 
And  that  he  suffers  for't  in  purgatory. 
K.  Ed.  (to  the  Abbot.)  Say'st  thou  my  chaplain 

is  in  purgatory  ? 
Ab.  It  is  the  canon  speaks  it,  good  my  Liege. 
K  Ed.  In  purgatory !  thou  shalt  pray  him  out 
on't, 
Or  I  will  make  thee  wish  thyself  beside  him. 

Ab.  My  Lord,  perchance  his  soul  is  past  the  aid 
Of  all  the  Church  may  do — there  is  a  place 
From  which  there's  no  redemption. 

K.  Ed.  And  if  I  thought  my  faithful  chaplain 
there, 
Thou  shouldst  there  join  him,  priest ! — Go,  watch, 

fast,  pray, 
And  let  me  have  such  prayers  as  will  storm  Heav- 
en— 
None  of  your  maim'd  and  mutter'd  hunting  masses. 
Ab.  (apart  to  Cha.)  For  God's  sake  take  him  off. 
Cha.  Wilt  thou  compound,  then, 
The  tithes  of  Everingham  ? 

K.  Ed.  I  tell  thee,  if  thou  bear'st  the  keys  of 
Heaven, 
Abbot,  thou  shalt  not  turn  a  bolt  with  them 
Gainst  any  well-deserving  English  subject. 
Ab.  (to  Cha.)  We  will  compound,  and  grant  thee, 
too,  a  share 
F  the  next  indulgence.     Thou  dost  need  it  much, 
And  greatly  'twill  avail  thee. 
Cha.  Enough — we're  friends,  and  when  occasion 
serves,  • 

I  will  strike  in. 

[Looks  as  if  towards  the  Scottish  Army. 
K.  Ed.  Answer,  proud  Abbot ;  is  my  chaplain's 
soul, 
If  thou  knowest  aught  on't,  in  the  evil  place  ? 
Cha.  My  Liege,  the  Yorkshire  men  have  gain'd 
the  meadow. 
I  see  the  pennon  green  of  merry  Sherwood. 
K.  Ed.  Then  give  the  signal  instant  1  We  have 
lost 
But  too  much  time  already. 

*  MS. — "  The  viewless,  the  resistless  plagne,"  &c. 
The  well-known  expression  by  which  Robert  Bruce  cen- 


Ab.  My   Liege,   your    holy   chaplain's  blessed 

soul — 
K.  Ed.  To  hell  with  it  and  thee  !  Is  this  a  time 
To  speak  of  monks  and  chaplains  ? 

[Flourish  of  Trumpets,  answered  by  a 
distant  sound  of  Bugles. 
See,  Chandos,  Percy — Ha,  Saint  George!    Saint 

Edward ! 
See  it  descending  now,  the  fatal  hail-shower, 
The  storm  of  England's  wratn — sure,  swift,  resist- 
less, 
Which  no?  mail-coat  can  brook.  —  Brave   English 

hearts ! 
How  close  they  shoot  together  ! — as  one  eye 
Had  aim'd  five  thousand  shafts — as  if  one  hand 
Had  loosed  five  thousand  bow-strings  ! 

Per.  The  thick  volley 

Darkens  the  air,  and  hides  the  sun  from  us. 

K.  Ed.  It  falls  on  those  shall  see  the   sun  no 
more. 
The  winged,  the  resistless  plague1  is  with  them. 
How  their  vex'd  host  is  reeling  to  and  fro, 
Like  the  chafed  whale  with  fifty  lances  in  him, 
They  do  not  see,  and  cannot  shun  the  wound. 
The  storm  is  viewless,  as  death's  sable  wing, 
Unerring  as  his  scythe. 

Per.  Horses  and  riders  are  going  down  together 
'Tis  almost  pity  to  see  nobles  fall, 
And  by  a  peasant's  arrow. 

Bal.  I  could  weep  them. 

Although  they  are  my  rebels. 

Cha.  (aside  to  Per.)  His  conquerors,  he  means, 
who  cast  him  out 
From   his   usurped   kingdom. — (Aloud.)  'Tis   the 

worst  of  it, 
That  knights  can  claim  small  honor  in  the  field 
Which  archers  win,  unaided  by  our  lances. 

K.  Ed.  The  battle  is  not  ended.     [Looks  toward* 
the  field. 
Not    ended?  —  scarce   begun!     What  horse    are 

these, 
Rush  from  the  thicket  underneath  the  hill  ? 

Per.  They're  Hainaulters,  the  followers  of  Queen 

Isabel. 
K  Ed.  (hastily)  Hainaulters ! — thou  art  blind — 
wear  Hainaulters 
Saint   Andrew's   silver    cross?  —  or  would  they 

charge 
Full  on  our  archers,  and  make  havoc  of  them  ? — 
Bruce  is  alive  again — ho,  rescue  !  rescue ! — 
Who  was't  survey'd  the  ground  ? 
Riba.  Most  royal  Liege — 
K.  Ed.  A  rose  hath  fallen  from  thy  chaplei, 
Ribaumont. 


snred  the  negligence  of  Randolph,  for  permitting  an  English 
body  of  cavalry  to  pass  his  flank  on  th»  lay  preceding  tJM 
battle  of  Bannockburn 


HALIDON  HILL. 


745 


Pur. a.  I'll  win  it  back,  or  lay  my  head  beside  it. 

[Exit 
K.  En.  Saint  George  1  Saint  Edward !  Gentle- 
men, to  horse, 
And  to  the  rescue  !— Percy,  lead  the  bill-men ; 
Chandos,  do  thou  bring  up  the  men-at-arras. — 
If  yonder  numerous  host  should  now  bear  down 
Bold  as  their  vanguard  (to  the  Abbot),  thou  mayst 

pray  for  us, 
We  may  need  good  men's  prayers. — To  the  rescue, 
Lords,  to  the  rescue  !  ha,  Saint  George  !  Saint  Ed- 
ward l1 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. 

A  fart  of  the  Field  of  Battle  betwixt  tne  two  Main 
Armies.  Tumults  behind  ilie  scenes ;  alarums, 
and  cries  of  "  Gordon,  a  Gordon,"  "  Swinton,"  <fcc. 

Enter,  as  victorious  over  the  English  vanguard, 
Vipont,  Reynald,  and  others. 

Yip.  Tis  sweet  to  hear  these  war-cries  sound 
together, — 
Gordon  and  Swinton. 
Rey.  'Tis    passing    pleasant,  yet  'tis    strange 
withal. 
Faith,  when  at  first  I  heard  the  Gordon's  slogan 
Sounded  so  near  me,  I  had  nigh  struck  down 
The  knave  who  cried  it.2 

Enter  Swinton  and  Gordon. 

Swi.  Pitch  down  my  pennon  in  yon  holly  bush. 

Gor.  Mine  in  the  thorn  beside  it ;  let  them  wave, 
As  fought  this  morn  their  masters,  side  by  side. 

Swi.  Let  the  men  rally,  and  restore  their  ranks 
Here  in  this  vantage-ground — disorder'd  chase 
Leads  to  disorder'd   flight ;  we  have  done    our 

part, 
And  if  we're  succor'd  now,  Plantagenet 
Must  turn  his  bridle  southward. — 
Reynald,  spur  to  the  Regent  with  the  basnet 
Of  stout  De  Grey,  the  leader  of  their  vanguard ; 
Say,  that  in  battle-front  the  Gordon  slew  him, 
And  by  that  token  bid  him  send  us  succor. 


1  "  In  the  second  act,  after  the  English  nohles  have  amused 
themselves  in  some  trifling  conversation  with  the  Abbot  of 
Walthamstow,  Edward  is  introduced  ;  and  his  proud  coura- 
geous temper  and  short  manner  are  very  admirably  delineated  ; 
though,  if  our  historical  recollections  do  not  fail  us,  it  is  more 
completely  the  picture  of  Longshanks  than  that  of  the  third 

Edward We  conceive  it  to  be  extremely  probable 

that  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  resolved  to  commemorate  some  of 
the  events  in  the  life  of  Wallace,  and  had  already  sketched 
that  hero,  and  a  Templar,  and  Edward  the  First,  when  his 
eye  glanced  over  the  description  of  Homildon  Hill,  in  Pinker- 
ton's  History  of  Scotland  ;  that,  being  pleased  with  the  char- 
acters of  Swinton  and  Gordon,  he  transferred  his  Wallace  to 

winton ;  and  that,  for  tt»  sake  of  retaining  his  portrait  of 


Gor.  And  tell  him  that  when  Selby's  headlong 
charge 
Had  wellnigh  borne  me  down,  Sir  Alan  smote  him 
I  cannot  send  his  helmet,  never  nutshell 
Went  to  so  many  shivers. — Harkye,  grooms! 

[lb  those  behind  the  scenes, 
Why  do  you  let  my  noble  steed  stand  stiffening 
After  so  hot  a  course  ? 

Swi.  Ay,  breathe  your  horses,  they'll  have  wori 
anon, 
For  Edward's  men-at-arms  will  soon  be  on  us, 
The  flower  of  England,  Gascony,  and  Flanders ; 
But  with  swift  succor  we  will  bide  them  bravely.— 
De  Vipont,  thou'look'st  sad?3 

Vip.  It  is  because  I  hold  a  Templar's  sword 
Wet  to  the  crossed  hilt  with  Christian  blood. 

Swi.  The  blood  of  English  archers — what  car 
gild 
A  Scottish  blade  more  bravely  ? 

Vip.  Even  therefore  grieve  I  for  those  gallan*. 
yeomen, 
England's  peculiar  and  appropriate  sons, 
Known  in  no  other  land.     Each  boasts  his  hearth 
And  field  as  free  as  the  best  lord  his  barony, 
Owing  subjection  to  no  human  vassalage, 
Save  to  their  King  and  law.    Hence  are  they  reso- 
lute, 
Leading  the  van  on  every  day  of  battle, 
As  men  who  know  the  blessings  they  defend. 
Hence  are  they  frank  and  generous  in  peace, 
As  men  who  have  their  portion  in  its  plenty. 
No  other  kingdom  shows  such  worth  and  happi 

ness 
Veil'd   in  such  low  estate — therefore   I  mourn 
them. 

Swi.  I'll  keep  my  sorrow  for  our  native  Scots, 
Who,  spite  of  hardship,  poverty,  oppression, 
Still  follow  to  the  field  their  Chieftain's  banner, 
And  die  in  the  defence  on't. 

Gor.  And  if  I  live  and  see  my  halls  again, 
They  shall  have  portion  in  the  good  they  fight 

for. 
Each  hardy  follower  shall  have  his  field, 
His  household  hearth  and  sod-built  home,  as  free 
As  ever  Southron  had.     Thej  shall  be  happy ! — 


Edward,  as  there  happened  to  be  a  Gordon  and  a  Douglas  at 
the  battle  of  Halidoun  in  the  time  of  Edward  the  Third,  and 
there  was  so  much  similarity  in  the  circumstances  of  the  con- 
test, he  preserved  his  Edward  as  Edward  the  Third,  retaining 
also  his  old  Knight  Templar,  in  defiance  of  the  anachronism." 
— Monthly  Review,  July,  1822. 

2  The  MS.  adds — "  such  was  my  surprise." 

s  "  While  thus  enjoying  a  breathing  time,  Swinton  observe* 
the  thoughtful  countenance  of  De  Vipont.  See  what  follows 
Were  ever  England  and  Englishmen  more  nobly,  more  beauti- 
fully, more  justly  characterized,  than  by  the  latter,  or  was 
patriotic  feeling  ever  better  sustained  than  by  the  former  and 
his  brave  companion  in  arms  V — New  Edinburgh  Review. 


744 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  my  Elizabeth  shall  smile  to  see  it ! — 1 
I  have  betray'd  myself. 

Swi.  Do  not  believe  it. — 

Vipont,  do  thou  look  out  from  yonder  height, 
And  see  what  motion  in  the  Scottish  host, 
And  in  King  Edward's. — 

[Exit  Vipont. 
Now  will  I  counsel  thee ; 
The  Templar's  ear  is  for  no  tale  of  love, 
Being  wedded  to  his  Order.     But  I  tell  thee, 
The  brave  young  knight  that  hath  no  lady-love 
Is  like  a  lamp  unlighted  ;  his  brave  deeds, 
And  its  rich  painting,  do  seem  then  most  glorious, 
When  the  pure  ray  gleams  through  them. — 
Hath  thy  Elizabeth  no  other  name  ?2 

Gor.  Must  I  then  speak  of  her  to  you,  Sir  Alan  ? 
The  thought  of  thee,  and  of  thy  matchless  strength, 
Hath  conjured  phantoms  up  amongst  her  dreams. 
The  name  of  Swinton  hath  been  spell  sufficient 
To  chase  the  rich  blood  from  her  lovely  cheek, 
And  wouldst  thou  now  know  hers  ? 

Swi.  I  would,  nay  must. 

Thy  father  in  the  paths  of  chivalry, 
Should  know  the  load-star  thou  dost  rule  thy  course 

by. 

Gor.  Nay,  then,  her  name  is — hark 

[  WJiispers. 

Swi.  I  know  it  well,  that  ancient  northern  house. 

Gor,  0,  thou  shalt  see  its  fairest  grace  and  honor 
In  my  Elizabeth.     And  if  music  touch  thee 

Swi.  It  did,  before  disasters  had  untuned  me. 

Gor.  0,  her  notes 
Shall  hush  each  sad  remembrance  to  oblivion, 
Or  melt  them  to  such  gentleness  of  feeling, 
That  grief  shall  have  its  sweetness.    Who,  but  she, 
Knows  the  wild  harpings  of  our  native  land  ? 
Whether  they  lull  the  shepherd  on  his  hill, 
Or  wake  the  knight  to  battle ;  rouse  to  merriment, 
Or  soothe  to  sadness ;  she  can  touch  each  mood. 
Princes  and  statesmen,  chiefs  renown'd  in  arms, 
And  gray-hair'd  bards,  contend  which  shall  the  first 
And  choicest  homage  render  to  the  enchantress. 

Swi.  You  speak  her  talent  bravely. 

Gor.  Though  you  smile, 

I  do  not  speak  it  half.     Her  gift  creative, 
New  measures  adds  to  every  air  she  wakes  ; 
Varying  and  gracing  it  with  liquid  sweetness, 
Like  the  wild  modulation  of  the  lark ; 
Now  leaving,  now  returning  to  the  strain ! 
To  listen  to  her,  is  to  seem  to  wander 
In  some  enchanted  labyrinth  of  romance, 
Whence  nothing  but  the  lovely  fairy's  will, 

i  "  There  wanted  but  a  little  of  the  tender  passion  to  make 
this  youth  every  way  a  hero  of  romance.  But  the  poem  has 
no  ladies.  How  admirably  is  this  defect  supplied!  In  his 
enthusiastic  anticipation  of  prosperity,  he  allows  a  name  to 
•scape  him." — New  Edinburgh  Review. 

2  "  Amid  the  confusion  and  din  of  the  battle,  tfce  reader  is 


Who  wove  the  spell,  can  extricate  the  wanderer. 
Methinks  I  hear  her  now  1 — 

Swi.  Bless'd  privilege 

Of  youth !    There's  scarce  three  minutes  to  decide 
'Twixt  death  and  life,  'twixt  triumph  and  defeat, 
Yet  all  his  thoughts  are  in  his  lady's  bower, 

List'ning  her  harping  ! 

[Enter  Vipont. 
Where  are  thine,  De  Vipont ! 

Vip.  On  death — on  judgment — on  eternity  ! 
For  time  is  over  with  us. 

Swi.  There  moves  not,  then,  one  pennon  to  oui 
aid, 
Of  all  that  flutter  yonder ! 

Vip.  From  the  main  English  host  come  rushing 
forward 
Pennons  enow — ay,  and  their  Royal  Standard. 
But  ours  stand  rooted,  as  for  crows  to  roost  on. 

Swi.  [to  himself.)    I'll   rescue  him  at  least.— 
Young  Lord  of  Gordon, 
Spur  to  the  Regent — show  the  instant  need ■ 

Gor.  I  penetrate  thy  purpose  ;  but  I  go  not. 

Swi.  Not  at  my  bidding?    I,  thy  sire  in  chiv- 
alry— 
Thy  leader  in  the  battle  ? — I  command  thee. 

Gor.  No,  thou  wilt  not  command  me  seek  mj 
safety, — 
For  such  is  thy  kind  meaning — at  the  expense 
Of  the  last  hope  winch  Heaven  reserves  for  Scoi* 

land. 
While  I  abide,  no  follower  of  mine 
Will  turn  his  rein  for  life  ;  but  were  I  gone, 
What  power  can  stay  them  ?  and,  our  band  dis- 
persed, 
What  swords  shall  for  an  instant  stem  yon  host, 
And  save  the  latest  chance  for  victory  \ 

Vip.  The  noble  youth  speaks  truth ;  and  were 
he  gone, 
There  will  not  twenty  spears  be  left  with  us. 

Gor.  No,  bravely  as  we  have  begun  the  field, 
So  let  us  fight  it  out.     The  Regent's  eyes, 
More  certain  than  a  thousand  messages, 
Shall  see  us  stand,  the  barrier  of  his  host 
Against  yon  bursting  storm.     If  not  for  honor, 
If  not  for  warlike  rule,  for  shame  at  least 
He  must  bear  down  to  aid  us. 

Swi.  Must  it  be  so  ? 

And  am  I  forced  to  yield  the  sad  consent, 
Devoting  thy  young  life  ?3     0,  Gordon,  Gordon  I 
I  do  it  as  the  patriarch  doom'd  his  issue  ; 
I  at  my  country's,  he  at  Heaven's  command ; 
But  I  seek  vainly  some  atoning  sacrifice,4 

unexpectedly  greeted  with  a  dialogue,  which  breathes  indeed 
the  soft  sounds  of  the  lute  in  the  clang  of  trumpets."— Month? 
ly  Review. 

3  MS. — "  And  am  I  doom'd  to  yield  the  sad  consent 
That  thus  devotes  thy  life  ?" 

*  MS. — "  O,  could  there  be  some  lesser  sacrifice." 


HALIDON  HILL. 


745 


Rather  than  such  a  -victim !— {Trumpets.)     Hark, 

they  come ! 
That  music  sounds  not  like  thy  lady's  lute. 

Gor.  Yet  shall  my  lady's  name  mix  with  it 
gayly. — 
Mount,  vassals,  couch  your  lances,  and  cry,  "Gor- 
don ! 
Gordon  for  Scotland  and  Elizabeth !" 

[Exeunt.     Loud  Alarums. 


SCENE  III. 

Another  part  of  the  Field  of  Battle,  adjacent  to  the 
former  Scene. 

Alarums.    Enter  Swixtos,  followed  by 
Hob  Hattely. 

Swi.  Stand  to  it  yet !  The  man  who  flies  to-day, 
May  bastards  warm  them  at  his  household  hearth ! 
Hob.  That  ne'er  shall  be  my  curse.  My  Magdalen 
Is  trusty  as  my  broadsword. 

Swi.  Ha,  thou  knave,' 

Art  thou  dismounted  too  ? 

Hob.  I  know,  Sir  Alan, 

You  want  no  homeward  guide  ;  .so  threw  my  reins 
Upon  my  palfrey's  neck,  and  let  him  loose. 
Within  an  hour  he  stands  before  my  gate  ; 
And  Magdalen  will  need  no  other  token 
To  bid  the  Melrose  Monks  say  masses  for  me. 
Swi.  Thou  art  resolved  to  cheat  the  halter,  then  ? 
Hob.  It  is  my  purpose, 

Having  lived  a  thief,  to  die  a  brave  man's  death ; 
And  never  had  I  a  more  glorious  chance  for't. 
Swi.  Here  lies  the  way  to  it,  knave. — Make  in, 
make  in, 
And  aid  young  Gordon ! 

[Exeunt.  Loud  and  long  Alarums.  Af- 
ter which  the  back  Scene  rises,  and 
discovers  Swinton  on  the  ground, 
Gordon  supporting  him  ;  both  much 
wounded. 
Swi.  All  are  cut  down — the  reapers  have  pass'd 
o'er  us, 
And  hie  to  distant  harvest. — My  toil's  over ; 
There  lies  my  sickle.  [Dropping  his  sword.]    Hand 

of  mine  again 
Shall  never,  never  wield  it  I1 

Gor.  0  valiant  leader,  is  thy  light  extinguish'd ! 
That  only  beacon-flame  which  promised  safety 
In  this  day's  deadly  wrack  ! 
Swi.  My  lamp  hath  long  been  dim !     But  thine, 
young  Gordon, 


i  This  speech  of  Swinton's  is  interpolated  on  the  blank  page 
the  manuscript. 
M 


Just  kindled,  to  be  quencn  d  so  suddenly, 

Ere  Scotland  saw  its  splendor ! 

Gor.  Five  thousand  horse  hung  idly  on  yon  hill, 
Saw  us  o'erpower'd,  and  no  one  stirr'd  to  aid  us  1 
Swi.  It  was  the  Regent's  envy. — Out ! — alas  ' 
Why  blame  I  him  ! — It  was  our  civil/  discord, 
Our  selfish  vanity,  our  jealous  hatred, 
Which  framed  this  day  of  dole  for  our  poor  coun 

try- 
Had  thy  brave  father  held  yon  leading  staff, 
As  well  his  rank  and  valor  might  have  claim'd  ;t, 
We  had  not  fall'n  unaided. — How,  0  how 

Is  he  to  answer  it,  whose  deed  prevented 

Gor.  Alas  !  alas !  the  author  of  the  death-feud 

He  has  his  reckoning  too !  for  had  your  sons 

And  num'rous  vassals  lived,  we  had  lack'd  no  aid. 

Swi.  May  God  assoil  the   dead,  and  him  who 

follows ! 

We've  drank   the   poison'd  beverage   which  we 

brew'd : 
Have  sown  the  wind,  and  reap'd  the  tenfold  whirl- 
wind ! — 
But  thou,  brave  youth,  whose  nobleness  of  heart 
Pour'd  oil  upon  the  wounds  our  hate  inflicted  ; 
Thou,  who  hast  done  no  wrong,  need'st  no  forgivo 

ness, — 
Why  should' st  thou  share  our  punishment  1 
Gor.  All  need  forgiveness — [distant  alarum.]  ■ 
Hark,  in  yonder  shout 
Did  the  main  battles  counter  1 

Swi.  Look  on  the  field,  brave  Gordon,  if  thou 
canst, 
And  tell  me  how  the  day  goes. — But  I  guess, 

Too  surely  do  I  guess 

Gor.  All's  lost !  all's  lost ! — Of  the  main  Scot 
tish  host, 
Some  wildly  fly,  and  some  rush  wildly  forward  , 
And  some  there  are  who  seem  to  turn  their  speara 
Against  their  countrymen. 

Swi.  Rashness,  and  cowardice,  and  secret  trea- 
son, 
Combine  to  ruin  us ;  and  our  hot  valor, 
Devoid  of  discipline,  is  madmen's  strength, 
More  fatal  unto  friends  than  enemies  '. 
I'm  glad  that  these  dim  eyes  shall  see  no  more 

on't. — 
Let  thy  hands  close  them,  Gordon — I  will  dream 
My  fair-hair'd  William  renders  me  that  office  ! 

[Dies 
Gor.  And,  Swinton,  I  will  think  I  do  that  duty 
To  my  dead  father. 

Enter  De  Vipont. 
Vrp.  Fly,  fly,  brave  youth  ! — A  handful  of  thy 
followers, 
The  scatter'd  gleaning  of  this  desperate  day, 
Still  hover  yonder  to  essay  thy  rescue. — 
0  linger  not ! — I'll  be  your  guide  to  them. 


f46 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Gor.  Look  there,  and  bid  me  fly  1 — The  oak  has 
fall'n; 
And  the  young  ivy  bush,  which  learn'd  to  climb 
By  its  support,  must  needs  partake  its  fall. 

Vip.  Swinton?     Alas!   the   best,  the   bravest, 
strongest, 
Anf :  eagest  of  our  Scottish  chivalry  ! 
Forgive  one  moment,  if  to  save  the  living, 
My  tongue  should  wrong  the  dead. — Gordon,  be- 
think thee,  ^ 
Thou  dost  but  stay  to  perish  with  the  corpse1 
Of  him  who  slew  thy  father. 

Gor.  Ay,  but  he  was  my  sire  in  chivalry. 
He  taught  my  youth  to  soar  above  the  promptings 
Of  mean  and  selfish  vengeance  ;  gave  my  youth 
A  name  that  shall  not  die  even  on  tins  death- 
spot. 
Records  shall  tell  this  field  had  not  been  lost, 
Had  all  men  fought  like  Swinton  and  like  Gordon. 

[Trumpets. 
Save    thee,    De   Vipont.— Hark  I    the    Southron 
trumpets. 
Yip.  Nay,  without  thee,  I  stir  not. 

Enter  Edward,  Chandos,  Percy,  Baliol,  &c. 
Gor.  Ay,  they  come  on — the  Tyrant  and  the 
Traitor, 
Workman  and  tool,  Plantagenet  and  Baliol. — 
0  for  a  moment's  strength  in  this  poor  arm, 
To  do  one  glorious  deed  ! 

[lie  rushes  on  the  English,  but  is  made 
prisoner  with  Vipont. 
K.  Ed.  Disarm  them — harm  them  not ;  though 
it  was  they 
Made  havoc  on  the  archers  of  our  vanguard, 
They  and  that  bulky  champion.     Where  is  he  ? 
Chan.  Here  lies  the  giant !  Say  Ins  name,  young 

Knight  ? 
Gor.  Let  it  suffice,  he  was  a  man  this  morning.2 
Cha.  I  question'd  thee  in  sport.     I  do  not  need 
Thy  information,  youth.     Who  that  has  fought 
Through  all  these  Scottish  wars,  but  knows  his 
crest, 


i  MS. — "  Thou  hast  small  cause  to  tarry  with  the  corpse." 
2  In  his  narrative  of  events  on  the  day  after  the  battle  of 
Sheriffmuir,  Sir  Walter  Scott  says,  "  Amongst  the  gentlemen 
who  fell  on  this  occasion,  were  several  on  both  sides,  alike 
eminent  for  birth  and  character.  The  body  of  the  gallant 
young  Earl  of  Strathmore  was  found  on  the  field  watched  by 
a  faithful  old  domestic,  who,  being  asked  the  name  of  the  per- 
son whose  body  he  waited  upon  with  so  much  care,  made  this 
striking  reply,  'He  was  a  man  yesterday.'  "—Tales  of  a 
Grandfather. 

8  MS. — "  Stood  arm'd  beside  my  couch,"  &c. 

*  "  The  character  of  Fwinton  is  obviously  a  favorite  with 
the  author,  to  which  circumstance  we  are  probably  indebted 
for  the  strong  relief  in  which  it  is  given,  and  the  perfect  verisi- 
militude which  belongs  to  it.  The  stately  commanding  figure 
t£  the  veteran  warrior,  whom,  by  the  illusion  of  his  art,  the 


The  sable  boar  chain'd  to  the  leafy  oak, 
And  that  huge  mace  still  seen  where  war  was 
wildest ! 
King  Ed.  'Tis  Alan  Swinton ! 
Grim  chamberlain,  who  in  my  tent  at  Weardale, 
Stood  by  my  startled  couch3  with  torch  and  mace, 
When    the    Black   Douglas'   war-cry  waked   my 
camp. 
Gor.  (sinking  down.)  If  thus  thou  know'st  him, 
Thou  wilt  respect  his  corpse.4 

K.  Ed.  As  belted  Knight  and  crowned  King,  I 

will. 
Gor.  And  let  mine 
Sleep  at  his  side,  in  token  that  our  death 
Ended  the  feud  of  Swinton  and  of  Gordon. 

K.  Ed.  It  is  the  Gordon ! — Is  there  aught  beside 
Edward  can  do  to  honor  bravery, 
Even  in  an  enemy  ? 

Gor.  Notlnng  but  this : 
Let  not  base  Baliol,  with  his  touch  or  look, 
Profane  my  corpse  or  Swinton's.    I've  some  breath 

still, 
Enough  to  say — Scotland — Elizabeth !  [Dies. 

Cha.   Baliol,   I   would   not   brook   such    dying 
looks, 
To  buy  the  crown  you  aim  at. 

K.  Ed.  (to  Vip.)  Vipont,  thy  crossed  shield  showi 
ill  in  warfare 
Against  a  Christian  King. 

Vip.  That  Christian  King  is  warring  upon  Scot- 
land. 
I  was  a  Scotsman  ere  I  was  a  Templar,* 
Sworn  to  my  country  ere  I  knew  my  Order. 
K.  Ed.  I  will  but  know  thee  as  a  Christian  cham 
pion, 
And  set  thee  free  unransom'd. 

Enter  Abbot  of  Walthamstow. 
Ab.  Heaven  grant  your  Majesty 
Many  such  glorious  days  as  this  has  been  1 

K.  Ed.  It  is  a  day  of  much  and  high  advan 
tage; 
Glorious  it  might  have  been,  had  all  our  foes 


author  has  placed  in  veritable  presentment  before  us  ; — hi*  ven 
erable  age,  superior  prowess,  and  intuitive  decision  ; — th>s  broils 
in  which  he  had  engaged,  the  misfortunes  he  had  suffered,  and 
the  intrepid  fortitude  with  which  he  sustained  them, — together 
with  that  rigorous  control  of  temper,  not  to  be  shaken  even 
by  unmerited  contumely  and  insult ; — these  qualities,  grouped 
and  embodied  in  one  and  the  same  character,  render  it  morally 
impossible  that  we  should  not  at  once  sympathize  and  admire. 
The  inherent  force  of  his  character  is  finely  illustrated  in  the 
effect  produced  upon  Lord  Gordon  by  the  first  appearance  of 
the  man  'who  had  made  him  fatherless.'"  —  Edinburgh 
Magazine,  July,  1822. 

5  A  Venetian  General,  observing  his  soldiers  testified  some 
unwillingness  to  fight  against  those  of  the  Pope,  whom  they 
regarded  ftp  father  of  the  Church,  addressed  them  in  terms  ot 
similar  encouragement, — "  Fight  on  !  we  were  Venetians  be- 
fore we  were  Christians." 


HALIDON  HILL. 


74? 


Fought  like  these  two  brave  champions. — Strike 

the  drums, 
Sound  trumpets,  and  pursue  the  fugitives, 

i  "  It  is  generally  the  case  that  much  expectation  ends  in 
disappointment.  The  free  delineation  of  character  in  some  of 
the  recent  Scottish  Novels,  and  the  admirable  conversations 
interspersed  throughout  them,  raised  hopes  that,  when  a  regu- 
lar drama  should  be  attempted  by  the  person  who  was  con- 
sidered as  their  author,  the  success  would  be  eminent.  Its 
announcement,  too,  in  a  solemn  and  formal  manner,  did  not 
diminish  the  interest  of  the  public.  The  drama,  however, 
which  was  expected,  turns  out  to  be  in  fact,  and  not  only  in 
name,  merely  a  dramatic  sketch,  which  is  entirely  deficient  in 
plot,  and  contains  but  three  characters,  Swinton,  Gordon,  and 
Edward,  in  whom  any  interest  is  endeavored  to  be  excited. 
With  some  exceptions,  the  dialogue  also  is  flat  and  coarse ; 
and  for  all  these  defects,  one  or  two  vigorous  descriptions  of 
battle  scenes  will  scarcely  make  sufficient  atonement,  except 
in  the  eyes  of  very  enthusiastic  friends." — Monthly  Review. 

"  Halidon  Hill,  we  understand,  unlike  the  earlier  poems  of 
its  author,  has  not  been  received  into  the  ranks  of  popular 
favor.  Such  rumors,  of  course,  have  no  effect  on  our  critical 
judgment ;  but  we  cannot  forbear  saying,  that,  thinking  as  we 
do  very  highly  of  the  spirit  and  taste  with  which  an  interest- 
ing tale  is  here  sketched  in  natural  and  energetic  verse,  we 
are  yet  far  from  feeling  surprised  that  the  approbation,  which 
it  is  our  pleasing  duty  to  bestow,  should  not  have  been  antici- 
pated l>y  the  ordinary  readers  of  the  work  before  us.  It  bears, 
In  truth,  no  great  resemblance  to  the  narrative  poems  from 


Till  the  Tweed's  eddies  whelm  them.     Berwick's 

render'd — 
These  wars,  I  trust,  will  soon  find  lasting  close.1 

which  Sir  Walter  Scott  derived  his  first  and  high  reputation, 
and  by  which,  for  the  present,  his  genius  must  be  character- 
ized. It  is  wholly  free  from  many  of  their  most  obvious  faults 
— their  carelessness,  their  irregularity,  and  their  inequality  both 
of  conception  and  of  execution  ;  but  it  wants  likewise  no  iiicon 
siderable  portion  of  their  beauties — it  has  less  '  pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance,' less  picturesque  description,  romantic  association, 
and  chivalrous  glitter,  less  sentiment  and  reflection,  less  per- 
haps of  all  their  striking  charms,  with  the  single  exception  oi 
that  one  redeeming  and  sufficing  quality,  which  forms,  in  our 
view,  the  highest  recommendation  of  all  the  author's  works 
of  imagination,  their  unaffected  and  unflagging  vigor.  This 
perhaps,  after  all,  is  only  saying  that  we  have  before  us  a 
dramatic  poem,  instead  of  a  metrical  tale  of  romance,  and 
that  the  author  has  had  too  much  taste  and  discretion  to  be- 
dizen his  scenes  with  inappropriate  and  encumbering  orna 
ment.  There  is,  however,  a  class  of  readers  of  poetry,  and  a 
pretty  large  class,  too,  who  have  no  relish  for  a  work,  however 
naturally  and  strongly  the  characters  and  incidents  may  be 
conceived  and  sustained — however  appropriate  and  manly  may 
be  the  imagery  and  diction — from  which  they  cannot  select 
any  isolated  passages  to  store  in  their  memories  or  their  com- 
monplace books,  to  whisper  into  a  lady's  ear,  or  transcribe  inta 
a  lady's  album.  With  this  tea-table  and  watering-place  school 
of  critics,  '  Halidon  Hill'  must  expect  no  favor ;  it  has  no  rant 
— no  mysticism — and,  worst  offence  of  all,  no  affectation. "- 
British  Critic,  October,  1822. 


irainWkiiiTr ~  r  - 


■,warte*nta>'  ■  mfirtwwNmtn 


?48 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


iftculDttfT*    &XOBB. 


INTRODUCTION 

These  few  scenes  had  the  honor  to  be  included 
in  a  Miscellany,  published  in  the  year  1823,  by  Mrs. 
Joanna  Baillie,  and  are  here  reprinted,  to  unite 
them  with  the  trifles  of  the  same  kind  winch  owe 
their  birth  to  the  author.  The  singular  history  of 
the  Cross  and  Law  of  Clan  MacDuff  is  given,  at 
length  enough  to  satisfy  the  keenest  antiquary,  in 
The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border.1  It  is  here 
only  necessary  to  state,  that  the  Cross  was  a  place 
of  refuge  to  any  person  related  to  MacDuff,  within 
the  ninth  degree,  who,  having  committed  homicide 
in  sudden  quarrel,  should  reach  this  place,  prove 
his  descent  from  the  Thane  of  Fife,  and  pay  a  cer- 
tain penalty. 

The  shaft  of  the  Cross  was  destroyed  at  the 
Reformation.  The  huge  block  of  stone  which 
served  for  its  pedestal  is  still  in  existence  near 
the  town  of  Newburgh,  on  a  kind  of  pass  which 
commands  the  county  of  Fife  to  the  southward, 
and  to  the  north,  the  windings  of  the  magnificent 
Tay  and  fertile  country  of  Angus-shire.  The  Cross 
bore  an  inscription,  which  is  transmitted  to  us  in 
an  unintelligible  form  by  Sir  Robert  Sibbald. 

Abbots  ford,  January,  1830. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

[■    Monks  of  Lindores. 

>   Scottish  Barons, 


Ninian, 
Waldhave 

LlNDESAY, 

Maurice  Berkeley 


MRS.  JOANNA  BAILLIE, 

AUTHORESS  OF 

THE  PLAYS   ON  THE  PASSIONS.' 


PRELUDE. 


Nay,  smile  not,  Lady,  when  I  speak  of  witchcraft, 
And  say,  that  still  there  lurks  amongst  our  glens 
Some  touch  of  strange  enchantment. — Mark  that 
fragment, 

i  Vol.  iv.  p.  266,  in  the  Appendix  to  Lord  Soulis,  "  Law  of 
^an  MacDuff." 


I  mean  that  rough-hewn  block  of  massive  stone 
Placed  on  the  summit  of  this  mountain-pass, 
Commanding  prospect  wide  o'er  field  and  fell, 
And  peopled  village  and  extended  moorland, 
And  the  wide  ocean  and  majestic  Tay, 
To  the  far  distant  Grampians. — Do  not  deem  it 
A  loosen'd  portion  of  the  neighboring  rock, 
Detach' d  by  storm  and  thunder — 'twas  the  pedestal 
On  which,  in  ancient  times,  a  Cross  was  rear'd, 
Carved  o'er  with  words  which  foil'd  philologists ; 
And  the  events  it  did  commemorate 
Were  dark,  remote,  and  undistinguishable, 
As  were  the  mystic  characters  it  bore. 
But,  mark, — a  wizard,  born  on  Avon's  bank, 
Tuned  but  his  harp  to  this  wild  northern  theme, 
And,  lo !  the  scene  is  hallow'd.     None  shall  pass, 
Now,  or  in  after  days,  beside  that  stone, 
But  he  shall  have  strange  visions ;  thoughts  and 

words, 
That  shake,  or  rouse,  or  thrill  the  human  heart. 
Shall  rush  upon  his  memory  when  he  hears 
The  spirit-stirring  name  of  this  rude  symbol ; — 
Oblivious  sages,  at  that  simple  spell, 
Shall  render  back  their  terrors  with  their  woes, 
Alas!    and   with   their   crimes  —  and   the   proud 

phantoms 
Shall  move  with  step  familiar  to  his  eye, 
And  accents  which,  once  heard,  the  ear  forgets  nc^ 
Though  ne'er  again  to  list  them.     Siddons,  thine, 
Thou  matchless  Siddons  !  thrill  upon  our  ear  • 
And  on  our  eye  thy  lofty  Brother's  form 
Rises  as  Scotland's  monarch. — But,  to  thee, 
Joanna,  why  to  thee  speak  of  such  visions  ? 
Thine  own  wild  wand  can  raise  them. 

Yet  since  thou  wilt  an  idle  tale  of  mine, 
Take  one  which  scarcely  is  of  worth  enough 
To  gite  or  to  withhold. — Our  time  creeps  on, 
Fancy  grows  colder  as  the  silvery  hair 
Tells  the  advancing  winter  of  our  fife. 
But  if  it  be  of  worth  enough  to  please, 
That  worth  it  owes  to  her  who  set  the  task ; 
If  otherwise,  the  fault  rests  with  the  author. 


MatlBntTs  41x000. 

SCENE  L 

The  summit  of  a  Rocky  Pass  near  to  Newburgh, 
about  two  miles  from  the  ancient  Abbey  of  Lin- 
dores, in  Fife.    In  the  centre  is  Mac  Duff's  Cros*. 


MACDUFF'S  CROSS. 


749 


an  antique  Monument ;  and,  at  a  small  distance, 
on  one  side,  a  Chapel,  with  a  Lamp  burning. 

Enter,  as  having  ascended  the  Pass,  Ninian  and 
Waldhave,  Monks  of  Lindores.  Ninian  crosses 
himself,  and  seems  to  recite  his  devotions.  Wald- 
have stands  gazing  on  the  prospect,  as  if  in  deep 
contemplation. 

Nin.  Here  stands  the  Cross,  good  brother,  conse- 
crated 
By  the  bold  Thane  unto  his  patron  saint 
Magridius,  once  a  brother  of  our  house. 
Canst  thou  not  spare  an  ave  or  a  creed  ? 
Or  hath  the  steep  ascent  exhausted  you  ?      L'Some. 
You  trode  it  stoutly,  though  'twas  rough  and  toil- 
Wal.  I  have  trode  a  rougher. 
Nin.  On  the  Highland  hills — 

Scarcely  within  our  sea-girt  province  here, 
Unless  upon  the  Lomonds  or  Bennarty. 

Wal.  I  spoke  not  of  the  literal  path,  good  father. 
But  of  the  road  of  life  which  I  have  travell'd, 
Ere  I  assumed  this  habit ;  it  was  bounded, 
Hedged  in,  and  limited  by  earthly  prospects, 
As  ours  beneath  was  closed  by  dell  and  thicket. 
Here  we  see  wide  and  far,  and  the  broad  sky, 
With  wide  horizon,  opens  full  around, 
While  earthly  objects  dwindle.     Brother  Ninian, 
Fain  would  I  hope  that  mental  elevation 
Could  raise  me  equally  o'er  worldly  thoughts, 
And  place  me  nearer  heaven. 

Nin.  Tis  good  morality. — But  yet  forget  not, 
That  though  we  look  on  heaven  from  this  high  em- 
inence, 
Yet  doth  the  Prince  of  all  the  airy  space, 
Arch  foe  of  man,  possess  the  realms  between. 
Wal.  Most  true,  good  brother;  and  men  may 
be  farther 
From  the  bright  heaven  they  aim  at,  even  because 
They  deem  themselves  secure  on't. 

Nin.  (after  a  pause.)  You  do  gaze — 

Strangers  are  wont  to  do  so — on  the  prospect. 
Yon  is  the  Tay  roll'd  down  from  Highland  lulls, 
That  rests  his  waves,  after  so  rude  a  race, 
In  the  fair  plains  of  Gowrie — further  westward, 
Proud  Stirling  rises — yonder  to  the  east, 
Dundee,  the  gift  of  God,  and  fair  Montrose, 
And  still  more  northward  he  the  ancient  towers — 
Wal.  Of  Edzell. 

Nl».        How  ?  know  you  the  towers  of  Edzell  ? 
Wal.  I've  heard  of  them. 
Nin.                         Then  have  you  heard  a  tale, 
Which  when  he  tells,  the  peasant  shakes  his  head, 
And  shuns  the  mouldering  and  deserted  walls. 
Wal.  Why,  and  by  whom,  deserted  ? 
Nin.                                            Long  the  tale, — 
Enough  to  say  that  the  last  Lord  of  Edzell, 
Bold  Louis  Lindesay,  had  a  wife,  and  found 


Wal.   Enough   is   said,  indeed — since   a  weak 
woman, 
Ay,  and  a  tempting  fiend,  lost  Paradise, 
When  man  was  innocent. 

Nin.  They  fell  at  strife, 

Men  say,  on  slight  occasion :  that  fierce  Lindesay 
Did  bend  his  sword  against  De  Berkeley's  breast 
And  that  the  lady  threw  herself  between : 
That  then  De  Berkeley  dealt  the  Baron's  death 

wound. 
Enough,  that  from  that  time  De  Berkeley  bore 
A  spear  in  foreign  wars.     But,  it  is  said, 
He  hath  return'd  of  late ;  and,  therefore,  brother, 
The  Prior  hath  ordain'd  our  vigil  here, 
To  watch  the  privilege  of  the  sanctuary, 
And  rights  of  Clan  MacDuff. 

Wal.  What  rights  are  these  \ 

Nin.  Most  true  1  you  are  but  newly  come  fron 
Rome, 
And  do  not  know  our  ancient  usages. 
Know  then,  when  fell  Macbeth  beneath  the  arm 
Of  the  predestined  knight,  unborn  of  woman, 
Three  boons  the  victor  ask'd,  and  thrice  did  Mal- 
colm, 
Stooping  the  sceptre  by  the  Thane  restored, 
Assent  to  his  request.     And  hence  the  rule, 
That  first  when  Scotland's  King  assumes  the  crown, 
MacDuff 's  descendant  rings  his  brow  with  it: 
And  hence,  when  Scotland's  King  calls  forth  hi* 

host, 
MacDuff's  descendant  leads  the  van  in  battle: 
And  last,  in  guerdon  of  the  crown  restored, 
Red  with  the  blood  of  the  usurping  tyrant, 
The  right  was  granted  in  succeeding  time, 
That  if  a  kinsman  of  the  Thane  of  Fife 
Commit  a  slaughter  on  a  sudden  impulse, 
And  fly  for  refuge  to  this  Cross  MacDuff, 
For  the  Thane's  sake  he  shall  find  sanctuary ; 
For  here  must  the  avenger's  step  be  staid, 
And  here  the  panting  homicide  find  safety. 

Wal.  And  here  a  brother  of  your  order  watches. 
To  see  the  custom  of  the  place  observed  ? 

Nin.  Even  so  j — such  is  our  convent's  holy  right, 
Since  Saint  Magridius — blessed  be  his  memory  1— 
Did  by  a  vision  warn  the  Abbot  Eadmir. — 
And  chief  we  watch,  when  there  is  bickering 
Among  the  neighboring  nobles,  now  most  likely 
From  this  return  of  Berkeley  from  abroad, 
Having  the  Lindesay 's  blood  upon  his  hand. 
Wal.  The  Lindesay,  then,  was  loved  among  his 

friends  ? 
Nin.  Honor'd  and  fear'd  he  was  —  but  little 
loved ; 
For  even  his  bounty  bore  a  show  of  sternness ; 
And  when  his  passions  waked,  he  was  a  Sathan 
Of  wrath  and  injury. 

Wal.  How  now,  Sir  Priest !  (fiercely)— Forgivr 
me  (recollecting  himself) — I  was  dreaming 


750 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Of  an  old  baron,  who  did  bear  about  him 
Some  touch  of  your  Lord  Reynold. 

Nin.  Lindesay's  name,  my  brother, 
Indeed  was  Reynold ; — and  me  thinks,  moreover, 
That,  as  you   spoke  even  now,  he  would  have 

spoken. 
[  brought  him  a  petition  from  our  convent : 
He  granted  straight,  but  in  such  tone  and  manner, 
By  my  good  saint !  I  thought  myself  scarce  safe, 
Till  Tay  roll'd  broad  between  us.     I  must  now 
Unto  the  chapel — meanwhile  the  watch  is  thine ; 
And,  at  thy  word,  the  hurrying  fugitive, 
Should  such  arrive,  must  here  find  sanctuary  ; 
And,  at  thy  word,  the  fiery-paced  avenger 
Must  stop  his  bloody  course — e'en  as  swoln  Jordan 
Control!  d  his  waves,  soon  as  they  touch'd  the  feet 
Of  those  who  bore  the  ark. 

Wal.  Is  this  my  charge  ? 

Nin.  Even  so ;  and  I  am  near,  should  chance  re- 
quire me. 
At  midnight  I  relieve  you  on  your  watch, 
When  we  may  taste  together  some  refreshment : 
I  have  cared  for  it ;  and  for  a  flask  of  wine — 
There  is  no  sin,  so  that  we  drink  it  not 
Until  the  midnight  hour,  when  lauds  have  toll'd. 
Farewell  a  while,  and  peaceful  watch  be  with  you  1 
[Exit  towards  the  Chapel. 

Wal.  It  is  not  with  me,  and  alas !  alas  ! 
I  know  not  where  to  seek  it.     This  monk's  mind 
Is  with  his  cloister  match'd,  nor  lacks  more  room. 
Its  petty  duties,  formal  ritual, 
Its  humble  pleasures  and  its  paltry  troubles, 
Fill  up  his  round  of  life ;  even  as  some  reptiles, 
They  say,  are  moulded  to  the  very  shape, 
And  all  the  angles  of  the  rocky  crevice, 
In  which  they  live  and  die.     But  for  myself, 
Retired  in  passion  to  the  narrow  cell, 
Couching  my  tired  limbs  in  its  recesses, 
So  ill-adapted  am  I  to  its  limits, 

That  every  attitude  is  agony. 

How  now !  what  brings  him  back  ? 

Re-enter  Ninian. 
Nin.  Look  to  your  watch,  my  brother;  horse- 
men come : 
I  heard  their  tread  when  kneeling  in  the  chapel. 
Wal.  {looking  to  a  distance.)  My  thoughts  have 
rapt  me  more  than  thy  devotion, 
Else  had  I  heard  the  tread  of  distant  horses 
Farther  than  thou  couldst  hear  the  sacring  bell ; 
But  now  in  truth  they  come : — flight  and  pursuit 
Are  sights  I've  been  long  strange  to. 

Nin.  See  how  they  gallop  down  the  opposing 
hilll 
Yon  gray  steed  bounding  down  the  headlong  path, 
As  on  the  level  meadow ;  while  the  black, 
Urged  by  the  rider  with  his  naked  sword, 
Stoops  on  his  prey,  as  I  have  seen  the  Mcon 


Dashing  upon  the  heron. — Thou  dost  frown 
And  clench  thy  hand,  as  if  it  grasp'd  a  weapon  ? 
Wal.  'Tis  but  for  shame  to  see  a  man  fly  thus 
While  only  one  pursues  him.     Coward,  turn ! — 
Turn  thee,  l  say !  thou  art  as  stout  as  he, 
And  well  mayst  match  thy  single  sword  with  his — 
Shame,  that  a  man  should  rein  a  steed  like  thee, 
Yet  fear  to  turn  his  front  against  a  foe  !— 
I  am  ashamed  to  look  on  them. 

Nin.  Yet  look  again ;  they  quit  their  horses  now, 
Unfit  for  the  rough  path :  the  fugitive 
Keeps  the  advantage  still. — They  strain  towards 
us. 
Wal.  I'll  not  believe  that  ever  the  bold  Thane 
Rear'd  up  his  Cross  to  be  a  sanctuary 
To  the  base  coward,  who  shunn'd  an  equal  com- 
bat- 
How's  this  ? — that   look — that  mien — mine  eyes 
grow  dizzy  ! — 
Nin.  He   comes ! — thou  art  a  novice  on  this 
watch,— 
Brother,  I'll  take  the  word  and  speak  to  him 
Pluck  down  thy  cowl;   know,  that  we  spintupl 

champions 
Have  honor  to  maintain,  and  must  not  seem 
To  quail  before  the  laity. 

[Waldhave   lets  down  his  cowl,  anu 
steps  back. 

Enter  Maurice  Berkeley. 
Nin.  Who  art  thou,  stranger  ?  speak  thy  name 

and  purpose. 
Ber.  I  claim  the  privilege  of  Clan  MacDuff. 
My  name  is  Maurice  Berkeley,  and  my  lineage 
Allies  me  nearly  with  the  Thane  of  Fife. 

Nin.  Give  us  to  know  the  cause  of  sanctuary  ? 
Ber.  Let  him  show  it, 

Against  whoso  violence  I  claim  the  privilege. 

Enter  Lindesay,  cnth  his  sword  drawn.     He  rushes 
at  Berkeley  ;  Ninian  interposes. 

Nin.  Peace,  in  the  name  of  Saint  Magridius ! 
Peace,  in  our  Prior's  name,  ard  in  the  name 
Of  that  dear  symbol,  whia*  did  puivhase  peace 
And  good-will  towards  man !  1  do  eommand  thee 
To  sheath  thy  sword,  and  stir  no  contest  hero. 

Lin.  One  charm  I'll  try  first, 
To  lure  the  craven  from  the  enchanted  circle 
Which  he  hath  harbor'd  in. — Hear  you,  De  Eerke 

ley, 

This  is  my  brother's  sword — the  hand  it  arms 
Is  weapon'd  to  avenge  a  brother's  death : — 
If  thou  hast  heart  to  step  a  furlong  off, 
And  change  three  blows, — even  for  so  short  a  spaco 
As  these  good  men  may  say  an  ave-marie, — 
So,  Heaven  be  good  to  me  !  I  will  forgive  thee 
Thy  deed  and  all  its  consequences.  [thought 

Ber.  Were  not  my  right  hand  fetter'd  by  the 


MACDUFF'S  CROSS. 


751 


That  slaying  thee  were  but  a  double  guilt 
In  which  to  steep  my  soul,  no  bridegroom  ever 
Stepp'd  forth  to  trip  a  measure  with  his  bride, 
More  joyfully  than  I,  young  man,  would  rush 
To  meet  thy  challenge. 

Lin.   He  quails,  and   shuns  to  look   upon  my 
weapon, 
Yet  boasts  liimself  a  Berkeley  I 

Ber.  Lindesay,  and  if  there  were  no  deeper  cause 
For  shunning  thee  than  terror  of  thy  weapon, 
That  rock-hewn  Cross  as  soon  should  start  and  stir, 
Because  a  shepherd-boy  blew  horn  beneath  it, 
As  I  for  brag  of  thine. 

Nin.  I  charge  you  both,  and  in  the  name  of 
Heaven, 
Breathe  no  defiance  on  this  sacred  spot, 
Where  Christian  men  must  bear  them  peacefully, 
On  pain  of  the  Church  thunders.     Calmly  tell 
Your  cause  of  difference ;  and,  Lord  lindesay,  thou 
Be  first  to  speak  them. 

Lin.  Ask  the  blue  welkin — ask  the  silver  Tay, 
The  northern  Grampians  —  all  things  know  my 

wrongs ; 
But  ask  not  me  to  tell  them,  while  the  villain, 
Who  wrought  them,  stands  and   listens  with  a 
smile. 

Nin.  It  is  said — 
Since  you  refer  us  thus  to  general  fame — 
That  Berkeley  slew  thy  brother,  the  Lord  Louis, 
In  his  own  halls  at  Edzell 

Lin.  Ay,  in  his  halls — 
In  his  own  halls,  good  father,  that's  the  word. 
In  his  own  halls  he  slew  him,  while  the  wine 
Pass'd  on  the  board  between !     The  gallant  Thane, 
Who  wreak'd  Macbeth's  inhospitable  murder, 
Rear'd  not  yon  Cross  to  sanction  deeds  like  these. 

Ber.  Thou  say'st  I  came  a  guest ! — I  came  a 
victim, 
A  destined  victim,  train'd  on  to  the  doom 
His  frantic  jealousy  prepared  for  me. 
He  fix'd  a  quarrel  on  me,  and  we  fought. 
Can  I  forget  the  form  that  came  between  us, 
And  perish'd  by  his  sword  ?     'Twas  then  I  fought 
For  vengeance, — until  then  I  guarded  life, 
But  then  I  sought  to  take  it,  and  prevail' d. 

Lin.  Wretch !  thou  didst  first  dishonor  to  thy 
victim, 
And  then  didst  slay  him  ! 

Ber.  There  is  a  busy  fiend  tugs  at  my  heart, 
But  I  will  struggle  with  it ! — Youthful  knight, 
My  heart  is  sick  of  war,  my  hand  of  slaughter  ; 
I  come  not  to  my  lordships,  or  my  land, 
But  just  to  seek  a  spot  in  some  cold  cloister, 
Which  I  may  kneel  on  living,  and,  when  dead, 
Which  may  suffice  to  cover  me. 
Forgive  me  that  I  caused  your  brother's  death ; 
And  I  forgive  thee  the  injurious  terms 
With  which  thou  taxest  me. 


Lin.  Take  worse  and  blacker. — Murderer,  adult 
erer  ! — 
Ai  t  thou  not  moved  yet  ? 

Ber.  Do  not  press  me  further 

The  hunted  stag,  even  when  he  seeks  the  thicket, 
Compell'd  to  stand  at  bay,  grows  dangerous ! 
Most  true  thy  brother  perish'd  by  my  hand, 
And  if  you  term  it  murder — I  must  bear  it. 
Thus  far  my  patience  can ;  but  if  thou  brand 
The  purity  of  yonder  martyr'd  saint, 
Whom  then  my  sword  but  poorly  did  avenge, 
With  one  injurious  word,  come  to  the  valley, 
And  I  will  show  thee  how  it  shall  be  answer'd  1 

Nin.  This  heat,  Lord  Berkeley,  doth  but  ill  ac 
cord 
With  thy  late  pious  patience. 

Ber.  Father,  forgive,  and  let  me  stand  excused 
To  Heaven  and  thee,  if  patience  brooks  no  more. 
I  loved  this  lady  fondly — truly  loved — 
Loved  her,  and  was  beloved,  ere  yet  her  father 
Conferr'd  her  on  another.     Wlnle  she  lived, 
Each  thought  of  her  was  to  my  soul  as  hallow'd 
As  those  I  send  to  Heaven ;  and  on  her  grave, 
Her  bloody,  early  grave,  wliile  tliis  poor  hand 
Can  hold  a  sword,  shall  no  one  cast  a  scorn. 

Lin.  Follow  me.     Thou  shalt  hear  me  call  the 
adulteress 
By  her  right  name. — I'm  glad  there's  yet  a  spur 
Can  rouse  thy  sluggard  mettle. 

Ber.  Make  then  obeisance  to  the  blessed  Cross,, 
For  it  shall  be  on  earth  thy  last  devotion. 

[They  are  going  off 

Wal.  [rushing  forward.)  Madmen,  stand ! — 
Stay  but  one  second — answer  but  one  question.— 
There,  Maurice  Berkeley,  canst  thou  look  upon 
That  blessed  sign,  and  swear  thou'st  spoken  truth  ? 

Ber.  I  swear  by  Heaven, 
And  by  the  memory  of  that  murder'd  innocent, 
Each  seeming  charge  against  her  was  as  false 
As  our  bless'd  Lady's  spotless.     Hear,  each  saint  1 
Hear  me,  thou  holy  rood !  hear  me  from  heaven, 
Thou  martyr'd  excellence ! — Hear  me  from  penal 

fire 
(For  sure  not  yet  thy  guilt  is  expiated) ! 
Stern  ghost  of  her  destroyer ! 

Wal.   (throws   back  his  cowl.)   He   hears !    he 
hears !     Thy  spell  hath  raised  the  dead. 

Lin.  My  brother !  and  alive  ! — 

Wal.  Alive, — but  yet,  my  Richard,   dead  ta 
thee, 
No  tie  of  kindred  binds  me  to  the  world ; 
All  were  renounced,  when,  with  reviving  life, 
Came  the  desire  to  seek  the  sacred  cloister. 
Alas,  in  vain  !  for  to  that  last  retreat, 
Like  to  a  pack  of  bloodhounds  in  full  chase, 
My  passion  and  my  wrongs  have  follow'd  me, 
Wrath  and  remorse — and,  to  fill  up  the  cry, 
Thou  hast  brought  vengeance  hither. 


752 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Lin.  I  but  sought 

To  do  the  act  and  duty  of  a  brother. 

Wal.  I  ceased  to  be  so  when  I  left  the  world  ■ 
But  if  he  can  forgive  as  I  forgive, 
God  sends  me  here  a  brother  in  mine  enemy, 
To  pray  for  me  and  with  me.     If  thou  canst, 
De  Berkeley  give  thine  hand. — 

Bee.  (gives  his  hand.)  It  is  the  will 


Of  Heaven,  made  manifest  in  thy  preservation, 
To  inhibit  farther  bloodshed ;  for  De  Berkeley, 
The  votary  Maurice  lays  the  title  down. 
Go  to  his  halls,  Lord  Richard,  where  a  maiden, 
Kin  to  his  blood,  and  daughter  in  affection, 
Heirs  his  broad  lands; — If  thou  canst  love  her 

Lindesay, 
"Woo  her,  and  be  successful 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


753 


Stye   Sloom   of  JDcxjorgoil 


PREFACE 

The  first  of  these  dramatic  pieces1  -was  long 
since  written,  for  the  purpose  of  obliging  the  late 
Mr.  Terry,  then  Manager  of  the  Adelphi  Theatre, 
for  whom  the  Author  had  a  particular  regard.  The 
manner  in  winch  the  mimic  goblins  of  Devorgoil 
are  intermixed  with  the  supernatural  machinery, 
was  found  to  be  objectionable,  and  the  production 
had  other  faults,  which  rendered  it  unfit  for  rep- 
resentation.2 I  have  called  the  piece  a  Melo- 
drama, for  want  of  a  better  name  ;  but,  as  I  learn 
from  the  unquestionable  authority  of  Mr.  Colman's 
Random  Records,  that  one  species  of  the  drama  is 
termed  an  extravaganza,  I  am  sorry  I  was  not 
sooner  aware  of  a  more  appropriate  name  than 
that  which  I  had  selected  for  Devorgoil. 

The  Author's  Publishers  thought  it  desirable, 
that  the  scenes,  long  condemned  to  oblivion, 
should  be  united  to  similar  attempts  of  the  same 
kind  *.nd  as  he  felt  indifferent  on  the  subject, 
they  are  printed  in  the  same  volume  with  Hali- 
don  Hill  and  MacDufF's  Cross,  and  thrown  off  in 
a  separate  form,  for  the  convenience  of  those  who 
possess  former  editions  of  the  Author's  Poetical 
Works. 

The  general  story  of  the  Doom  of  Devorgoil  is 
founded  on  an  old  Scottish  tradition,  the  scene  of 
which  lies  in  Galloway.  The  crime  supposed  to 
have  occasioned  the  misfortunes  of  this  devoted 
house,  is  similar  to  that  of  a  Lord  Herries  of 
Hoddam  Castle,  who  is  the  principal  personage 
of  Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe's  interesting 
ballad,  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border, 
vol.  iv.  p.  307.  In  remorse  for  his  crime,  he 
built  the  singular  monument  called  the  Tower 
of  Repentance.  In  many  cases  the  Scottish  super- 
stitions allude  to  the  fairies,  or  those  who,  for 

l  "The  Doom  of  Devorgoil,"  and  "  Auchindrane,"  were 
published  together  in  an  octavo  volume,  in  the  spring  of  1830. 
For  the  origin  and  progress  of  the  first,  see  Life  of  Scott,  vol. 

r)?.  *97-?04,  285-6. 
Mr  !Mni*l  Terry,  the  comedian,  distinguished  for  a  very 


sins  of  a  milder  description,  are  permitted  to 
wander  with  the  "  rout  that  never  rest,"  as  they 
were  termed  by  Dr.  Leyden.  They  imitate  hu- 
man labor  and  human  amusements,  but  their  toil 
is  useless,  and  without  any  advantageous  result ; 
and  their  gayety  is  unsubstantial  and  hollow.  The 
phantom  of  Lord  Erick  is  supposed  to  be  a  spectre 
of  this  character. 

The  story  of  the  Ghostly  Barber  is  told  in  man* 
countries  ;  but  the  best  narrative  founded  on  the 
passage,  is  the  tale  called  Stumme  Liebe,  among 
the  legends  of  Musaeus.  I  think  it  has  been  in- 
troduced upon  the  English  stage  in  some  panto- 
(mime,  which  was  one  objection  to  bringing  it  upon 
the  scene  a  second  time. 
Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 


DRAMATIS  PERSON"^. 

Oswald  of  Devorgoil,  a  decayed  Scottish  Baron. 

Leonard,  a  Ranger. 

Durward,  a  Palmer. 

Lancelot  Blackthorn,  a  Companion  of  Leonard, 

in  love  with  Katleen. 
Gullcrammer,  a  conceited  Student. 
Owlspiegle  and  )  Maskers,  represented  by  Black 
Cockledemoy,       )  thorn  and  Katleen. 

Spirit  of  Lord  Erick  of  Devorgoil. 
Peasants,  Shepherds,  and  Vassals  of  inferior  rank* 

Eleanor,    Wife  of  Oswald,  descended  of  obscur* 

Parentage. 
Flora,  Paiighter  of  Oswald. 
Katleen,  Niece  of  Eleanor. 


peculiar  style  of  humor  on  the  stage,  and,  moreover,  by 
personal  accomplishments  of  various  sorts  not  generally  share-;! 
by  members  of  his  profession,  was,  during  many  years,  or 
terms  of  intimacy  with  Sir  Walter  Scott.  He  died  22d  June 
1829. 


754 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


<ftl)e  JDoom  of  JDcDorgotl. 

ACT  I— SCENE  L 

The  Scene  represents  a  wild  and  hilly,  but  not  a 
mountainous  Country,  in  a  frontier  District  of 
8  otland.  The  flat  Scene  exhibits  the  Castle  of 
Devorgoil,  decayed,  and  partly  ruinous,  situated 
upon  a  Lake,  and  connected  with  the  Land  by  a 
Drawbridge,  which  is  lowered.     Time — Sunset. 

Flora  enters  from  the  Castle,  looks  timidly  around, 
then  comes  forward  and  speaks. 

Be  is  not  here — those  pleasures  are  not  ours 
Which  placid  evening  brings  to  all  things  else. 


The  sun  upon  the  lake  is  low, 

The  wild  birds  hush  their  song, 
The  hills  have  evening's  deepest  glow, 

Yet  Leonard  tarries  long. 
Now  all  whom  varied  toil  and  care 

From  home  and  love  divide, 
In  the  calm  sunset  may  repair 

Each  to  the  loved  one's  side. 

The  noble  dame  on  turret  high, 

Who  waits  her  gallant  knight, 
Looks  to  the  western  beam  to  spy 

The  flash  of  armor  bright. 
The  village  maid,  with  hand  on  brow, 

The  level  ray  to  shade, 
Upon  the  footpath  watches  now 

For  Colin's  darkening  plaid. 

Now  to  their  mates  the  wild  swans  row, 

By  day  they  swam  apart, 
And  to  the  thicket  wanders  slow 

The  hind  beside  the  hart. 
The  woodlark  at  his  partner's  side, 

Twitters  his  closing  song — 
All  meet  whom  day  and  care  divide, 

But  Leonard  tarries  long. 

[Katleen  has  come  out  of  the-  Castle 
while  Flora  was  singing,  and  speaks 
when  the  Song  is  ended. 

Kat.  Ah,  my*  dear  coz  ! — if  that  your  mother's 
niece 
May  so  presume  to  call  your  father's  daughter — 
All  these  fond  things  have  got  some  home  of  com- 
fort 


l  The  author  thought  of  omitting  this?  song,  which  was,  in 
fact,  abridged  into  one  in  "  Q,uentin  Durward,"  termed  County 
Gay.     [Sea  ante,   page  709.]    It  seemed,   however, 


To  tempt  their  rovers  back — the  lady's  bower, 
The  shepherdess's  hut,  the  wild  swan's  couch 
Among  the  rushes,  even  the  lark's  low  nest, 
Has  that  of  promise  which  lures  home  a  lover,— 
But  we  have  naught  of  this. 

Flo.  How  call  you,  then,  this  castle  of  my  sire, 
The  towers  of  Devorgoil  ? 

Kat.  Dungeons  for  men,  and  palaces  for  owls ; 
Yet  no  wise  owl  would  change  a  farmer's  barn 
For  yonder  hungry  hall — our  latest  mouse, 
Our  last  of  mice,  I  tell  you,  has  been  found 
Starved  in  the  pantry ;  and  the  reverend  spider, 
Sole  living  tenant  of  the  Baron's  halls, 
Who,  train'd  to  abstinence,  lived  a  whole  summer 
Upon  a  single  fly,  he's  famish'd  too ; 
The  cat  is  in  the  kitchen-chimney  seated 
Upon  our  last  of  fagots,  destined  soon 
To  dress  our  last  of  suppers,  and,  poor  soul, 
Is  starved  with  cold,  and  mewling  mad  with  hunger 

Flo.  D'ye  mock  our  misery,  Katleen  \ 

Kat.  No,  but  I  am  hysteric  on  the  subject, 
So  I  must  laugh  or  cry,  and  laughing's  lightest. 

Flo.  Why  stay  you  with  us,  then,  my  merrj 
cousin  ? 
From  you  my  sire  can  ask  no  filial  duty. 

Kat.  No,  thanks  to  Heaven  ! 
|  No  noble  in  wide  Scotland,  rich  or  poor, 
I  Can  claim  an  interest  in  the  vulgar  blood 

That  dances  in  my  veins  ;  and  I  might  wed 
I  A  forester  to-morrow,  nothing  fearing 
!  The  wrath  of  high-born  kindred,  and  far  less 
That  the  dry  bones  of  lead-lapp'd  ancestors 
j  Would  clatter  in  their  cerements  at  the  tidings. 

Flo.  My  mother,  too, would  gladly  see  you  places 
Beyond  the  verge  of  our  unhappiness,9 
Which,  like  a  witch's  circle,  blights  and  taints 
Whatever  comes  within  it. 

Kat.  Ah  !  my  good  aunt ! 

She  is  a  careful  kinswoman  and  prudent, 
In  all  but  marrying  a  ruin'd  baron, 
When  she  could  take  her  choice  of  honest  yeomen  • 
And  now,  to  balance  this  ambitious  error, 
She  presses  on  her  daughter's  love  the  suit 
Of  one,  who  hath  no  touch  of  nobleness, 
In  manners,  birth,  or  mind,  to  recommend  him, — 
Sage    Master    Gullcrammer,    the    new-dubb'd 
preacher. 

Flo.  Do  not  name  him,  Katleen  ! 

Kat.  Ay,  but  I  must,  and  with  some  gratitude. 
I  said  but  now,  I  saw  our  last  of  fagots 
Destined  to  dress  our  last  of  meals,  but  said  not 
That  the  repast  consisted  of  choice  dainties, 
Sent  to  our  larder  by  that  liberal  suitor, 
The  kind  Melchisedek. 


sary  to  the  sense,  that  the  original  stanzas  should  be  retained 
here. 
3  MS. — "  Beyond  the  circle  of  our  wretchednesa." 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOAL. 


Flo.  Were  famishing  the  word, 

I'd  famish  ere  I  tasted  them — the  fop, 
The  fool,  the  low-born,  low-bred,  pedant  coxcomb! 

Kat.  There  spoke  the  blood  of  long-descended 
sires  ! 
My  cottage  wisdom  ought  to  echo  back, — 
0  the  snug  parsonage  !  the  well-paid  stipend ! 
The  yew-hedged  garden  !  beehives,  pigs,  and  poul- 
try! 
But,  to  speak  honestly,  the  peasant  Katleen, 
Valuing  these  good  things  justly,  still  would  scorn 
To  wed,  for  such,  the  paltry  Gullcrammer, 
A.8  much  as  Lady  Flora. 

Flo.  Mock  me  not  with  a  title,  gentle  cousin, 
Which  poverty  has  made  ridiculous. — 

[Trumpets  far  off. 
Hark !  they  have  broken  up  the  weapon-shawing ; 
The  vassals  are  dismiss'd,  and  marching  homeward. 

Kat.  Comes  your  sire  back  to-night  ? 

Flo.  He  did  purpose 

To  tarry  for  the  banquet.  This  day  only, 
Summon' d  as  a  king's  tenant,  he  resumes 
The  right  of  rank  his  birth  assigns  to  him, 
And  mingles  with  the  proudest. 

Kat.  To  return 

To  his  domestic  wretchedness  to-morrow — 
I  envy  not  the  privilege.     Let  us  go 
To  yonder  height,  and  see  the  marksmen  practise : 
They  shoot  their  match  down  in  the  dale  beyond, 
Betwixt  the  Lowland  and  the  Forest  district, 
By  ancient  custom,  for  a  tun  of  wine. 
Let  us  go  see  which  wins. 

Flo.  That  were  too  forward. 

Kir.  Why,  you  may    drop  the   screen   before 
your  face, 
Which  some  chance  breeze  may  haply  bk)w  aside 
Just  when  a  youth  of  special  note  takes  aim. 
It  chanced  even  so  that  memorable  morning, 
When,  nutting  in  the  woods,  we  met  young  Leon- 
ard ; — 
And  in  good  time  here  comes  hi3  sturdy  comrade, 
The  rough  Lance  Blackthorn. 

Enter  Lancelot  Blackthorn,  a  Forester,  with  the 
Carcass  of  a  Deer  on  his  back,  and  a  Gun  in  his 
hand. 

Bla.  Save  you,  damsels  1 

Kat.  Godden,  good  yeoman. — Come  you  from 

the  Weaponshaw  ? 
Bla.  Not  I,  indeed ;  there  lies  the  mark  I  shot  at. 
[Lays  down  the  Beer. 
The  time  has  been  I  had  not  miss'd  the  sport, 
Although  Lord  Nithsdale's  self  had  wanted  ven- 
ison ; 
But  this  same  mate  of  mine,  young  Leonard  Dacre, 
Makes  me  do  what  he  lists ;— he'll  win  the  prize, 

though : 
The  Forest  district  will  net  iose  it*,  honor, 


And  that  is  all  I  care  for — {some  shouts  are  heard.) 

Hark  !  they're  at  it. 
I'll  go  see  the  issue. 

Flo.  Leave  not  here 

The  produce  of  your  hunting. 

Bla.  But  I  must,  though. 

This  is  his  lair  to-night,  for  Leonard  Dacre 
Charged  me  to  leave  the  stag  at  Devorgoil ; 
Then  show  me  quickly  where  to  stow  the  quarry. 
And  let  me  to  the  sports — (more  shots.)     C%me, 
hasten,  damsels ! 
Flo.  It  is  impossible — we  dare  not  take  it. 
Bla.  There  let  it  lie,  then,  and  I'll  wind  my 
bugle, 
That  all  within  these  tottering  walls  may  know 
That  here  lies  venison,  whcso  likes  to  lift  it. 

[A  lout  to  blow. 
Kat.  (to  Flo.)  He  will  alarm  your  mother  ;  and, 
besides, 
Our  Forest  proverb  teaches,  that  no  question 
Should  ask  where  venison  comes  from. 
Your  careful  mother,  with  her  wonted  prudence, 
Will  hold  its  presence  plead  its  own  apology. — 
Come,  Blackthorn,  I  will  show  you  where  to  stow  it. 
[Exeunt  Katleen  and  Blackthorn  into 
the  Castle — more  shooting — then  a  dis- 
tant shout — Stragglers,  armed  in  differ- 
ent ways,  pass  over  the  Stage,  as  if  from 
the  Weaponshaw. 
Flo.  The  prize  is  won ;  that  general  shout  pro- 
claim'd  it. 
The  marksmen  and  the  vassals  are  dispersing. 

[She  draics  back. 
First  Vassal  (a  peasant.)  Ay,  ay, — 'tis  lost  and 
won, — the  Fcrest  have  it. 
'Tis  they  have  all  the  luck  on't. 

Second  Vas.  (a   shepherd.)    Luck,   sayst  thou, 

man  ?     'Tis  practice,  skill,  and  cunning. 
Third  Vas.  'Tis  no  such  thing. — I  had  hit  the 
mark  precisely, 
But  for  this  cursed  flint ;  and,  as  I  fired, 
A  swallow  cross'd  mine  eye  too — Will  you  tell  me 
That  that  was  but  a  chance,  mine  honest  shepherd  ? 
First  Vas.  Ay,  and  last  year,  when  Lancelot 
Blackthorn  won  it, 
Because  my  powder  happen'd  to  be  damp, 
Was  there  no  luck  in  that? — The  worse  luck  mine. 
Second  Vas.  Still  I  say  'twas  not  chance ;  it 

might  be  witchcraft. 
First  Vas.  Faith,  not  unlikely,  neighbors ;  for 
these  foresters 
Do  often  haunt  about  this  ruin'd  castle.         [ere, — 
I've  seen  myself  this  spark, — young  Leonard  Da 
Come  stealing  like  a  ghost  ere  break  of  day, 
And  after  sunset,  too,  along  this  path  ; 
And  well  you  know  "he  haunted  cower 3  of  Do 

vorgoil 
Hav<»  no  good  replication  in  the  land. 


756 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Shep.  That  have  they  not.     I've  heard  my  fa- 
ther say, — 
Ghosts  dance  as  lightly  in  its  moonlight  halls, 
As  ever  maiden  did  at  Midsummer 
Upon  the  village -green. 
Firs*   Vas.    Those   that  frequent   such  spirit- 
haunted  ruins 
Must  needs  know  more  than  simple  Christians  do. — 
See,  Lance  this  blessed  moment  leaves  the  castle, 
And  comes  to  triumph  over  us. 

[Blackthorn  enters  from  the  Castle,  and 
comes  forward  while  they  speak. 
Third  Vas.  A  mighty  triumph !     What  is't,  af- 
ter all, 
Except  the  driving  of  a  piece  of  lead, —  , 

As  learned  Master  Gullcrammer  defined  it, — 
Just  through  the  middle  of  a  painted  board. 

Black.  And  if  he  so  define  it,  by  your  leave, 
Your  learned  Master  Gullcrammer's  an  ass. 

Third  Yas.  {angrily.)  He  is  a  preacher,  hunts- 
man, under  favor. 
Second  Vas.    No   quarrelling,   neighbors — you 
may  both  be  right. 

Enter  a  Fourth  Vassal,  with  a  gallon  stoup  of  wine. 
Fourth  Vas.  Why  stand  you  brawling  here  ? 
Young  Leonard  Dacre 
Has  set  abroach  the  tun  of  wine  he  gain'd, 
That  all  may  drink  who  list.     Blackthorn,  I  sought 

you ; 
Your  comrade  prays  you  will  bestow  this  flagon 
Where  you  have  left  the  deer  you  kill'd  this  morn- 
ing. 
Black.  And  that  I  will ;  but  first  we  will  take 
toll 
To   see   if  it's  worth   carriage.      Shepherd,   thy 

horn. 
There  must  be  due  allowance  made  for  leakage, 
And  that  will  come  about  a  draught  apiece. 
Skink  it  about,  and,  when  our  throats  are  liquor'd, 
We'll  merrily  trowl  our  song  of  weaponshaw. 

{They  drink  about  out  of  the  Shepherd's 
horn,  and  then  sing. 

SONG. 

We  love  the  shrill  trumpet,  we  love  the  drum's 

rattle, 
They  call  us  to  sport,  and  they  call  us  to  battle  ; 
And  old  Scotland  shall  laugh  at  the  threats  of  a 

stranger, 
While  our  comrades  in  pastime  are  comrades  in 

danger. 

If  there's  mirth  in  our  house,  'tis  our  neighbor  that 

shares  it — 
If  peril  approach,  'tis  our  neighbor  that  dares  it ; 
And  when  we  lead  off  to  the  pipe  and  the  tabor, 
The  fair  hand  we  press  is  the  hand  of  a  neighbor. 


Then  close  your  ranks,  comrades,  the  bands  thai 
combine  them, 

Faith,  friendship,  and  brotherhood,  join'd  to  en- 
twine them ; 

And  we'll  laugh  at  the  threats  of  each  insolent 
stranger, 

While  our  comrades  in  sport  are  our  comrades  in 
danger. 

Black.  Well,  I  must  do  mine  errand.     Master 
flagon 

[Shaking  it. 
Is  too  consumptive  for  another  bleeding. 
Shep.  I  must  to  my  fold. 

Third  Vas.  I'll  to  the  butt  of  wine, 

And  see  if  that  has  given  up  the  ghost  yet. 
First  Vas.  Have  with  you,  neighbor. 

[Blackthorn  enters  the  Castle,  the  rest  ex- 
eunt severally.     Melchisedek  Gullcram- 
mer  watches  them  of  the  stage,  and  then 
enters  from  a  side-scene.     His  costume  is 
a  Geneva  cloak  and  band,  with  a  high- 
crowned  hat ;  the  rest  of  his  dress  in  the 
fashion  of  James  the  First's  time.     He 
looks  to  the  windows  of  the  Castle,  then 
draws  back  as  if  to  escape  observation, 
while  he   brushes   his   cloak,   drives   the 
white  threads  from  his  waistcoat  with  his 
wetted  thumb,  and  dusts   his  shoes,    all 
with  the  air  of  one  who  would  not  will- 
ingly be  observed  engaged  in  these  offices. 
He   then   adjusts   his   collar    and   band, 
comes  forward  and  speaks. 
Gull.  Right  comely  is  thy  garb,  Melchisedek ; 
As  well  beseemeth  one,  whom  good  Saint  Mungo, 
The  patron  of  our  land  and  university, 
Hath    graced   with    license   both   to   teach    and 

preach — 
Who  dare  opine  thou  hither  plod'st  on  foot  ? 
Trim  sits  thy  cloak,  unruffled  is  thy  band, 
And  not  a  speck  upon  thine  outward  man, 
Bewrays  the  labors  of  thy  weary  sole. 

[Touches  his  shoe,  and  s?niles  complacently. 
Quaint  was  that  "jest  and  pleasant ! — Now  will  I 
Approach  and  hail  the  dwellers  of  this  fort ; 
But  specially  sweet  Flora  Devorgoil, 
Ere  her  proud  sire  return.     He  loves  me  not, 
Mocketh   my   lineage,   flouts   at    mine    advance 

ment — 
Sour  as  the  fruit  the  crab-tree  furnishes, 
And  hard  as  is  the  cudgel  it  supplies ; 
But  Flora — she's  a  lily  on  the  lake, 
And  I  must  reach  her,  though  I  risk  a  ducking. 

[As  Gullcrammer  moves  towards  the  draw 

bridge,  Bauldie  Durward  enters,  and  in 

ter poses  himself  betwixt  him  and  the  Can 

tie.     Gullcrammer  stops  and  speaks. 

Whom  have  we  here  ? — that  ancient  fortune-teller 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


75' 


Papist  and  sorcerer,  and  strc  dy  beggar, 
Old  Bauldie  Durward !  Would  I  were  well  past 
him! 

[Durward  advances,  partly  in  the  dress  of  a 
palmer,  partly  in  that  of  an  old  Scottish 
mendicant,  having  coarse  blue  cloak  and 
badge,  white  beard,  &c. 
Dur.  The  blessing  of  the  evening  on  your  wor- 
ship, 
And  on  your  taff'ty  doublet.     Much  I  marvel 
Your  wisdom  chooseth  such  trim  garb,1  when  tem- 
pests 
Are  gathering  to  the  bursting. 
Gullcrammer  (looks  to  his  dress,  and  tlien  to  the 
sky,  with  some  apprehension.) 

Surely,  Bauldie, 
Thou  dost  belie  the  evening — in  the  west 
The  light  sinks  down  as  lovely  as  this  band 
Drops   o'er   this  mantle — Tush,   manl    'twill  be 
fair. 
Dur.  Ay,  but  the  storm  I  bode  is  big  with  blows, 
Horsewhips  for  hailstones,  clubs*  for  thunderbolts  ; 
And  for  the  wailing  of  the  midnight  wind, 
The  unpitied  howling  of  a  cudgell'd  coxcomb. 
Come,  come,  I  know  thou  seek'st  fair  Flora  Devor- 
goil. 
Oul.  And  if  I  did,  I  do  the  damsel  grace. 
Hei  mother  thinks  so,  and  she  has  accepted 
At  these  poor  hands  gifts  of  some  consequence, 
And  curious  dainties  for  the  evening  cheer, 
To  which  I  am  invited — She  respects  me. 

Dur.  But  not  so  doth  her  father,  haughty  Os- 
wald. 

Bethink  thee,  he's  a  baron 

Gul.  And  a  bare  one  ; 

Construe  me  that,  old  man! — The  crofts  of  Muc- 

klewhame — 
Destined  for  mine  so  soon  as  heaven  and  earth 
Have  shared  my  uncle's  soul  and  bones  between 

them — 
The  crofts  of  Mucklewhame,  old  man,  which  nour- 
ish 
Three  scores  of  sheep,  three  cows,  with  each  her 

follower, 
A  female  palfrey  eke — I  will  be  candid, 
She  is  of  that  meek  tribe  whom,  in  derision, 
Our  wealthy  southern  neighbors   nickname   don- 


Dur.  She  hath  her  follower  too, — when  thou  art 
there. 

Gul.  I  say  to  thee,  these  crofts  of  Mucklewhame, 
In  the  mere  tything  of  their  stock  and  produce, 
Outvie  whatever  patch  of  land  remains 
To  this  old  rugged  castle  and  its  owner. 
Well,  therefore,  may  Melchisedek  Gullcrammer, 
Younger  of  Mucklewhame,  for  such  I  write  me, 

l  MS.—"  That  you  should  walk  in  such  trim  guise." 


Master  of  Arts,  by  grace  of  good  Saint  Andrew, 
Preacher,  in  brief  expectance  of  a  kirk, 
Endow'd  with  ten  score  Scottish  pounds  per  an- 
num, 
Being  eight  pounds  seventeen   eight   in  sterling 

coin — 
Well,  then,  I  say,  may  this  Melchisedek, 
Thus  highly  graced  by  fortune — and  by  nature 
E'en  gifted  as  thou  seest — aspire  to  woo 
The  daughter  of  the  beggar'd  Devorgoil. 

Dur    Credit  an  old  man's  word,  kind  Mastei 

Gullcrammer, 
You  will  not  find  it  so. — Come,  sir,  I've  known 
The  hospitality  of  Mucklewhame ; 
It  reach'd  not  to  profuseness — yet,  in  gratitude 
For  the  pure  water  of  its  living  welL 
And  for  the  barley  loaves  of  its  fair  fields, 
Wherein  chopp'd  straw  contended  with  the  grain 
Which  best  should  satisfy  the  appetite, 
I  would  not  see  the  hopeful  heir  of  Mucklewhame 
Thus  fling  himself  on  danger. 

Gul.  Danger !  what  danger  ? — Know'st  thou  not, 

old  Oswald 
This  day  attends  the  muster  of  the  shire, 
Where  the  crown-vassals  meet  to  show  their  arms, 
And   their   best   horse  of  service? — 'Twas   good 

sport 
(And  if  a  man  had  dared  but  laugh  at  it) 
To  see  old  Oswald  with  his  rusty  morion, 
And   huge   two-handed  sword,  that  might  have 

seen 
The  field  of  Bannockburn  or  Chevy-Chasa, 
Without  a  squire  or  vassal,  page  or  groom, 
Or  e'en  a  single  pikeman  at  his  heels, 
Mix  with  the  proudest  nobles  of  the  county, 
And  claim  precedence  for  his  tatter'd  person 
O'er  armors  double  gilt  and  ostrich  plumage. 
Dur.  Ay !  'twas  the  jest  at  which  fools  laugh 

the  loudest, 
The  downfall  of  our  old  nobility — 
Which  may  forerun  the  ruin  of  a  kingdom. 
I've  seen  an  idiot  clap  his  hands,  and  shout 
To  see  a  tower  like  yon  {points  to  a  part  of  the 

Castle)  stoop  to  its  base 
In  headlong  ruin ;  while  the  wise  look'd  round, 
And  fearful  sought  a  distant  stance  to  watch 
What  fragment  of  the  fabric  next  should  follow  ; 
For  when  the  turrets  fall,  the  walls  are  tot  tering 
Gul.  [after  pondering.)  If  that  means  aught,  it 

means  thou  saw'st  old  Oswald 
Expell'd  from  the  assembly. 

Dur.  Thy  sharp  wit 

Hath  glanced  unwittingly  right  nigh  the  truth, 
Expell'd  he  was  not,  but,  his  claim  denied 
At  some  contested  point  of  ceremony, 
He  left  the  weaponshaw  in  high  displeasure, 
And  hither  comes — his  wonted  bitter  temper 
Scarce  sweeten'd  by  the  chances  of  the  dav. 


758 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


'Twere  much  like  rashness  should  you  wait  his 
And  thither  tends  my  counsel.  [coining, 

Gul.  And  I'll  take  it ; 
3ood  Bauldie  Durward,  I  will  take  thy  counsel, 
ind  will  requite  it  with  this  minted  farthing, 
That  bears  our  sovereign's  head  in  purest  copper. 

Dur.  Thanks  to  thy  bounty — Haste  thee,  good 
young  master ; 
Oswald,  besides  the  old  two-handed  sword, 
Bears  in  his  hand  a  staff  of  potency, 
To  charm  intruders  from  his  castle  purlieus, 

Gul.  I  do  abhor  all  charms,  nor  will  abide 
To  hear  or  see,  far  less  to  feel  their  use. 
Behold,  I  have  departed. 

[Exit  hastily. 
Manent  Durward. 

Dur.  Thus  do  I  play  the  idle  part  of  one 
Who  seeks  to  save  the  moth  from  scorching  him 
In  the  bright  taper's  flame — And  Flora's  beauty1 
Must,  not  unlike  that  taper,  waste  away, 
Gilding  the  rugged  walls  that  saw  it  kindled. 
This  was  a  shard-born  beetle,  heavy,  drossy,2 
Though  boasting  his  dull  drone  and  gilded  wing. 
Here  comes  a  flutterer  of  another  stamp, 
Whom  the  same  ray  is  charming  to  Ins  ruin. 

Enter  Leonard,  dressed  as  a  huntsman  ;  he  pauses 
before  the  Tower,  arid  whistles  a  note  or  two  at 
intervals — drawing  back,  as  if  fearful  of  obser- 
vation— yet  waiting,  as  if  expecting  some  reply. 
Durward,  whom  he  had  not  observed,  moves 
round,  so  as  to  front  Leonard  unexpectedly. 

Leon.  I  am  too  late — it  was  no  easy  task 
To  rid  myself  from  yonder  noisy  revellers. 
Flora ! — I  fear  she's  angry — Flora — Flora  !8 

SONG. 

Admire  not  that  I  gain'd  the  prize 

From  all  the  village  crew  ; 
How  could  I  fail  with  hand  or  eyes, 

"When  heart  and  faith  were  true  ? 

And  when  in  floods,  of  rosy  wine 
My  comrades  drown'd  their  cares, 

I  thought  but  that  thy  heart  was  mine, 
My  own  leapt  light  as  theirs. 

i  MS. "  And  Flora's  years  of  beauty." 

'i  MS. — "  This  was  an  earth-born  beetle,  dull,  and  drossy." 
3  From  the  MS.,  the  following  song  appears  to  have  been  a 
recent  interpolation. 
«  The  MS.  here  adds  :— 

"  Leonard.    But  mine  is  not  misplaced — If  1  sought 
beauty, 
Resides  it  no/  with  Flora  Devorgoil  ? 
If  piety,  if  sw  eetness,  if  discretion, 
Patience  beneath  ill-suited  tasks  of  labor, 
And  filial  tenderness,  that  can  beguile 
He*  moo  ly  sire"?  ^irk  thoughts,  as  the  soft  moonshine 


My  brief  delay  then  do  not  blame, 
Nor  deem  your  swain  untrue  ; 

My  form  but  linger'd  at  the  game, 
My  soul  was  still  with  you. 

She  hears  not ! 

Dur.  But  a  friend  hath  heard — Leonard,  I  pity 
thee. 

Leon,  (starts,  but  recovers  himself?)  Pity,  good 
father,  is  for  those  in  want, 
In  age,  in  sorrow,  in  distress  of  mind, 
Or  agony  of  body.     I'm  in  health — ■ 
Can  match  my  limbs  against  the  stag  in  chase, 
Have  means  enough  to  meet  my  simple  wants, 
And  am  so  free  of  soul  that  I  can  carol 
To  woodland  and  to  wild  in  notes  as  lively 
As  are  my  jolly  bugle's. 

Dur.  Even  therefore  dost  thou  need  my  pity, 
Leonard, 
And  therefore  I  bestow  it,  paying  thee, 
Before  thou  feel'st  the  need,  my  mite  of  pity. 
Leonard,  thou  lovest ;  and  in  that  little  word 
There  lies  enough  to  claim  the  sympathy 
Of  men  who  wear  such  hoary  locks  as  mine, 
And  know  what  misplaced  love  is  sure  to  end  in.4 

Leon.  Good  father,  thou  art  old,  and  even  thy 
youth, 
As  thou  hast  told  me,  spent  in  cloister'd  cells, 
Fits  thee  but  ill  to  judge  the  passions, 
Which  are  the  joy  and  charm  of  social  life. 
Press  me  no  farther,  then,  nor  waste  those  moments 
Whose  worth  thou  canst  not  estimate. 

[As  turning  from  him, 

Dur.  (detains  him.)  Stay,  young  man  ! 
'Tis  seldom  that  a  beggar  claims  a  debt; 
Yet  I  bethink  me  of  a  gay  young  stripling, 
That  owes  to  these  white  locks  and  hoary  beard 
Something  of  reverence  and  of  gratitude    • 
More  than  he  wills  to  pay. 

Leon.  Forgive  me,  father.     Often  hast  ti^ou  told 
me, 
That  in  the  ruin  of  my  father's  house 
You  saved  the  orphan  Leonard  in  his  cradle ; 
And  well  I  know,  that  to  thy  care  alone — 
Care  seconded  by  means  beyond  thy  seeming- • 
I  owe  whate'er  of  nurture  I  can  boast. 

Dur.  Then  for  thy  life  preserved, 


Illumes  the  cloud  of  night — if  I  seek  these, 
Are  they  not  all  with  Flora  ?    Number  me 
The  list  of  female  virtues  one  by  one, 
And  I  will  answer  all  with  Flora  Devorgoil. 

"  Dur.  This  is  the  wonted  pitch  of  youthful  passion  , 
And  every  woman  who  hath  had  a  lover, 
However  now  deem'd  crabbed,  cross,  and  canker'd, 
And  crooked  both  in  temper  and  in  shape, 
Has  in  her  day  been  thought  the  purest,  wisest, 
Gentlest,  and  best  condition'd — and  o'er  all 
Fairest  and  liveliest  of  Eve's  numerous  daughters. 

"  Leonard.  Good  father,  thou  art  old,"  &c. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


759 


A  id  for  the  means  of  knowledge  I  have  furnish'd 
(Which  lacking,  man  is  levell'd  with  the  brutes), 
Grant  me  this  boon:— Avoid  these  fatal  walls ! 
A  curse  is  on  them,  bitter,  deep,  and  heavy, 
Of  power  to  split  the  massiest  tower  they  boast 
From  pinnacle  to  dungeon  vault.     It  rose 
Upon  the  gay  horizon  of  proud  DevorgoiL 
As  unregarded  as  the  fleecy  cloud, 
The  first  forerunner  of  the  hurricane, 
Scarce  seen  amid  the  welkin's  shadeless  blue. 
Dark  grew  it,  and  more  dark,  and  still  the  fortunes 
Of  this  doom'd  family  have  darken'd  with  it. 
It  hid  their  sovereign's  favor,  and  obscured 
The  lustre  of  their  service,  gender' d  hate 
Betwixt  them  and  the  mighty  of  the  land; 
Till  by  degrees  the  waxing  tempest  rose, 
And  stripp'd  the  goodly  tree  of  fruit  and  flowers, 
And  buds,  and  boughs,  and  branches.     There  re- 
mains 
A  rugged  trunk,  dismember'd  and  unsightly, 
Waiting  the  bursting  of  the  final  bolt 
To  splinter  it  to  shivers.    Now,  go  pluck 
Its  single  tendril  to  enwreath  thy  brow, 
And  rest  beneath  its  shade — to  share  the  ruin ! 

Leon.  This  anathema, 
Whence  should  it   come  ? — How  merited  ! — and 
when? 

Dur.            'Twas  in  the  days 
Of  Oswald's  grandsire, — 'mid  Galwegian  chiefs 
The  fellest  foe,  the  fiercest  champion. 
His  blood -red  pennons  scared  the  Cumbrian  coasts, 
And  wasted  towns  and  manors  mark'd  his  progress. 
His  galleys  stored  with  treasure,  and  their  decks 
Crowded  with  English  captives,  who  beheld, 
With  weeping  eyes,  their  native  shores  retire, 
He  bore  him  homeward ;  but  a  tempest  rose 

Leon.  So  far  I've  heard  the  tale, 
And  spare  thee  the  recital. — The  grim  chief, 
Marking  his  vessels  labor  on  the  sea, 
And  loth  to  lose  his  treasure,  gave  command 
To  plunge  his  captives  in  the  raging  deep. 

Dur    rhere  sunk  the  lineage  of  a  noble  name, 
And  the  wild  waves  boom'd  over  sire  and  son, 
Mother  and  nursling,  of  the  House  of  Aglionby,1 
Leaving  but  one  frail  tendril. — Hence  the  fate 
That  hovers  o'er  these  turrets, — hence  the  peasant, 
Belated,  hying  homewards,  dreads  to  cast 
A  glance  upon  that  portal,  lest  he  see 
.Hie  unshrouded  spectres  of  the  murder'd  dead  ;a 
Or  the  avenging  Angel,  with  his  sword, 
Waving  destruction ;  or  the  grisly  phantom 
Of  that  fell  Chief,  the  doer  of  the  deed, 
Which  still,  they  say,  roams  through  his  empty 

halls, 
And  mourns  their  wasteness  and  their  lonelihood. 

i  MS. "  House  of  Ehrenwald." 

s  MS. —    "  spectres  of  the  murder'd  ca  tf  ves." 
Uff. "  their  painted  limbs." 


Leon.  Such  is  the  dotage 
Of  superstition,  father,  ay,  and  the  cant 
Of  hoodwink'd  prejudice. — Not  for  atonement 
Of  some  foul  deed  done  in  the  ancient  warfare, 
When  war  was  butchery,  and  men  were  wolves. 
Doth  Heaven  consign  the  innocent  to  suffering 
I  tell  thee,  Flora's  virtues  might  atone 
For  all  the  massacres  her  sires  have  done, 
Since  first  the  Pictish  race  their  stained  limbs' 
Array'd  in  wolf's  skin. 

Dur.  Leonard,  ere  yet  this  beggar's  scrip  anc 
cloak 
Supplied  the  place  of  mitre  and  of  crosier,4 
Which  in  these  alter'd  lands  must  not  be  worn, 
I  was  superior  of  a  brotherhood 
Of  holy  men, — the  Prior  of  Lanercost. 
Nobles  then  sought  my  footstool  many  a  league, 
There  to  unload  their  sins— questions  of  conscience 
Of  deepest  import  were  not  deem'd  too  nice 
For  my  decision,  youth. — But  not  even  then, 
With  mitre  on  my  brow,  and  all  the  voice 
Which  Rome  gives  to  a  father  of  her  church, 
Dared  I  pronounce  so  boldly  on  the  ways 
Of  hidden  Providence,  as  thou,  young  man, 
Whose  chiefest  knowledge  is  to  track  a  stag, 
Or  wind  a  bugle,  hast  presumed  to  do. 

Leon.  Nay,  I  pray  forgive  me, 
Father  ;  thou  know'st  I  meant  not  to  presume 

Dur.  Can  I  refuse  thee  pardon  ? — Thou  art  all 
That  war  and  change  have  left  to  the  poor  Dur 

ward. 
Thy  father,  too,  who  lost  his  life  and  fortine 
Defending  Lanercost,  when  its  fair  aisles 
Were  spoil'd  by  sacrilege — I  bless'd  his  banner, 
And  yet  it  prosper'd  not.     But — all  I  could — 
Thee  from  the  wreck  I  saved,  and  for  thy  sake 
Have  still  dragg'd  on  my  life  of  pilgrimage 
And  penitence  upon  the  hated  shores 
I  else  had  left  for  ever.     Come  with  me, 
And  I  will  teach  thee  there  is  healing  in 
The  wounds  which  friendship  gives. 


SCENE  IL 

The  Scene  changes  to  the  interior  of  the  Castle.  An 
apartment  is  discovered,  in  which  there  is  much 
appearance  of  present  poverty,  mixed  with  some 
relics  of  former  grandeur.  On  the  wall  hangs, 
amongst  other  things,  a  wit  of  ancient  armor ; 
by  the  table  is  a  covered  basket ;  behind,  and  con- 
cealed by  it,  the  carcass  of  a  roe-deer.  There  is 
a  small  latticed  window,  which,  appearing  to  per- 
forate a  wall  of  great  thickness,  is  supposed  tc 

4  MS.—"  Supplied  the  j  P  &Ce  I  of  palmer's  cowl  and  staff  * 


760 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


look  out  towards  the  drawbridge.  It  is  in  the 
shape  of  a  loop-hole  for  musketry  ;  and,  as  is  not 
unusual  in  old  buildings,  is  placed  so  high  up  in 
the  wall,  that  it  is  only  approached  by  five  or  six 
narrow  stone  steps. 
Eleanor,  the  wife  of  Oswald  of  Devorgoil,  Flora 
a  'id  Katleen,  her  Daughter  and  Niece,  are  dis- 
covered at  wark.  The  former  spins,  the  latter  are 
embroidering  Eleanor  quits  her  own  labor  to 
examine  the  manner  in  lohich  Flora  is  exe- 
cuting her  task,  and  shakes  her  head  as  if  dis- 
satisfied. 

Ele.  Fy  on  it,  Flora ;  this  botch'd  work  of  thine 
Shows  that  thy  mind  is  distant  from  thy  task. 
The  finest  tracery  of  our  old  cathedral 
Had  not  a  richer,  freer,  bolder  pattern, 
Than  Flora  once  could  trace.     Thy  thoughts  are 
wandering. 
Flo.  They're  with  my  father.     Broad  upon  the 
lake 
The  evening  sun  sunk  down  ;  huge  piles  of  clouds, 
Crimson  and  sable,  rose  upon  his  disk, 
And  quench'd  him  ere  his  setting,  like  some  cham- 
pion 
In  his  last  conflict,  losing  all  his  glory. 
Sure  signals  those  of  storm.     And  if  my  father 

Be  on  his  homeward  road 

Ele.  But  that  he  will  not. 
Baron  of  Devorgoil,  this  day  at  least 
He  banquets  with  the  nobles,  who  the  next 
Would  scarce  vouchsafe  an  alms  to  save  his  house- 
hold 
From  want  or  famine.     Thanks  to  a  kind  friend, 
For  one  brief  space  we  shall  not  need  their  aid. 

Flo.  (joyfully.)  What !  knew  you  then  his  gift  ? 
How  silly  I  that  would,  yet  durst  not  tell  it ! 
I  fear  my  father  will  condemn  us  both, 
That  easily  accepted  such  a  present. 

Kat.  Now,  here's  the  game  a  bystander  sees 
better 
Than  those  who  play  it. — My  good  aunt  is  pon- 
dering 
On  the  good  cheer  which  Gullcrammer  has  sent  us, 
And  Flora  trunks  upon  the  forest  venison.    [Aside. 
Ele.  (to  Flo.)  Thy  father  need  not  know  on't — 
'tis  a  boon 
Comes  timely,  when  frugality,  nay,  abstinence, 
Might  scarce  avail  us  longer.     I  had  hoped 
Ere  now  a  visit  from  the  youthful  donor, 
That  we  might  thank  his  bounty ;  and  perhaps 
My  Flora  thought  the  same,  when  Sunday's  ker- 
chief 
And  the  best  kirtle  were  sought  out,  and  donn'd 
To  grace  a  work-day  evening. 

Flo.  Nay,  mother,  that  is  judging  all  too  close  ! 
My  work-day  gown  was  torn — my  kerchief  sullied ; 
And  thus — But,  think  you,  will  the  gallant  come  ? 


Ele.  He  will,  for  with  these  dainties  came  a 
message 
From  gentle  Master  Gullcrammer,  to  intimate 

Flo.  (greatly  disappointed.)  Gullcrammer  I 

Kat.  There  burst  the  bubble — down  fell  house 
of  cards, 
And  cousin's  like  to  cry  for't !  [Aside. 

Ele.   Gullcrammer  ?    ay,   Gullcrammer  —  thou 
scorn'st  not  at  him  ? 
'Twere  something  short  of  wisdom  in  a  maiden, 
Who,  like  the  poor  bat  in  the  Grecian  fable, 
Hovers  betwixt  two  classes  in  the  world, 
And  is  disclaim'd  by  both  the  mouse  and  bird. 

Kat.  I  am  the  poor  mouse, 

And  may  go  creep  into  what  hole  I  list, 
And  no  one  heed  me — Yet  I'll  waste  a  word 
Of  counsel  on  my  betters. — Kind  my  aunt, 
And  you,  my  gentle  cousin,  were't  not  better 
We  thought  of  dressing  this  same  gear  for  supper, 
Than  quarrelling  about  the  worthless  donor  ? 

Ele.  Peace,  minx ! 

Flo.  Thou  hast  no  feeling,  cousin  Katleen, 

Kat.  Soh !  I  have  brought  them  both  on  my 
poor  shoulders 
So  meddling  peace-makers  are  still  rewarded : 
E'en  let  them  to't  again,  and  fight  it  out. 

Flo.  Mother,  were  I  disclaim'd  of  every  class, 
I  would  not  therefore  so  disclaim  myself, 
As  even  a  passing  thought  of  scorn  to  waste 
On  cloddish  Gullcrammer. 

Ele.  List  to  me,  love,  and  let  adversity 
Incline  thine  ear  to  wisdom.     Look  around  thee — 
Of  the  gay  youths  who  boast  a  noble  name, 
Which  will  incline  to  wed  a  dowerless  damsel  ? 
And  of  the  yeomanry,  who  think'st  thou,  Flora, 
Would  ask  to  share  the  labors  of  his  farm 
A  high-born  beggar? — This  young  man  is  mod- 
est  

Flo.  Silly,  good  mother ;  sheepish,  if  you  will  it. 

Ele.  E'en  call  it  what  you  list — the  softer  tem- 
per, 
The  fitter  to  endure  the  bitter  sallies 
Of  one  whose  wit  is  all  too  sharp  for  mine. 

Flo.  Mother,  you  cannot  mean  it  as  you  say; 
You  cannot  bid  me  prize  conceited  folly  ? 

Ele.  Content  thee,  child — each  lot  has  its  own 
blessings. 
This  youth,  with  his  plain-dealing,  honest  suit, 
Proffers  thee  quiet,  peace,  and  competence, 
Redemption  from  a  home,  o'er  which  fell  Fate 
Stoops  like  a  falcon. — 0,  if  thou  couldst  choose 
(As  no  such  choice  is  given)  'twixt  such  a  mate 
And  some  proud  noble  ! — Who,  in  sober  judgment, 
Would  like  to  navigate  the  heady  river, 
Dashing  in  fury  from  its  parent  mountain, 
More  than  the  waters  of  the  quiet  lake  ? 

Kat.   Now  can  I  hold  no  longer — Lake,  good 
aunt  ? 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


701 


Nay,  in  the  name  of  truth,  say  mill-pond,  horse- 
pond; 
Or  if  there  be  a  pond  more  miry, 
More  sluggish,  mean-derived,  and  base  than  either, 
Be  such  Gullcr*unmer's  emblem— and  his  portion  I 

Flo.  I  would  that  he  or  I  were  in  our  grave, 
Rather  than  thus  his  suit  should  goad  me !— Mother, 
Flora  of  De"orgoil,  though  low  in  fortunes, 
Is  still  too  >>igh  in  miud  to  join  her  name 
With  such  a  base-born  churl  as  Gullcrammer. 

Ele.  You  are  trim  maidens  both ! 
{To  Flora.)  Have  you  forgotten, 

Or  did  you  mean  to  call  to  my  remembrance 
Thy  father  chose  a  wife  of  peasant  blood  ? 

Flo.  Will  you  speak  thus  to  me,  or  think  the 
stream 
Can  mock  the  fountain  it  derives  its  source  from  ? 
My  venerated  mother,  in  that  name 
Lies  all  on  earth  a  child  should  chiefest  honor ; 
And  with  that  name  to  mix  reproach  or  taunt, 
Were  only  short  of  blasphemy  to  Heaven. 

Ele.  Then  listen,  Flora,  to  that  mother's  counsel, 
Or  rather  profit  by  that  mother's  fate. 
Your  father's  fortunes  were  but  bent,  not  broken, 
Until  he  listen'd  to  his  rash  affection. 
Means  were  afforded  to  redeem  his  house, 
Ample  and  large — the  hand  of  a  rich  heiress 
Awaited,  almost  courted,  his  acceptance ; 
He  saw  my  beauty — such  it  then  was  call'd, 
Or  such  at  least  he  thought  it — the  wither' d  bush, 
Whate'er  it  now  may  seem,  had  blossoms  then, — 
And  he  forsook  the  proud  and  wealthy  heiress, 
To  wed  with  me  and  ruin 

Kat.  {aside.)  The  more  fool, 

Say  I,  apart,  the  peasant  maiden  then, 
Who   might  have  chose  a  mate   from  her   own 
hamlet. 

Ele.  Friends  fell  off, 
And  to  his  own  resources,  his  own  counsels, 
Abandon'd,  as  they  said,  the  thoughtless  prodigal, 
Who  had  exchanged  rank,  riches,  pomp,  and  honor, 
For  the  mean  beauties  of  a  cottage  maid. 

Flo.  It  was  done  like  my  father, 
WIio  scorn'd  to  sell  what  wealth  can  never  buy — 
True  love  and  free  affections.     And  he  loves  you  1 
If  you  have  suffer'd  in  a  weary  world, 
Your  sorrows  have  been  jointly  borne,  and  love 
Has  made  the  load  sit  lighter. 

I'   e.  Ay,  but  a  misplaced  match  hath  that  deep 
curse  in't, 
That  can  embitter  e'en  the  purest  streams 
Of  true  affection.     Thou  hast  seen  me  seek, 
With  the  strict  caution  early  habits  taught  me, 
To  match  our  wants  and  means — hast  seen  thy 

father, 
With  aristocracy's  high  brow  of  scorn, 
Spurn  at  economy,  the  cottage  virtue, 
As  best  befitting  her  whose  tires  were  peasants ; 


Nor  can  I,  when  I  see  my  lineage  scorn'd, 
Always  conceal  in  what  contempt  I  hold 
The  fancied  claims  of  rank  he  clings  to  fondly. 
Flo.  Why  will  you  do  so  ? — well  you  know  it 

chafes  him. 
Ele.  Flora,  thy  mother  is  but  mortal  woman, 
Nor  can  at  all  times  check  an  eager  tongue. 

Kat.  {aside.)  That's  no  new  tidings  to  her  niece 

and  daughter. 
Ele.  0  mayst  thou  never  know  the  spited  feel 
ings 
That  gender  discord  in  adversity 
Betwixt  the  dearest  friends  and  truest  lovers  1 
In  the  chill  damping  gale  of  poverty, 
If  Love's  lamp  go  not  out,  it  gleams  but  palely, 
AAnd  twinkles  in  the  socket. 

Flo.  But  tenderness  can  screen  it  with  her  veil,1 
Till  it  revive  again.    By  gentleness,  good  mother, 
How  oft  I've  seen  you  soothe  my  father's  mood  1 
Kat.  Now  there  speak  youthful  hope  and  fan 
tasy !  [Aside. 

Ele.  That  is  an  easier  task  in  youth  than  age ; 
Our  temper  hardens,  and  our  charms  decay, 
And  both  are  needed  in  that  art  of  soothing. 
Kat.  And  there  speaks  sad  experience.    [Aside. 
Ele.  Besides,  since  that  our  state  was  utter 
desperate, 
Darker  his  brow,  more  dangerous  grow  his  words , 
Fain  would  I  snatch  thee  from  the  woe  and  wrath 
Which  darken'd  long  my  life,  and  soon  must  end  it, 
[A  knocking  without ;  Eleanor  shows  alarm. 
It  was  thy  father's  knock,  haste  to  the  gate. 

[Exeunt  Flora  and  Katleen. 
What  can  have  happ'd  ? — he  thought  to  stay  the 

night. 
This  gear  must  not  be  seen. 

[As  she  is  about  to  remove  the  basket,  she 
sees  the  body  of  the  roe-deer. 
What  have  we  here  ?  a  roe-deer  1 — as  I  fear  it, 
This  was  the  gift  of  which  poor  Flora  thought. 
The   young   and    handsome   hunter ;  —  but   time 
presses. 

[$he  removes  the  basket  and  the  roe  into 
a  closet.     As  site  lias  done — 

Enter  Oswald  of  Devorgoil,  Flora,  and  Katleen. 
[He  is  dressed  in  a  scarlet  cloak,  which  should 
seem  worn  and  old — a  headpiece,  and  old- 
fashioned  sword — the  rest  of  l:s  dress  that 
of  a  peasant.  His  countenance  and  man- 
ner should  express  the  moody  and  irritable 
haughtiness  of  a  proud  man  involved  in  ca- 
lamity, and  who  has  been  expcsed  to  recent 
insult. 
Osw.  {addressing  his  wife)  The  sun  hath  set- 
why  is  the  drawbridge  lower'd  ? 

i  MS.—"  Ay,  but  the  veil  of  tenderness  can  screen  it/ 


62 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Ele.   The  counterpoise  has  fail'd,  and   Flora's 
strength, 
Katleen's,  and  mine  united,  could  not  raise  it. 

Osw.  Flora  and  thou !     A  goodly  garrison 
To  hold  a  castle,  which,  if  fame  say  true, 
Once  foil'd  tlie  King  of  Norse  and  all  Ins  rovers. 

Elk.  It  might  be  so  in  ancient  times,  but  now — 

Osw.  A  herd  of  deer  might  storm  proud  De- 
vorgoil. 

Kat.  (aside  to  Flo.)  You,  Flora,  know  full  well 
one  deer  already 
Has  enter'd  at  the  breach ;  and,  what  is  worse, 
The  escort  is  not  yet  march'd  off,  for  Blackthorn 
Is  still  within  the  castle. 

Flo.  In  Heaven's  name,  rid  him  out  on't,  ere 
my  father 
Discovers  he  is  here !     Why  went  he  not 
Before  ? 

Kat.  Because  I  staid  him  on  some  little  business ; 
I  had  a  plan  to  scare  poor  paltry  Gullcrammer 
Out  of  his  paltry  wits. 

Flo.  Well,  haste  ye  now, 

And  try  to  get  him  off. 

Kat.  I  will  not  promise  that. 

I  would  not  turn  an  honest  hunter's  dog, 
So  well  I  love  the  woodcraft,  out  of  shelter 
In  such  a  night  as  this — far  less  his  master : 
But  I'll  do  this,  I'll  try  to  hide  him  for  you. 

Osw.  ('whom  his  wife  has  assisted  to  take  off  his 
cloak  and  feathered  cap)  Ay,  take  them  off, 
and  bring  my  peasant's  bonnet 
And  peasant's  plaid — I'll  noble  it  no  farther. 
Let  them  erase  my  name  from  honor's  lists, 
And  drag  my  scutcheon  at  their  horses'  heels ; 
I  have  deserved  it  all,  for  I  am  poor, 
And  poverty  hath  neither  right  of  birth, 
Nor  rank,  relation,  claim,  nor  privilege, 
To  match  a  new-coin'd  viscount,  whose  good  grand- 
sire, 
The  Lord  be  with  him,  was  a  careful  skipper, 
And   steer'd   his   paltry   skiff  'twixt   Leith   and 

Campvere — 
Marry,  sir,  he  could  buy  Geneva  cheap, 
And  knew  the  coast  by  moonlight. 

Flo.    Mean  you  the   Viscount   Ellondale,   my 
father  ? 
What  strife  has  been  between  you  ? 

Osw.  O,  a  trifle  ! 

Not  worth  a  wise  man's  thinking  twice  about — 
Precedence  is  a  toy — a  superstition 
About  a  table's  er  d,  joint-stool,  and  trencher. 
Something  was  once  thought  due  to  long  descent, 
And  something  to  Galwegia's  oldest  baron, — 
But  let  that  pass — a  dream  of  the  old  time. 

Ele.  It  is  indeed  a  dream. 

»  MS. — 


"  Yet,  I  know,  for  minds 

Of  nobler  stamp  earth  has  no  dearer  motive." 


Osw.  (turning  upon  her  rather  quickly)    Ha! 
said  ye  !  let  me  hear  these  words  more  plain, 
Ele.  Alas  !  they  are  but  echoes  of  your  own. 
Match'd  with  the  real  woes  that  hover  o'er  us, 
What  are  the  idle  visions  of  precedence, 
But,  as  you  term  them,  dreams,  and  toys,  and  trifle*, 
Not  worth  a  wise  man's  thinking  twice  upon  ? 
Osw.  Ay,  'twas  for  you  I  framed  that  conso- 
lation, 
The  true  philosophy  of  clouted  shoe 
And  linsey-woolsey  kirtle.     I  know,  that  minds 
Of  nobler  stamp  receive  no  dearer  motive1 
Than  what  is  link'd  with  honor.     Ribands,  tassels, 
Which  are  but  shreds  of  silk  and  spangled  tinsel — a 
The  right  of  place,  which  in  itself  is  momentary — 
A  word,  which  is  but  air — may  in  themselves, 
And  to  the  nobler  file,  be  steep'd  so  richly 
In  that  elixir,  honor,  that  the  lack 
Of  things  so  very  trivial  in  themselves 
Shall  be  misfortune.     One  shall  seek  for  them8 
O'er  the  wild  waves — one  in  the  deadly  breach 
And  battle's  headlong  front — one  in  the  paths 
Of  midnight  study  ;  and,  in  gaining  these 
Emblems  of  honor,  each  will  hold  himself 
Repaid  for  all  his  labors,  deeds,  and  dangers. 
What  then  should  he  think,  knowing  them  his  own, 
Who  sees  what  warriors  and  what  sages  toil  for, 
The  formal  and  establish'd  marks  of  honor, 
Usurp' d  from  him  by  upstart  insolence  ? 

Ele.  (who  has  listened  to  the  last  speech  with  some 
impatience)  This  is  but  empty  declamation, 
Oswald. 
The  fragments  left  at  yonder  full-spread  banquet, 
Nay,  even  the  poorest  crust  swept  from  the  table, 
Ought  to  be  far  more  precious  to  a  father, 
Whose  family  lacks  food,  than  the  vain  boast, 
He  sate  at  the  board-head. 

Osw.  Thou'lt  drive  me  frantic ! — I  will  tell  Wee, 
woman — 
Yet  why  to  thee  ?     There  is  another  ear 
Which  that  tale  better  suits,  and  he  shall  hear  it. 
[Looks  at  his  sw»  rd,  which  he  has  unbuckled 
and  addresses  the  rest  of  the  speech  to  it. 
Yes,  trusty  friend,  my  father  knew  thy  worth, 
And  often  proved  it — often  told  me  of  it — 
Though  thou  and  I  be  now  held  lightly  of, 
And  want  the  gilded  hatchments  of  the  time, 
I  think  we  both  may  prove  true  metal  still. 
'Tis  thou  shalt  tell  this  story,  right  this  wrong: 
Rest  thou  till  time  is  fitting.    [Hangs  up  the  sword. 
[The  women  look  at  each  other  with  anxiety 
during  this  speech,  which  they  partly  over- 
hear.    They  both  approach  Oswald. 
Ele.  Oswald — my  dearest  husband  ! 
Flo.  My  dear  father  I 


2  MP. 
s  MS . 


tinsell'd  spangle." 

One  shall  seek  these  emblems. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


76S 


Osw.  Peace,  both !— we  speak  no  more  of  this. 
I  go 
To  heave  the  drawbridge  up.  [Exit. 

Katleen  mounts  the  steps  towards  the  loop-hole, 
looks  out,  and  speaks. 
The  storm  is  gathering  fast ;  broad,  heavy  drops 
Fall  plashing  on  the  bosom  of  the  lake, 
And  dash  its  inky  surface  into  circles ; 
The  distart  hills  are  hid  in  wreaths  of  darkness. 
'Twill  be  a  fearful  night. 

Oswald  re-enters,  and  throws  himself  into  a  seat. 

Ele.  More  dark  and  dreadful 

Than  is  our  destiny,  it  cannot  be. 

Osw.  (to  Flo.)  Such  is  Heaven's  will — it  is  our 
part  to  bear  it. 
We're  warranted,  my  child,  from  ancient  story 
And  blessed  writ,  to  say,  that  song  assuages 
The  gloomy  cares  that  prey  upon  our  reason, 
And  wake  a  strife  betwixt  our  better  feelings 
And  the  fierce  dictates  of  the  headlong  passions. 
Sing,  then,  my  love ;  for  if  a  voice  have  influence 
To  mediate  peace  betwixt  me  and  my  destiny, 
Flora,  it  must  be  thine. 

Flo.  My  best  to  please  you ! 


When  the  tempest's  at  the  loudest, 

On  its  gale  the  eagle  rides ; 
When  the  ocean  rolls  the  proudest, 

Through  the  foam  the  sea-bird  glides — 
All  the  rage  of  wind  and  sea 
Is  subdued  by  constancy. 

Gnawing  want  and  sickness  pining, 
All  the  ills  that  men  endure  ; 

Each  their  various  pangs  combining, 
Constancy  can  find  a  cure — 

Pain,  and  Fear,  and  Poverty, 

Are  subdued  by  constancy. 

Bar  me  from  each  wonted  pleasure, 
Make  me  abject,  mean,  and  poor  ; 

Heap  on  insults  without  measure, 
Chain  me  to  a  dungeon  floor — 

Til  be  happy,  rich,  and  free, 

If  endow'd  with  constancy. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I. 

A  Chamber  in  a  distant  part  of  the  Castle.  A 
large  Window  in  the  flat  scene,  supposed  to  look 
on  tlie  Lake,  which  is  occasionally  illuminated  by 
lightning.  There  is  a  Couch-bed  in  the  Room, 
and  an  antique  Cabinet. 


Enter  Katleen,  introducing  Blackthorn.1 

Kat.  This  was  the    destined   scene  of   action, 
Blackthorn, 
And  here  our  properties.     But  all  in  vain, 
For  of  Gullcrammer  we'll  see  naught  to-night, 
Except  the  dainties  that  I  told  you  of. 

Bla.  0,  if  he's  left  that  same  hog's  face  and  sai 
sages, 
He  will  try  back  upon  them,  never  fear  it. 
The  cur  will  open  on  the  trail  of  bacon, 
Like  my  old  brach-hound. 

Kat.  And  should  that  hap,  we'll  play  our  come- 
dy,- 
Shall  we  not,  Blackthorn  ?     Thou  shalt  be  Owls- 
piegle 

Bla.  And  who   may  that   hard-named  person 
be? 

Kat.  I've  told  you  nine  times  over. 

Bla.  Yes,  pretty  Katleen,  but  my  eyes  were 
busy 
In  looking  at  you  all  the  time  you  were  talking ; 
And  so  I  lost  the  tale. 

Kat.  Then  shut  your  eyes,  and  let  your  goodly 
ears 
Do  their  good  office. 

Bla.  That  were  too  hard  penanca 

Tell  but  thy  tale  once  more,  and  I  will  hearken 
As  if  I  were  thrown  out,  and  listening  for 
My  bloodhound's  distant  bay. 

Kat.  A  civil  simile  ! 

Then,  for  the  tenth  time,  and  the  last — be  told, 
Owlspiegle  was  of  old  the  wicked  barber 
To  Erick,  wicked  Lord  of  Devorgoil. 

Bla.  The  chief  who  drown'd  Ins  captives  in  the 
Solway — 
We  all  have  heard  of  him. 

Kat.  A  hermit  hoar,  a  venerable  man — 
So  goes  the  legend — came  to  wake  repentance 
In  the  fierce  lord,  and  tax'd  him  with  his  guilt; 
But  he,  heart-harden'd,  turn'd  into  derision 
The  man  of  heaven,  and,  as  his  dignity 
Consisted  much  in  a  long  reverend  beard, 
Which  reach'd  his  girdle,  Erick  caused  his  barber, 
This  same  Owlspiegle,  violate  its  honors 
With  sacrilegious  razor,  and  clip  his  hair 
After  the  fashion  of  a  roguish  fool. 

Bla.  This  was  reversing  of  our  ancient  proverb 
And  shaving  for  the  devil's,  not  ijpr  God's  sake. 

Kat.  True,  most  grave  Blackthorn ;  and  in  punish 
ment 
Of  this  foul  act  of  scorn,  the  barber's  ghost 
Is  said  to  have  no  resting  after  death, 
But  haunts  these  halls,  and  chiefly  this  same  cham 

ber, 
Where  the  profanity  was  acted,  trimming 
And  clipping  all  such  guests  as  sleep  within  it. 

i  The  MS.  throughout  the  First  Act  reads  Buckth&r%. 


164 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Such  is  at  least  the  tale  our  elders  tell, 
W  ith  many  others,  of  this  haunted  castle. 

Bla.  And  you  would  have  me  take  this  shape 
of  Owlspiegle, 
A.nd  trim  the  wise  Melchisedek ! — I  wonnot. 
Kat.  You  will  not ! 

Bla.  No — unless  you  bear  a  part. 

Kat.  What !    can  yeu  not  alone  play  such  a 

farce  ? 
Br,A.  Not  I — I'm  dull      Besides,  we  foresters 
Hill  hunt  our  game  in  couples.     Look  you,  Kat- 
ie en, 
We  danced  at  Shrovetide  —then  you  were  my  part- 
ner; 
We  sung  at  Christmas — you  kept  time  with  me  ; 
And  if  we  go  a  mumming  in  this  business, 
By  heaven,  you  must  be  a  ie,  or  Master  Gullcram- 
mer 

Is  like  to  rest  unshaven 

Kat.  Why,  you  fooL 

What  end  can  this  serve  ? 

Bla.  Nay,  I  know  not,  I. 

But  if  we  keep  this  wont  of  being  partners, 
Why,  use  makes  perfect — who  knows  what  may 
happen  ? 
Kat.  Thou  art  a  foolish  patch — But  sing  our 
carol, 
As  I  have  alter'd  it,  with  some  few  words 

To  suit  the  characters,  and  I  will  bear 

[  Gives  a  paper. 
Bla.  Part  in  the  gambol.     I'll  go  study  quickly. 
Is  there  no  other  ghost,  then,  haunts  the  castle, 
But  this  same  barber  shave-a-penny  goblin  ? 
I  thought  they  glanced  in  every  beam  of  moon- 
shine, 
As  frequent  as  the  bat. 
Kat.  I've  heard  my  aunt's  high  husband  tell  of 
prophecies, 
And  fates  impending  o'er  the  house  of  Devorgoil ; 
Legends  first  coin'd  by  ancient  superstition, 
And  render'd  current  by  credulity 
And  pride  of  lineage.     Five  years  have  I  dwelt, 
And  ne'er  saw  any  thing  more  mischievous 
Than  what  I  am  myself. 

Bla.  And  that  is  quite  enough   I  warrant  you. 
But,  stay,  where  shall  I  find  a  dress 
To  play  this — what  d'ye  call  him — Owlspiegle  ? 
Kat.  (takes  dresses  out  of  the  cabinet.)   Why, 
there  are  his  own  clothes, 
Preserved  with  other  trumpery  of  the  sort, 
For  we  have  kept  naught  but  what  is  good  for 
naught. 
[She  drops  a  cap  as  she  draws  out  the  clothes. 
Blackthorn  lifts  it,  and  gives  it  to  her. 
Nay,  keep  it  for  thy  pains — it  is  a  coxcomb ; 
So  call'd  in  ancient  times,  in  ours  a  fool's  cap ; 
For  you  must  know  they  kept  a  Fool  at  Devor- 
goil 


In  former  days ;  but  now  are  well  contented 
To  play  the  fool  themselves,  to  save  expenses ; 
Yet  give  it  me,  I'll  find  a  worthy  use  for't. 
I'll  take  this  page's  dress,  to  play  the  page 
Cockledemoy,  who  waits  on  ghostly  Owlspiegle  • 
And  yet  'tis  needless,  too,  for  Gullcrammer 
Will  scarce  be  here  to-night. 

Bla.  I  tell  you  that  he  will — I  will  uphold 
His  plighted  faith  and  true  allegiance 
Unto  a  sous'd  sow's  face  and  sausages, 
And  such  the  dainties  that  you  say  he  sent  you. 
Against  all  other  likings  whatsoever, 
Except  a  certain  sneaking  of  affection, 
Which  makes  some  folks  I  know  of  play  the  fooL 
To  please  some  other  folks. 

Kat.  Well,  I  do  hope  he'll  come — there's  first  a 
chance 
He  will  be  cudgell'd  by  my  noble  uncle — 
I  cry  his  mercy — by  my  good  aunt's  husband, 
Who  did  vow  vengeance,  knowing  naught  of  him 
But  by  report,  and  by  a  limping  sonnet 
Which  he  had  fashion' d  to  my  cousin's  glory, 
And  forwarded  by  blind  Tom  Long  the  carrier ; 
So  there's  the  chance,  first  of  a  hearty  beating, 
Which  failing,  we've  this  after-plot  of  vengeance. 

Bla.  Kind  damsel,  how  considerate  and  merci- 
ful ! 
But  how  shall  we  get  off,  our-  parts  being  play'd  ? 

Kat.  For  that  we  are  well  fitted  ;  here's  a  trap- 
door 
Sinks   with  a  counterpoise-   you   shall  go  that 

way. 
Til  make  my  exit  yonder — 'neath  the  window, 
A  balcony  communicates  with  the  tower 
That  overhangs  the  lake. 

Bla.  'Twere  a  rare  place,  this  house  of  Devor- 
goil, 
To  play  at  hide-and-seek  in — shall  we  try, 
One  day,  my  pretty  Katleen? 

Kat.  Hands  off,  rude  ranger  !     I'm  no  managed 
hawk 
To  stoop  to  lure  of  yours. — But  bear  you  gal- 
lantly ; 
This  Gullcrammer  hath  vex'd  my  cousin  much, 
I  fain  would  have  some  vengeance. 

Bla.  I'll  bear  my  part  with  glee ; — he  spoke 
irreverently 
Of  practice  at  a  mark ! 

Kat.  That  cries  for  vengeance. 

But  I  must  go ;  I  hear  my  aunt's  shrill  voice ! 
My  cousin  and  her  father  will  scream  next. 

Ele.  (at  a  distance.)  Kptleen !  Katleen  ! 

Bla.  Hark  to  old  Sweetlips % 

Away  with  you  before  the  full  cry  open — 
But  stay,  what  have  you  the-e  ? 

Kat.  (with  a  bundle  she  has  taken  fr^m  the  ward- 
robe.) My  dress,  my  pa^re'^  dre^s — let  it 
alone. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


763 


Bla.  Your  tiring-room  is  not,  I  hope,  far  dis- 
tant ; 
You're  inexperienced  in  these  new  habiliments — 
I  am  most  ready  to  assist  your  toilet. 
KAr.  Out,  you  great  ass  !  was  ever  such  a  fool  1 

[Runs  off. 


Bla.  (sings.) 
0,  Robin  Hood  was  a  bowman  good, 

And  a  bowman  good  was  he, 
And  he  met  with  a  maiden  in  merry  Sherwood, 

All  under  the  greenwood  tree. 

Now  give  me  a  kiss,  quoth  bold  Robin  Hood, 

Now  give  me  a  kiss,  said  he, 
.For  there  never  came  maid  into  merry  Sher- 
wood, 

But  she  paid  the  forester's  fee. 

I've  coursed  this  twelvemonth  this  sly  puss,  young 

Katleen, 
And  she  has  dodged  me,  turn'd  beneath  my  nose, 
And  flung  me  out  a  score  of  yards  at  once ; 
If  this  same  gear  fadge  right,  I'll  cote  and  mouth 

her, 
And  then  !  whoop !  dead  !  dead  !  dead  ! — She  is 

the  metal 

To  make  a  woodsman's  wife  of ! 

[Pauses  a  moment. 
Well — I  can  find  a  hare  upon  her  form 
With  any  man  in  Nithsdale — stalk  a  deer, 
Run  Reynard  to  the  earth  for  all  his  doubles, 
Reclaim  a  haggard  hawk  that's  wild  and  wayward, 
Can  bait  a  wild-cat, — sure  the  devil's  in't 
But  I  can  match  a  woman—  I'll  to  study. 

[Sits  down  on  the  couch  to  examine  the  paper. 


SCENE  II. 

Scene  changes  to  the  inhabited  apartment  of  the 
Castle,  as  in  the  last  Scene  of  the  preceding  Act. 
A  fire  is  kindled,  by  which  Oswald  sits  in  an 
attitude  of  deep  and  melancholy  thought,  without 
paying  attention  to  what  passes  around  him. 
Eleanor  is  busy  in  covering  a  table  ;  Flora  goes 
out  and  re-enters,  as  if  busied  in  the  kitchen. 
There  should  be  some  by-play — the  women  whis- 
pering together,  and  watching  the  state  of  Os- 
wald ;  tJien  separating,  and  seeking  to  avoid  his 
observation,  when  he  casually  raises  his  head,  and 
drops  it  again.  1'his  must  be  left  to  taste  and 
management.  The  women,  in  the  first  part  of 
the  scene,  talk  apart,  and  as  if  fearful  of  being 
overheard;  the  by-play  of  stopping  occasionally, 
and  attending  to  Oswald's  movements,  will  give 
Tiveliness  to  the  Scene. 


Ele.  Is  all  prepared  ? 

Flo.  Ay  J  but  I  doubt  the  issue 

Will  give  my  sire  less  pleasure  than  you  hope  for. 

Ele.  Tush,  maid — I  know  thy  father's  humor 
better. 
He  was  high-bred  in  gentle  luxuries ; 
And  when  our  griefs  began,  I've  wept  apart, 
While  lordly  cheer  and  high-fill'd  cups  of  wine 
Were  blinding  him  against  the  woe  to  come. 
He  has  turn'd  his  back  upon  a  princely  banquet : 
We  will  not  spread  his  board — tlris  night  at  least 
Since  chance  hath  better  furnish'd — with  dry  bread, 
And  water  from  the  well. 

Enter  Katleen,  and  hears  the  last  speech. 
Kat.  (aside.)  Considerate  aunt !  she  deems  that 
a  good  supper 
Were  not  a  thing  indifferent  even  to  him 
Who  is  to  hang  to-morrow.     Since  she  thinks  so, 
We  must  take  care  the  venison  has  due  honor — 
So  much  I  owe  the  sturdy  knave,  Lance  Black 
thorn. 
Flo.  Mother,  alas !  when  Grief  turns  reveller, 
Despair  is  cup-bearer.    What  shall  hap  to-morrow  1 
Ele.  I  have  learn'd  carelessness  from  fruitless 
care. 
Too  long  I've  watch'd  to-morrow ;  let  it  come 
And  cater  for  itself — Thou  hear'st  the  thunder. 

[Low  and  distant  thunder 
This  is  a  gloomy  night — within,  alas  ! 

[  Looking  at  her  husband* 
Still  gloomier  and  more  threatening — Let  us  use 
Whatever  means  we  have  to  drive  it  o'er, 
And   leave   to   Heaven   to-morrow.      Trust    me 

Flora, 
'Tis  the  philosophy  of  desperate  want 
To  match  itself  but  with  the  present  evil, 
And  face  one  grief  at  once. 
Away,  I  wish  thine  aid  and  not  thy  counsel. 

[As  Flora  is  about  to  go  off,  Gullcram- 
mer's  voice  is  heard  behind  the  fiat  scene, 
as  if  from  the  drawbridge. 
Gul.  (behind.)  Hillo — hillo — hilloa — hoa — hoa ! 
[Oswald  raises  himself  and  listens  ;  El- 
eanor goes  up  the  steps,  and  opens  (he 
window  at  the  loop-hole;    Gllloram 
mer's  voice  is  then  heard  more  distinct1}) 
Gul.    Kind   Lady  Devorgoil— sweet     Mistae** 
Flora  !— 
The  night  grows  fearful,  I  have  lost  my  \*iy. 
And  wander'd  till  the  road  turn'd  round  with  me, 
And  brought  me  back — For  Heaven's  sake,  giv« 
me  shelter ! 
Kat.  (aside.)  Now,  as  I  live,  the  voice  af  Gull 
crammer ! 
Now  shall  our  gambol  be  play'd  off  with  spirit ; 
I'll  swear  I  am  the  only  one  to  whom 
That  screech-owl  whoop  was  e'er  acceptable 


7G6 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Osw.  What  bawling  knave  is  tins  that  takes  our 
dwelling 
For  some  hedge-inn,  the  haunt  of  lated  drunkards  ? 

Ele.  What  shall  I  say  ? — Go,  Katleen,  speak  to 
him. 

Kat.  {oxide.)  The  game  is  in  my  hands — I  will 
say  something 
Will  fret  the  Baron's  pride — and  then  he  enters. 
[She  speaks  fi  om  the  window.)  Good  sir,  be  patient ! 
We  are  poor  folks — it  is  but  six  Scotch  miles 
To  the  next  bo-ough  town,  where  your  Reverence 
May  be  accommodated  to  your  wants  ; 
We  are  poor  folks,  an't  please  your  Reverence, 
And  keep  a  narrow  househqld — there's  no  track 
To  lead  your  steps  astray —  —         -  [lady, 

Gul.  Nor  none  to  lead  them  right. — You  kill  me, 
If  you  deny  me  harbor.     To  budge  from  hence, 
And  in  my  weary  plight,  were  sudden  death, 
Interment,  funeral-sermon,  tombstone,  epitaph. 

Osw.  Who's  he  that  is  thus  clamorous  without  ? 
{To  Ele.)     Thou  know'st  him  ? 

Ele.  {confused.)  I  know  him  ? — no — yes — 'tis  a 
worthy  clergyman, 
Benighted  on  his  way  ; — but  think  not  of  him. 

Kat.  The  morn  will  rise  when  that  the  tempest's 
past, 
And  if  he  miss  the  marsh,  and  can  avoid 
The  crngs  upon  the  left,  the  road  is  plain. 

Osw.  Then  this  is  all  your  piety  ! — to  leave 
One  whom  the  holy  duties  of  his  office 
Have  summon'd  over  moor  and  wilderness, 
To  pray  beside  some  dying  wretch's  bed, 
Who  (erring  mortal)  still  would  cleave  to  life, 
Or  wake  some  stubborn  sinner  to  repentance, — 
To  leave  him,  after  offices  like  these, 
To  choose  his  way  in  darkness  'twixt  the  marsh 
And  dizzy  precipice  ?l 

Ele.  What  can  I  do  ? 

Osw.  Do  what  thou  canst — the  wealthiest  do  no 
more — 
And  if  so  much,  'tis  well.     These  crumbling  walls, 
While  yet  they  bear  a  roof,  shall  now,  as  ever, 
Give  shelter  to  the  wanderer2 — Have  we  food  ? 
He  shall  partake  it — Have  we  none  ?  the  fast 
Shall  be  accounted  with  the  good  man's  merits 

And  our  misfortunes 

[He  goes  to  the  loop-hole  while  he  speaks, 
and  places  himself  there  in  room  of  his 
Wife,  who  comes  down  with  reluctance. 

Gul.  {without.)  Hillo — hoa — hoa  ! 
By  my  good  faith,  I  cannot  plod  it  farther ; 
The  attempt  were  death. 

Osw.  {speaks  from  the  window.)  Patience,   my 
friend,  I  come  to  lower  the  drawbridge. 

[Descends,  and  exit 

}  MS. — "  And  headlong  dizzy  precipice.' 

2  MS. "  shall  give,  as  ever, 


Ele.  0,  that  the  screaming  bittern  had  his  couch 
Where  he  deserves  it,3  in  the  deepest  mar*h  1 

Kat.  I  would  not  give  this  sport  for  all  tl*e  rent 
Of  Devorgoil,  when  Devorgoil  was  richest ! 
{To  Ele.)    But  now  you  chided  me,  my  dearest 

aunt, 
For  wishing  him  a  horse-pond  for  his  portion  ? 

Ele.  Yes,  saucy  girl ;  but,  an  it  please  you,  then 
He  was  not  fretting  me  ;  if  he  had  sense  enough, 
And  skill  to  bear  him  as  some  casual  stranger, — 
But  he  is  dull  as  earth,  and  every  hint 
Is  lost  on  him,  as  hail-shot  on  the  cormorant, 
Whose  hide  is  proof  except  to  musket-bullets  ? 

Flo.  {apart.)  And  yet  to  such  a  one  would  my 
kind  mother, 
Whose  chiefest  fault  is  loving  me  too  fondly, 
Wed  her  poor  daughter  ! 

Enter  Gullcrammer,  his  dress  damaged  by  the 
storm ;  Eleanor  runs  to  meet  him,  in  order  to 
explain  to  him  that  she  wished  him  to  behave  as 
a  stranger.  Gullcrammer,  mistaking  her  ap- 
proach for  an  invitation  to  familiarity,  advances 
with  the  air  of  pedantic  conceit  belonging  to  Ids 
character,  when  Oswald  enters, — Eleanor  recov- 
ers herself,  and  <msum.es  an  air  of  distance — 
Gullcrammer  is  confounded,  and  does  not  know 
what  to  make  of  it. 

Osw.  The  counterpoise  has  clean  given  way ;  the 
bridge 
Must  e'en  remain  unraised,  and  leave  us  open, 
For  this  night's  course  at  least,  to  passing  visit- 
ants.— 
What  have  we  here  ? — is  this  the  reverend  man  ? 
[He  takes  up   the  candle,   and  surveys 
Gullcrammer,  who  strives  to  sustain 
the  inspection  with  confidence,  while  fear 
obviously  contends  with  conceit  and  de- 
sire to  show  himself  to  the  best  advarv- 
tage. 
Gul.  Kind  sir — or,  good  my  lord — my  band  ia 
ruffled, 
But  yet  'twas  fresh  this  morning.    This  fell  shower 
Hath  somewhat  smirch'd  my  cloak,  but  you  may 

note 
It  rates  five  marks  per  yard ;  my  doublet 
Hath  fairly  'scaped — 'tis  three-piled  taffeta. 

[Opens  his  cloak,  and  displays  his  doublet. 
Osw.  A  goodly  inventory — Art  thou  a  preacher ! 
Gul.  Yea — I  laud  Heaven  and  good  Saint  Mun 

go  for  it. 
Osw.  'Tis  the  time's  plague,  when  those  that 
should  weed  follies 
Out  of  the  common  field,  have  their  own  minds 

Their  shelter  to  the    j  needy  \ 

(  wanderer."  ) 
3  MS.—"  Where  it  is  fittest,"  &c. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


767 


Q'errun  with  foppery — Envoys  'twixt  heaven  and 

earth, 
Example  should  with  precept  join,  to  show  us 
How  we  may  scorn  the  world  with  all  its  vanities. 

QjL.  Nay,  the  high  heavens  forefend  that  I  were 
vain  ! 
When  our  learn'd  Principal  such  sounding  laud 
Gave  to  mine  Essay  on  the  hidden  qualities 
Of  the  sulphuric  mineral,  I  disclaim' d 
All  self-exaltment.     And  {turning  to  the  women) 

when  at  the  dance, 
The  lovely  Saccharissa  Kirkencroft, 
Daughter  to  Kirkencroft  of  Kirkencroft, 
Graced  me  with  her  soft  hand,  credit  me,  ladies, 
That  still  I  felt  myself  a  mortal  man, 
Though  beauty  smiled  on  me. 

Osw.  Come,  sir,  enough  of  this.  [heavens, 

That  you're   our  guest  to-night,  thank  the  rough 
And  all  our  worser  fortunes ;  be  conformable 
Unto  my  rules ;  these  are  no  Saccharissas 
To  gild  with  compliments.     There's  in  your  pro- 
fession, 
As  the  best  grain  will  have  its  piles  of  chaff, 
A  certain  whiffler  who  hath  dared  to  bait 
A  noble  maiden  with  love  tales  and  sonnets  ; 
And  if  I  meet  him,  his  Geneva  cap 
May  scarce  be  proof  to  save  his  ass's  ears. 

Kat.  (aside.)       Umph — I  am  strongly  tempted  ; 
And  yet  I  think  I  will  be  generous, 
And  give  his  brains  a  chance  to  save  his  bones. 
Then  there's  more  humor  in  our  goblin  plot, 
Than  hi  a  simple  drubbing. 

Ele.  (apart  to  Flo.)  What  shall  we  do  ?     If  he 
discover  him, 
He'll  fling  him  out  at  window. 

Flo.  My  father's  hint  to  keep  himself  unknown 
Is  all  too  broad,  I  think,  to  be  neglected. 

Ele.  But  yet  the  fool,  if  we  produce  his  bounty, 
May  claim  the  merit  of  presenting  it ; 
And  then  we're  but  lost  women  for  accepting 
A  gift  our  needs  made  timely. 

Kat.  Do  not  produce  them. 

E'en  let  the  fop  go  supperless  to  bed, 
And  keep  his  bones  whole. 

Osw.  (to  his  Wife.)  Hast  thou  aught 

To  place  before  him  ere  he  seek  repose  ? 

Ele.  Alas !  too  well  you  know  our  needful  fare 
Is  of  the  narrowest  now,  and  knows  no  surplus. 

Osw.  Shame  us  not  with  thy  niggard  housekeep- 
ing; 
He  is  a  stranger — were  it  our  last  crust, 
And  he  the  veriest  coxcomb  ere  wore  taffeta, 
A  pitch  he's  little  short  of— he  must  share  it, 
though  all  should  want  to-morrow. 

Gul.  {partly  overhearing   what  passes   between 
them.)    Nay,  I  am  no  lover  of  your  sauced 
aainties : 
Plain  food  and  plenty  is  my  motto  still. 


Your  mountain  air  is  bleak,  and  brings  an  appetite : 
A  soused  sow's  face,  now,  to  my  modest  thinking, 
Has  ne'er  a  fellow.     What  think  these  fair  ladies 
Of  a  sow's  face  and  sausages  ? 

[Makes  signs  to  Eleanor, 
Flo.  Plague  on  the  vulgar  hind,  and  on  his  cour- 
tesies, 
The  whole  truth  will  come  out ! 

Osw.  What  should  they  think,  but  that  you're 
like  to  lack 
Your  favorite  dishes,  sir,  unless  perchance 
You  bring  such  dainties  with  you. 

Gul.  No,  not  with  me ;  not,  indeed, 
Directly  with  me ;  but — Aha  !  fair  ladies  1 

[Makes  signs  again, 
Kat.  He'll  draw  the  beating  down — Were  that 
the  worst, 
Heaven's  will  be  done  !  [Aside. 

Osw.  (apart.)  What  can  he  mean  ? — this  is  the 
veriest  dog- whelp — 
Still  he's  a  stranger,  and  the  latest  act 
Of  hospitality  in  this  old  mansion 
Shall  not  be  sullied. 

Gul.  Troth,  sir,  I  think,  under  the  ladies'  favor, 
Without  pretending  skill  in  second  sight, 

Those  of  my  cloth  being  seldom  conjurers 

Osw.  I'll  take  my  Bible-oath  that  thou  art  none, 

[Aside. 
Gul.  I  do  opine,  still  with  the  ladies'  favor, 
That  I  could  guess  the  nature  of  our  supper : 
I  do  not  say  in  such  and  such  precedence 
The  dishes  will  be  placed ;  housewives,  as  you  know, 
On  such  forms  have  their  fancies ;  but,  I  say  still, 

That  a  sow's  face  and  sausages 

Osw.  Peace,  sir ! 

O'er-driven  jests  (if  this  be  one)  are  insolent. 
Flo.  (apart,  seeing  her  mother  uneasy.)  The  old 
saw  still  holds  true — a  churl's  benefits, 
Sauced  with  his  lack  of  feeling,  sense,  and  courtesy, 
Savor  like  injuries. 

[A  horn  is  winded  without ;  then  a  loud 
knocking  at  the  gate. 
Leo.  (without.)  Ope,  for  the  sake  of  love  and 
charity  1 

[Oswald  goes  to  the  loop-hole. 
Gul.  Heaven's  mercy !  should  there  come  an- 
other stranger, 
And  he  half  starved  with  wandering  on  the  wolds, 
The  sow's  face  boasts  no  substance,  nor  the  sausages, 
To  stand  our  reinforced  attack  !  I  judge,  too, 
By  this  starved  Baron's  language,  there's  no  hope 
Of  a  reserve  of  victuals. 

Flo.  Go  to  the  casement,  cousin. 
Kat.  Go  yourself, 

And  bid  the  gallant  who  that  bugle  winded 
Sleep  in  the  storm-swept  waste ;  as  meet  for  him 
As  for  Lance  Blackthorn. — Come,  I'll  not  distress 
you, 


768 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


I'll  get  admittance  for  this  second  suitor, 

And  we'll  play  out  this  gambol  at  cross  purposes. 

But  see,  your  father  has  prevented  me. 

Osw.  [seems  to  have  spoken  with  those  without, 
and  answers.)   Well,  I  will  ope  the  door; 
one  guest  already, 
Driven  by  the  storm,  has  claim'd  my  hospitality, 
And  you,  if  you  were  fiends,  were  scarce  l«4ss  wel- 
come 
To  this  my  mouldering  roof,  than  empty  ignorance 
And  1  ank  conceit — I  hasten  to  admit  you.     [Exit. 
Elf.  (to  Flo.)  The  tempest  thickens.     By  that 
winded  bugle, 

I  guess  the  guest  that  next  will  honor  us. 

Little  deceiver,  that  didst  mock  my  troubles, 
*Tis  new  thy  turn  to  fear  ! 

Flo.  Mother,  if  I  knew  less  or  more  of  this 
Unthought-of  and  most  perilous  visitation, 
I  would  your  wishes  were  fulfilled  on  me, 
And  I  were  wedded  to  a  thing  like  yon. 
Gul.  (approaching.)  Come,  ladies,  now  you  see 
the  jest  is  threadbare, 
And  you  must  own  that  same  sow's  face  and  sau- 
sages  

Re-enter  Oswald  with  Leonard,  supporting  Baul- 
die  Durward.     Oswald  takes  a  view  of  them,  as 
formerly  of  Gullcrammer,  then  speaks. 
Osw.  (to  Leo.)  By  thy  green  cassock,  hunting- 
spear  and  bugle, 
I  guess  thou  art  a  huntsman  ? 

Leo.  (bowing  with  respect.)  A  ranger  of  the  neigh- 
boring royal  forest, 
Under  the  good  Lord  Nithsdale ;  huntsman,  there- 
fore, 
In  time  of  peace,  and  when  the  land  has  war, 
To  my  best  powers  a  soldier. 

Osw.   Welcome,  as  either.     I  have  loved  the 
chase, 
And  was  a  soldier  once. — This  aged  man, 
What  may  he  be  ? 

Dur.  (recovering  his  breath.)  Is  but  a  beggar,  sir, 
an  humble  mendicant, 
Who  feels  it  passing  strange,  that  from  tins  roof, 
Above  all  others,  he  should  now  crave  shelter. 
Osw.  Why  so  ?    You're  welcome  both — only  the 
word 
Warrants  more  courtesy  than  our  present  means 
Permit  us  to  bestow.     A  huntsman  and  a  soldier 
May  be  a  prince's  comrade,  much  more  mine ; 
And  for  a  beggar — friend,  there  little  lacks, 
Save   that   blue   gown   and  badge,  and   clouted 

pouches, 
To  make  us  comrades  too  ;  then  welcome  both, 
And  to  a  beggar's  feast.     I  fear  brown  bread, 
And  water  from  the  spring,  will  be  the  best  on't ; 
For  we  had  cast  to  wend  abroad  this  evening, 
A.nd  left  our  larder  empty. 


Gul.  Yet,  if  some  kindly  fairy, 

In  our  behalf,  would  search  its  hid  recesses, — 
(Apart.)  We'll  not  go  supperless  now  — we're  thr^i 
to  one. — 

Still  do  I  say,  that  a  soused  face  and  sausages 

Osw.  (looks  sternly  at  him,  then  at  his  wife.) 
There's  something  under  this,  but  that  the 
present 
Is  not  a  time  to  question.  (To  Ele.)  Wife,  my  mood 
Is  at  such  height  of  tide,  that  a  turn'd  feather 
Would  make  me  frantic  now,  with  mirth  or  fury  I 
Tempt  me  no  more — but  if  thou  hast  the  things 
This  carrion  crow  so  croaks  for,  bring  them  forth ; 
For,  by  my  father's  beard,  if  I  stand  caterer, 
'Twill  be  a  fearful  banquet  1 

Ele.  Your  pleasure  be  obey'd — Come,  aid  irre 
Flora.  [Exeunt 

(During  the  following  speeches  the  Women 
place  dishes  on  the  table.) 
Osw.  (to  Dur.)  How  did  you  lose  your  path  ? 
Dur.  E'en  when  we  thought  to  find  it,  a  wild 
meteor 
Danced  in  the  moss,  and  led  our  feet  astray. — 
I  give  small  credence  to  the  tales  of  old, 
Of  Friar's-lantern  told,  and  Will-o'-Wisp, 
Else  would  I  say,  that  some  malicious  demon 
Guided  us  in  a  round ;  for  to  the  moat, 
Winch  we  had  pass'd  two  hours  since,  were  w« 

led, 
And  there  the  gleam  flicker'd  and  disappear'd, 
Even  on  your  drawbridge.     I  was  so  worn  down, 
So  broke  with  laboring  through  marsh  and  moor, 
That,  wold  I  nold  I,  here  my  young  conductor 
Would  needs  implore  for  entrance ;  else,  believe 

me, 
I  had  not  troubled  you. 

Osw.   And  why  not,   father? — have  you  e'er 
heard  aught, 
Or  of  my  house  or  me,  that  wanderers, 
Whom  or  their  roving  trade  or  sudden  circumstance 
Oblige  to  seek  a  shelter,  should  avoid 
The  house  of  Devorgoil  ? 

Dur.  Sir,  I  am  English  born — 

Native  of  Cumberland.     Enough  is  said 
Why  I  should  shun  those  bowers,  whose  lords  were 

hostile 
To  English  blood,  and  unto  Cumberland 
Most  hostile  and  most  fatal. 

Osw.  Ay,  father.     Once  my  grandsire  plough'd, 
and  harrow'd, 
And  sow'd  with  salt  the  streets  of  your  fair  towns , 
But  what  of  that  ? — you  have  the  'vantage  now. 

Dur.  True,  Lord  of  Devorgoil,  and  well  believe  I, 
That  not  in  vain  we  sought  these  towers  to-night, 
So  strangely  guided,  to  behold  their  state. 

Osw.  Ay,  thou  wouldst  say,  'twas  fit  a  Cumbriai 
beggar 
Should  sit  an  equal  guest  in  his  proud  halls, 


THE  DOOM  OF  DETORGOIL. 


Whose  fathers  beggar'd  Cumberland — Graybeard, 

let  it  be  so, 
Fll  not  dispute  it  with  thee. 

(To  Leo.,  who  was  speaking  to  Flora,  but 
on   being   surprised,    occupied  himself 
with  the  suit  of  armor.) 
What  makest  thou  there,  young  man  ? 
Leo   I  marvell'd  at  this  harness ;  it  is  larger 
Than  arms  of  modern  days.     How  richly  carved 
With  gold  inlaid  on  steel — how  close  the  rivets — 
How  justly  fit  the  joints  !     I  think  the  gauntlet 
Would  swallow  twice  my  hand. 

[He  is  about  to  take  down  some  part  of  the 
Armor ;  Oswald  interferes. 
Osw.  Do  not  displace  it. 

My  grandsire,  Erick,  doubled  human  strength, 
And  almost  human  size — and  human  knowledge, 
And  human  vice,  and  human  virtue  also, 
As  storm  or  sunshine  chanced  to  occupy 
His  mental  hemisphere.     After  a  fatal  deed, 
He  hung  his  armor  on  the  wall,  forbidding 
It  e'er  should  be  ta'en  down.    There  is  a  prophecy, 
That  of  itself  'twill  fall,  upon  the  night 
When,  in  the  fiftieth  year  from  his  decease, 
Devorgoil's  feast  is  full.     This  is  the  era ; 
But,  as  too  well  you  see,  no  meet  occasion 
Will  do  the  downfall  of  the  armor  justice, 
Or  grace  it  with  a  feast.     There  let  it  bide, 
Trying  its  strength  with  the  old  walls  it  hangs  on, 
Which  shall  fall  soonest. 

Dur.  (looking  at  the  trophy  with  a  mixture  of 

feeling.)   Then  there  stern  Erick's  harness 

hangs  untouch'd, 
Since  his  last  fatal  raid  on  Cumberland  ! 

Osw.   Ay,  waste  and  want,  and  recklessness — a 

comrade 
Still  yoked  with  waste  and  want — have  stripp'd 

these  walls 
Of  every  other  trophy.     Antler'd  skulls, 
Whose  branches  vouch'd  the  tales  old  vassals  told 
Of  desperate  chases — partisans  and  spears — 
Knights'  barred  helms  and  shields — the  shafts  and 

bows, 
Axes  and  breastplates  of  the  hardy  yeomanry — 
The  banners  of  the  vanquish'd — signs  these  arms 
Were  not  assumed  in  vain,  have  disappear' d. 
Yes,  one  by  one  they  all  have  disappear'd ; 
And  now  Lord  Erick's  harness  hangs  alone, 
'Midst  implements  of  vulgar  husbandry 
And  mean  economy ;  as  some  old  warrior, 
Whom  want  hath  made  an  inmate  of  an  alms-house, 
Shows,  mid  the  beggar'd  spendthrifts,  base  me- 
chanics, 
And  bankrupt  pedlars,  with  whom  fate  has  mix'd 

hiOfc  [house, 

Due.  Or  rather  like  a  pirate,  whom  the  prison- 


SLS>.~ "  Mingled  with  peaceful  men,  broken  in  fortunes 
97 


Prime  leveller  next  the  grave,  hath  for  the  first  time 
Mingled  with  peaceful  captives,  low  in  fortunes,1 
But  fair  in  innocence. 

Osw.   (looking  at  Dur.  with  surprise?)   Friend, 

thou  art  bitter ! 
Dur.  Plain  truth,  sir,  like  the  vulgar  coppe 
coinage, 
Despised  amongst  the  gentry,  still  finds  value 
And  currency  with  beggars. 

Osw.  Be  it  so. 

I  will  not  trench  on  the  immunities 
I  soon  may  claim  to  share.     Thy  features,  too, 
Though  weather-beaten,  and  thy  strain  of  language, 
Ptelish  of  better  days.2     Come  hither,  friend, 

[They  speak  apart. 
And  let  me  ask  thee  of  thine  occupation. 

[Leonard  looks  round,  and,  seeing  Oswald 
engaged  with  Durward,  and  Gullcram- 
mer  with  Eleanor,  approaches  toward* 
Flora,  who  must  give  him  a  i  opportunity 
of  doing  so,  with  obvious  attention  on  her 
part  to  give  it  the  air  of  chance.  The  by- 
play here  will  rest  with  the  Lady,  who 
must  engage  the  attention  of  the  audience, 
by  playing  off  a  little  female  hypocrisy 
and  simple  coquetry.  • 

Leo.  Flora 

Flo.  Ay,  gallant  huntsman,  may  she  deign  to 
question 
Why  Leonard  came  not  at  the  appointed  hour ; 
Or  why  he  came  at  midnight  ? 

Leo.  Love  has  no  certain  loadstar,  gentle  Flora, 
And  oft  gives  up  the  helm  to  wayward  pilotage. 
To  say  the  sooth — A  beggar  forced  me  hence, 
And  Will-o'-wisp  did  guide  us  back  again. 

Flo.  Ay,  ay,  your  beggar  was  the  faded  spectre 
Of  Poverty,  that  sits  upon  the  threshold 
Of  these  our  ruin'd  walls.     I've  been  unwise, 
Leonard,  to  let  you  speak  so  oft  with  me  ; 
And  you  a  fool  to  say  what  you  have  said. 
E'en  let  us  here  break  short ;  and,  wise  at  length, 
Hold  each  our  separate  way  through  life's  wide 
ocean. 
Leo.  Nay,  let  us  rather  join  our  course  togetner 
And  share  the  breeze  or  tempest,  doubling  joys, 
Relieving  sorrows,  warding  evils  off 
With  mutual  effort,  or  enduring  them 
With  mutual  patience. 

Flo.  This  is  but  flattering  counsel — sweet  and 
baneful ; 
But  mine  had  wholesome  bitter  in't. 

Kat.  Ay,  ay ;  but  like  the  sly  apothecary, 
You'll  be  the  last  to  take  the  bitter  drug 
That  you  prescribe  to  others. 

[They  whisper.     Eleanor  advances  to  in- 
terrupt them,  followed  by  Gullcrammer, 

MS.—"  Both  smack  of  better  days."  fro 


770 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"Ele.  What,  maid,  no  household  cares  ?     Leave 
to  your  elders 
The  task  of  filling  passing  strangers'  ears 
With  the  due  notes  of  welcome. 

Gul.  Be  it  thine, 

0,  Mistress  Flora,  the  more  useful  talent 
Of  tilling  strangers'  stomachs  with  substantial ; 
That  is  to  say — for  learn'd  commentators 
Do  so  expound  substantial  in  some  places, — 
With  a  sous'd  bacon-face  and  sausages. 
Flo.  {apart.)  Would  thou  wert  sous'd,  intoler- 
able pedant, 
Base,  greedy,  perverse,  interrupting  coxcomb  ! 

Kat.  Hush,  coz,  for  we'll  be  well  avenged  on  him, 
And  ere  this  night  goes  o'er,  else  woman's  wit 
Cannot  o'ertake  her  wishes. 

[She  proceeds  to  arrange  seats.    Oswald  and 
Due  ward  come  forward  in  conversation. 
Osw.   I   like   thine   humor   well. — So   all  men 

beg 

Dur.  Yes — I  can  make  it  good  by  proof.     Your 
soldier 
Begs  for  a  leaf  of  laurel,  and  a  line 
In  the  Gazette.     He  brandishes  his  sword 
To  back  his  suit,  and  is  a  sturdy  beggar — 
The  courtier  begs  a  riband  or  a  star, 
And,  like  our  gentler  mumpers,  is  provided 
With  false  certificates  of  health  and  fortune 
Lost  in  the  public  service.     For  your  lover, 
Who  begs  a  sigh,  a  smile,  a  lock  of  hair, 
A  buskin-point,  he  maunds  upon  the  pad, 
With  the  true  cant  of  pure  mendicity, 
"  The  smallest  trifle  to  relieve  a  Christian, 

And  if  it  like  your  Ladyship  1" 

[In  a  begging  tone. 
Kat.  {apart)  This  is  a  cunning  knave,  and  feeds 
the  humor 
Of  my  aunt's  husband,  for  I  must  not  say 
Mine  honor'd  uncle.     I  will  try  a  question. — 
Your  man  of  merit  though,  who  serves  the  com- 
monwealth, 
Jtfor  asks  for  a  requital  ? 

[To  DURWARD. 

i  Dur.  Is  a  dumb  beggar, 

And  lets  his  actions  speak  like  signs  for  him, 
'Challenging  double  guerdon. — Now,  I'll  show 
How  your  true  beggar  has  the  fair  advantage 
'O'er  all  the  tribes  of  cloak'd  mendicity 
3rHve  told  over  to  you. — The  soldier's  laurel, 
SFhe  statesman's  riband,  and  the  lady's  favor, 
,Once  won  and  gain'd,  are  not  held  worth  a  farthing 
By  such  as  longest,  loudest,  canted  for  them  ; 
Whereas  your  charitable  halfpenny,1 
Which  is  the  scope  of  a  true  beggar's  suit, 
Is.  worth  two  farthings,  and,  in  times  of  plenty, 
Will  buy  a  crust  of  bread. 

1  MS. — "  Whereas  your  genuine  copper  halfpenny." 


Flo.  {interrupting  him,  and  addressing  her  fa 
titer)  Sir,  let  me  be  a  beggar  with  the  time, 
And  pray  you  come  to  supper. 

Ele.  {to  Oswald,  apart)  Must  he  sit  with  us  ? 

[Looking  at  Durward 
Osw.  Ay,  ay,  what  else — since  we  are  beggars 
all? 
When  cloaks  are  ragged,  sure  their  worth  is  equal 
Whether  at  first  they  were  of  silk  or  woollen. 

Ele.  Thou  art  scarce  consistent. 
Tliis  day  thou  didst  refuse  a  princely  banquet, 
Because  a  new-made  lord  was  placed  above  thee ; 

And  now 

Osw.  Wife,  I  have  seen,  at  public  executions, 
A  wretch,  that  could  not  brook  the  hand  of  violence 
Should  push  him  from  the  scaffold,  pluck  up  cour- 
age, 
And,  with  a  desperate  sort  of  cheerfulness, 
Take  the  fell  plunge  himself — 
Welcome  then,  beggars,  to  a  beggar's  feast ! 

Gul.  {who  has  in  the  mean  while  seated  himself) 
But  tliis  is  more. — A  better  countenance, — 
Fair  fall  the  hands  that  sous'd  it ! — than  this  hog's, 
Or  prettier  provender  than  these  same  sausages, 
(By  what  good  friend  sent  hither,  shall  be  name- 
less, [fuse,) 
Doubtless  some  youth  whom  love  hath  made  pro- 
[Smiling  significantly  at  Eleanor  and  Flora 
No  prince  need  wish  to  peck  at.     Long,  I  ween, 
Since  that  the  nostrils  of  this  house  (by  metaphor 
I  mean  the  chimneys)  smell'd  a  steam  so  grateful — 
By  your  good  leave  I  cannot  dally  longer. 

[Helps  himself 
Osw.    {places   Durward   above   Gullcrammer.) 
Meanwhile,  sir, 
Please  it  your  faithful  learning  to  give  place 
To  gray  hairs  and  to  wisdom ;  and,  moreover, 

If  you  had  tarried  for  the  benediction 

Gul.  {somewh-at  abashed)  I  said  grace  to  myself. 
Osw.  {not  minding  him.) — And  waited  for  the 
company  of  others, 
It  had  been  better  fashion.     Time  has  been, 
I  should  have  told  a  guest  at  Devorgoil, 
Bearing  himself  thus  forward,  he  was  saucy. 

[He  seats  himself,  and  helps  the  company 
and  himself  in  dumb- show.  There  should 
be  a  contrast  betwixt  the  precision  of  his 
aristocratic  civility,  and  the  rude  under- 
breeding  of  Gullcrammer. 
Osw.  {having  tasted  the  dish  next  him)  Why, 

this  is  venison,  Eleanor ! 
Gul.  Ek  1  What !  Let's  see— 

[Pushes  across  Oswald  and  helps  himself. 
It  may  be  venison— 
I'm  sure  'tis  not  beef,  veal,  mutton,  lamb,  or  pork 
Eke  am  I  sure,  that  be  it  what  it  will, 
It  is  not  half  so  good  as  sausages, 
Or  as  a  sow's  face  sous'd. 


THE  DOOM  OK  DEV  OUGOLL. 


771 


Osw.  Eleanor,  whence  all  this  ? 

Ele.  Wait  till  to-morrow, 

You  shall  know  all.     It  was  a  happy  chance, 
That  furnish'd  us  to  meet  so  many  guests. 

[Fills  wine. 
Try  if  your  cup  be  not  as  richly  garnish'd 
^.s  is  your  trencher.1 
Kat.  (apart.)  My  aunt  adheres  to  the  good  cau- 
tious maxim 
Of, — "Eat  your  pudding,  friend,  and  hold  your 
tongue." 
Osw.  (tastes  the  wine.)  It  is  the  grape  of  Bor- 
deaux. 
Such  dainties,  once  familiar  to  my  board, 
Have  been  estranged  from't  long. 

[He  again  Jills  his  glass,  and  continues  to 
speak  as  he  holds  it  up. 
?ill  round,  my  friends — here  is  a  treacherous  friend 

now 
Smiles  in  your  face,  yet  seeks  to  steal  the  jewel, 
Which  is  distinction  between  man  and  brute — 
[  mean  our  reason — this  he  does,  and  smiles. 
But  are  not  all  friends  treacherous  ? — one  shall 


you 


Even 


This 


your  dearest  interests — one  shall  slander 
you— 

steal    your    daughter,    that    defraud    your 
purse ; 
But  this  gay  flask  of  Bordeaux  will  but  borrow 
Your  sense  of  mortal  sorrows  for  a  season, 
And  leave,  instead,  a  gay  delirium. 
Methinks  my  brain,  unused  to  such  gay  visitants, 
The  influence  feels  already ! — we  will  revel ! — 
Our  banquet  shall  be  loud ! — it  ia  our  last. 
Katleen,  thy  song. 

Kat.  Not  now,  my  lord — I  mean   to  sing   to- 
night 
For  this  same  moderate,  grave,  and  reverend  cler- 
gyman ; 
I'll  keep  my  voice  till  then. 

Ele.    Your  round   refusal   shows  but   cottage 
breeding. 


i  Wooden  trenchers  should  be  used,  and  the  quaigh,  a  Scot- 
tish drinking-cup. 

2  "  Dundee,  enraged  at  his  enemies,  and  still  more  at  his 
friends,  resolved  to  retire  to  the  Highlands,  and  to  make  prepa- 
rations for  civil  war,  but  with  secrecy  ;  for  he  had  been  order- 
ed by  James  to  make  no  public  insurrection  until  assistance 
should  be  sent  him  from  Ireland. 

"  Whilst  Dundee  was  in  this  temper,  information  was 
brought  him,  whether  true  or  false  is  uncertain,  that  some  of 
the  Covenanters  had  associated  themselves  to  assassinate  him, 
in  revenge  for  his  former  severities  against  their  party.  He 
flew  to  the  Convention  and  demanded  justice.  The  Duke  of 
Hamilton,  who  wished  to  get  rid  of  a  troublesome  adversary, 
treated  his  complaint  with  neglect ;  and  in  order  to  sting  him 
in  the  tenderest  part,  reflected  upon  that  courage  which  could 
be  alarmed  by  imaginary  dangers.  Dundee  left  the  house  in 
i  rage,  mounted  his  horse,  and  with  a  troop  of  fifty  horsemen 
vho  had  deserted  to  him  from  his  regiment  in  England,  gal- 


Kat.  Ay,  my  good  aunt,  for  I  was  cottage  nur- 
tured, 
And  taught,  I  think,  to  prize  my  own  wild  will 
Above  all  sacrifice  to  compliment. 
Here  is  a  huntsman — in  his  eyes  I  read  it, 
He  sings  the  martial  song  my  uncle  loves, 
What  tune  fierce  Claver'se  with  his  Cavaliers, 
Abjuring  the  new  change  of  government, 
Forcing  his  fearless  way  through  timorous  friends, 
And  enemies  as  timorous,  left  the  capital 
To  rouse  in  James's  cause  the  distant  Highlands. 
Have  you  ne'er  heard  the  song,  my  noble  uncle  ? 
Osw.  Have  I  not  heard,  wench  ? — It  was  I  rode 
next  him, 
'Tis  thirty  summers  since — rode  by  his  rein ; 
We  marched  on  through  the  alarm'd  city, 
As  sweeps  the  osprey  through  a  flock  of  gulls, 
Who  scream  and  flutter,  but  dare  no  resistance 
Against  the  bold  sea-empress — They  did  murmur, 
The  crowds  before  us,  in  their  sullen  wrath, 
And  those  whom  we  had  pass'd,  gathering  fresh 

courage, 
Cried  havoc  in  the  rear — we  minded  them 
E'en  as  the  brave  bark  minds  the  bursting  bil 

lows, 
Which,  yielding  to  her  bows,  burst  on  her  sides, 
And  ripple  in  her  wake. — Sing  me  that  strain, 

[To  Leonard. 
And  thou  shalt  have  a  meed  I  seldom  tender, 
Because  they're  all  I  have  to  give — my  thanks. 
Leo.  Nay,  if  you'll  bear  with  what  I  cannot 
help, 
A  voice  that's  rough  with  hollowing  to  the  hounds 
I'll  sing  the  song  even  as  old  Rowland  taught  me. 

SONG.2 
Air — "  The  Bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee.1* 

To  the  Lords  of  Convention  'twas  Claver'se  who 

spoke, 
"  Ere  the  King's  crown  shall  fall  there  are  crowns 

to  be  broke ; 


loped  through  the  city.  Being  asked  by  one  of  his  friends,  who 
stopped  him,  '  Where  he  was  going  V  he  waved  his  hat,  and  is 
reported  to  have  answered,  '  Wherever  the  spirit  of  Montrose 
shall  direct  me.'  In  passing  under  the  walls  of  the  Castle,  he 
stopped,  scrambled  up  the  precipice  at  a  place  difficult  and  dan- 
gerous, and  held  a  conference  vith  the  Duke  of  Gordon  at  a 
postern-gate,  the  marks  of  which  are  still  to  be  seen,  thougk 
the  gate  itself  is  built  up.  Hoping,  in  vain,  to  infuse  the  vigo. 
of  his  own  spirit  into  the  Duke,  he  pressed  him  to  retire  with 
him  into  the  Highlands,  raise  his  vassals  there,  who  were  nu- 
merous, brave,  and  faithful,  and  leave  the  command  of  the 
Castle  to  Winram,  the  lieutenant-governor,  an  officer  on  whom 
Dundee  could  rely.  The  Duke  concealed  his  timidity  undel 
the  excuse  of  a  soldier.  '  A  soldier,'  said  he,  •  cannot  in  hon- 
or quit  the  post  that  is  assigned  him.'  The  novelty  of  the  sight 
drew  numbers  to  the  foot  of  the  rock  upon  which  the  confer* 
ence  was  held.  These  numbers  every  minute  increased,  and, 
in  the  end,  were  mistaken  for  Dundee's  adherents.    The  Coo- 


772 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


So  let  each  Cavalier  who  loves  honor  and  me, 
Come  follow  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 

"  Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can. 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up  your  men ; 
3ome  open  the  West  Port,  and  let  me  gang  free, 
And  it's  room  for  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dun- 
dee 1" 

Dundee  he  is  mounted,  he  rides  up  the  street, 

The  bells  are  rung  backward,  the  drums  they  are 
beat ; 

But  the  Provost,  douce  man,  said,  "  Just  e'en  let 
him  be, 

The  Gude  Town  is  weel  quit  of  that  Deil  of  Dun- 
dee." 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  <fec. 

As  he  rode  down  the  sanctified  bends  of  the  Bow, 
Ilk  carline  was  fly  ting  and  shaking  her  pow  ; 
But  the  young  plants  of  grace  they  look'd  couthie 

and  slee, 
Tlunking,  luck  to  thy  bonnet,  thou  Bonny  Dundee ! 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  <fcc. 

With  sour-featured  Whigs  the  Grassmarket  was 

cramm'd 
As  if  half  the  West  had  set  tryst  to  be  hang'd  :* 
There  was  spite  in  each  look,  there  was  fear  in 

each  e'e, 
As  they  watch'd  for  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

These  cowls  of  Kilmarnock  had  spits  and  had  spears, 

And  lang-hafted  gullies  to  kill  Cavaliers ; 

But  they  shrunk  to  close-heads,  and  the  causeway 

was  free, 
At  the  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

He  spurr'd  to  the  foot  of  the  proud  Castle  rock, 
And  with  the  gay  Gordon  he  gallantly  spoke ; 


vention  was  then  sitting  :  news  were  carried  thither  that  Dun- 
dee was  at  the  gates  with  an  army,  and  had  prevailed  upon 
the  governor  of  the  Castle  to  fire  upon  the  town.  The  Duke 
■if  Hamilton,  whose  intelligence  was  better,  had  the  presence  of 
mind,  by  improving  the  moment  of  agitation,  to  overwhelm 
the  one  party  and  provoke  the  other,  by  their  fears.  He  or- 
dered the  doors  of  the  house  to  be  shut,  and  the  keys  to  be 
laid  on  the  table  before  him.  He  cried  out.  '  That  there  was 
danger  within  as  well  as  without  doors  ;  that  traitors  must  be 
held  in  confinement  until  the  present  danger  was  over :  but 
that  the  friends  of  liberty  had  nothing  to  fear,  for  that  thou- 
sands were  ready  to  start  up  in  their  defence,  at  the  stamp  of 
his  foot.'  He  ordered  the  drums  to  be  beat  and  the  trumpets 
to  sound  through  the  city.  In  an  instant  vast  swarms  of  those 
who  had  been  brought  into  town  by  him  and  Sir  John  Dal- 
rymple  from  the  western  counties,  and  who  had  been  hitherto 
hid  in  garrets  and  cellars,  showed  themselves  in  the  streets  ;  not, 
indeed,  in  the  proper  habiliments  of  war,  but  in  arms,  and  with 


"Let  Mons   Meg  and   her  marrows   speak   twa 

words  or  three, 
For  the  love  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee." 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  <fcc. 

The  Gordon  demands  of  him  which  way  he  goes-. 
"  Where'er  shall  direct  me  the  shade  of  Montrose  1 
Your  Grace  in  short  space  shall  hear  tidings  of 

me, 
Or  that  low  lies  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

'•  There  are  hills  beyond  Pentland,  and  lands  be- 
yond Forth, 

If  there's  lords  in  the  lowlands,  there's  chiefs  in 
the  North ; 

There  are  wild  Duniewassals  three  thousand  times 
three, 

Will  cry  hoiffh  !  for  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  <fcc. 

"There's  brass  on  the  target  of  barken'd  bull- 
hide  ; 

There's  steel  in  the  scabbard  that  dangles  be- 
side ; 

The  brass  shall  be  burnish'd,  the  steel  shall  flash 
free, 

At  a  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  <fec. 

"  Away  to  the  lulls,  to  the  caves,  to  the  rocks — 
Ere  I  own  an  usurper,  I'll  couch  with  the  fox ; 
And  tremble,  false  Whigs,  in  the  midst  of  your 

glee, 
You  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet  and 
me !" 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

He  waved  Iris  proud  hand,  and  the  trumpets  were 

blown, 
The  kettle-drums  clash'd,  and  the  horsemen  rode 

on. 


looks  fierce  and  sullen,  as  if  they  felt  disdain  at  their  former 
concealment.  This  unexpected  sight  increased  the  noise  and 
tumult  of  the  town,  which  grew  loudest  in  the  square  adjoin- 
ing to  the  house  where  the  members  were  confined,  and  ap- 
peared still  louder  to  those  who  were  within,  because  they 
were  ignorant  of  the  cause  from  which  the  tumult  arose,  and 
caught  contagion  from  the  anxious  looks  of  each  other.  After 
some  hours,  the  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  the  Whig  mem- 
bers, as  they  went  out,  were  received  with  acclamations,  and 
those  of  the  opposite  party  with  the  threats  and  curses  of  a 
prepared  populace.  Terrified  by  the  prospect  of  future  alarms, 
many  of  the  adherents  of  James  quitted  the  Convention,  and 
retired  to  the  country ;  most  of  them  changed  sides ;  only  a 
very  few  of  the  most  resolute  continued  their  attendance." — 
Dalrymple's  Memoirs,  vol.  ii.  p.  305. 

1  Previous  to  1784,  the  Grassmarket  was  the  common  pla<* 
of  execution  at  Edinburgh. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


773 


Till  on  Ravelston's  cliffs  and  on  Clermiston's  lee, 
Died  away  the  wild  war-notes  of  Bonny  Dundee. 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can, 
Come  saddle  the  horses,  and  call  up  the  men ; 
Come  open  your  gates,  and  let  me  gae  free, 
For  it's  up  with  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee  1 

Ele.  Katleen,  do  thou  sing  now.      Thy  uncle's 
cheerful ; 
We  must  not  let  his  humor  ebb  again. 

Kat.  But  I'll  do  better,  aunt,  than  if  I  sung, 
For  Flora  can  sing  blithe  ;  so  can  this  huntsman, 
As  he  has  shown  e'on  now ;  let  them  duet  it. 

Osw.  Well,  huntsman,  we  must  give  to  freakish 
maiden 
The  freedom  of  her  fancy. — Raise  the  carol 
And  Flora,  if  she  can,  will  join  the  measure. 


When  friends  are  met  o'er  merry  cheer, 
And  lovely  eyes  are  laughing  near, 
And  in  the  goblet's  bosom  clear 

The  cares^i  day  are  drown'd ; 
When  puns  are  made,  and  bumpers  quafFd, 
And  wild  Wit  shoots  his  roving  shaft, 
And  Mirth  his  jovial  laugh  has  laugh'd, 

Then  is  our  banquet  crown' d, 
Ah  gay, 

Then  is  our  banquet  crown'd. 

When  glees  are  sung,  and  catches  troll'd, 
And  bashfulness  grows  bright  and  bold, 
And  beauty  is  no  longer  cold, 

And  age  no  longer  dull ; 
When  chimes  are  brief,  and  cocks  do  crow, 
To  tell  us  it  is  time  to  go, 
Yet  how  to  part  we  do  not  know, 

Then  is  our  feast  at  full, 
Ah  gay, 

Then  is  our  feast  at  full. 

Osw.  (rises  with  the  cup  in  his  hand.)  Devorgoil's 
feast  is  full — 
Drink  to  the  pledge  1 

[A  tremendous  burst  of  thunder  follows 
these  words  of  the  Song ;  and  the  Light- 
ning should  seem  to  strike  the  suit  of  black 
Armor,  which  falls  with  a  crash.1  All 
rise  in  surprise  and  fear  except  Gullcram-  J 
mer,  who  tumbles  over  backwards  and  lies 
still.  [roof 

Osw.  That  sounded  like  the  judgment-peal — the 
Still  trembles  with  the  volley. 


i  I  should  think  this  may  be  contrived,  by  having  a  transpa- 
rent zig-zag  n  the  flat-scene,  immediately  above  the  armor, 
Suddenly  and  rery  strongly  illuminated. 


Dun.  Happy  those 

Who   are   prepared  to  meet   such  fearful  sum 

mons. — 
Leonard,  what  dost  thou  there  ? 

Leo.  {supporting  Flo.)       The  duty  of  a  man- 
Supporting  innocence.     Were  it  the  final  call, 
I  were  not  misemploy'd. 

Osw.  The  armor  of  my  grandsire   hath  falTu 
down, 
And  old  saws  have  spoke  truth. — {Musing.)  The 

fiftieth  year — 
Devorgoil's  feast  at  fullest !  What  to  think  of  it — 
Leo.  {lifting  a  scroll  which  had  fallen  with  thfi. 
armor.)  This  may  inform  us. 
[Attempts  to  read  the  manuscript,  shakes 
his  head,  and  gives  it  to  Oswald. 
But  not  to  eyes  unlearn'd  it  tells  its  tidings. 
Osw.  Hawks,  hounds,  and  revelling  consumed 
the  hours 
I  should  have  given  to  study. 

[Looks  at  the  manuscript. 
These  characters  I  spell  not  more  than  thou. 
They  are  not  of  our  day,  and,  as  I  think, 
Not  of  our  language. — Where's  our  scholar  now, 
So  forward  at  the  banquet  ?     Is  he  laggard 
Upon  a  point  of  learning  ? 

Leo.  Here  is  the  man  of  letter'd  dignity, 
E'en  in  a  piteous  case. 

[Drags  Gullcrammer  forward. 
Osw.  Art  wakings  craven  ?  canst  thou  read  this 
scroll  ? 
Or  art  thou  only  learn'd  in  sousing  swine's  flesh, 
And  prompt  in  eating  it  ? 

Gul.  Eh — ah! — oh — ho! — Have  you  no  better 
time 
To  tax  a  man  with  riddles,  than  the  moment 
When  he  scarce  knows  whether  he's  dead  or  liv- 
ing? 
Osw.  Confound  the  pedant ! — Can  you  read  the 
scroll, 
Or  can  you  not,  sir  ?     If  you  can,  pronounce 
Its  meaning  speedily. 

Gul.  Can  I  read  it,  quotha ! 

When  at  our  learned  University, 
I  gain'd  first  premium  for  Hebrew  learning, — 
Which  was  a  pound  of  high-dried  Scottish  snuff, 
And  half  a  peck  of  onions,  with  a  bushel 
Of  curious  oatmeal, — our  learn'd  Principal 
Did  say,  "  Melchisedek,  thou  canst  do  any  thing !" 
Now  comes  he  with  his  paltry  scroll  of  parchment^ 
And,  "  Can  you  read  it  ?" — After  such  affront, 
The  point  is,  if  I  will. 

Osw.  A  point  soon  solved, 

Unless  you  choose  to  sleep  among  the  frogs  ; 
For  look  you,  sir,  there  is  the  chamber  window, 
Beneath  it  lies  the  lake. 

Ele.    Kind  master  Gullcrammer,   beware   my 
husband. 


774 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


lie  brooks  no  contradiction — 'tis  his  fault, 
And  in  his  wrath  he's  dangerous. 

Gul.  (looks  at  the  scroll,  andmutters  as  if  reading?) 
Ilashgaboth  hotch-potch — 
A  simple  matter  this  to  make  a  rout  of — 
Ten  rashersen  bacon,  mish-mash  venison, 
Sausagian  soused-face — Tis  a  simple  catalogue 
Of  our  small  supper — made  by  the  grave  sage 
Whose  prescience  knew  this  night  that  we  should 

feast 
On  venison,  hash'd  sow's  face,  and  sausages, 
And  hung  his  steel-coat  for  a  supper-bell — 
E'en  let  us  to  our  provender  again, 
For  it  is  written  we  shall  finish  it, 
And  bless  our  stars  the  lightning  left  it  us. 

Osw.  This  must  be  impudence  or  ignorance  ! — 
The  spirit  of  rough  Erick  stirs  within  me, 
And  I  will  knock  thy  brains  out  if  thou  palterest ! 
Expound  the  scroll  to  me  ! 

Gul.  You're  over  hasty ; 

And  yet  you  may  be  right  too — 'Tis  Samaritan, 
Now  I  look  closer  on't,  and  I  did  take  it 
For  simple  Hebrew. 

Dun.  'Tis  Hebrew  to  a  simpleton, 
That  we  see  plainly,  friend — Give  me  the  scroll. 
Gul.  Alas,  good  friend  1   what  would   you  do 

with  it  ? 
Dur.  (takes  it  from  him)  My  best  to  read  it,  sir 
— The  character  is  Saxon, 
Used  at  no  distant  date  within  this  district ; 
And  thus  the  tenor  runs — nor  in  Samaritan, 
Nor  simple  Hebrew,  but  in  wholesome  English : — 
Devorgoil,  thy  bright  moon  waneth, 
And  the  rust  thy  harness  staineth ; 
Servile  guests  the  banquet  soil 
Of  the  once  proud  Devorgoil. 
But  should  Black  Erick's  armor  fall, 
Look  for  guests  shall  scare  you  all ! 
They  shall  come  ere  peep  of  day, — 
Wake  and  watch,  and  hope  and  pray. 
Kat.  (to  Flo.)  Here  is  fine  foolery — an  old  wall 
shakes 
At  a  loud  thunder-clap — down  comes  a  suit 
Of  ancient  armor,  when  its  wasted  braces 
Were  all  too  rotten  to  sustain  its  weight — 
A  beggar  cries  out,  Miracle  !  and  your  father, 
Weighing  the  importance  of  his  name  and  lineage, 
Must  needs  believe  the  dotard  I1 

Flo.  Mock  not,  I  pray  you ;  this  may  be  too 

serious. 
Kat.  And  if  I  live  till  morning,  I  will  have 
The  power  to  tell  a  better  tale  of  wonder 
Wrought  on  wise  Gullcrammer.  I'll  go  prepare  me. 

[Exit. 
Flo.  I  have  not  K  atleen's  spirit,  yet  I  hate 

'  MS.—  "  A  begging  knave  cries  out,  a  Miracle  ! 

And  your  good  sire,  doting  on  the  importance 


This  Gullcrammer  too  heartily,  to  stop 
Any  disgrace  that's  hasting  towards  hiriL 

Osw.  (to  whom  the  beggar  has  been  again  read 
ing  the  scroll.) 
'Tis  a  strange  prophecy ! — The  silver  moon, 
Now  waning  sorely,  is  our  ancient  bearing/-— 
Strange  and  unfitting  guests — 

Gul.  (interrupting  him.)  Ay,  ay,  the  matter 
Is,  as  you  say,  all  moonshine  in  the  water. 
Osw.  How  mean  you,  sir  ?   {threatening.) 
Gul.  To  show  that  I  can  rhyrna 

With  yonder  bluegown.    Give  me  breath  and  time, 
I  will  maintain,  in  spite  of  his  pretence, 
Mine  exposition  had  the  betfer  sense — 
It  spoke  good  victuals  and  increase  of  cheer ; 
And  his,  more  guests  to  eat  what  we  have  here— 
An  increment  right  needless. 

Osw.  Get  thee  gone ; 

To  kennel,  hound ! 

Gul.  The  hound  will  have  his  bone. 

[Takes  up  tlte  platter  of  meat,  and  a  flask. 
Osw.  Flora,  show  him  his  chamber— take  him 
hence, 
Or,  by  the  name  I  bear,  I'll  seWiis  brains. 

Gul.  Ladies,  good  night! — I  spare  you,  sir,  the 
pains. 

[Exit,  lighted  by  Flora  with  a  lamp. 
Osw.  The  owl  is  fled. — I'll  not  to  bed  to-night ; 
There  is  some  change  impending  o'er  this  house, 
For  good  or  ill.     I  would  some  holy  man 
Were  here,  to  counsel  us  what  we  should  do  1 
Yon  witless  thin-faced  gull  is  but  a  cassock 
Stuff 'd  out  with  chaff  and  straw. 

Dur.  (assuming  an  air  of  dignity)  I  have  been 
wont, 
In  other  days,  to  point  to  erring  mortals 
The  rock  which  they  should  anchor  on. 

[He  holds  up  a  Cross — the  rest  take  a  pos- 
ture of  devotion,  and  the  Scene  closes. 


ACT  III— SCENE  L 

A  ruinous  Anteroom  in,  the  Castu  Enter  Kat- 
leen,  fantastically  dressed  to  play  the  Character 
of  Cockledemoy,  with  the  visor  in  her  hand. 

Kat.  I've  scarce  had  time  to  glance  at  my  sweet 
person, 
Yet  this  much  could  I  see,  with  half  a  glance, 
My  elfish  dress  becomes  me — I'll  not  mask  me 
Till  I  have  seen  Lance  Blackthorn.  Lance  1  I  say-  - 

[Calls 
Blackthorn,  make  haste  1 


Of  his  high  birth  and  house,  must  needs  believe 
hirn.', 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL.  * 


lit 


Enter  Blackthorn,  half  dressed  as  Owlspiegle. 
Bla.  Here  am  I — Blackthorn  in  the  upper  half, 
Much  at  your  service  ;  but  my  nether  parts 
Are  goblinized  and  Owlspiegled.     I  had  much  ado 
To  get  these  trankums  on.     I  judge  Lord  Erick 
Kept  no  good  house,  and  starved  his  quondam  bar- 
ber, [coming ; 
Kat    Pcaca,  ass,  and  hide  you — Gullcrammer  is 
He  left  the  hall  before,  but  then  took  fright, 
And  e'en  sneak'd  back.     The  Lady  Flora  lights 
him — 
•  Trim  occupation  for  her  ladysliip  ! 
Had  you  seen  Leonard,  when  she  left  the  hall 
On  such  fine  errand  ! 
Bla.  This  Gullcrammer  shall  have  a  bob  extra- 
ordinary 
For  my  good  comrade's  sake. — But  tell  me,  Kat- 
ie en, 
What  dress  is  this  of  yours? 
Kat.  A  page's,  fool ! 

Bla.  I'm  accounted  no  great  scholar. 

But  'tis  a  page  that  I  would  fain  peruse 
A  little  closer.  [Approaches  her. 

Kat.  Put  on  your  spectacles, 

And  try  if  you  can  read  it  at  tins  distance, 
For  you  shall  come  no  nearer. 

Bla.  But  is  there  nothing,  then,  save  rank  im- 
posture, 
In  all  these  tales  of  goblinry  at  Devorgoil  ? 

Kat.  My  aunt's  grave  lord  thinks  otherwise,  sup- 
posing 
That  his  great  name  so  interests  the  Heavens, 
That  miracles  must  needs  bespeak  its  fall — 
I  would  that  I  were  in  a  lowly  cottage 
Beneath  the  greenwood,  on  its  walls  no  armor 

To  court  the  levin-bolt 

Bla.  And  a  kind  husband,  Katleen, 

To  ward  such  dangers  as  must  needs  come  nigh. — 
My  father's  cottage  stands  so  low  and  lone, 
That  you  would  think  it  solitude  itself; 
The  greenwood  shields  it  from  the  northern  blast, 
And,  in  the  woodbine  round  its  latticed  casement, 
The  linnet's  sure  to  build  the  earliest  nest 
La  all  the  forest. 
Kat.  Peace,  you  fool,  they  come. 

Flora  lights  Gullcrammer  across  the  Stage. 

Kat.  [when  they  have  passed.)  Away  with  you! 
On  with  your  cloak—be  ready  at  the  signal. 

Bla.  And  shall  we  talk  of  that  same  cottage, 
Katleen, 
At  better  leisure  ?     I  have  much  to  say 
In  favor  of  my  cottage. 

Kat-  If  you  will  be  talking, 

You  know  I  can't  prevent  you. 

Bla-       ■  That's  enough. 

{Aside.)  I  shall  have  leave,  I  see,  to  spell  the  page 
V  little  closer,  when  the  due  time  comes. 


SCENE  II. 

Scene  changes  to  Gullcrammer's  Sleeping  Apart 
ment.  lie  enters,  ushered  in  by  Flora,  who  sits 
on  the  table  a  flask,  with  the  lamp. 

Flo.  A  flask,  in  case  your  Reverence  be  athirsty 
A  light,  in  case  your  Reverence  be  afear'd  ; — 
And  so  sweet  slumber  to  your  Reverence. 

Gul.  Kind  Mistress  Flora,  will  you  ? — eh !  eh  I 

eh! 
Flo.  Will  I  what? 
Gul.  Tarry  a  little  ? 

Flo.  {smiling.)  Kind  Master  Gullcrammer, 
How  can  you  ask  me  aught  so  unbecoming  ? 
Gul.    Oh,  fie,  fie,  fie  ! — Believe  me,  Mistress 
Flora, 
'Tis  not  for  that — but  being  guided  through 
Such  dreary  galleries,  stairs,  and  suites  of  rooms, 
To  this  same  cubicle,  I'm  somewhat  loth 
To  bid  adieu  to  pleasant  company. 

Flo.  A  flattering  compliment ! — In  plain  truth. 

you  are  frighten' d. 
Gul.    What!    frighten'd ?— I— I— am  not  tim- 
orous. 
Flo.  Perhaps  you've  heard  this  is  our  haunted 
chamber  ? 
But  then  it  is  our  best — Your  Reverence  knows, 
That  in  all  tales  which  turn  upon  a  ghost, 
Your  traveller  belated  has  the  luck 
To  enjoy  the  haunted  room — it  is  a  rule : — 
To  some  it  were  a  hardship,  but  to  you, 

Who  are  a  scholar,  and  not  timorous ■ 

Gul.  I  did  not  say  I  was  not  timorous, 
I  said  I  was  not  temerarious. — 
I'll  to  the  hall  again. 

Flo.  You'll  do  your  pleasure. 

But  you  have  somehow  moved  my  father's  anger, 
And  you  had  better  meet  our  playful  Owlspio 

gle— 
So  is  our  goblin  call'd — than  face  Lord  Oswald. 

Gul.  Owlspiegle  ? — 
It  is  an  uncouth  and  outlandish  name, 
And  in  mine  ear  sounds  fiendish. 

Flo.  Hush,  hush,  hush ! 
Perhaps  he  hears  us  now — (in  an  under  tone) — A 

merry  spirit ; 
None  of  your  elves  that  pinch  folks  black  and  blue, 
For  lack  of  cleanliness. 

Gul.  As  for  that,  Mistress  Flora, 
My  taffeta  doublet  hath  been  duly  brush'd, 
My  shirt  hebdomadal  put  on  this  morning. 

Flo.  Why,  you  need  fear  no  goblins.     But  thi* 
Owlspiegle 
Is  of  another  class  ; — yet  has  his  frolics  ; 
Cuts  hair,  trims  beards,  and  plays  amid  his  antic* 
The  office  of  a  sinful  mortal  barber. 
Such  is  at  least  the  rumor 


77(5 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Gul.  He  will  not  cut  my  clothes,  or  scar  ray  face, 
Or  draw  ray  blood  ? 

Flo.  Enormities  like  these 

Were  never  charged  agamst  him. 
Gul.  And,  Mistress  Flora,  would  you  smile  on 

me, 
[f,  prick'd  by  the  fond  hope  of  your  approval, 
I  should  endure  this  venture  ? 

Flo.  I  do  hope 

I  shall  have  cause  to  smile. 

Gul.  Well !  in  that  hope 

I  will  embrace  the  achievement  for  thy  sake. 

[She  is  going. 
Yet,  stay,  stay,  stay  ! — on  second  thoughts  I  will 

not — 
I've  thought  on  it,  and  will  the  mortal  cudgel 
Rather  endure  than  face  the  ghostly  razor ! 
Your  crab-tree's  tough  but  blunt, — your  razor's 

polish'd, 
But,  as  the  proverb  goes,  'tis  cruel  sharp. 
I'll  to  thy  father,  and  unto  his  pleasure 
Submit  these  destined  shoulders. 

Flo.  '  But  you  shall  not, 

Believe  me,  sir,  you  shall  not ;  he  is  desperate, 
And  better  far  be  trimm'd  by  ghost  or  goblin, 
Than  by  my  sire  in  anger ;  there  are  stores 
Of  hidden  treasure,  too,  and  Heaven  knows  what, 
Buried  among  these  ruins — you  shall  stay. 
{Apart.)  And  if  indeed  there  be   such  sprite  as 

Owlspiegle, 
And  lacking  him,  that  thy  fear  plague  thee  not 
Worse  than  a  goblin,  I  have  miss'd  my  purpose, 
Which  else  stands   good   in  either  case. — Good- 
night, sir.     [Exit,  and  double-locks  the  door. 
^ttjl.  Nay,  hold  ye,  hold ! — Nay,  gentle  Mistress 

Flora, 
Wherefore  this  ceremony  ? — She  has  lock'd  me  in, 
And  left  me  to  the  goblin !  —  {Listening.)  —  So, 

so,  so  \ 
I  hear  her  light  foot  trip  to  such  a  distance, 
That  I  believe  the  castle's  breadth  divides  me 
From  human  company.     I'm  ill  at  ease — 
But  if  this  citadel  {laying  his  hand  on  his  stomach) 

were  better  victual'd, 
It  would  be  better  mann'd.  [Sits  down  and  drinks. 
She  has  a  footstep  light,  and  taper  ankle. 

[  Chuckles. 
Aha !  that  ankle  !  yet,  confound  it  too, 
But  for  those  charms  Melchisedek  had  been 
Snug  in  his  bed  at  Mucklewhame — I  say, 
Confound  her  footstep,  and  her  instep  too, 
To  use  a  cobbler's  phrase. — There  I  was  quaint. 
Now,  what  to  do  in  this  vile  circumstance, 
To  watch  or  go  to  bed,  I  can't  determine ; 
Were  I  a-bed,  the  ghost  might  catch  me  napping, 
And  if  I  watch,  my  terrors  will  increase 
As  ghostly  hours  approach.     I'll  to  my  bed 
E'en  in  my  taffeta  doublet,  shrink  my  head 


Beneath  the  clothes — leave  the  lamp  burning  there, 
[Sets  it  on  the  table. 
And  trust  to  fate  the  issue. 

[He  lays  aside  his  cloak,  and  brushes  it, 
as  from  habit,  starting  at  every  moment; 
ties   a   napkin   over   his   head ;    then 
shrinks    beneath   the   bed-clothes.      He 
starts  once  or  twice,  and  at  length  seems 
to  go  to  sleep.    A  bell  tolls  one.     He 
leaps  up  in  his  bed. 
Gul.  I  had  just  coax'd  myself  to  sweet  forget- 
fulness, 
And  that  confounded  bell — I  hate  all  bells, 
Except  a  dinner  bell — and  yet  I  lie,  too, — 
I  love  the  bell  that  soon  shall  tell  the  parish 
Of  Gabblegoose,  Melchisedek's  incumbent — 
And  shall  the  future  minister  of  Gabblegoose, 
Whom  his  parishioners  will  soon  require 
To  exorcise  their  ghosts,  detect  their  witches, 
Lie  shivering  in  his  bed  for  a  pert  goblin, 
Whom,  be  he   switch'd   or   cocktail'd,  horn'd   or 

poll'd, 
A  few  tight  Hebrew  words  will  soon  send  packing  ? 
Tush !  I  will  rouse  the  parson  up  within  me, 

And  bid  defiance {A  distant  noise.)     In  the 

name  of  Heaven, 
What  sounds  are  these ! — 0  Lord  1  this  comes  of 
rashness ! 
[Draws  his  head  down  under  the  bed-clothes. 

Duet  without,  between  Owlspiegle  and  Cocklede- 
moy. 

owlspiegle. 
Cockledemoy ! 
My  boy,  my  boy 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Here,  father,  here. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Now  the  pole-star's  red  and  burning, 
And  the  witch's  spindle  turning, 
Appear,  appear ! 

Gul.  {who  has  again  raised  himself,  and  listened 
with  great  terror  to  the  Duet.)  I  have  heard 
of  the  devil's  dam  before, 
But  never  of  his  child.     Now,  Heaven  deliver  me 
The  Papists  have  the  better  of  us  there, — 
They  have  then*  Latin  prayers,  cut  and  dried, 
And  pat  for  such  occasion.     I  can  think 
On  naught  but  the  vernacular. 

owlspiegle. 
Cockledemoy ! 
My  boy,  my  boy, 

We'll  sport  us  here — 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL.                                     777 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

BOTH. 

Our  gambols  play, 

About,  about, 

Like  elve  and  fay ; 

Like  an  elvish  scout, 

The  cuckoo's  a  gull,  and  we'll  soon  find  him  out. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

And  domineer, 

[They   search  the  room  with  mop*  ana 

mows.    At  length  Cockledemoy  jumps 

BOTH. 

on  the  bed.     Gullcrammer  raises  him- 

Laugh, frolic;  and  frisk,  till  the  morning  appear. 

self  half  tip,  supporting  himself  by  his 

hands.     Cockledemoy  does  the   same. 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

grins  at  him,  then  skips  from  the  b'dl 

Lift  latch — open  clasp — 

and  runs  to  Owlspiegle. 

Shoot  bolt — and  burst  hasp ! 

[The  door  opens    with   violence.     Enter 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Blackthorn  as  Owlspiegle,  fantasti- 

I've found  the  nest, 

cally  dressed  as  a  Spanish  Barber,  tall, 

And  in  it  a  guest, 

thin,  emaciated,  and  ghostly  ;  Katleen, 

With  a  sable  cloak  and  a  taffeta  vest ; 

as  Cockledemoy,  attends  as  his  Page. 

He  must  be  wash'd,  and  trimm'd,  and  dress'd, 

All  their  manners,  tones,  and  motions, 

To  please  the  eyes  he  loves  the  best. 

are  fantastic,  as  those  of  Goblins.   They 

make  two  or  three  times  the  circuit  of 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

the  Room,  without  seeming  to  see  Gull- 

That's  best,  that's  best. 

crammer.      They    tlien    resume    their 

Chant,  or  Recitative. 

BOTH. 

He  must  be  shaved,  and  trimm'd,  and  dress'd, 

owlspiegle. 

To  please  the  eyes  he  loves  the  best. 

Cockledemoy  1 

[They  arrange  shavingnthings  on  the  ta- 

My boy,  my  boy, 

ble,  and  sing  as  they  prepare  them. 

What  wilt  thou  do  that  will  give  thee  joy  ? 

Wilt  thou  ride  on  the  midnight  owl  ? 

BOTH. 

Know  that  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

buz, 

No ;  for  the  weather  is  stormy  and  fouL 

Of  the  make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit  to  us. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Owlspiegle  (sharpening  his  razor.) 

Cockledemoy ! 

The  sword  tins  is  made  of  was  lost  in  a  fray 

My  boy,  my  boy, 

By  a  fop,  who  first  bullied  and  then  ran  away ; 

What  wilt  thou  do  that  can  give  thee  joy  ? 

And  the  strap,  from  the  hide  of  a  lame  racer, 

With  a  needle  for  a  sword,  and  a  thimble  for  a  hat, 

sold 

Wilt  thou  fight  a  traverse  with  the  castle  cat  ? 

By  Lord  Match,  to  his  friend,  for  some  hundreds 

in  gold. 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Oh,  no !  she  has  claws,  and  I  like  not  that. 

BOTH. 

For  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buz, 

Gul.  I  see  the  devil  is  a  doting  father, 

Of  the  make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit  to  us. 

And  spoils  his  children — 'tis  the  surest  way 

To  make  cursed  imps  of  them.    They  see  me  not — 

Cockledemoy  (placing  the  napkin) 

What  will  they  think  on  next  ?    It  must  be  own'd, 

And  this  cambric  napkin,  sj  white  and  so  fair, 

They  have  a  dainty  choice  of  occupations. 

At  an  usurer's  funeral  I  stole  from  the  heir 

[Drops  something  from  a  vial,  as  going 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

to  make  suds. 

Cockledemoy  1 

This  dew-drop  I  caught  from  one  eye  of  his  mother , 

My  boy,  my  boy, 

Which  wept   while   she   ogled   the  parson  with 

What  shall  we  do  that  can  give  thee  joy  ? 

t'other. 

Shall  we  go  seek  for  a  cuckoo's  nest  ? 

BOTH. 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

For  ail  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buz, 

That's  best,  that's  best  I 
|                       08 

Of  the  make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit  to  us, 

?78                                      SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

owlspiegle  {arranging  the  lather  and  the  basin.) 

cockledemoy  (sings  as  before.) 

My  soap-ball  is  of  the  mild  alkali  made, 

Hair-breadth  'scapes,  and  hair-breadth  snares, 

Which  the  soft  dedicator  employs  in  his  trade ; 

Hair-brain'd  follies,  ventures,  cares, 

And  it  froths  with  the  pith  of  a  promise,  that's 

Part  when  lather  clips  your  hairs. 

sworn 

If  there  is  a  hero  frantic, 

By  a  lover  at  night,  and  forgot  on  the  morn. 

Or  a  lover  too  romantic ; — 

If  threescore  seeks  second  spouse, 

BOTH. 

Or  fourteen  lists  lover's  vows, 

For  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buz, 

Bring  them  here— for  a  Scotch  boddle, 

Of  the  make-believe  world,' becomes  forfeit  to  us. 

Owlspiegle  shall  trim  their  noddle. 

Halloo,  halloo, 

[Tliey  take  the  napkin  from  about  Gul- 

The  blackcock  crew, 

lcrammer's  neck.     He  makes  bows  of 

Thrice  shriek'd  hath  the  owl,  thrice  croak'd  hath 

acknowledgment,  which  they  return  fan- 

the raven, 

tastically,  and  sing — 

Here,  ho !  Master  Gullcrammer,  rise  and  be  shaven ! 

Thrice  crow'd  hath  the  blackcock,  thrice  croak'd 

hath  the  raven, 

Da  capo. 

And  Master  Melchisedek  Gullcrammer's  shaven ! 

Gul.  My  friends,  you  are  too  musical  for  me ; 

Gul.  (who  has  been  observing  them.)   I'll  pluck  a 

But  though  I  cannot  cope  with  you  in  song, 

spirit  up  ;  they're  merry  goblins, 

I  would,  in  humble  prose,  inquire  of  you, 

And  will  deal  mildly ;  I  will  soothe  their  humor ; 

If  that  you  will  permit  me  to  acquit 

Besides,  my  beard  lacks  trimming. 

Even  with  the  barber's  pence  the  barber's  ser- 

[He rises  from  his  bed,  and  advances  with 

vice  ? 

great  symptoms  of  trepidation,  but  af- 

[They shake  their  heads. 

fecting  an  air  of  composure.    The  Gob- 

Or  if    there   is   aught    else   that   I   can   do   for 

lins  receive  him  with  fantastic  ceremony. 

you, 

Gentlemen,  'tis  )§our  will  I  should  be  trimm'd — 

Sweet  Master  Owlspiegle,  or  your  loving  child, 

E'en  do  your  pleasure. 

The  hopeful  Cockle'moy  ? 

(They  point  to  a  seat — he  sits.) 

Think,  howsoe'er, 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Of  me  as  one  who  hates  to  see  his  blood  •, 

Sir,  you  have  been  trimm'd  of  late, 

Therefore  I  do  beseech  you,  signior, 

Smooth's  your  chin,  and  bald  your  pate ; 

Be  gentle  in  your  craft.     I  know  those  barbers, 

Lest  cold  rheums  should  work  you  harm, 

One  would  have  harrows  driven  across  his  visnomy, 

Here's  a  cap  to  keep  you  warm. 

Rather  than  they  should  touch  it  with  a  razor. 

Gul.  Welcome,  as  Fortunatus'  wishing  cap, 

Owlspiegle  shaves  Gullcrammer,  while  Cocklede- 

For't  was  a  cap  that  I  was  wishing  for. 

moy  sings. 

(There  I  was  quaint  in  spite  of  mortal  terror.) 

Father  never  started  hair, 

[As  he  puts  on  the  cap,  a  pair  of  ass's  ears 

Shaved  too  close,  or  left  too  bare — 

disengage  themselves. 

Father's  razor  slips  as  glib 

Upon  my  faith,  it  is  a  dainty  head-dress, 

As  from  courtly  tongue  a  fib. 

And  might  become  an  alderman ! — Thanks,  sweet 

Whiskers,  mustache,  he  can  trim  in 

Monsieur, 

Fashion  meet  to  please  the  women  ; 

Thou'rt  a  considerate  youth. 

Sharp's  his  blade,  perfumed  his  lather  1 

[Both  Goblins  bow  with  atremvny  to  Gull- 

Happy those  are  trimm'd  by  father  ! 

crammer,  who  returns  their  salutation 

Owlspiegle  descends  by  the  trap -door 

Gul.  That's  a  good  boy.     I  love  to  hear  a  child 

Cockledemoy  springs  out  at  a  window 

Stand  for  his  father,  if  he  were  the  devil. 

[He  motions  to  rise. 

song  (without.) 

Craving  your  pardon,  sir. — What !  sit  again  ? 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

My  hair  lacks  not  your  scissors. 

Cockledemoy,  my  hope,  my  care, 

[Owlspiegle  insists  on  his  sitting. 

Where  art  thou  now,  0  tell  me  where  ? 

Nay,  if  you're  peremptory,  I'll  ne'er  dispute  it, 

Nor  eat  the  cow  and  choke  upon  the  tail — 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

E'en  trim  me  to  your  fashion. 

Up  in  the  sky, 

[Owlspiegle  cuts  his  hair,  and  shaves  his 

On  the  bonny  dragonfly, 

head,  ridiculously. 

Come,  father,  come  you  too-— 

THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


779 


She  has  four  wings  and  strength  enow, 
And  her  long  body  has  room  for  two. 

Gul.  Cockledemoy  now  is  a  naughty  brat- 
Would  have  the  poor  old  stiif-rump'd  devil,  his 

father, 
Peril  his  fiendish  neck.    All  boys  are  thoughtless. 

SONG. 
OWLSPIEGLE. 

Which  way  didst  thou  take  ? 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

I  have  fall'n  in  the  lake — 

Help,  father,  for  Beelzebub's  sake. 

Gul.  The  imp  is  drown'd— a  strange  death  for 
a  devil, — 
0,  may  all  boys  take  warning,  and  be  civil ; 
Respect  their  loving  sires,  endure  a  eluding, 
Nor  roam  by  night  on  dragonflies  a-ridiug ! 

cockledemoy  (sings.) 
Now  merrily,  merrily,  row  I  to  shore, 
My  bark  is  a  bean-shell,  a  straw  for  an  oar. 

owlspiegle  (sings.) 
My  life,  my  joy, 
My  Cockledemoy ! 

Gul.  I  can  bear  this  no  longer — thus  children 
are  spoil' d. 

[Strikes  into  the  tune. 
Master  Owlspiegle,  hoy ! 

He  deserves  to  be  whipp'd  little  Cockledemoy  1 

[Their  voices  are  heard,  as  if  dying  away. 

Gul.  They're  gone  ! — Now,  am  I  scared,  or  am 

I  not? 

I  think  the  very  desperate  ecstasy 

Of  fear  has  given  me  courage.1     This  is  strange, 

now, 
When  they  were  here,  I  was  not  half  so  frighten'd 
As  now  they're  gone — they  were  a  sort  of  com- 
pany. 
What  a  strange  thurj  is  use  ! — A  horn,  a  claw, 
The  tip  of  a  fieui's  tail,  was  wont  to  scare  me. 
Now  am  I  with  the  devil  hand  and  glove ; 
His  soap  has  lather'd,  and  his  razor  shaved  me ; 
I've  joined  him  in  a  catch,  kept  time  and  tune, 
Could  dine  with  him,  nor  ask  for  a  long  spoon ; 
And  if  I  keep  not  better  company, 
What  will  become  of  me  when  I  shall  die  ? 

[Exit. 

*  "Cowards,  upon  necessity,  assume 

A  fearful  bravery  ;  thinking  by  this  face 

To  fasten  in  men's  minds  that  they  have  courage." 

Shakspeare. 


SCENE  III. 

A  Gothic  Hall,  waste  and  ruinous.  The  moonlight 
is  at  times  seen  through  the  shafted  windows} 
Enter  Katleen  and  Blackthorn — They  have 
thrown  off  the  more  ludicrous  parts  of  their 
,ise. 


Kat.  This  way — this  way ;    was  ever  fool  so 

gull'd ! 
Bla.  I  play'd  the  barber  better  than  I  thought 
for. 
Well,  I've  an  occupation  in  reserve, 
When  the  long-bow  and  merry  musket  fail  me. — 
But,  hark  ye,  pretty  Katleen. 

Kat.  What  should  I  hearken  to  J 

Bla.  Art  thou  not  afraid, 
In  these  wild  halls  while  playing  teigned  goblins. 
That  we  may  meet  with  real  ones  ? 

Kat.  Not  a  jot. 

My  spirit  is  too  light,  my  heart  too  bold, 
To  fear  a  visit  from  the  other  world. 

Bla.  But  is  not  this  the  place,  the  very  hall 
In  which  men  say  that  Oswald's  grandfather, 
The  black  Lord  Erick,  walks  lus  penance  round  ? 
Credit    me,   Katleen,   these    half-moulder'd    col- 
umns 
Have  in  their  ruin  something  very  fiendish, 
And,  if  you'll  take  an  honest  friend's  advice, 
The  sooner  that  you  change  their  shatter'd  splen 

dor 
For  the  snug  cottage  that  I  told  you  of, 
Believe  me,  it  will  prove  the  blither  dwelling. 
Kat.  If  I  e'er  see  that  cottage,  honest  Black- 
thorn, 
Believe  me,  it  shall  be  from  other  motive 
Than  fear  of  Erick's  spectre. 

[A  rustling  sound  is  heard. 
Bla.  I  heard  a  rustling  sound — 

Upon  my  life,  there's  something  in  the  hall, 
Katleen,  besides  us  two ! 

Kat.  A  yeoman  thou, 

A  forester,  and  frighten'd  1     I  am  sorry 
I  gave  the  fool's-cap  to  poor  Gullcrammer, 
And  let  thy  head  go  bare. 

[The  same  rushing  sound  is  repeated. 
Bla.  Why,  are  you  mad,  or  hear  you  not  the 

sound  ? 
Kat.  And  if  I  do,  I  take  small  heed  of  it. 
Will  you  allow  a  maiden  to  be  bolder 
Than    you,   with  beard  on  chin  and   sword   at 
girdle  ? 
Bla.  Nay,  if  I  had  my  sword,  I  would  not 
care ; 

a  I  have  a  notion  that  this  can  be  managed  so  as  to  repre- 
sent imperfect,  or  flitting  moonlight,  upon  the  plan  of  th« 
Eidophusikon. 


780 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Though  I  ne'er  heard  of  master  of  defence, 

So  active  at  his  weapon  as  to  brave 

The  devil,  or  a  ghost — See  !  see  !  see  yonder  I 

[A  Figure  is  imperfectly  seen  between  two  of 
the  pillars. 
Kat.  There's  something  moves,  that's  certain, 
and  the  moonlight, 
CI  ased  by  the  flitting  gale,  is  too  imperfect 
To  show  its  form ;  but,  in  the  name  of  God, 
111  venture  on  it  boldly. 

B  i.a.  Wilt  thou  so  ? 

"Were  I  alone,  now,  I  were  strongly  tempted 
To  trust  my  heels  for  safety  ;  but  with  thee, 
Be  it  fivnd  or  fairy,  I'll  take  risk  to  meet  it. 
Kat   It  stands  full  in  our  path,  and  we  must 
pass  it, 
Or  tarry  here  all  night. 

Bla.  In  its  vile  company  ? 

[As  they  advance  towards  the  Figure,  it  is 
more  plainly  distinguished,  which  might,  I 
think,  be  contrived  by  raising  successive 
screens  of  crape.     The  Figure  is  wrapped 
in  a  long  robe,  like  the  mantle  of  a  Her- 
mit, or  Palmer. 
Pal.  Ho  1  ye  who  thread  by  night  these  wilder- 
ing  scenes, 
In  garb  of  those  who  long  have  slept  in  death, 
Fear  ye  the  company  of  those  you  imitate  ? 
Bla.  This  is  the  devil,  Katleen,  let  us  fly  1 

[Runs  off. 
Kat.  I  will  not  fly — why  should  I  ?     My  nerves 
shake 
To  look  on  this  strange  vision,  but  my  heart 
Partakes   not  the  alarm. — If  thou  dost  come   in 

Heaven's  name, 
In  Heaven's  name  art  thou  welcome ! 

Pal.  I  come,  by  Heaven  permitted.     Quit  this 
castle  : 
There  is  a  fate  on't — if  for  good  or  evil, 
Brief  space  shall  soon  determine.     In  that  fate, 
If  good,  by  lineage  thou  canst  nothing  claim ; 
If  evil,   much  mayst   suffer. — Leave   these   pre- 
cincts. 
Kat.  Whate'er  thou  art,  be  answer' d — Know, 
I  will  not 
DesPT  t  the  kinswoman  who  train'd  my  youth ; 
Know,  that  I  will  not  quit  my  friend,  my  Flora ; 
Know,  that  I  will  not  leave  the  aged  man 
Whose   roof  has  shelter'd  me.     This  is   my  re- 
solve— 
If  evil  come,  I  aid  my  friends  to  bear  it ; 
If  good,  my  part  shall  be  to  see  them  prosper, 
A  portion  in  their  happiness  from  which 
No  fiend  can  bar  me. 

Pal.  Maid,  before  thy  courage, 

Firm  built  on  innocence,  even  beings  of  nature 
More  powerful  far  than  thine,  give  place   and 
way; 


Take  then  this  key,  and  wait  the  event  with  cour 
age. 
[He  drops  the  key. — He  disappears  gradu- 
ally— tJie  moonlight  failing  at  the  same 
time. 
Kat.  (after  a  pause.)  Whate'er  it  was,  'tis  gone 
My  head  turns  round — 
The  blood  that  lately  fortified  my  heart 
Now  eddies  in  full  torrent  to  my  brain, 
And  makes  wild  work  with  reason.     L  will  haste, 
If  that  my  steps  can  bear  me  so  far  safe, 
To  living  company.     What  if  I  meet  it 
Again  in  the  long  aisle,  or  vaulted  passage  ? 
And  if  I  do,  the  strong  support  that  bore  me 
Through  this  appalling  interview,  again 
Shall  strengthen  and  uphold  me. 

[As  she  steps  forward  she  stumbles  avef 
the  key. 
What's  this  ?     The  key  ? — there  may  be  mystery 

in't. 
I'll  to  my  kinswoman,  when  this  dizzy  fit 
Will  give  me  leave  to  choose  my  way  aright. 

[She  sits  down  exhausted. 

Re-enter  Blackthorn,  with  a  drawn  sword  and  torch. 
Bla.  Katleen !  What,  Katleen ! — What  a  wretch 
was  I 

To  leave  her ! — Katleen, — I  am  weapon'd  now, 

And  fear  nor  dog  nor  devil.     She  replies  not ! 

Beast  that  I  was — nay,  worse  than  beast ;   the 
stag, 

As  timorous  as  he  is,  fights  for  his  hind. 

What's  to  be  done  ? — I'll  search  this  cursed  castle 

From  dungeon  to  the  battlements ;   if  I  find  her 
not, 

I'll  fling  me  from  the  highest  pinnacle 

Katleen  (who  has  somewhat  gathered  her  spirits, 
in  consequence  of  his  entrance,  comes  behind 
and  touches  him  ;  he  starts.)       Brave  sir  ! 

I'll  spare  you  that  rash  leap — You're  a  bold  woods- 
man! 

Surely  I  hope  that  from  this  night  henceforward 

You'll   never  kill   a  hare,  since   you're  akin    to 
them ; 

0  I  could  laugh — but  that  my  head's  so  dizzy. 
Bla.    Lean   on   me,  Katleen — By  my   honest 

word, 

1  thought  you  close  behind — I  was  surprised, 
Not  a  jot  frighten' d. 

Kat.  Thou  art  a  fool  to  ask  me  totthy  cottage, 
And  then  to  show  me  at  what  slight  expense 
Of  manhood  I  might  master  thee  and  it. 

Bla.  I'll  take  the  risk  of  that — This  goblin  busi- 
ness 
Came  rather  unexpected ;  the  best  horse 
Will  start  at  sudden  sights.     Try  me  again, 
And  if  I  prove  not  true  to  bonny  Katleen, 
Hang  me  in  mine  own  bowstring.  [Exeunt 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


78, 


SCENE  IV. 

The  Scene  returns  to  the  Apartment  at  the  beginning 
of  Act  Second.  Oswald  and  Durward  are  dis- 
covered with  Eleanor,  Flora,  and  Leonard — 
Durward  shuts  a  Prayer-book,  which  he  seems 
to  have  been  reading. 

Dur.   Tis  true  —  the   difference  betwixt    the 
churches, 
Which  zealots  lore  to  dwell  on,  to  the  wise 
Of  either  flock  are  of  far  less  importance 
Than  those  great  truths  to  which  all  Christiai  men 
Subscribe  with  equal  reverence. 

Osw.  We  thank  thee,  father,  for  the  holy  office, 
Still  best  performed  when  the  pastor's  tongue 
Is  echo  to  his  breast ;  of  jarring  creeds 
It  ill  beseems  a  layman's  tongue  to  speak. — 
Where  have  you  stow'd  yon  prater  ?      [To  Flora. 

Flo.  Safe  in  the  goblin-chamber. 

Ele.  The  goblin-chamber ! 

Maiden,  wert  thou  frantic  ? — if  his  Reverence 
Have  suffered  harm  by  waspish  Owlspiegle, 
Be  sure  thou  shalt  abye  it. 

Flo.  Here  he  comes, 

Can  answer  for  himself! 

Enter  Gullc  rammer,  in  the  fashion  in  which  Owls- 
piegle had  put  him  :  having  the  fooVs-cap  on  his 
head,  and  towel  about  his  neck,  dec.  His  manner 
through  the  scene  is  wild  and  extravagant,  as  if 
the  fright  had  a  little  affected  his  brain. 

Dur.  A  goodly  spectacle ! — Is  there  such  a  goblin, 
(To  Osw.)  Or  has  sheer  terror  made  him  such  a 
figure  ? 

Osw.  There  is  a  sort  of  wavering  tradition 
Of  a  malicious  imp  who  teazed  all  strangers ; 
My  father  wont  to  call  him  Owlspiegle. 

Gul.  "Who  talks  of  Owlspiegle  ? 
He  is  an  honest  fellow  for  a  devil, 
So  is  his  son,  the  hopeful  Cockle'moy. 

(Sings.) 
■  My  hope,  my  joy, 
My  Cockle  demoy  1" 

Leo.  The  fool's  bewiteh'd — the  goblin  hath  fur- 
nish'd  him 
A  cap  which  well  befits  his  reverend  wisdom. 

Flo.  If  I  could  think  he  had  lost  liis  slender  wits, 
I  should  be  sorry  for  the  trick  they  play'd  him. 

Leo.  0  fear  him  not ;  it  were  a  foul  reflection 
On  any  fiend  of  sense  and  reputation, 
To  filch  such  petty  wares  as  Ins  poor  brains. 

Dur.  What  saw'at  thou,  sir?      What   heard'st 
thou? 

Gul.  What  was't  I  saw  and  heard  ? 
That  which  old  graybeards, 


Who  conjure  Hebrew  into  Anglo-Saxon, 

To  cheat  starved  barons  with,  can  little  guess  at. 

Flo.  If  he  begin  so  roundly  with  my  father, 
His  madness  is  not  like  to  save  his  bones. 

Gul.  Sirs,  midnight  came,  and  with  it  came  the 
goblin. 
I  had  reposed  me  after  some  brief  study ; 
But  as  the  soldier,  sleeping  in  the  trench, 
Keeps  sword  and  musket  by  him,  so  I  had 
My  little  Hebrew  manual  prompt  for  service. 

Flo.  Sausagian  sous' d face ;  that  much  of  you- 
Hebrew 
Even  I  can  bear  in  memory. 

Gul.  We  counter'd, 

The  goblin  and  myself,  even  in  mid-chamber, 
And  each  stepp'd  back  a  pace,  as  'twere  to  study 
The  foe  he  had  to  deal  with ! — I  bethought  me, 
Ghosts  ne'er  have  the  first  word,  and  so  I  took  it, 
And  fired  a  volley  of  round  Greek  at  him. 
He  stood  his  ground,  and  answer'd  in  the  Syriac ; 
I  flank'd  my  Greek  with  Hebrew,  and  compell'd 

him 

[A  noise  heard 

Osw.  Peace,  idle  prater ! — Hark — what  sounds 
are  these  ? 
Amid  the  growling  of  the  storm  without, 
I  hear  strange  notes  of  music,  and  the  clash 
Of  coursers'  trampling  feet. 

Voices  (without) 
We  come,  dark  riders  of  the  night, 
And  flit  before  the  dawning  light ; 
Hill  and  valley,  far  aloof, 
Shake  to  hear  our  chargers'  hoof; 
But  not  a  foot-stamp  on  the  green 
At  morn  shall  show  where  we  have  been. 

Osw.  These  must  be  revellers  belated — 
Let  them  pass  on ;  the  ruin'd  halls  of  Devongoil 
Open  to  no  such  guests. — 

[Flourish  of  trumpets  at  a  distance,  then  nearer 
They  sound  a  summons ; 
What  can  they  lack  at  this  dead  hour  of  night  ? 
Look  out,  and  see  their  number,  and  their  bearing 

Leo.  {goes  up  to  the  window.)  'Tis  strange — one 
single  shadowy  form  alone 
Is  hovering  on  the  drawbridge — far  apart 
Flit  through  the  tempest  banners,  horse,  and  i  Eders, 
In  darkness  lost,  or  dimly  seen  by  lightning. — 
Hither  the  figure  moves — the  bolts  revolve — 
The  gate  uncloses  to  him. 

Ele.  Heaven  protect  us ! 

The  Palmer  enters — Gullcrammer  runs  off. 

Osw.  Whence  and  what  art  thou  ?  for  what  ena 

come  hither  ? 
Pal.  I  come  from  a  far  land,  where  the  storni 

howls  not, 


82 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  the  sun  sets  not,  to  pronounce  to  thee, 
Oswald  of  Devorgoil,  thy  house's  fate. 

Dur.  I  charge  thee,  in  the  name  we  late  have 

kneel'd  to 

Pal.  Abbot  of  Lanercost,  I  bid  thee  peace  ! 
Uninterrupted  let  me  do  mine  errand : 
fiaron  of  Devorgoil,  son  of  the  bold,  the  proud, 
The  warlike  and  the  mighty,  wherefore  wear'st 

thou 
The  nabit  of  a  peasant  ?     Tell  me,  wherefore 
Are  thy  fair  halls  thus  waste — thy  chambers  bare — 
Where  are  the  tapestries,  where  the  conquer'd 

banners, 
Trophies,  and  gilded  arms,  that  deck'd  the  walls 
Of  once  proud  Devorgoil  ? 

[He  advances,  and  places  himself  where  the 
Armor  hung,  so  as  to  be  nearly  in  the 
centre  of  the  Scene. 
Dur.  Whoe'er  thou  art — if  thou  dost  laiow  so 
much, 

Needs  must  thou  know 

Osw.  Peace !    I  will  answer  here ;   to  me  he 
spoke. — 
Mysterious  stranger,  briefly  I  reply : 
A  peasant's  dress  befits  a  peasant's  fortune ; 
And  'twere  vain  mockery  to  array  these  walls 
In  trophies,  of  whose  memory  naught  remains, 
Save  that  the  cruelty  outvied  the  valor 
Of  those  who  wore  them. 

Pal.  Degenerate  as  thou  art, 

Knowst  thou  to  whom  thou  say'st  this  ? 

[He  drops  his  mantle,  and  is  discovered 

armed  as  nearly  as  may  be  to  the  stiit 

which  hung  on  the  icall ;  all  express 

terror. 

Osw.  It  is  himself — the  spirit  of  mine  ancestor  ! 

Eri.  Tremble  not,  son,  but  hear  me  ! 

[He  strikes  the  wall;  it  opens,  and  dis- 
covers the  Treasure- Chamber. 

There  lies  piled 
The  wealth  I  brought  from  wasted  Cumberland, 
Enough  to  reinstate  thy  ruin'd  fortunes. — 
Cast  from  thine  high-born  brows  that  peasant  bon- 
net, 
Throw  from  thy  noble  grasp  the  peasant's  staff, 
O'er  all,  withdraw  thine  hand  from  that  mean  mate, 
Whom  in  an  hour  of  reckless  desperation 
Thy  fortunes  cast  thee  on.     This  do, 
And  be  as  great  as  ere  was  Devorgoil, 
When  Devorgoil  was  richest  l1 

Dur.  Lord  Oswald,  thou  art  tempted  by  a  fiend, 
Who  doth  assail  thee  on  thy  weakest  side, — 
Thy  pride  of  lineage,  and  thy  love  of  grandeur. 
Stand  fast — resist — contemn  his  fatal  offers  I 
Elk  Urge  him  not,  father  ;  if  the  sacrifice 


» MS.- 


And  be  as  rich  as  ere  was  Devorgoil, 
When  Devorgoil  was  proudest." 


Of  such  a  wasted,  woe-worn  wretch  as  I  am, 
Can  save  him  from  the  abyss  of  misery, 
Upon  whose  verge  he's  tottering,  let  me  wander 
An  unacknowledged  outcast  from  his  castle, 
Even  to  the  humble  cottage  I  was  born  in. 

Osw.  No,  Ellen,  no — it  is  not  thus  they  part, 
Whose  hearts  and  souls,  disasters  borne  in  common 
Have  knit  together,  close  as  summer  saplings 
Are  twined  in  union  by  the  eddying  tempest. — 
Spirit  of  Erick,  while  thou  bear'st  his  shape, 
I'll  answer  with  no  ruder  conjuration 
Thy  impious  counsel,  other  than  with  these  words, 
Depart,  and  tempt  me  not ! 

Eri.  Then  fate  will  have  her  course. — Fall,  mas- 
sive grate,  [sures, 
Yield  them  the  tempting  view  of  these  rich  trea- 
But  bar  them  from  possession  ! 

[A  portcxdlis  falls  before  the  door  of  the 
Treasure-  Chamber. 

Mortals,  hear ! 
No  hand  may  ope  that  grate,  except  the  Heir 
Of  plunder'd  Aglionby,  whose  mighty  wealth, 
Ravish' d  in  evil  hour,  lies  yonder  piled  ; 
And  not  his  hand  prevails  without  the  key 
Of  Black  Lord  Erick ;  brief  space  is  given 
To  save  proud  Devorgoil. — So  wills  high  Heaven. 
[T J i  under  ;  he  disappears. 

Dur.  Gaze  not  so  wildly ;  you  have  stood  the 
trial 
That  his  commission  bore,  and  Heaven  designs, 
If  I  may  spell  his  will,  to  rescue  Devorgoil 
Even  by  the  Heir  of  Aglionby — Behold  him 
In  that  young  forester,  unto  whose  hand 
Those  bars  shall  yield  the  treasures  of  his  house, 
Destined  to  ransom  yours. — Advance,  young  Leon- 
ard, 
And  prove  the  adventure. 

Leo.  (advances  and  attempts  the  grate.)  It  is  fast 
As  is  the  tower,  rock-seated. 

Osw.  We  will  fetch  other  means,  and  prove  its 
strength, 
Nor  starve  in  poverty  with  wealth  before  us. 

Dur.  Think  what  the  vision  spoke ; 
The  key — the  fated  key 

Enter  Gullcrammer. 
Gul.  A  key  ? — I  say  a  quay  is  what  we  want, 
Thus  by  the  learn'd  orthographized — Q,  u,  a,  y. 
The  lake  is  overflow'd  ! — a  quay,  a  boat, 
Oars,  punt,  or  sculler,  is  all  one  to  me ! — 
We  shall  be  drown'd,  good  people  ! ! ! 

Enter  Katleen  and  Blackthorn. 
Kat.  Deliver  us 

Haste,  save  yourselves — the  lake  is  rising  fa*i.8 

2  If  it  could  be  managed  to  render  the  rising  of  the  la*  t>  fbt 
ible,  it  would  answer  well  for  a  coup-de-thedtre. 


THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL. 


783 


Bla.  'T  has  risen  my  bow's  height  in  the  last  five 
minutes, 
And  still  is  swelling  strangely. 

Gul.  (who  has  stood  astonished  upon  seeing  them) 
We  shall  be  droWd  without  your  kind  assistance. 
Sweet  Master  Owlspiegle,  your  dragonfly — 
Your  straw,  your  bean-stalk,  gentle  Cockle'moy  1 
Lao.  (looking  from  the  shot-hole.)  Tis  true,  by 
all  that's  fearful !     The  proud  lake 
Peers,  like  ambitious  tyrant,  o'er  Ins  bounds, 
And  soon  will  whelm  the  castle — even  the  draw- 
bridge 
Is  under  water  now. 
Kat.  Let  us  escape !     Why  stand  you  gazing 

there  ? 
Dim.  Upon  the  opening  of  that  fatal  grate 
Depends  the  fearful  spell  that  now  entraps  us, 
The  key  of  Black  Lord  Erick — ere  we  find  it, 
The  castle  will  be  whelm'd  beneath  the  waves, 
And  we  shall  perish  in  it ! 

Kat.  (giving  the  key.)  Here,  prove  this ; 
A  chance  most  strange  and  fearful  gave  it  me. 

[Oswald  puts  it  into  the  lock,  and  attempts 
to  turn  it — a  loud  clap  of  thunder. 
Flo.  The  lake  still  rises  faster. — Leonard,  Leon- 
ard, 
Canst  thou  not  save  us? 

[Leonard  tries  the  lock — it  opens  with  a 
violent  noise,  and  the  Portcullis  rises. 
A  loud  strain  of  wild  music. — There 
may  be  a  chorus  here. 
[Oswald  enters  the  apartment,  and  brings 
out  a  scroll. 
Leo.  The  lake  is  ebbing  with  as  wondrous  haste 
As  late  it  rose — the  drawbridge  is  left  dry  1 
Osw.  This  may  explain  the  cause. — 

J  MS. — "  The  storms  of  angry  Fate  are  past — 
Constancy  abides  their  blast. 
Of  Devorgoil  the  daughter  fair 


(Gullcrammer  offers  to  take  it.)  But  soft  yoti,  sir, 
We'll  not  disturb  your  learning  for  the  matter ; 
Yet,  since  you've  borne  a  part  in   this  strange 

drama, 
You  shall  not  go  ungu  3rdon'd.     Wise  or  learn' d, 
Modest  or  gentle,  Heaven  alone  can  make  thee, 
Being  so  much  otherwise  ;  but  from  this  abundance 
Thou  shalt  have  that  shall  gild  thine  ignorance, 
Exalt  thy  base  descent,  make  thy  presumption 
Seem  modest  confidence,  and  find  thee  hundreds 
Ready  to  swear  that  same  fool's-cap  of  thine 
Is  reverend  as  a  mitre. 

Gul.  Thanks,  mighty  baron,  now  no  more  a  bare 

one  ! — 
I  will  be  quaint  with  him,  for  all  his  quips.  [Aside. 

Osw.  Nor  shall  kind  Katleen  lack 
Her  portion  in  our  happiness. 

Kat.  Thanks,  my  good  lord,  but  Katleen's  fate 

is  fix'd — 
There  is  a  certain  valiant  forester, 
Too  much  afear'd  of  ghosts  to  sleep  anights 
In  his  lone  cottage,  without  one  to  guard  him. — 

Leo.  If  I  forget  my  comrade's  faithful  friendship, 
May  I  be  lost  to  fortune,  hope,  and  love  ! 

Dur.  Peace,  all !  and  hear  the  blessing  which 

this  scroll 
Speaks  unto  faith,  and  constancy,  and  virtue 

No  more  this  castle's  troubled  guest, 
Dark  Erick's  spirit  hath  found  rest. 
The  storms  of  angry  Fate  are  past— 
For  Constancy  defies  their  blast. 
Of  Devorgoil  the  daughter  free 
Shall  wed  the  Heir  of  Aglionby ; 
Nor  ever  more  dishonor  soil 
The  rescued  house  of  Devorgoil  I1 


Shall  wed  with  Dacre's  injured  heii 
The  silver  moon  of  Devorgoil  * 


784 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


2tiul)in5ratu; 


THE   AYRSHIRE   TRAGEDY. 


Cur  aliquid  vidi  ?   cur  noxia  lumina  feci 
Cur  imprudenti  cognita  culpa  mihi  eat  1 

Ovidii   Tristium,  Liber  Secundut. 


PREFACE. 

There  is  not,  perhaps,  upon  record,  a  tale  of 
horror  which  gives  us  a  more  perfect  picture  than 
is  afforded  by  the  present,  of  the  violence  of  our 
ancestors,  or  the  complicated  crimes  into  which 
they  were  hurried,  by  what  their  wise,  but  ill- 
enforced,  laws  termed  the  heathenish  and  accursed 
practice  of  Deadly  Feud.  The  author  has  tried 
to  extract  some  dramatic  scenes  out  of  it ;  but  he 
is  conscious  no  exertions  of  his  can  increase  the 
horror  of  that  which  is  in  itself  so  iniquitous.  Yet, 
if  we  look  at  modern  events,  we  must  not  too  has- 
tily venture  to  conclude  that  our  own  times  have 
so  much  the  superiority  over  former  clays  as  we 
might  at  first  be  tempted  to  infer.  One  great  ob- 
ject has  indeed  been  obtained.  The  power  of  the 
laws  extends  over  the  country  universally,  and  if 
criminals  at  present  sometimes  escape  punishment, 
this  can  only  be  by  eluding  justice, — not,  as  of  old, 
by  defying  it. 

But  the  motives  which  influence  modern  ruffians 
to  commit  actions  at  which  we  pause  with  wonder 
<ind  horror,  arise,  in  a  great  measure,  from  the 
thirst  of  gain.  For  the  hope  of  lucre,  we  have 
seen  a  wretch  seduced  to  his  fate,  under  the  pre- 
text that  he  was  to  share  in  amusement  and  con- 
viviality ;  and,  for  gold,  we  have  seen  the  meanest 
of  wretches  deprived  of  life,  and  their  miserable 
remains  cheated  of  the  grave. 

The  loftier,  if  equally  cruel,  feelings  of  pride, 
ambition,  and  love  of  vengeance,  were  the  idols  of 
our  forefathers,  while  the  caitiffs  of  our  day  bend 
to  Mammon,  the  meanest  of  the  spirits  who  fell.1 
The -criminals,  therefore,  of  former  times,  drew 
their  hellish  inspiration  from  a  loftier  source  than 
is  known  to  modern  villains.    The  fever  of  unsated 


Mammon  led  them  on : 

Mammon,  the  least  erected  spirit  that  fell 
From  Heaven    ' — Milton. 


ambition,  the  phrensy  of  ungratified  revenge,  the 
perfervidum  ingeniwn  Scotorum,  stigmatized  by 
our  jurists  and  our  legislators,  held  life  but  as 
passing  breath  ;  and  such  enormities  as  now  sound 
like  the  acts  of  a  madman,  were  then  the  familiar 
deeds  of  every  offended  noble.  With  these  ob- 
servations we  proceed  to  our  story. 

John  Muir,  or  Mure,  of  Auchindrane,  the  con- 
triver and  executor  of  the  following  cruelties,  was  a 
gentleman  of  an  ancient  family  and  good  estate  in 
the  west  of  Scotland ;  bold,  ambitious,  treacherous 
to  the  last  degree,  and  utterly  unconscientious, — a 
Richard  the  Third  in  private  life,  inaccessible  alike 
to  pity  and  to  remorse.  His  view  was  to  raise 
the  power,  and  extend  the  grandeur,  of  his  own 
family.  This  gentleman  had  married  the  daugh- 
ter of  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Barganie,  who  was, 
excepting  the  Earl  of  Cassilis,  the  most  important 
person  in  all  Carrick,  the  district  of  Ayrshire 
which  he  inhabited,  and  where  the  name  of  Ken- 
nedy held  so  great  a  sway  as  to  give  rise  to  the 
popular  rhyme, — 

"  'Twixt  Wigton  and  the  town  of  Air, 
Portpatrick  and  the  Cruives  of  Cree, 
No  man  need  think  for  to  hide  there, 
Unless  he  court  Saint  Kennedie." 

Now,  Mure  of  Auchindrane,  who  hau  cromised 
himself  high  advancement  by  means  of  his  father- 
in-law  Barganie,  saw,  with  envy  and  resentment, 
that  his  influence  remained  second  and  inferior  to 
the  House  of  Cassilis,  chief  of  all  the  Kennedys. 
The  Earl  was  indeed  a  minor,  but  his  authority 
was  maintained,  and  his  affairs  well  managed,  by 
his  uncle,  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Cullayne,  the 
brother  of  the  deceased  Earl,  and  tutor  and  guard- 
ian to  the  present.  This  worthy  gentleman  sup- 
ported his  nephew's  dignity  and  the  credit  of  the 
house  so  effectually,  that  Barganie's  consequence 
was  much  thrown  into  the  shade,  and  the  ambi- 
tious Aucliindrane,  his  son-in  law,  saw  no  better 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


785 


remedy  than  to  remove  so  formidable  a  rival  as 
Cullayne  by  violent  means. 

For  this  purpose,  in  the  year  of  God  1597,  he 
came  with  a  party  of  followers  to  the  town  of  May- 
bole  (where  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Cullayne  then 
resided),  and  lay  in  ambush  in  an  orchard,  through 
■which  he  knew  his  destined  victim  was  to  pass,  in 
returning  homewards  from  a  house  where  he  was 
engaged  to  sup.  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  came  alone, 
and  unattended,  when  he  was  suddenly  fired  upon 
by  Auchindrane  and  his  accomplices,  who,  having 
missed  their  aim,  drew  their  swords,  and  rushed 
upon  him  to  slay  him.  But  the  party  thus  as- 
sailed at  disadvantage,  had  the  good  fortune  to 
hide  himself  for  that  time  in  a  ruinous  house, 
where  he  lay  concealed  till  the  inhabitants  of  the 
place  came  to  his  assistance. 

Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  prosecuted  Mure  for  this 
assault,  who,  finding  himself  in  danger  from  the 
law,  made  a  sort  of  apology  and  agreement  with 
the  Lord  of  Cullayne,  to  whose  daughter  he  united 
his  eldest  son,  in  testimony  of  the  closest  friendship 
in  future.  This  agreement  was  sincere  on  the  part 
of  Kennedy,  who,  after  it  had  been  entered  into, 
showed  himself  Auchindrane's  friend  and  assistant 
on  all  occasions.  But  it  was  most  false  and  treach- 
erous on  that  of  Mure,  who  continued  to  nourish 
the  purpose  of  murdering  his  new  friend  and  ally 
on  the  first  opportunity. 

Auchindrane's  first  attempt  to  effect  this  was  by 
means  of  the  young  Gilbert  Kennedy  of  Barganie 
(for  old  Barganie,  Auchindrane's  father-in-law,  was 
dead),  whom  he  persuaded  to  brave  the  Earl  of 
Cassilis,  as  one  who  usurped  an  undue  influence 
over  the  rest  of  the  name.  Accordingly,  this  hot- 
headed youth,  at  the  instigation  of  Auchindrane, 
rode  past  the  gate  of  the  Earl  of  Cassilis,  without 
waiting  on  his  chief,  or  sending  him  any  message 
of  civility.  This  led  to  mutual  defiance,  being 
regarded  by  the  Earl,  according  to  the  ideas  of  the 
time,  as  a  personal  insult.  Both  parties  took  the 
field  with  their  followers,  at  the  head  of  about  250 
men  on  each  side.  The  action  which  ensued  was 
shorter  and  less  bloody  than  might  have  been 
expected.  Young  Barganie,  with  the  rashness  of 
headlong  courage,  and  Auchindrane,  fired  by  dead- 
ly enmity  to  the  House  of  Cassilis,  made  a  precipi- 
tate attack  on  the  Earl,  whose  men  were  strongly 
posted  and  under  cover.  They  were  received  by 
a  heavy  fire.  Barganie  was  slain.  Mure  of  Au- 
chindrane, severely  wounded  in  the  thigh,  became 
unable  to  sit  his  horse,  and,  the  leaders  thus  slain 
or  disabled,  their  party  drew  off  without  continu- 
ing the  action.  It  must  be  particularly  observed, 
that  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  remained  neuter  in  this 


*  "No  papprs  which  have  hitherto  been  discovered  appear 
•o  afibrd  so  striking  a  picture  of  the  savage  state  of  barbarism 
90 


quarrel,  considering  his  connection  with  Auchin- 
drane as  too  intimate  to  be  broken  even  by  his 
desire  to  assist  his  nephew. 

For  this  temperate  and  honorable  conduct  he 
met  a  vile  reward ;  for  Auchindrane,  in  resentment 
of  the  loss  of  his  relative  Barganie,  and  the  down- 
fall of  his  ambitious  hopes,  continued  his  practices 
against  the  life  of  Sir  Thomas  of  Cullayne,  though 
totally  innocent  of  contributing  to  either.  Chance 
favored  his  wicked  purpose. 

The  Knight  of  Cullayne,  finding  himself  obliged 
to  go  to  Edinburgh  on  a  particular  day,  sent  a 
message  by  a  servant  to  Mure,  in  which  he  told 
him,  in  the  most  unsuspecting  confidence,  the  pur- 
pose of  his  journey,  and  named  the  road  which  he 
proposed  to  take,  inviting  Mure  to  meet  him  at 
Duppill,  to  the  west  of  the  town  of  Ayr,  a  place 
appointed,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  him  any  com- 
missions which  he  might  have  for  Edinburgh,  and 
assuring  his  treacherous  ally  he  would  attend  to 
any  business  which  he  might  have  in  the  Scottish 
metropolis  as  anxiously  as  to  his  own.  Sir  Thomas 
Kennedy's  message  was  carried  to  the  town  of 
Maybole,  where  his  messenger,  for  some  trivial 
reason,  had  the  import  committed  to  writing  by 
a  schoolmaster  in  that  town,  and  dispatched  it  to 
its  destination  by  means  of  a  poor  student,  named 
Dalrymple,  instead  of  carrying  it  to  the  house  of 
Auchindrane  in  person. 

This  suggested  to  Mure  a  diabolical  plot.  Hav- 
ing thus  received  tidings  of  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy's 
motions,  he  conceived  the  infernal  purpose  of  hav- 
ing the  confiding  friend  who  sent  the  information, 
waylaid  and  murdered  at  the  place  appointed  to 
meet  with  him,  not  only  in  friendship,  but  for  the 
purpose  of  rendering  him  service.  He  dismissed 
the  messenger  Dalrymple,  cautioning  the  lad  to 
carry  back  the  letter  to  Maybole,  and  to  say  that 
he  had  not  found  him,  Auchindrane,  in  his  house. 
Having  taken  this  precaution,  he  proceeded  to 
instigate  the  brother  of  the  slain  Gilbert  of  Barga- 
nie, Thomas  Kennedy  of  Drumurghie  by  name,  and 
Walter  Mure  of  Cloncaird,  a  kinsman  of  his  own, 
to  take  this  opportunity  of  revenging  Barganie's 
death.  The  fiery  young  men  were  easily  induced 
to  undertake  the  crime.  They  waylaid  the  unsus- 
pecting Sir  Thomas  of  Cullayne  at  the  place  ap- 
pointed to  meet  the  traitor  Auchindrane,  and  the 
murderers  having  in  company  five  or  six  servants, 
well  mounted  and  armed,  assaulted  and  cruelly 
murdered  him  with  many  wounds.  They  then 
plundered  the  dead  corpse  of  his  purse,  containing 
a  thousand  merks  in  gold,  cut  off  the  gold  buttons 
which  he  wore  on  his  coat,  and  despoiled  the  body 
of  some  valuable  rings  and  jeweis.1 

into  which  that  country  must  have  sunk,  as  the  following 
Bond  by  the  Earl  of  Cassilis,  to  his  broihei  and  heir-apparent, 


786 


acorrs  poetical  works. 


The  revenge  due  for  his  uncle's  murder  was 
keenly  pursued  by  the  Earl  of  Cassilis.  As  the 
murderers  fled  from  trial,  they  were  declared 
outlaws ;  which  doom,  being  pronounced  by  three 
blasts  of  a  horn,  was  called  "  being  put  to  the  horn, 
and  declared  the  king's  rebel."  Mure  of  Auchin- 
drane  was  strongly  suspected  of  having  been  the 
instigator  of  the  crime.  But  he  conceived  there 
could  be  no  evidence  to  prove  his  guilt  if  he  could 
keep  the  boy  Dalrymple  out  of  the  way,  who  de- 
livered the  letter  which  made  him  acquainted  with 
Cullayne's  journey,  and  the  place  at  which  he 
meant  to  halt.  On  the  contrary,  he  saw,  that  if 
the  lad  could  be  produced  at  the  trial,  it  would 
afford  ground  of  fatal  presumption,  since  it  could 
then  be  proved  that  persons  so  nearly  connected 
with  him  as  Kennedy  and  Cloncaird  had  left  his 
house,  and  committed  the  murder  at  the  very  spot 
which  Cullayne  had  fixed  for  their  meeting. 

To  avoid  this  imminent  danger,  Mure  brought 
Dalrymple  to  his  house,  and  detained  him  there 
for  several  weeks.  But  the  youth  tiring  of  this 
confinement,  Mure  sent  him  to  reside  with  a  friend, 
Montgomery  of  Skellmorly,  who  maintained  him 
under  a  borrowed  name,  amid  the  desert  regions 
of  the  then  almost  savage  island  of  Arran.  Being 
confident  in  the  absence  of  this  material  witness, 
Auchindrane,  instead  of  flying,  like  his  agents 
Drumurghie  and  Cloncaird,  presented  himself 
boldly  at  the  bar,  demanded  a  fair  trial,  and 
offered  his  person  in  combat  to  the  death  against 
any  of  Lord  Cassilis's  friends  who  might  impugn 
his  innocence.  This  audacity  was  successful,  and 
he  was  dismissed  without  trial. 

Still,  however,  Mure  did  not  consider  himself 

Hew,  Master  of  Cassilis.  The  uncle  of  these  young  men,  Sir 
Thomas  Kennedy  of  Culzean,  tutor  of  Cassilis,  as  the  reader 
will  recollect,  was  murdered,  May  11th,  1602,  by  Auchin- 
drane's  accomplices. 

"  The  Master  of  Cassilis,  for  many  years  previous  to  tliat 
event,  was  in  open  hostility  to  his  brother.  During  all  that 
period,  however,  the  Master  maintained  habits  of  the  closest 
intimacy  with  Auchindrane  and  his  dissolute  associates,  and 
actually  joined  him  in  various  hostile  enterprises  against  his 
brother  the  Earl.  The  occurrence  of  the  Laird  of  Culzean's 
murder  was  embraced  by  their  mutual  friends,  as  a  fitting 
opportunity  to  effect  a  permanent  reconciliation  between  the 
brothers;  *  bot'  (as  'the  Historie  of  the  Kennedies,'  p.  59, 
quaintly  informs  us),  'the  cuntry  thocht  that  he  wald  not  be 
eirnest  in  that  cause,  for  the  anld  luiffbetuix  him  and  Auchin- 
diayne.'  The  unprincipled  Earl  (whose  sobriquet,  and  that 
tf  some  of  his  ancestors,  was  King  of  Carrick,  to  denote  the 
boundless  sway  which  he  exercised  over  his  own  vassals  and 
the  inhabitants  of  that  district),  relying  on  his  b -other's  neces- 
sities, held  out  the  infamous  bribe  contained  in  the  following 
bend,  to  induce  his  brother,  the  Master  of  Cassilis,  to  murder 
his  former  friend,  the  old  Laird  of  Auchindrane.  Though 
there  be  honor  among  thieves,  it  would  seem  that  there  is  none 
among  assassins  ;  for  the  younger  brother  insisted  upon  having 
the  price  of  blood  assured  to  him  by  a  written  document, 
lrawn  up  in  the  form  of  a  regular  bond  ! 
"  Judging  by  the  Earl's  former  and  subsequent  history,  he 


safe,  so  long  as  Dalrymple  was  within  the  realm 
of  Scotland  ;  and  the  danger  grew  more  pressing 
when  he  learned  that  the  lad  had  become  impa- 
tient of  the  restraint  which  he  sustained  in  the 
island  of  Arran,  and  returned  to  some  of  his  friends 
in  Ayrshire.  Mure  no  sooner  heard  of  this  than 
he  again  obtained  possession  of  the  boy's  po  son, 
and  a  second  time  concealed  him  at  Auchindrane, 
until  he  found  an  opportunity  to  transport  him  to 
the  Low  Countries,  where  he  contrived  to  have 
him  enlisted  in  Buccleuch's  regiment ;  trusting, 
doubtless,  that  some  one  of  the  numerous  chances 
of  war  might  destroy  the  poor  young  man  whose 
life  was  so  dangerous  to  him. 

But  after  five  or  six  years'  uncertain  safety, 
bought  at  the  expense  of  so  much  violence  and 
cunning,  Auchindrane's  fears  were  exasperated 
into  phrensy,  when  he  found  this  dangerous  wit- 
ness, having  escaped  from  all  the  perils  of  climate 
and  battle,  had  left,  or  been  discharged  from,  the 
Legion  of  Borderers,  and  had  again  accomplished 
his  return  to  Ayrshire.  There  is  ground  to  suspect 
that  Dalrymple  knew  the  nature  of  the  hold  which 
he  possessed  over  Auchindrane,  and  was  desirous 
of  extorting  from  his  fears  some  better  provision 
than  he  had  found  either  in  Arran  or  the  Nether 
lands.  But  if  so,  it  was  a  fatal  experiment  to  tam 
per  with  the  fears  of  such  a  man  as  Auchindrane, 
who  determined  to  rid  himself  effectually  of  this 
unhappy  young  man. 

Mure  now  lodged  him  in  a  house  of  his  own, 
called  Chapeldonan,  tenanted  by  a  vassal  and  con- 
nection of  his  called  James  Bannatyne.  This  man 
he  commissioned  to  meet  him  at  ten  o'clock  at 
night  on  the  sea-sands  near  Girvan,  and  bring  with 

probably  thought  that,  in  either  event,  his  purposes  would  be 
attained,  by  '  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone.'  On  the  other 
hand,  however,  it  is  but  doing  justice  to  the  Master's  acute- 
ness,  and  the  experience  acquired  under  his  quondam  precep- 
tor, Auchindrane,  that  we  should  likewise  conjecture  that,  on 
his  part,  he  would  hold  firm  possession  of  the  bond,  to  be  used 
as  a  checkmate  against  his  brother,  should  he  think  fit  after- 
wards to  turn  his  heel  upon  him,  or  attempt  to  betray  him  into 
the  hands  of  justice. 

"  The  following  is  a  correct  copy  of  the  bond  granted  by  the 
Earl : — '  We,  Johne,  Earle  of  Cassillis,  Lord  Kennedy,  etc., 
bindis  and  oblissis  ws,  that  howsovne  our  broder,  Hew  Ken- 
nedy of  Brounstoun,  with  his  complices,  taikis  the  Laird  of 
Auchindraneis  lyf,  that  we  sail  mak  guid  and  thankfull  pay- 
ment to  him  and  thame,  of  the  sowme  of  tuelff  hundreth 
merkis,  yeirlie,  togidderwith  corne  to  sex  horsis,  ay  and  quhilU 
we  ressaw2  thame  in  houshald  with  our  self :  Beginning  the 
first  payment  immediatlie  efter  thair  committing  of  the  said 
deid.  Attour,3  howsovne  we  ressaw  thame  in  houshald,  we 
sail  pay  to  the  twa  serwing  gentillmen  the  feis,  yeirlie,  as  oui 
awin  houshald  serwandis.  And  heirto  we  obliss  ws,  vpoun 
our  honour.  Subscryvit  with  our  hand,  at  May  bole,  the  feri 
day  of  September,  1602. 

'Johne  Erle  off  Cassillis.' 

Pit-cairn's  Criminal  Trials  of  Scotland,  vol.  iii.  p.  622. 


1  Aye  and  until. 


9  Receive. 


Moreover. 


aUCHiinDRAWE;  OK,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


75: 


Iiim  the  unfortunate  Dairy mple,  the  object  of  his 
fear  and  dread.  The  victim  seems  to  have  come 
with  Bannatyne  without  the  least  suspicion,  though 
such  might  have  been  raised  by  the  time  and  place 
appointed  for  the  meeting.  When  Bannatyne  and 
DaJrymple  came  to  the  appointed  spot,  Auchin- 
drane met  them,  accompanied  by  his  eldest  son, 
James.  Old  Auchindrane,  having  taken  Bannatyne 
aside,  imparted  his  bloody  purpose  of  ridding  him- 
self of  Dairy  mple  for  ever,  by  murdering  him  on 
the  spot.  His  own  life  and  honor  were,  he  said, 
endangered  by  the  manner  in  which  this  inconve- 
nient -witness  repeatedly  thrust  himself  back  into 
Ayrshire,  and  nothing  could  secure  his  safety  but 
taking  the  lad's  life,  in  winch  action  he  requested 
James  Bannatyne's  assistance.  Bannatyne  felt 
some  compunction,  and  remonstrated  against  the 
cruel  expedient,  saying,  it  would  be  better  to 
transport  Dalrymple  to  Ireland,  and  take  precau- 
tions against  his  return.  While  old  Auchindrane 
seemed  disposed  to  listen  to  this  proposal,  his  son 
concluded  that  the  time  was  come  for  accomplish- 
ing the  purpose  of  their  meeting,  and,  without 
waiting  the  termination  of  his  fathers  conference 
with  Bannatyne,  he  rushed  suddenly  on  Dalrym- 
ple,  beat  him  to  the  ground,  and,  kneeling  down 
on  him,  with  his  father's  assistance  accomplished 
the  crime,  by  strangling  the  unhappy  object  of 
their  fear  and  jealousy.  Bannatyne,  the  witness, 
and  partly  the  accomplice,  of  the  murder,  assisted 
them  in  their  attempt  to  make  a  hole  in  the  sands 
with  a  spade  which  they  had  brought  on  purpose, 
in  order  to  conceal  the  dead  body.  But  as  the 
tide  was  coming  in,  the  holes  which  they  made 
filled  with  water  before  they  could  get  the  body 
buried,  and  the  ground  seemed,  to  their  terrified 
consciences,  to  refuse  to  be  accessory  to  concealing 
their  crime.  Despairing  of  hiding  the  corpse  in 
the  manner  they  proposed,  the  murderers  carried 
it  out  into  the  sea  as  deep  as  they  dared  wade, 
and  there  abandoned  it  to  the  billows,  trusting 
that  a  wind,  which  was  blowing  off  the  shore, 
would  drive  these  remains  of  their  crime  out  to 
sea,  where  they  would  never  more  be  heard  of. 
But  the  sea,  as  well  as  the  land,  seemed  unwilling 
to  conceal  their  cruelty.  After  floating  for  some 
hours,  or  days,  the  dead  body  was,  by  the  wind 
and  tide,  again  driven  on  shore,  near  the  very  spot 
where  the  murder  had  been  committed. 

This  attracted  general  attention,  and  when  the 
corpse  was  known  to  be  that  of  the  same  William 
Dalrymple  whom  Auchindrane  had  so  often  spir- 
ited out  of  the  country,  or  concealed  when  he  was 
in  it,  a  strong  and  general  suspicion  arose,  that  this 
young  person  had  met  with  foul  play  from  the 
bold  bad  man  who  had  shown  himself  so  much  in- 
terested in  his  absence.  It  was  always  said  or 
supposed,  1hat  the  dead  body  had  bled  at  the  ap- 


proach of  a  grandchild  of  Mure  of  Auchindrane,  a 
gill  who,  from  curiosity,  had  come  to  look  at  a 
sight  which  others  crowded  to  see.  The  bleeding 
of  a  murdered  corpse  at  the  touch  of  the  murderer, 
was  a  thing  at  that  time  so  much  believed,  that  it 
was  admitted  as  a  proof  of  guilt ;  but  I  know  no 
case,  save  that  of  Auchindrane,  in  which  the  phe- 
nomenon was  supposed  to  be  extended  to  the  ap- 
proach of  the  innocent  kindred ;  nor  do  I  think  that 
the  fact  itself,  though  mentioned  by  ancient  law- 
yers, was  ever  admitted  to  proof  in  the  proceedings 
against  Auchindrane. 

It  is  certain,  however,  that  Auchindrane  found 
himself  so  much  the  object  of  suspicion  from  this 
new  crime,  that  he  resolved  to  fly  from  justice,  and 
suffer  himself  to  be  declared  a  rebel  and  outlaw 
rather  than  face  a  trial.  But  his  conduct  in  pre 
paring  to  cover  his  flight  with  another  motive  than 
the  real  one,  is  a  curious  picture  of  the  men  and 
manners  of  the  times.  He  knew  well  that  if  he 
were  to  shun  his  trial  for  the  murder  of  Dalryr^ple, 
the  whole  country  would  consider  him  01  a  man 
guilty  of  a  mean  and  disgraceful  crime  in  putting 
to  death  an  obscure  lad,  against  v  hom  he  had  no 
personal  quarrel.  He  knew,  besides,  that  his  pow- 
erful friends,  who  wo»'IJ  have  interceded  for  him 
had  his  offence  been  merely  burning  a  house,  or 
killing  a  neighbor,  would  not  plead  for  or  stand  by 
him  in  so  pi+:ral  a  concern  as  the  slaughter  of  this 
wretched  wanderer. 

Accordingly,  Mure  sought  to  provide  himself 
with  some  ostensible  cause  for  avoiding  law,  with 
which  the  feelings  of  his  kindred  and  friends  might 
sympathize  ;  and  none  occurred  to  him  so  natural 
as  an  assault  upon  some  friend  and  adherent  of 
the  Earl  of  Cassilis.  Should  he  kill  such  a  one,  it 
would  be  indeed  an  unlawful  action,  but  so  far 
from  being  infamous,  would  be  accounted  the  nat- 
ural consequence  of  the  avowed  quarrel  between 
the  families.  With  this  purpose,  Mure,  with  the 
assistance  of  a  relative,  of  whom  he  seems  always 
to  have  had  some  ready  to  execute  his  worst  pur- 
poses, beset  Hugh  Kennedy  of  Garriehorne,  a  fol- 
lower of  the  Earl's,  against  whom  they  had  especial 
ill-will,  fired  their  pistols  at  him,  and  used  other 
means  to  put  him  to  death.  But  Garriehorne,  a 
stout-hearted  man,  and  well  armed,  defended  lnm 
self  in  a  very  different  manner  from  the  unfortt. 
nate  Knight  of  Cullayne,  and  beat  off  the  assailants 
wounding  young  Auchindrane  in  the  right  hand, 
so  that  he  welhiigh  lost  the  use  of  it. 

But  though  Auchindrane's  purpose  did  not  en- 
tirely succeed,  he  availed  himself  of  it  to  circulate 
a  report,  that  if  he  could  obtain  a  pardon  for  firing 
upon  his  feudal  enemy  with  pistols,  weapons  do 
clared  unlawful  by  act  of  Parliament,  he  would 
willingly  stand  his  trial  for  the  death  of  Dalrymple, 
respecting  which  he  protested  his  total  innocence 


788 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  King,  however,  was  decidedly  of  opinion  that 
the  Mures,  both  father  and  son,  were  alike  guilty 
of  both  crimes,  and  used  intercession  with  the  Earl 
of  Abercorn,  as  a  person  of  power  in  those  western 
counties,  as  well  as  in  Ireland,  to  arrest  and  trans- 
mit them  prisoners  to  Edinburgh.  In  consequence 
of  the  Earl's  exertions,  old  Auchindrane  was  made 
pij son er,  and  lodged  in  the  tolbooth  of  Edinburgh. 

Young  Auchindrane  no  sooner  heard  that  his  fa- 
ther was  in  custody,  than  he  became  as  apprehen- 
sive of  Bannatyne,  the  accomplice  in  Dalrymple's 
murder,  telling  tales,  as  ever  his  father  had  been 
of  Dalrymple.  He,  therefore,  hastened  to  him, 
and  prevailed  on  him  to  pass  over  for  a  while  to 
the  neighboring  coast  of  Ireland,  finding  him  money 
and  means  to  accomplish  the  voyage,  and  engaging 
in  the  mean  time  to  take  care  of  his  affairs  in  Scot- 
land. Secure,  as  they  thought,  in  this  precaution, 
old  Auchindrane  persisted  in  his  innocence,  and  his 
son  found  security  to  stand  his  trial.  Both  ap- 
peared with  the  same  confidence  at  the  day  ap- 
pointed, and  braved  the  public  justice,  hoping  to 
be  put  to  a  formal  trial,  in  which  Auchindrane 
reckoned  upon  an  acquittal  for  want  of  the  evi- 
dence which  he  had  removed.  The  trial  was, 
however,  postponed,  and  Mure  the  elder  was  dis- 
missed, under  high  security  to  return  when  called 
for. 

But  King  James,  being  convinced  of  the  guilt  of 
the  accused,  ordered  young  Auchindrane,  instead 
of  being  sent  to  trial,  to  be  examined  under  the 
force  of  torture,  in  order  to  compel  him  to  tell 
whatever  he  knew  of  the  things  charged  against 
him.  He  was  accordingly  severely  tortured  ;  but 
the  result  only  served  to  show  that  such  examina- 
tions are  as  useless  as  they  are  cruel.  A  man  of 
weak  resolution,  or  of  a  nervous  habit,  would  prob- 
ably have  assented  to  any  confession,  however 
false,  rather  than  have  endured  the  extremity  of 
fear  and  pain  to  which  Mure  was  subjected.  But 
young  Auchindrane,  a  strong  and  determined  ruf- 
fian, endured  the  torture  with  the  utmost  firmness, 
and  by  the  constant  audacity  with  which,  in  spite 
of  the  intolerable  pain,  he  continued  to  assert  his 
innocence,  he  spread  so  favorable  an  opinion  of  his 
case,  that  the  detaining  him  in  prison,  instead  of 
bringing  him  to  open  trial,  was  censured  as  severe 
and  oppressive.  James,  however,  remained  firmly 
persuaded  of  his  guilt,  and  by  an  exertion  of  au- 
thority quite  inconsistent  with  our  present  laws, 
commanded  young  Auchindrane  to  be  still  de- 
tained in  close  custody  till  further  light  could  be 
thrown  on  these  dark  proceedings.  He  was  de- 
tained accordingly  by  the  King's  express  personal 
command,  and  against  the  opinion  even  of  his  privy 
counsellors.  This  exertion  of  authority  was  much 
murmured  against. 

In  the  moan  while,  old  Auchindrane,  being,  as 


we  have  seen,  at  liberty  on  pledges,  skulked  about 
in  the  west,  feeling  how  little  security  he  had 
gained  by  Dalrymple's  murder,  and  that  he  had 
placed  himself  by  that  crime  in  the  power  of  Ban- 
natyne, whose  evidence  concerning  the  death  of 
Dalrymple  could  not  be  less  fatal  than  what  Dal- 
rymple might  have  told  concerning  Auchindrane'? 
accession  to  the  conspiracy  against  Sir  Thomas 
Kennedy  of  Cullayne.  But  though  the  event  had 
shown  the  error  of  his  wicked  policy,  Auchindrane 
could  think  of  no  better  mode  in  this  case  than 
that  which  had  failed  in  relation  to  Dalrymple. 
When  any  man's  life  became  inconsistent  with  his 
own  safety,  no  idea  seems  to  have  occurred  to  this 
inveterate  ruffian,  save  to  murder  the  person  by 
whom  he  might  himself  be  in  any  way  endangered. 
He  therefore  attempted  the  life  of  James  Banna- 
tyne by  more  agents  than  one.  Nay,  he  had  nearly 
ripened  a  plan,  by  which  one  Pennycuke  was  to  be 
employed  to  slay  Bannatyne,  while,  after  the  deed 
was  done,  it  was  devised  that  Mure  of  Auchnull,  i 
connection  of  Bannatyne,  should  be  instigated  tc 
slay  Pennycuke ;  and  thus  close  up  this  train  of 
murders  by  one  which,  flowing  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  deadly  feud,  should  have  nothing  in  it  so 
particular  as  to  attract  much  attention. 

But  the  justice  of  Heaven  would  bear  this  com- 
plicated train  of  iniquity  no  longer.  Bannatyne, 
knowing  with  what  sort  of  men  he  had  to  deal, 
kept  on  his  guard,  and,  by  his  caution,  disconcerted 
more  than  one  attempt  to  take  his  life,  while  an- 
other miscarried  by  the  remorse  of  Pennycuke,  the 
agent  whom  Mure  employed.  At  length  Banna 
tyne,  tiring  of  this  state  of  insecurity,  and  in  de- 
spair of  escaping  such  repeated  plots,  and  also 
feeling  remorse  for  the  crime  to  which  he  had  been 
accessory,  resolved  rather  to  submit  himself  to  the 
severity  of  the  law,  than  remain  the  object  of  the 
principal  criminal's  practices.  He  surrendered 
himself  to  the  Earl  of  Abercorn,  and  was  trans- 
ported to  Edinburgh,  where  he  confessed  before 
the  King  and  council  all  the  particulars  of  the  mur- 
der of  Dalrymple,  and  the  attempt  to  hide  his 
body  by  committing  it  to  the  sea. 

"When  Bannatyne  was  confronted  with  the  two 
Mures  before  the  Privy  Council,  they  denied  with 
vehemence  every  part  of  the  evidence  he  had 
given,  and  affirmed  that  the  witness  had  been 
bribed  to  destroy  them  by  a  false  tale.  Banna- 
tyne's  behavior  seemed  sincere  and  simple,  that 
of  Auchindrane  more  resolute  and  crafty.  The 
wretched  accomplice  fell  upon  his  knees,  invoking 
God  to  witness  that  all  the  land  in  Scotland  could 
not  have  bribed  him  to  bring  a  false  accusation 
against  a  master  whom  he  had  served,  loved,  and 
followed  in  so  many  dangers,  and  calling  upon  Au- 
chindrane to  honor  God  by  confessing  the  crime 
he  had  committed.    Mure  the  elder,  on  the  othei 


AUCHINDRANE;  OK,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


SM 


hand,  boldly  replied,  that  he  hoped  God  would  not 
so  far  forsake  him  as  to  permit  him  to  confess  a 
crime  of  which  he  was  innocent,  and  exhorted 
Bannatyne  in  his  turn  to  confess  the  practices  by 
which  he  had  been  induced  to  devise  such  false- 
hoods against  him. 

The  two  Mures,  father  and  son,  were  therefore 
put  upon  their  solemn  trial,  along  with  Bannatyne, 
in  1611,  and,  after  a  great  deal  of  evidence  had 
been  brought  in  support  of  Bannatyne's  confession, 
all  three  were  found  guilty.1  The  elder  Auchin- 
drane  was  convicted  of  counselling  and  directing 
the  murder  of  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Cullayne, 
and  also  of  the  actual  murder  of  the  lad  Dairy  mple. 
Rannatyne  and  the  younger  Mure  were  found 
guilty  of  the  latter  crime,  and  all  three  were  sen- 
tenced to  be  beheaded.  Bannatyne,  however,  the 
accomplice,  received  the  King's  pardon,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  voluntary  surrender  and  confession. 
The  two  Mures  were  both  executed.  The  younger 
was  affected  by  the  remonstrances  of  the  clergy 
who  attended  him,  and  he  confessed  the  guilt  of 
which  he  was  accused.  The  father,  also,  was  at 
length  brought  to  avow  the  fact,  but  in  other  re- 
spects died  as  impenitent  as  he  had  lived  ; — and 
so  ended  this  dark  and  extraordinary  tragedy. 

The  Lord  Advocate  of  the  day,  Sir  Thomas 
Hamilton,  afterwards  successively  Earl  of  Melrose 
and  of  Haddington,  seems  to  have  busied  himself 
much  in  drawing  up  a  statement  of  this  foul  trans- 
action, for  the  purpose  of  vindicating  to  the  people 
of  Scotland  the  severe  course  of  justice  observed 
by  King  James  VI.  He  assumes  the  task  in  a 
high  tone  of  prerogative  law,  and,  on  the  whole, 
seems  at  a  loss  whether  to  attribute  to  Providence, 
or  to  his  most  sacred  Majesty,  the  greatest  share 
in  bringing  to  light  these  mysterious  vilhaiies,  but 
rather  inclines  to  the  latter  opinion.     There  is,  I 


i  "  Efter  pronunceing  and  declairing  of  the  quhilk  determi- 
nation and  delyueranee  of  the  saiclis  persones  of  Assyse,  '  The 
Justice,  in  respect  thairof,  be  the  moutli  of  Alexander  Ken- 
nydie,  dempster  of  Court,  decernit  and  adiudget  the  saidis 
Johnne  Mure  of  Auchindrane  elder,  James  Mure  of  Auchin- 
drane  younger,  his  eldest  sone  and  appeirand  air,  and  James 
Bannatyne,  called  of  Chapel-Donane,  and  ilk  ane  of  thame, 
to  be  tane  to  the  mercat  croce  of  the  burcht  of  Edinburgh, 
and  thair,  upon  ane  scaffold,  their  heidis  to  be  strukin  frome 
thair  bodeyis  :  And  all  thair  landis,  heritages,  takis,  steidingis, 
rowmes,  possessiones,  teyndis,  coirnes,  cattell,  insicht  plenis- 
sing,  guitlis,  geir,  tytillis,  proffeitis,  commoditeis,  and  richtis 
quhatsumeuir,  directlie  or  indirectlie  pertening  to  thame,  or 
ony  of  thame,  at  the  committing  of  the  saidis  tressonabill  Mur- 
thouris,  or  sensyne  ;  or  to  the  quilkis  thay,  or  ony  of  thame, 
had  richt,  claim,  or  actioun,  to  be  forfalt,  escheit,  and  inbrocht 
to  our  souerane  lordis  vse  ;  as  culpable  and  convict  of  the  saidis 
tressonabill  crymes.' 

"  Q-uhilk  was  pronuncet  for  Dome." 

Pitcairn's  Criminal  Trials,  vol.  iii.  p.  156. 

2  See  an  article  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  February,  1831, 

n  Mr.  Pitcairn's  valuable  collection,  where  Sir  Walter  Scott 

particularly  dwells  on  the  original  documents  connected  with 


believe,  no  printed  copy  of  the  intended  tract; 
which  seems  never  to  have  been  published ;  but 
the  curious  will  be  enabled  to  judge  of  it,  as  it  ap- 
pears in  the  next  fasciculus  of  Mr.  Robert  Pitcairn's 
very  interesting  publications  from  the  Scottish 
Criminal  Record.2 

The  family  of  Auchindrane  did  not  become  ex- 
tinct on  the  death  of  the  two  homicides.  The 
last  descendant  existed  in  the  eighteenth  century; 
a  poor  and  distressed  man.  The  following  anec  • 
dote  shows  that  he  had  a  strong  feeling  of  his  sit- 
uation. 

There  was  in  front  of  the  old  castle  a  huge  ash- 
tree,  called  the  Dule-tree  (mourning-tree)  of  Auch- 
indrane, probably  because  it  was  the  place  where 
the  Baron  executed  the  criminals  who  fell  under 
his  jurisdiction.  It  is  described  as  having  been 
the  finest  tree  of  the  neighborhood.  This  last  rep- 
resentative of  the  family  of  Auchindrane  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  arrested  for  payment  of  a  small 
debt ;  and,  unable  to  discharge  it,  was  prepared  to 
accompany  the  messenger  (bailiff)  to  the  jail  of 
Ayr.  The  servant  of  the  law  had  compassion  for 
his  prisoner,  and  offered  to  accept  of  this  remark- 
able tree  as  of  value  adequate  to  the  discharge  of 
the  debt.  "What!"  said  the  debtor,  "sell  the 
Dule-tree  of  Auchindrane  !  I  will  sooner  die  in 
the  worst  dungeon  of  your  prison."  In  this  luck 
less  character  the  line  of  Auchindrane  ended.  The 
family,  blackened  with  the  crimes  of  its  predeces- 
sors, became  extinct,  and  the  estate  passed  into 
other  hands. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

John  Mure  of  Auchindrane,  an  Ayrshire  Baron. 
He  has  been  a  follower  of  the  Regent,  Earl  of 


the  story  of  Auchindrane  ;  and  where  Mr.  Pitcairn's  important 
services  to  the  history  of  his  profession,  and  of  Scotland,  are 
justly  characterized.     (1833.) 

"  Sir  Walter's  reviewal  of  the  early  parts  of  Mr.  Pitcairn's 
Ancient  Criminal  Trials  had,  of  course,  much  gratified  the 
editor,  who  sent  him,  on  his  arrival  in  Edinburgh,  the  proof- 
sheets  of  the  N'imber  then  in  hand,  and  directed  his  attentioE 
particularly  to  its  details  on  the  extraordinary  case  of  Mure  of 
Auchindrane,  a.  D.  1611.  Scott  was  so  much  interested  witfc 
these  documents,  that  he  resolved  to  found  a  dramatic  sketch 
on  their  terrible  story  ;  and  the  result  was  a  composition  far 
superior  to  any  of  his  previous  attempts  of  that  nature.  In- 
deed, there  are  several  passages  in  his  'Ayrshire  Tragedy' — 
espeoially  that  where  the  murdered  corpse  floats  upright  in  tha 
wake  of  the  assassin's  bark — (an  incident  suggested  by  a  la- 
mentable chapter  in  Lord  Nelson's  history) — which  may  bear 
comparison  with  any  thing  but  Shakspeare.  Yet  I  doubt 
whether  the  prose  narrative  of  the  preface  be  not,  on  tha 
whole,  more  dramatic  than  the  versified  scenes.  It  contains 
by  the  way,  some  very  striking  allusions  to  the  recent  atro 
cities  of  Gill's  Hill  and  the  West  Port."— Lockhaht  va. 
ix.  d.  334 


1 90 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Morton,  during  the  Civil  Wars,  and  hides  an 
oppressive,  ferocious,  and  unscrupulous  disposi- 
tion, under  some  pretences  to  strictness  of  life  and 
doctrine,  which,  however,  never  influence  his  con- 
duct. He  is  in  danger  from  the  law,  owing  to 
his  having  been  formerly  active  in  the  assassina- 
tion of  the  Earl  of  Cassilis. 

Philip  Mure,  his  Son,  a  wild,  debauched  Profligate, 
professing  and  practising  a  contempt  for  his 
Father's  hypocrisy,  while  he  is  as  fierce  and  licen- 
tious as  Auchindrane  himself 

vtIfford,  their  Relation,  a  Courtier. 

Quentin  Blane,  a  Youth,  educated  for  a  Clergy- 
man, but  sent  by  Auchindrane  to  serve  in  a 
Band  of  Auxiliaries  in  the  Wars  of  the  Nether- 
lands, and  lately  employed  «*  Clerk  or  Comptrol- 
ler to  the  Regiment — Disbanded,  however,  and  on 
his  return  to  his  native  Country.  He  is  of  a 
mild,  gentle,  and  rather  feeble  character,  liable  to 
be  influenced  by  any  person  of  stronger  mind  who 
will  take  the  trouble  to  direct  him.  He  is  some- 
what of  a  nervous  temperament,  varying  from 
sadness  to  gayety,  according  to  the  impulse  of  the 
moment;  an  amiable  hypochondriac. 

Hildebrand,  a  stout  old  Englishman,  who,  by  feats 
of  courage,  has  raised  himself  to  the  rank  of  Ser- 
geant-Major  {then  of  greater  consequence  than  at 
present).  He,  too,  has  been  disbanded,  but  can- 
not bring  himself  to  believe  that  he  has  lost  his 
command  over  his  Regiment. 

Privates  dismissed  from  the  same 
Regiment  in  which  Quentin  and 
Hildebrand  had  served.  These  are 
mutinous,  and  are  much  disposed 
to  remember  former  quarrels  with 
their  late  Officers. 

Niel  MacLellan,  Keeper  of  Auchindrane  Forest 
and  Game. 

Earl  of  Dunbar,  commanding  an  Army  as  Lieu- 
tenant of  James  I.  for  execution  of  Justice  on 
Offenders. 

Guards,  Attendants,  &c.  &c, 

Marion,  Wife  of  Niel  MacLellan. 

Isabel,  their  Daughter,  a  Girl  of  six  years  old. 

Other  Children  and  Peasant  Women. 


Abraham, 
Williams, 
Jenkin, 
And  Others, 


Siuclfmlrrane ; 


THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


ACT  I— SCENE  I. 

A  rocky  Bay  on  the  Coast  of  Carrick,  in  Ayrshire, 
ft-ot  Jar  from  the  Point  of  Turnberry.     The  Sea 


comes  in  upon  a  bold  rocky  Shore.  The  remain*, 
of  a  small  half -ruined  Tower  are  seen  on  the  right 
hand,  overhanging  the  Sea.  There  is  a  vessel  at 
a  distance  in  the  offing.  A  Boat  at  the  bottom  oj 
the  Stage  lands  eight  or  ten  Persons,  dressed  like 
disbanded,  and  in  one  or  two  case*  like  disabled 
Soldiers.  They  come  straggling  forward  with 
their  knapsacks  and  bundles.  Pildebrand,  the 
Sergeant,  belonging  to  the  Party  a  stout  elderly 
man,  stands  by  the  boat,  as  if  sup°rintending  the 
disembarcation.     Quentin  remain*  apart. 

Abraham.  Farewell,  the  flats  ol  Holland,  and 
right  welcome 
The   cliffs  of  Scotland!    Fare   the>  well,  black 

beer 
And  Schiedam  gin !  and  welcome  twopenny, 
Oatcakes,  and  usquebaugh ! 

Williams  (who  wants  an  arm.)   Farewell,  the 
gallant  field,  and  "  Forward,  pikemen  !" 
For  the  bridge-end,  the  suburb,  and  the  lane; 
And,  "  Bless  your  honor,  noble  gentleman, 
Remember  a  poor  soldier  !" 

Abr.  My  tongue  shall  never  need  to  smooth 
itself 
To  such  poor  sounds,  wlnle  it  can  boldly  say, 
"  Stand  and  deliver  !" 

Wil.  Hush,  the  sergeant  hears  you ! 
Abr.  Aud  let  him  hear  ;  he  makes  a  bustle  yon« 
der, 
And  dreams  of  Ins  authority,  forgetting 
We  are  disbanded  men,  o'er  whom  his  halberd 
Has  not  such  influence  as  the  beadle's  baton. 
We  are  no  soldiers  now,  but  every  one 
The  lord  of  his  own  person. 

Wil.  A  wretched  lordship — and  our  freedom 
such 
As  that  of  the  old  cart-horse,  when  the  owner 
Turns  him  upon  the  common.     I  for  one 
Will  still  continue  to  respect  the  sergeant, 
And  the  comptroller,  too, — while  the  cash  lasts. 
Abr.  I  scorn  them  both.  I  am  too  stout  a  Seotd 
man 
To  bear  a  Southron's  rule  an  instant  longer 
Than  discipline  obliges ;  and  for  Quentin, 
Quentin  the  quillman,  Quentin  the  comptroller, 
We  have  no  regiment  now ;  or,  if  we  had, 
Quentin's  no  longer  clerk  to  it. 

Wil.  For  shame !  for  shame !  What,  sh<ill  ol^ 
comrades  jar  thus, 
And  on  the  verge  of  parting,  and  lor  ever!   - 
Nay,  keep  thy  temper,  Abraham,  though    \  bad 

one. — 
Good  Master  Quentin,  let  thy  song  last  night 
Give  us  once  more  our  welcome  to  old  Scotl  vnd 
Abr.  Ay,  they  sing  light  whose  task  if  tell  ig 
money, 
When  dollars  clink  for  chorus. 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


Que.  I've   done  with   counting   silver,1  honest 
Abraham, 
As  thou,  I  fear,  with  pouching  thy  small  share  on't. 
But  lend  your  voices,  lads,  and  I  will  sing 
As  blithely  yet  as  if  a  town  were  won ; 
As  if  upon  a  field  of  battle  gain'd, 
Our  banners  waved  victorious. 

[He  sings,  and  the  rest  bear  cforus. 

SONG. 

Hither  we  come, 

Once  slaves  to  the  drum, 
But  no  longer  we  list  to  its  rattle  • 

Adieu  to  the  wars, 

"With  their  slashes  and  scars, 
The  march,  and  the  storm,  and  the  battle. 

There  are  some  of  us  maim'd, 

And  some  that  are  lamed, 
And  some  of  old  aches  are  complaining ; 

But  we'll  take  up  the  tools, 

Which  we  flung  by  like  fools, 
Gxinst  Don  Spaniard  to  go  a-campaigning. 

Dick  Hathorn  doth  vow 

To  return  to  the  plough, 
Jack  Steele  to  his  anvil  and  hammer ; 

The  weaver  shall  find  room 

At  the  wight-wapping  loom, 
And  your  clerk  shall  teach  writing  and  grammar. 

Abr.  And  this  is  all  that  thou  canst  do,  gay 
Quentin  ? 
To  swagger  o'er  a  herd  of  parish  brats, 
Cut  cheese  or  dibble  onions  with  thy  poniard, 
And  turn  the  sheath  into  a  ferula  ? 

0*:e.  I  am  the  prodigal  in  holy  writ ; 
I  cannot  work, — to  beg  I  am  ashamed. 
Deludes,  good  mates,  I  care  not  who  may  know  it, 
I'm  e'en  as  fairly  tired  of  this  same  fighting, 
As  the  poor  cur  that's  worried  in  the  shambles 
By  all  the  mastiff  dogs  of  all  the  butchers ; 
Wherefore,  farewell  sword,  poniard,  petronel, 
And  welcome  poverty  and  peaceful  labor. 

Abr.  Clerk  Quentin,  if  of  fighting  thou  art  tired, 
Bv  my  good  word,  thou'rt  quickly  satisfied, 
For  thou'st  seen  but  little  on't. 

Wil.  Thou  dost  belie  him — I  have  seen  him 
fight 
Bravely  enough  for  one  in  his  condition. 

Abr.  What,  he  ?   that   counter-casting,   smoik- 
faced  boy  ? 
What  was  he  but  the  colonel's  scribbling  drudge, 
With  men  of  straw  to  stuff  the  regiment  roll ; 
With  ciplerings  unjust  to  cheat  his  comrades, 
And  cloak  false  musters  for  our  noble  captain  ? 

»  MS.—"  I've  done  with  counting  dollars,"  &c. 


He  bid  farewell  to  sword  i.nd  petronel  1 

He  should  have  said,  farewell  my  pen  and  stan 

dish. 
These,  with  the  rosin  used  to  hide  erasures, 
Were  the  best  friends  he  left  in  camp  behind  him 

Que.  The  sword  you  scoff  at  is  not  far,  but  scorns 
The  threats  of  an  unmanner'd  matineer. 

Ser.    (interposes.)   We'll   have   no   brawling  — 
Shall  it  e'er  be  said, 
That  being  comrades  six  long  years  together, 
While  gulping  down  the  frowsy  fogs  of  Holland, 
We  tilted  at  each  other's  throats  so  soon 
As  the  first  draught  of  native  air  refresh'd  them  ? 
No !  by  Saint  Dunstan,  I  forbid  the  combat. 
You  all,  methinks,  do  know  this  trusty  halberd ; 
For  I  opine,  that  every  back  amongst  you 
Hath  felt  the  weight  of  the  tough  ashen  staff, 
Endlong  or  overthwart.     Who  is  it  wishes 
A  remembrancer  now  ? 

[Raises  his  halberd. 

Abr.  Comrades,  have  you  ears 

To  hear  the  old  man  bully  ?     Eyes  to  see 
His  staff  rear'd  o'er  your  heads,  as  o'er  the  hounds 
The  huntsman  cracks  his  whip  ? 

Wil.  Well  said — stout  Abraham  has  the  right 
on't. — 
I  tell  thee,  sergeant,  we  do  reverence  thee, 
And  pardon  the  rash  humors  thou  hast  caught, 
Like  wiser  men,  from  thy  authority. 
'Tis  ended,  howsoe'er,  ana  we'll  not  suffer 
A  word  of  sergeantry,  or  halberd-staff, 
Nor  the  most  petty  threat  of  discipline. 
If  thou  wilt  lay  aside  thy  pride  of  office, 
And  drop  thy  wont  of  swaggering  and  commanding, 
Thou  art  our  comrade  still  for  good  or  evil. 
Else    take  thy  course  apart,   or  with  the   clerk 

there — 
A  sergeant  thou,  and  he  being  all  thy  regiment. 

Ser.  Is't  come  to  this,  false  knaves  ?     And  think 
you  not, 
That  if  you  bear  a  name  o'er  other  soldiers, 
It  was  because  you  follow'd  to  the  charge 
One  that  had  zeal  and  skill  enough  to  lead  you 
Where  fame  was  won  by  danger  ? 

Wil.  We  grant  thy  skill  in  leading,  noble  sei 
geant ; 
Witness  some  empty  boots  and  sleeves  amongst  us, 
Which  else  had  still  been  tenanted  with  limbs 
In  the  full  quantity  ;  and  for  the  arguments 
With  winch  you  used  to  back  our  resolution, 
Our  shoulders  do  record  them.     At  a  word, 
Will  you  conform,  or  must  we  part  our  company  ? 

Ser.  Conform  to  you  ?    Base  dogs  !  I  would  nol 
lead  you 
A  bolt-flight  farther  to  be  made  a  general. 
Mean  mutineers !  when  you  swill'd  off  the  dregs 
Of  my  poor  sea-stores,  it  was,  "  Noble  Sergeant- 
Heaven  bless  old  Hildebrand— we'll  follow  'turn. 


92 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


At  least,  until  we  safely  see  him  lodged 
Within  the  merry  bounds  of  his  own  England !" 
Wil.  Ay,  truly,  sir  ;   but,  mark,  the  ale  was 
mighty, 
And  the  Geneva  potent.     Such  stout  liquor 
Makes  violent  protestations.     Skink  it  round, 
If  you  have  any  left,  to  the  same  tune, 
And  we  may  find  a  chorus  for  it  still. 

A br.  We  lose  our  time. — Tell  us  at  once,  old 

man, 

Tf  thou  wilt  march  with  us,  or  stay  with  Quentin  ? 

Ser.  Out,  mutineers !     Dishonor  dog  your  heels ! 

Abr.  Wilful  will  have  his  way.     Adieu,  stout 

Hildebrand ! 

[The  Soldiers  go  off  laughing,  and  taking 

leave,  with  mockery,  of  the  Sergeant 

and  Quentin,  who  remain  on  the  Stage. 

Ser.  (after  a  pause.)  Fly  you  not  with  the  rest  ? 

— fail  you  to  follow 

Yon  goodly  fellowship  and  fair  example  ? 

Come,  take  your  wild-goose  flight.     I  know  you 

Scots, 
Like   your   own   sea-fowl,   seek   your   course   to- 
gether. 
Que.  Faith,  a  poor  heron  I,  who  wing  my  flight 
In  loneliness,  or  with  a  single  partner ; 
And  right  it  is  that  I  should  seek  for  solitude, 
Bringing  but  evil  luck  on  them  I  herd  with. 
Ser.  Thou'rt  thankless.     Had  we  landed  on  the 
coast, 
Where  our  course  bore  us,  thou  wert  far  from 

home ; 
But  the  fierce  wind  that  drove  us  round  the  isl- 
and, 
Barring  each  port  and  inlet  that  we  aim'd  at, 
Hath  wafted  thee  to  harbor  ;  for  I  judge 
This  is  thy  native  land  we  disembark  on. 

Que.  True,   worthy   friend.      Each   rock,   each 
stream  I  look  on, 
Each  bosky  wood,  and  every  frowning  tower, 
Awakens  some  young  dream  of  infancy. 
Yet  such  is  my  hard  hap,  I  might  more  safely 
Have  look'd  on  Indian  cliffs,  or  Afric's  desert, 
Than  on  my  native  shores.     I'm  like  a  babe, 
Doom'd  to  draw  poison  from  my  nurse's  bosom. 
Ser.  Thou  dream' st,  young  man.    Unreal  terrors 
haunt, 
As  I  have  noted,  giddy  brains  like  thine — 
Flighty,  poetic,  and  imaginative — 
To  whom  a  minstrel  whim  gives  idle  rapture, 
And,  when  it  fades,  fantastic  misery. 

Que.  But  mine  is  not  fantastic.     I  can  tell  thee, 
Since  I  have  known  thee  still  my  faithful  friend, 
In  part  at  least  the  dangerous  plight  I  stand  in. 

1  MS.—"  Quentin.     My  short  tale 

Grows  mystic  now.     Among  the  deadly  feuds 
Which    curse    our    country,    something    once   it 
chanced 


Ser.  And  I  will  hear  thee  willingly,  the  rathei 
That  I  would  let  these  vagabonds  march  on, 
Nor  join  their  troop  again.     Besides,  good  sooth, 
I'm  wearied  with  the  toil  of  yesterday, 
And  revel  of  last  night. — And  I  may  aid  thee 
Yes,  I  may  aid  thee,  comrade,  and  perchance 
Thou  may'st  advantage  me. 

Que.  May  it  prove  well  for  both !-  -But  note,  ml 
friend, 
I  can  but  intimate  my  mystic  story. 
Some  of  it  lies  so  secret, — even  the  winds 
That  whistle  round  us  must  not  know  the  whole— 
An  oath ! — an  oath  ! 

Ser.  That  must  be  kept,  of  course 

I  ask  but  that  which  thou  may'st  freely  tell. 

Que.  I  was  an  orphan  boy,  and  first  saw  light 
Not  far  from  where  Ave  stand — my  lineage  low, 
But  honest  in  its  poverty.     A  lord, 
The  master  of  the  soil  for  many  a  mile, 
Dreaded  and  powerful,  took  a  kindly  charge 
For  my  advance  in  letters,  and  the  qualities 
Of  the  poor  orphan  lad  drew  some  applause. 
The  knight  was  proud  of  me,  and,  in  his  hulls, 
I  had  such  kind  of  welcome  as  the  great 
Give  to  the  humble,  whom  they  love  to  point  to 
As  objects  not  unworthy  their  protection, 
Whose  progress  is  some  honor  to  their  patron — 
A  cure  was  spoken  of,  which  I  might  serve, 
My  manners,  doctrine,  and  acquirements  fitting. 

Ser.  Hitherto  thy  luck 
"Was  of  the  best,  good  friend.     Few  lords  had  cared 
If  thou  couldst  read  thy  grammar  or  thy  psalter. 
Thou  hadst  been  valued  couldst  thou  scour  a  hai 

ness, 
And  dress  a  steed  distinctly. 

Que.  My  old  master 

Held  different  doctrine,  at  least  it  seem'd  so — 
But  he  was  mix'd  in  many  a  deadly  feud — 
And  here  my  tale  grows  mystic.     I  became, 
Unwitting  and  unwilling,  the  depositary 
Of  a  dread  secret,  and  the  knowledge  on't 
Has  wreck'd  my  peace  for  ever.     It  became 
My  patron's  will,  that  I,  as  one  who  knew 
More  than  I  should,  must  leave  the  realm  of  Scot- 
land, 
And  live  or  die  within  a  distant  land.1 

Ser.  Ah  !  thou  hast  done  a  fault  in  some  wild 
raid, 
As  you  wild  Scotsmen  call  them. 

Que.  Comrade,  nay ; 

Mine  was  a  peaceful  part,  and  happ'd  by  chance 
I  must  not  tell  you  more.     Enough,  my  presence 
Brought  danger  to  my  benefactor's  house. 
Tower  after  tower  conceal'd  me,  willing  still 

That  I  unwilling  and  unwitting,  witness'd: 

And  it  became  my  benefactor's  will, 

That  I  should  breathe  the  air  of  other  climes. 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


79a 


Tc  hide  my  ill-omen'd  face  with  owls  and  ravens,1 

And  let  my  patron's  safety  be  the  purchase 

Of  my  severe  and  desolate  captivity. 

So  thought  I,  when  dark  Arran,  with  its  walls 

Of  native  rock,  enclosed  me.     There  I  lurk'd, 

A  peaceful  stranger  amid  armed  clans, 

Without  a  friend  to  love  or  to  defend  me, 

Where  all  beside  were  link'd  by  close  alliances. 

At  length  I  made  my  option  to  take  service 

In  that  same  legion  of  auxiliaries 

In  which  we  lately  served  the  Belgian. 

Our  leader,  stout  Montgomery,  hath  been  kind 

Through  full  six  years  of  warfare,  and  assign' d  me 

More  peaceful  tasks  than  the  rough  front  of  war, 

For  which  my  education  little  suited  me. 

See,.  Ay,  therein  was  Montgomery  kind  indeed ; 
Nay,  kinder  than  you  think,  my  simple  Quentin. 
The  letters  which  you  brought  to  the  Montgomery, 
Pointed  to  thrust  thee  on  some  desperate  service, 
Which  should  most  likely  end  thee. 

Que.  Bore  I  such  letters  ? — Surely,  comrade,  no. 
Full  deeply  was  the  writer  bound  to  aid  me. 
Perchance  he  only  meant  to  prove  my  mettle ; 
And  it  was  but  a  trick  of  my  bad  fortune 
That  gave  his  letters  ill  interpretation. 

See.  Ay,  but  thy  better  angled  wrought  for  good, 
Whatever  ill  thy  evil  fate  designed  thee. 
Montgomery  pitied  thee,  and  changed  thy- service 
In  the  rough  field  for  labor  in  the  tent, 
More  fit  for  thy  green  years  and  peaceful  habits. 

Que.  Even  there  Ins  well-meant  kindness  injured 
me. 
My  comrades  hated,  undervalued  me, 
And  whatsoe'er  of  service  I  could  do  them, 
They  guerdon'd  with  ingratitude  and  envy — 
Such  my  strange  doom,  that  if  I  serve  a  man 
At  deepest  risk,  he  is  my  foe  for  ever ! 

See..  Hast  thou  worse  fate  than  others  if  it  were 
so  ? 
Worse  even  than  me,  thy  friend,  thine  officer, 
Whom  yon  ungrateful  slaves  have  pitch'd  ashore, 
As  wild  waves  heap  the  sea-weed  on  the  beach, 
And  left  him  here,  as  if  he  had  the  pest 
Or  leprosy,  and  death  were  in  his  company  ? 

Que.  They  think  at  least  you  have  the  worst  of 
plagues, 
Tli;  worst  of  leprosies, — they  think  you  poor. 

See.  They  think  like  lying  villains  then,  I'm  rich, 
And  they  too  might  have  felt  it.  I've  a  thought — 
But  stay — what  plans  your  wisdom  for  yourself? 

Qui:.  My  thoughts  are  wellnigh  desperate.    But 
I  purpose 
Return  to  my  stern  patron — there  to  tell  him 

i  The  MS.  here  adds : 

And  then  wild  Arran,  with  its  darksome  5     , .. 

Of  naked  rock  received  me  ;  till  at  last 
100 


That  wars,  and  winds,  and  waves,  have  cross'd  bit 

pleasure, 
And  cast  me  on  the  shore  from  whence  he  banish'd 

me. 
Then  let  him  do  his  will,  and  destine  for  me 
A  dungeon  or  a  grave. 

See.  Now,  by  the  rood,  thou  art  a  simple  fool ! 
I  can  do  better  for  thee.     Mark  me,  Quentin. 
I  took  my  license  from  the  noble  regiment, 
Partly  that  I  was  worn  with  age  and  warfare, 
Partly  that  an  estate  of  yeomanry, 
Of  no  great  purchase,  but  enough  to  live  on, 
Has  call'd  me  owner  since  a  kinsman's  death. 
It  lies  in  merry  Yorkshire,  where  the  wealth 
Of  fold  and  furrow,  proper  to  Old  England, 
Stretches  by  streams  which  walk  no  sluggish  pace, 
But  dance  as  light  as  yours.     Now,  good  friend 

Quentin, 
This  copyhold  can  keep  two  quiet  inmates, 
And  I  am  childless.     Wilt  thou  be  my  son  ? 

Que.  Nay,  you  can  only  jest,  my  worthy  friend ! 
What  claim  have  I  to  be  a  burden  to  you  ? 

See.  The  claim  of  him  that  wants,  and  is  in  dan- 
ger, 
On  him  that  has,  and  can  afford  protection : 
Thou  would'st  not  fear  a  foeman  in  my  cottage, 
Where  a  stout  mastiff  slumber'd  on  the  hearth, 
And  this  good  halberd  hung  above  the  chimney  ? 
But  come — I  have  it — thou  shalt  earn  thy  bread 
Duly,  and  honorably,  and  usefully. 
Our  village  schoolmaster  hath  left  the  parish, 
Forsook  the  ancient  schoolhouse  with  its  yew-trees, 
That  lurk'd  beside  a  church  two  centuries  older,— 
So  long  devotion  took  the  lead  of  knowledge ; 
And  since  his  little  flock  are  shepherdless, 
'Tis  thou  shalt  be  promoted  in  his  room ; 
And  rather  than  thou  wantest  scholars,  mau, 
Myself  will  enter  pupil.     Better  late, 
Our  proverb  says,  than  never  to  do  well. 
And  look  you,  on  the  holydays  I'd  tell 
To  all  the  wondering  boors  and  gaping  children, 
Strange  tales  of  what  the  regiment  did  in  Flanders, 
And  thou  shouldst  say  Amen,  and  be  my  warranty 
That  I  speak  truth  to  them. 

Que.  Would  I  might  take  thy  offer !     But,  alas* 
Thou  art  the  hermit  who  compell'd  a  pilgrim, 
In  name  of  Heaven  and  heavenly  charity, 
To  share  his  roof  and  meal,  but  found  too  late 
That  he  had  drawn  a  curse  oi  him  and  his, 
By  sheltering  a  wretch  foredoom'd  of  heaven ! 

See.  Thou  talk'st  in  riddles  to  me. 

Que.  If  I  do, 

'Tis  that  I  am  a  riddle  to  myself. 


I  yielded  to  take  service  in  the  legion 
Which  lately  has  discharged  ns.     Stout  Montgomery 
Our  colonel,  hath  been  kind  through  five  years'  war- 
fare." 


794 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


f  hou  know'st  I  am  by  nature  born  a  friend 
To  glee  and  merriment ;  can  make  wild  verses ; 
The  jest  or  laugh  has  never  stopp'd  with  me, 
When  once  'twas  set  a-rolling. 

Ser.  I  have  known  thee 

A  blithe  companion  still,  and  wonder  now 
Thou  shouldst  become  thus  crest-fallen. 

Que.  Does  the  lark  sing  her  descant  when  the 
falcon 
Scales  the  blue  vault  with  bolder  wing  than  hers, 
And  meditates  a  stoop  ?    The  mirth  thou'st  noted 
Was  all  deception,  fraud — Hated  enough 
For  other  causes,  I  did  veil  my  feelings 
Beneath  the  mask  of  mirth, — laugh' d,  sung,  and 

caroll'd, 
To  gain  some  interest  in  my  comrades'  bosoms, 
Although  mine  own  was  bursting. 

Ser.  Thou'rt  a  hypocrite 

Of  a  new  order. 

Que.  But  harmless  as  the  innoxious  snake, 
Which  bears  the  adder's  form,  lurks  in  his  haunts, 
Yet  neither  hath  his  fang-teeth  nor  his  poison. 
Look  you,  kind  Hildebrand,  I  would  seem  merry, 
Lest  other  men  should,  tiring  of  my  sadness, 
Expel  me  from  them,  as  the  hunted  wether 
Is  driven  from  the  flock. 

Ser.  Faith,  thou  hast  borne  it  bravely  out. 
Had  I  been  ask'd  to  name  the  merriest  fellow 
Of  all  our  muster-roll — that  man  wert  thou. 

Que.  See'st  thou,  my  friend,  yon  brook  dance 
down  the  valley, 
And  sing  blithe  carols  over  broken  rock 
And  tiny  waterfall,  kissing  each  shrub 
And  each  gay  flower  it  nurses  in  its  passage, — 
Where,  think'st   thou,  is   its   source,   the   bonny 

brook  ? — 
It  flows  from  forth  a  cavern,  black  and  gloomy, 
Sullen  and  sunless,  like  this  heart  of  mine, 
Which  others  see  in  a  false  glare  of  gayety, 
Which  I  have  laid  before  you  in  its  sadness. 

Ser.  If  such  wild  fancies  dog  thee,  wherefore 
leave 
The  trade  where  thou  wert  safe  'midst  others' 

dangers, 
And  venture  to  thy  native  land,  where  fate 
Lies  on  the  watch  for  thee  ?    Had  old  Montgomery 
Been  with  the  regiment,  thou  hadst  had  no  conge. 

Que.  No,  'tis  most  likely — But  I  had  a  hope, 
A.  poor  vain  hope,  that  I  might  live  obscurely 
In  some  far  corner  of  my  native  Scotland, 
Which,  of  all  others,  splinter'd  into  districts, 
Differing  in  manners,  families,  even  language, 
Seem'd  a  safe  refuge  for  the  humble  wretch, 
Whose  highest  hope  was  to  remain  unheard  of. 
But  fate  has  baffled  me — the  winds  and  waves, 
With  force  resistless,  have  impell'd  me  hither — 
Have  driven  me  to  the  clime  most  dang'rous  to  me ; 
Arid  I  ol  >ey  the  call,  like  the  hurt  deer, 


Which  seeks  instinctively  his  native  lair, 
Though  his  heart  tells  him  it  is  but  to  die  there. 

Ser.  'Tis  false,  by  Heaven,  young  man  1     This 
same  despair, 
Though  showing  resignation  in  its  banner, 
Is  but  a  kind  of  covert  cowardice. 
Wise  men  have  said,  that  though  our  stars  incline, 
They  cannot  force  us — Wisdom  is  the  pilot, 
And  if  he  cannot  cross,  he  majr  evade  them. 
You  lend  an  ear  to  idle  auguries, 
The  fruits  of  our  last  revels — still  most  sad 
Under  the  gloom  that  follows  boisterous  mirth, 
As  earth  looks  blackest  after  brilliant  sunshine. 

Que.  No,  by  my  honest  word.    I  join'd  the  revel, 
And  aided  it  with  laugh,  and  song,  and  shout, 
But  my  heart  revell'd  not ;  and,  when  the  mirth 
Was  at  the  loudest,  on  yon  galliot's  prow 
I  stood  unmark'd,  and  gazed  upon  the  land, 
My  native  land — each  cape  and  cliff  I  knew. 
"Behold  me  now,"  I  said,  "your  destined  victim  l" 
So  greets  the  sentenced  criminal  the  headsman, 
Who  slow  approaches  with  his  lifted  axe. 
"Hither  I  come,"  I  said,  "ye  kindred  hiils, 
Whose  darksome  outline  in  a  distant  land 
Haunted  my  slumbers ;  here  I  stand,  thou  ocean, 
Whose  hoarse  voice,  murmuring  in  my  dreams,  re- 
quired me  ; 
See  me  now  here,  ye  winds,  whose  plaintive  wad, 
On  yonder  distant  shores,  appear'd  to  call  me — 
Summon'd,  behold  me."    And  the  winds  and  waves, 
And  the  deep  echoes  of  the  distant  mountain, 
Made  answer, — "  Come,  and  die  !" 

Ser.  Fantastic  all !    Poor  boy,  thou  art  distracted 
With  the  vain  terrors  of  some  feudal  tyrant, 
Whose  frown  hath  been  from  infancy  thy  bugbear. 
Why  seek  his  presence  ? 

Que.  Wherefore  does  the  moth 

Fly  to  the  scorching  taper  ?     Why  the  bird, 
Dazzled  by  lights  at  midnight,  seek  the  net  ? 
Why  does  the  prey,  which  feels  the  fascination 
Of  the  snake's  glaring  eye,  drop  in  his  jaws  ? 

Ser.  Such  wild  examples  but  refute  themstJveis, 
Let  bird,  let  moth,  let  the  coil'd  adder's  prey, 
Resist  the  fascination  and  be  safe. 
Thou  goest  not  near  this  Baron — if  thou  goest, 
I  will  go  with  thee.     Known  in  many  a  field, 
Which  he  in  a  whole  life  of  petty  feud 
Has  never  dream' d  of,  I  will  teach  the  knight 
To  rule  him  in  this  matter — be  thy  warrant, 
That  far  from  him,  and  from  his  petty  loildiip, 
You  shall  henceforth  tread  English  land,  and  never 
Thy  presence  shall  alarm  his  conscit  ace  more. 

Que.  'Twere  desperate  risk  for  both.     I  will  far 
rather 
Hastily  guide  thee  through  this  dangerous  province 
And  seek  thy  school,  thy  yew-trees,  and  ihy  churcir 

yard  ;— 
The  last,  perchance,  will  be  the  first  I  find. 


AUCHINDRANE;    OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY 


794 


Ser.  I  would  rather  face  him, 
Like  a  bold  Englishman  that  knows  his  right, 
And  will  stand  by  Ins  friend.     And  yet  'tis  folly — 
Fancies  like  these  are  not  to  be  resisted ; 
Tis  better  to  escape  them.     Many  a  presage, 
Too  rashly  braved,  becomes  its  own  accomplish 

ment. 
Then  let  us  go — but  whither  ?     My  old  head 
As  little  knows  where  it  shall  lie  to-night, 
As  yonder  mutineers  that  left  their  officer, 
As  reckless  of  his  quarters  as  these  billows, 
That  leave  the  withered  sea-weed  on  the  beach, 
And  care  not  where  they  pile  it. 

Que.  Think  not  for  that,  good  friend.     We  are 
in  Scotland, 
And  if  it  is  not  varied  from  its  wont, 
Each  cot,  that  sends  a  curl  of  smoke  to  heaven, 
Will  yield  a  stranger  quarters  for  the  night, 
Simply  because  he  needs  them. 

Ser.  But  are  there  none  within  an  easy  walk 
Give  lodgings  here  for  hire  ?  fur  I  have  left 
Some  of  the  Don's  piastres  (though  I  kept 
The  secret  from  yon  gulls),  and  I  had  rather 
Pay  the  fair  reckoning  I  can  well  afford, 
And  my  host  takes  with  pleasure,  than  I'd  cum- 
ber 
Some  poor  man's  roof  with  me  and  all  my  wants, 
And  tax  bis  charity  beyond  discretion. 

Que.  Some  six  miles  hence  there  is  a  town  and 
hostelry — 
But  you  are  wayworn,  and  it  is  most  likely 
Our  comrades  must  have  fill'd  it. 

Ser.  Out  upon  them  ! — 

Were  there  a  friendly  mastiff  who  would  lend  me 
Half  of  his  supper,  half  of  his  poor  kennel, 
I  would  help  Honesty  to  pick  his  bones, 
And  share  his  straw,  far  rather  than  I'd  sup 
On  jolly  fare  with  these  base  varlets  ! 

Que.  We'll    manage   better ;   for  our   Scottish 
dogs, 
Though  stout  and  trusty,  are  but  ill-instructed1 
In  hospitable  rights. — Here  is  a  maiden, 
A  little  maid,  will  tell  us  of  the  country, 
And  sorely  is  it  changed  since  I  have  left  it, 
±i  we  should  fail  to  find  a  harborage. 

Enter  Isabel  MacLellan,  a  girl  of  about  six  years 
old,  bearing  a  milk-pail  on  her  head ;  she  stops 
on  seeing  the  Sergeant  and  Quentin. 
Que.  There's  something  in  her  look  that  doth 
remind  me — 

But  'tis  not  wonder  I  find  recollections 

In  all  that  here  I  look  on. — Pretty  maid 

See.    You're   slow,   and  hesitate.      I  will  be 
spokesman. — 

0-ood  even,  my  pretty  maiden — canst  thou  tell  us, 

l  MS      "  Gallant  and  grim,  may  be  but  ill-instructed." 


Is  there  a  Christian  house  would  render  strangers 
For  love  or  guerdon,  a  night's  meal  and  lodging  I 

Isa.  Full  surely,  sir;  we  dwell  in  yon  old  house 
Upon  the  cliff — they  call  it  Chapeldonan. 

[Points  to  the  building 
Our  house  is  large  enough,  and  if  our  supper 
Chance  to  be  scant,  you  shall  have  half  of  mine, 
For,  as  I  flunk,  sir,  you  have  been  a  soldier. 
Up  yonder  lies  our  house  ;  I'll  trip  before, 
And  tell  my  mother  she  has  guests  a-coming; 
The  path  is  something  steep,  but  you  shall  see 
I'll  be  there  first.     I  must  chain  up  the  dogs,  too 
Nimrod  and  Bloodylass  are  cross  to  strangers, 
But  gentle  when  you  know  them. 

[Exit,  and  is  seen  partially  ascending  U 
the  Castle. 

Ser.  You  have  spoke 

Your  country  folk  aright,  both  for  the  dogs 
And  for  the  people. — We  had  luck  to  light 
On   one  too  young  for  cunning  and  for  selfish- 
ness.— 
He's  in  a  revery — a  deep  one  sure, 
Since  the  gibe  on  his  country  wakes  him  not. — 
Bestir  thee,  Quentin ! 

Que.  'Twas  a  wondrous  likeness. 

Ser.  Likeness !  of  whom  ?     I'll  warrant  thee  ol 
one 
Whom  thou  hast  loved  and  lost.     Such  fantasies 
Live   long   in   brains   like    thine,  which    fashion 

visions 
Of  woe  and  death  when  they  are  cross'd  in  love, 
As  most  men  are  or  have  been. 

Que.  Thy  guess  hath  touch'd  me,  though  it  is  but 
slightly, 
'Mongst  other  woes :  I  knew,  in  former  days, 
A  maid  that  view'd  me  with  some  glance  of  favor ; 
But  my  fate  carried  me  to  other  shores, 
And  she  has  since  been  wedded.     I  did  think  on't 
But  as  a  bubble  burst,  a  rainbow  vanish' d ; 
It  adds  no  deeper  shade  to  the  dark  gloom 
Which  chills  the  springs  of  hope  and  life  within  me 
Our  guide  hath  got  a  trick  of  voice  and  feature 
Like  to  the  maid  I  spoke  of — that  is  all. 

Ser.  She  bounds  before  us  like  a  gamesome  ioe^ 
Or  rather  as  the  rock-bred  eaglet  soars 
Up  to  her  nest,  as  if  she  rose  by  will 
Without  an  effort.     Now  a  Netherlander, 
One  of  our  Frogland  friends,  viewing  the  scene, 
Would  take  his  oath  that  tower,  and  rock,  auc 

maiden, 
Were  forms  too  light  and  lofty  to  be  real, 
And  only  some  delusion  of  the  fancy, 
Such  as  men  dream  at  sunset.     I  myself 
Have  kept  the  level  ground  so  many  years, 
I  have  wellnigh  forgot  the  art  to  climb, 
Unless  assisted  by  thy  younger  arm. 

[They  go  off  as  if  to  asc<nd  to  the  Totoet 
the  Sergeant  leaning  upon  Quentin 


/96 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


SCENE  II. 

Scene  changes  to  the  Front  of  the  Old  Tower.  Isa- 
bel coma  forward  with  her  Mother, — Marion 
speaking  as  they  advance. 

Mar.  I  blame  thee  not,  my  child,  for  bidding 
wanderers 
Come  share  our  food  and  shelter,  if  thy  father 
Were  here  to  welcome  them ;  but,  Isabel, 
9<  waits  upon  his  lord  at  Auchindrane, 
And  comes  not  home  to-night. 

Isa.  What  then,  my  mother  ? 

The  travellers  do  not  ask  to  see  my  father ; 
Food,  shelter,  rest,  is  all  the  poor  men  want, 
And  we  can  give  them  these  without  my  father. 

Mar.  Thou  canst  not  understand,  nor  1  explain, 
Why  a  lone  female  asks  not  visitants 
What  time  her  husband's  absent. — (Apart.)   My 

poor  child, 
And  if  thou'rt  wedded  to  a  jealous  husband, 
Thou'lt  know  too  soon  the  cause. 

Isa.  (partly  overhearing  what  her  mother  says.) 
Ay,  but  I  know  already — Jealousy 
Is,  when  my  father  chides,  and  you  sit  weeping. 

Mar.  Out,  little  spy  !  thy  father  never  chides ; 
Oi,  if  he  does,  'tis  when  Ins  wife  deserves  it. — 
But  to  our  strangers ;  they  are  old  men,  Isabel, 
That  seek  this  shelter  ?  are  they  not  ? 

Isa.  One  is  old — 

Old  as  this  tower  of  ours,  and  worn  like  that, 
Bearing  deep  marks  of  battles  long  since  fought. 
Mar.  Some  remnant  of  the  wars ;  he's  welcome, 
surely, 
Bringing  no  quality  along  with  him 
Which  can  alarm  suspicion. — Well,  the  other  ? 
Isa.  A  young  man,   gentle-voiced  and   gentle- 
eyed,  [frown'd  on ; 
Who  looks  and  speaks  like  one  the  world  has 
But  smiles  when  you  smile,  seeming  that  he  feels 
Joy  in  your  joy,  though  he  himself  is  sad. 
Brown  hair,  and  downcast  looks. 

Mar.  (alarmed.)  'Tis  but  an  idle  thought — it  can- 
not be !  [Listens. 
I  hear  his  accents — It  is  all  too  true — 
My  terrors  were  prophetic ! 

Ill  compose  myself, 
And  then  accost  him  firmly.     Thus  it  must  be. 

[She  retires  hastily  into  the  Tower. 
[The  voices  of  the  Sergeant  and  Quentin 
are  heard  ascending  behind  the  Scenes. 
Que.  One  effort  more — we  stand  upon  the  level. 
I've  seen  thee  work  thee  up  glacis  and  cavalier 
Steeper  than  this  ascent,  when  cannon,  culverine, 
Musket,  and  hackbut,  shower'd  their  shot  upon  thee, 
And  form'd,  with  ceaseless  blaze,  a  fiery  garland 
Round  the  defences  of  the  post  you  storm'd. 

[They  come  on  the  Stage,  and  at  the  same 
time  Marion  re-enters  from  the  Tower. 


Ser.  Truly  thou  speak'st.     I  am  the  tardier, 
That  I,  in  climbing  hither,  miss  the  fire,       [ing.-— 
Which  wont  to  tell  me  there  was  death  in  loiter- 
Here  stands,  methinks,  our  hostess. 

[He  goes  forward  to  address  Marion.    Quen- 
tin, struck  on  seeing  her,  keeps  back. 

Ser.  Kind  dame,  yon  little  lass  hath  brought 
you  strangers, 
Willing  to  be  a  trouble,  not  a  charge  to  you. 
We  are  disbanded  soldiers,  but  have  means 
Ample  enough  to  pay  our  journey  homeward. 

Mar.  We  keep  no  house  of  general  entertain* 
ment, 
But  know  our  duty,  sir,  to  locks  like  yours, 
Whiten'd  and  thinn'd  by  many  a  long  campaign. 
Ill  chances  that  my  husband  should  be  absent — 
(Apart.) — Courage  alone  can  make  me  struggle 

through  it — 
For  in  your  comrade,  though  he  hath  forgot  me, 
I  spy  a  friend  whom  I  have  known  in  school-days, 
And  whom  I  think  MacLellan  well  remembers. 

[She  goes  up  to  Quentin. 
You  see  a  woman's  memory 
Is  faithfuller  than  yours  ;  for  Quentin  Blane 
Hath  not  a  greeting  left  for  Marion  Harkness. 

Que.  (with  effort.)    I  seek,  indeed,  my  native 
land,  good  Marion, 
But  seek  it  like  a  stranger. — All  is  changed, 
And  thou  thyself 

Mar.  You  left  a  giddy  maiden, 

And  find  on  your  return,  a  wife  and  mother. 
Thine  old  acquaintance,  Quentin,  i3  my  mate — 
Stout  Niel  MacLellan,  ranger  to  our  lord, 
The  Knight  of  Auchindrane.     He's  absent  now, 
But  will  rejoice  to  see  his  former  comrade, 
If,  as  I  trust,  you  tarry  his  return. 
(Apart.)  Heaven  grant  he  understand  my  words 

by  contraries ! 
He  must  remember  Niel  and  he  were  rivals ; 
He  must  remember  Niel  and  he  were  foes  ; 
He  must  remember  Niel  is  wan'*  cf  temper, 
And  think,  instead  of  welcome,  I  would  blithely 
Bid  him,  God  speed  you.     But  he  is  as  simple 
And  void  of  guile  as  ever. 

Que.  Marion,  I  gladly  rest  within  your  cottage, 
And  gladly  wait  return  of  Niel  MacLellan, 
To  clasp  his  hand,  and  wish  him  happiness. 
Some  rising  feelings  might  perhaps  prevent  this— 
But  'tis  a  peevish  part  to  grudge  our  friends 
Their  share  of  fortune  because  we  have  miss'd  it 
I  can  wish  others  joy  and  happiness, 
Though  I  must  ne'er  partake  them. 

Mar.  But  if  it  grieve  you [of  hope 

Que.  No  !  do  not  fear.     The  brightest  glearna 
That  shine  on  me  are  such  as  are  reflected 
F.jm  those  which  shine  on  others. 

[The  Sergeant  and  Quentin   enter  tht 
Tower  with  the  little  G*rl. 


AUCHINDRANE  ;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


1i)1 


Mar.  (comes  forward,  and  speaks  in  agitation.) 
Even  so  !  the  simple  youth  has  miss'd  my  meaning. 
I  shame  to  make  it  plainer,  or  to  say, 
In  one  brief  word,  Pass  on — Heaven  guide  the  bark, 
For  we  are  on  the  breakers  1    {Exit  into  the  Tower. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I. 

A  withdrawing  Apartment  in  the  Castle  of  Auch- 
indrane.  Servants  place  a  Table,  with  a  flask  of 
Wine  and  Drinking -cups. 

Enter  Mure  of  Acuhindrane,  with  Albert  Gif- 
ford,  his  Relation  and  Visitor.  They  place 
themselves  by  the  Table  after  some  compliment- 
ary ceremony.  At  some  distance  is  heard  the 
noise  of  revelling. 

Auch.  We're  better  placed  for  confidential  talk, 
Than  in  the  hall  fill'd  with  disbanded  soldiers, 
And  fools  and  fiddlers  gather'd  on  the  highway, — 
The  worthy  guests  whom  Philip  crowds  my  hall 

with, 
And  with  them  spends  his  evening. 

Gif.  But  think  you  not,  my  friend,  that  your  son 

Philip 
Should  be  participant  of  these  our  councils, 
Being  so  deeply  mingled  in  the  danger — 
Your  house's  only  heir — your  only  son  ? 

Auch.  Kind  cousin  Gifford,  if  thou  lack'st  good 

counsel 
At  race,  at  cockpit,  or  at  gambling-table, 
Or  any  freak  by  which  men  cheat  themselves 
As  well  of  life,  as  of  the  means  to  live, 
Call  for  assistance  upon  Philip  Mure  ; 
But  in  all  serious  parley  spare  invoking  him. 

Gif.  You  speak  too  lightly  of  my  cousin  Philip ; 
All  name  him  brave  in  arms. 

Auch.  A  second  Bevis  ; 

But  I,  my  youth  bred  up  in  graver  fashions, 
Mourn  o'er  the  mode  of  life  in  which  he  spends, 
Or  rather  dissipates,  his  time  and  substance. 
No  vagabond  escapes  his  search — The  soldier 
Spurn'd  from  the  service,  henceforth  to  be  ruffian 
Upon  his  own  account,  is  Philip's  comrade  ; 
The  fiddler,  whose  crack'd  crowd  has  still  three 

strings  on't ; 
The  balladeer,  whose  voice  has  still  two  notes  left ; 
Whate'er  is  roguish  and  whate'er  is  vile, 
Are  welcome  to  the  board  of  Auchindrane, 
And  Philip  will  return  them  shout  for  shout, 
And  pledge  for  jovial  pledge,  and  song  for  song, 
Until  the  shamefaced  sun  peep  at  our  windows, 
\nd  ask,  "  What  have  we  here  ?" 


Gif.  You  take  such  revel  deeply — we  are  Scots 

men, 
Far  known  for  rustic  hospitality 
That  mind  not  birth  or  titles  in  our  guests; 
The  harper  has  his  seat  beside  our  hearth, 
The  wanderer  must  find  comfort  at  our  board, 
His  name  unask'd,  his  pedigree  unknown ; 
So  did  our  ancestors,  and  so  must  we. 

Auch.  All  this  is  freely  granted,  worthy  kii 

man ; 
And  prithee  do  not  think  me  churl  enough 
To  count  how  many  sit  beneath  my  salt. 
I've  wealth  enough  to  fill  my  father's  hall 
Each  day  at  noon,  and  feed  the  guests  who  crowd  it 
I  am  near  mate  with  those  whom  men  call  Lord, 
Though  a  rude  western  knight.     But  mark  me 

cousin, 
Although  1  feed  wayfaring  vagabonds, 
I  make  them  not  my  comrades.     Such  as  I, 
Who  have  advanced  the  fortunes  of  my  line, 
And  swell' d  a  baron's  turret  to  a  palace, 
Have  oft  the  curse  awaiting  on  our  thrift, 
To  see,  while  yet  we  live,  things  which  must  be 
At  our  decease — the  downfall  of  our  family, 
The  loss  of  land  and  lordship,  name  and  knight 

hood, 
The  wreck  of  the  fair  fabric  we  have  built, 
By  a  degenerate  heir.     Philip  has  that 
Of  inborn  meanness  in  him,  that  he  loves  not 
The  company  of  betters,  nor  of  equals  ; 
Never  at  ease,  unless  he  bears  the  bell, 
And  crows  the  loudest  in  the  company. 
He's  mesh'd,  too,  in  the  snares  of  every  female 
Who  deigns  to  cast  a  passing  glance  on  him — 
Licentious,  disrespectful,  rash,  and  profligate. 
Gif.  Come,  my  good  coz,  think  we  too  have  been 

young, 
And  I  will  swear  that  in  your  father's  lifetime 
You  have  yourself  been  trapp'd  by  toys  like  these, 
Auch.  A  fool  I  may  have  been — but  not  a  mad- 
man; 
I  never  play'd  the  rake  among  my  followers, 
Pursuing  this  man's  sister,  that  man's  wife ; 
And  therefore  never  saw  I  man  of  mine, 
When  summon'd  to  obey  my  hest,  grow  restive. 
Talk  of  his  honor,  of  his  peace  de?t:  >y'd, 
And,  while  obeying,  mutter  threats  of  vengeance 
But  now  the  humor  of  an  idle  youth, 
Disgusting  trusted  followers,  sworn  dependents, 
Plays  football  with  his  honor  and  my  safety. 

Gif.  I'm  sorry  to  find  discord  in  your  house, 
For  I  had  hoped,  while  bringing  you  cold  news, 
To  find  you  arm'd  in  union  'gainst  the  danger. 
Auch.  What  can  man  speak  that  I  would  shrini 

to  hear, 
And  where  the  danger  I  would  deign  to  shun  ? 

[He  risen 
What  should  appal  a  man  inured  to  perils, 


98 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Like  the  bold  climber  on  the  crags  of  Ailsa? 
Winds  "whistle  past  him,  billows  rage  below, 
The  sea-fowl  sweep  around,  with  shriek  and  clang, 
One  single  slip,  one  unadvised  pace, 
One  qualm  of  giddiness — and  peace  be  with  him ! 
But  he  whose  grasp  is  sure,  whose  step  is  firm, 
Whose  brain  is  constant — he  makes  one  proud  rock 
The  means  to  scale  another,  till  he  stand 
Triumphant  on  the  peak. 

Gik.  And  so  I  trust 

Thorn  wilt  surmount  the  danger  now  approaching, 
Which  scarcely  can  I  frame  my  tongue  to  tell  you, 
Though  I  rode  here  on  purpose. 

Aucn.  Cousin,  I  think  thy  heart  was  never  coward, 
A  nd  strange;  it  seems  thy  tongue  should  take  such 

semblance. 
I've  heard  of  many  a  loud-mouth'd,  noisy  braggart, 
Whose  hand  gave  feeble  sanction  to  his  tongue ; 
But  thou  art  one  whose  heart  can  think  bold  things, 
Whose  hand  can  act  them — but  who  shrinks  to 

speak  them ! 
Gif.  And  if  I  speak  them  not,  'tis  that  I  shame 
To  tell  thee  of  the  calumnies  that  load  thee 
Tilings  loudly  spoken  at  the  city  Cross — 
Things  closely  whisper'd  in  our  Sovereign's  ear — 
Things  which  the  plumed  lord  and  flat-capp'd  cit- 
izen 
Do  circulate  amid  their  different  ranks — 
Things  false,  no  doubt;   but,  falsehoods  while  I 

deem  them, 
Still  honoring  thee,  I  shun  the  odious  topic. 

Aucn.  Shun  it  not,  cousin;  'tis  a  friend's  best 

office 
To  bring  the  news  we  hear  unwillingly. 
The  sentinel,  who  tells  the  foe's  approach, 
And  wakes  the  sleeping  camp,  does  but  his  duty : 
Be  thou  as  bold  in  telling  me  of  danger, 
As  I  shall  be  in  facing  danger  told  of. 

Gif.  I  need  not  bid  thee  recollect  the  death-feud 
That  raged  so  long  betwixt  thy  house  and  Cassilis ; 
I  need  not  bid  thee  recollect  the  league, 
When  royal  James  himself  stood  mediator 
Between  thee  and  Earl  Gilbert. 

Aucn.  Call  you  these  news  ? — You  might  as  well 

have  told  me 
That  old  King  Coil  is  dead,  and  graved  at  Kylesfeld. 
I'll  help  thee  out — King  James  commanded  us 
Henceforth  to  live  in  peace,  made  us  clasp  hands  too. 
O,  sir,  when  such  an  union  hath  been  made, 
In  heart  and  hand  conjoining  mortal  foes, 
Under  a  monarch's  royal  mediation, 
The  league  is  not  forgotten.     And  with  this 
What  is  there  to  be  told  ?    The  king  commanded — 
*  Be  friends."     No  doubt  we  were  so — Wlio  dares 

doubt  it  ? 
Gif.  You  speak  but  half  the  tale. 
Auch.  By  good  Saint  Trimon,  but  I'll  tell  the 

whole ! 


There  is  no  terror  in  the  tale  for  me — 1 

Go  speak  of  ghosts  to  children  ! — This  Earl  Gilbert 

(God  sain  him)  loved  Heaven's  peace  as  well  as  I 

did, 
And  we  were  wondrous  friends  whene'er  we  met 
At  church  or  market,  or  in  burrows  town. 
Midst  this,  our  good  Lord  Gilbert,  Earl  of  Cassilis. 
Takes  purpose  he  would  journey  forth  to  Edin 

burgh. 
The  King  was  doling  gifts  of  abbey-lands, 
Good  tilings  that  thrifty  house  was  wont  to  fish  for 
Our  mighty  Earl  forsakes  his  sea-wash' d  castle, 
Passes  our  borders  some  four  miles  from  hence ; 
And,  holding  it  unwholesome  to  be  fasters 
Long  after  sunrise,  lo  !  The  Earl  and  train 
Dismount,  to  rest  their  nags  and  eat  their  breakfast 
The  morning  rose,  the  small  birds  caroll'd  sweetly 
The  corks  were  drawn,  the  pasty  brooks  incision— 
His  lordship  jests,  his  train  are  choked  with  laugh 

ter; 
When, — wondrous  change  of  cheer,  and  most  uc 

look'd  for, 
Strange  epilogue  to  bottle  and  to  baked  meat  !— 
Flash'd  from  the  greenwood  half  a  score  of  carr 

bines, 
And  the  good  Earl  of  Cassilis,  in  his  breakfast, 
Had  nooning,  dinner,  supjser,  all  at  once, 
Even  in  the  morning  that  he  closed  his  journey; 
And  the  grim  sexton,  for  his  chamberlain, 
Made  him  the  bed  which  rests  the  head  for  ever. 
Gif.  Told  with  much  spirit,  cousin — some  there 

are 
Would  add,  and  in  a  tone  resembling  triumph. 
And  would  that  with  these  long-establish'd  facts 
My  tale  began  and  ended  !  I  must  tell  you, 
That  evil-deeming  censures  of  the  events, 
Both  at  the  time  and  now,  throw  blame  on  thee — 
Time,  place,  and  circumstance,  they  say,  proclaim 

thee, 
Alike,  the  author  of  that  morning's  ambush. 

Auch.  Ay,  'tis  an  old  belief  in  Carrick  here, 
Where  natives  do  not  always  die  in  bed, 
That  if  a  Kennedy  shall  not  attain 
Methuselah's  last  span,  a  Mure  has  slain  him. 
Such  is  the  general  creed  of  all  their  clan. 
Thank  Heaven,  that  they're  bound  to  prove  the 

charge 
They  are  so  prompt  in  making.  They  have  clamor'd 
Enough  of  this  before,  to  show  their  malice. 
But  what  said  these  coward  pickthanks  when  J 

came 
Before  the  King,  before  the  Justicers, 
Rebutting  all  their  calumnies,  and  daring  them 
To  show  that  I  knew  aught  of  Cassilis'  journey— 
Wliich  way  he  meant  to  travel — where  to  halt— 

3  "  There  is  no  terror.  Cassiua  iv  yo'ir  threats." 

Sha.kspkar«. 


AUCHLNDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


79b 


Without  which  knowledge  I  possess'd  no  means 
To  dress  an  ambush  for  him  ?    Did  I  not 
Defy  the  assembled  clan  of  Kennedys 
To  show,  by  proof  direct  or  inferential, 
Wherefore    they    slander'd   me    with   this  foul 

charge  ? 
My  gaunitaS  rung  before  them  in  the  court, 
And  1  did  dai  e  the  best  of  them  to  lift  it, 
And  prove  such  charge  a  true  one — Did  I  not  ? 
G  3    I  saw  your  gauntlet  lie  before  the  Ken- 
nedys, 
Who  look'd  on  it  as  men  do  on  an  adder, 
Longing  to  crush,  and  yet  afraid  to  grasp  it. 
Not  an  eye  sparkled — not  a  foot  advanced — 
No  arm  was  stretch' d  to  lift  the  fatal  symbol. 
Auch.  Then,  wherefore  do  the  hildings  murmur 
now? 
Wish  they  to  see  again,  how  one  bold  Mure 
Can  baffle  and  defy  their  assembled  valor  ? 

Gif.  No;  but  they  speak  of  evidence  suppress' d. 
Auch.  Suppress'd ! — what  evidence  ? — by  whom 
suppress'd  ? 
What  Will-o'-Wisp — what  idiot  of  a  witness, 
Is  he  to  whom  they  trace  an  empty  voice, 
But  cannot  show  his  person  ? 

Gif.  They  pretend, 

With  the  King's  leave,  to  bring  it  to  a  trial ; 
Averring  that  a  lad,  named  Quentin  Blane, 
Brought  thee  a  letter* from  the  murder'd  Earl, 
With  friendly  greetings,  telling  of  his  journey, 
The  hour  which  he  set  forth,  the  place  he  halted  at 
Affording  thee  the  means  to  form  the  ambush, 
Of  which  your  hatred  made  the  application. 
Auch.  A  prudent  Earl,  indeed,  if  such  his  prac- 
tice, 
When  dealing  with  a  recent  enemy  ! 
And  what  should  he  propose  by  such  strange  con- 
fidence 
In  one  who  sought  it  not  ? 

Gif.  His  purposes  were  kindly,  say  the  Ken- 
nedys— 
Desiring  you  would  meet  him  where  he  halted, 
Offering  to  undertake  whate'er  commissions 
You  listed  trust  him  with,  for  court  or  city: 
And,  thus  apprised  of  Cassilis'  purposed  journey, 
And  of  his  halting-place,  you  placed  the  ambush, 

Prepared  the  homicides 

Auoh.  They  r  i  free  to  say  their  pleasure.  They 
are  men 
Of  the  new  court — and  I  am  but  a  fragment 
Of  stout  old  Morton's  faction.     It  is  reason 
That  such  as  I  be  rooted  from  the  earth, 
That  they  may  have  full  room  to  spread  their 

branches. 
No  doubt,  'tis  easy  to  find  strolling  vagrants 
To  prove  whate'er  they  prompt.     This  Quentin 

Blane — 
Did  you  not  call  him  so  ? — why  comes  he  now  ? 


And  wherefore  not  before  ?  This  must  be  answer'd 

— (abruptly) — 
Where  is  he  now  ? 

Gif.  Abroad — they  say — kidnapp'd, 

By  you  kidnapp'd,  that  lie  might  die  in  Flanders. 
But  orders  have  been  sent  for  his  discharge, 
And  his  transmission  hither. 

Auch.  (assuming  an  air  of  composure.)  When 
they  produce  such  witness,  cousin  Gilford, 
We'll  be  prepared  to  meet  it.    In  the  mean  while, 
The  King  dotli  ill  to  throw  Ins  royal  sceptre 
In  the  aocuser's  scale,  ere  he  can  know 
How  justice  shall  incline  it. 

Gif.  '  Our  sage  prince 

Resents,  it  may  be,  less  the  death  of  Cassilis, 
Than  he  is  angry  that  the  feud  should  burn, 
After  his  royal  voice  had  said,  "  Be  quench'd :" 
Thus  urging  prosecution  less  for  slaughter, 
Than  that,   being  done   against  the  King's  com- 
mand, 
Treason  is  mix'd  with  homicide. 

Auch.  Ha  1  ha !  most  true,  my  cousin. 

Why,  well  consider 'd,  'tis  a  crime  so  great 
To  slay  one's  enemy,  the  King  forbidding  it, 
Like  parricide,  it  should  be  held  impossible. 
'Tis  just  as  if  a  wretch  retain'd  the  evil, 
When  the  King's  touch  had  bid  the  sores  be  heal'd ; 
And  such  a  crime  merits  the  stake  at  least. 
What !  can  there  be  within  a  Scottish  bosom 
A  feud  so  deadly,  that  it  kept  its  ground 
When  the  King  said,  Be  friends  !  It  is  not  credible 
Were  I  King  James,  I  never  would  believe  it : 
I'd  rather  think  the  story  all  a  dream, 
And  that  there  was  no  friendship,  feud,  nor  journey, 
No  halt,  no  ambush,  and  no  Earl  of  Cassilis, 
Than  dream  anointed  Majesty  has  wrong ! — 
Gif.  Speak  within  door,  coz. 
Auch.  O,  true — (aside) — I  shall  betray  myself 
Even  to  this  half-bred  fool. — I  must  have  room, 
Room  for  an  instant,  or  I  suffocate. — 
Cousin,  I  prithee  call  our  Philip  hither — 
Forgive  me;  'twere  more  meet  I  summon'd  hi  n 
Myself;  but  then  the  sight  of  yonder  revel 
Would  chafe  my  blood,  and  I  have  need  of  cool- 
ness. 
Gif.  I   understand    thee  —  I  will    bring    him 
straight. 

[Exit. 
Auch.  And  if  thou  dost,  he's  lost  his  ancient 
trick 
To  fathom,  as  he  wont,  his  five-pint  flagons. — 
Tins  space  is  mine — 0  for  the  power  to  fill  it, 
Instead  of  senseless  rage  and  empty  curses, 
With  the  dark   spell  which  witches   learn  from 

fiends, 
That  smites  the  object  of  their  hate  afar, 
Nor  leaves  a  token  of  its  mystic  action, 
Stealing  the  soul  from  out  the  unscathed  body, 


800 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


As  lightning  melts  the  blade,  nor  harms  the  scab- 
bard 1 
■ — 'Tis  vain  to  wish  for  it — Each  curse  of  mine 
Falls  to_  the  ground  as  harmless  as  the  arrows 
Which   children   shoot   at   stars !     The   time  for 

thought, 
If  thought  could  aught  avail  me,  melts  away, 
Like  to  a  snowball  in  a  schoolboy's  hand, 
That  melts  the  faster  the  more  close  he  grasps 

it!— 
If  I  had  time,  this  Scottish  Solomon, 
Whom  some  call  son  of  David  the  Musician,1 
Might  find  it  perilous  work  to  march  to  Carrick. 
There's  many  a  feud  still  slumbering  in  its  ashes, 
Whose  embers  are  yet  red.     Nobles  we  have, 
Stout  as  old  Graysteel,  and  as  hot  as  Bothwell ; 
Here  too  are  castles  look  from  crags  as  high 
On  seas  as  wide  as  Logan's.     So  the  King — 
Pshaw  !  He  is  here  again — 

Enter  Gifford. 

Gif.  I  heard  you  name 

The  King,  my  kinsman ;  know,  he  comes  not  hither. 

Aucn.  {affecting  indifference.)  Nay,  then  we  need 
not  broach  our  barrels,  cousin, 
Nor  purchase  us  new  jerkins. — Comes  not  Philip  ? 

Gif.  Yes,  sir.  He  tarries  but  to  drink  a  service 
To  his  good  friends  at  parting. 

Auch.  Friends  for  the  beadle  or  the  sheriff-officer. 
Well,  let  it  pass.  Who  comes,  and  how  attended, 
Since  James  designs  not  westward  ? 

Gif.  0  you  shall  have,  instead,  his  fiery  func- 
tionary, 
George  Home  that  was,  but  now  Dunbar's  great 

Earl; 
He  leads  a  royal  host,  and  comes  to  show  you 
How  he  distributes  justice  on  the  Border, 
Where  judge  and  hangman  oft  reverse  their  office, 
And  the  noose  does  its  work  before  the  sentence. 
But  I  have  said  my  tidings  best  and  worst. 
None  but  yourself  can  know  what  course  the  time 
And  peril  may  demand.     To  lift  your  banner, 
If  I  might  be  a  judge,  were  desperate  game : 
Ireland  and  Galloway  offer  you  convenience 
For  flight,  if  flight  be  thought  the  better  remedy ; 
To  face  the  court  requires  the  consciousness 
And  confidence  of  innocence.     You  alone 
Can  judge  if  you  possess  these  attributes. 

[A  noise  behind  the  scenes. 

Auch.  Philip,  I  flunk,  has  broken  up  his  revels ; 
His  ragged  regiment  are  dispersing  them, 
Well  liquor'd,  doubtless.     They're  disbanded  sol- 
diers, 
Or  some  such  vagabonds. — Here  comes  the  gallant. 
[Enter  Philip.     He   has    a   buff-coat   and 

l  The  calumnious  tale  which  ascribed  the  birth  of  James 
VI.  to  an  jntrigue  of  Queen  Mary  with  Rizzio. 


head-piece,  wears  a  sword  and  dagger,  with 
pistols  at  his  girdle.     He  appears  to  bt 
affected  by  liquor,  but  to  be  by  no  means 
intoxicated. 
Auch.  You  scarce  have  been  made  known  to 
one  another, 
Although  you  sate  together  at  the  board. — 
Son  Philip,  know  and  prize  our  cousin  Gifford. 
Phi.  (tastes  the  wine  on  the  table.)  If  you  had 
prized  him,  sir,  you  had  been  loth 
To  have  welcomed  him  in  bastard  Alicant : 
I'll  make  amends  by  pledging  his  good  journey 
In  glorious  Burgundy. — The  stirrup-cup,  ho  ! 
And  bring  my  cousin's  horses  to  the  court. 

Auch.  (draws  him  aside.)  The  stirrup-cup !  He 
doth  not  ride  to-night — 
Shame  on  such  churlish  conduct  to  a  kinsman ! 
Phi.  (aside  to  his  father.)  I've  news  of  pressing 
import. 
Send  the  fool  off. — Stay,  I  will  start  him  for  you. 
(To  Gif.)    Yes,  my  kind  cousin,  Burgundy  is  better^ 
On  a  night-ride,  to  those  who  thread  our  moors, 
And  we  may  deal  it  freely  to  our  friends, 
For  we  came  freely  by  it.     Yonder  ocean 
Rolls  many  a  purple  cask  upon  our  shore, 
Rough  with  embossed  shells  and  shagged  sea-weed, 
When  the  good  skipper  and  his  careful  crew 
Have  had  their  latest  earthly  draught  of  brine, 
And  gone  to  quench,  or  to  endure  their  thirst, 
Where  nectar's  plenty,  or  even  water's  scarce, 
And  filter'd  to  the  parched  crew  by  dropafulL 
Auch.  Thou'rt  mad,  son  Philip ! — Gilford's  no 
intruder, 
That  we  should  rid  him  hence  by  such  wild  rants : 
My  kinsman  hither  rode  at  his  own  danger, 
To  tell  us  that  Dunbar  is  hasting  to  us, 
With  a  strong  force,  and  with  the  King's  com- 
mission, 
To  enforce  against  our  h  «use  a  hateful  charge, 
With  every  measure  of  extremity. 

Phi.  And  is  this  all  that  our  good  cousin  tells 
us? 
I  can  say  more,  thanks  to  the  ragged  regiment, 
With  whose  good  company  you  have  upbraided  me, 
On  whose  authority,  I  tell  thee,  cousin, 
Dunbar  is  here  already. 

Gif.  Already  ? 

Phi.  Yes,  gentle  coz.      And  \ou,  my  sire,  be 
hasty 
In  what  you  think  to  do. 

Auch.  I  think  thou  darest  n.t  jest  on  such  a 
subject. 
Where  hadst  thou  these  fell  tidings  ? 

Phi.  Where  you,  too,  might  have  heard  them, 
noble  father, 
Save  that  your  ears,  nail'd  to  our  kinsman's  lips, 
Would  list  no  coarser  accents.     0,  my  soldiers, 
My  merry  crew  of  vagabonds,  for  ever  I 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


801 


Scum  of  the  Netherlands,  and  wash'd  ashore 

Upon  this  coast  like  unregarded  sea-weed, 

They  had  not  been  two  hours  on  Scottish  land, 

When,  lo !  they  met  a  military  friend, 

An  ancient  fourier,  known  to  them  of  old, 

Who,  warm'd  by  certain  stoups  of  searching  wine, 

Inforind  his  old  companions  that  Dunbar 

Left  Glasgow  yesterday,  comes  here  to-morrow ; 

Himself,  he  said,  was  sent  a  spy  before, 

To  view  what  preparations  we  were  making. 

Auch.  (to  Gif.)  If  this  be  sooth,  good  kinsman, 
thou  must  claim 
To  take  a  part  with  us  for  life  and  death, 
Or  speed  from  hence,  and  leave  us  to  our  fortune. 

Gif.  In  such  dilemma, 
Believe  me,  friend,  I'd  choose  upon  the  instant — 
But  I  lack  harness,  and  a  steed  to  charge  on, 
For  mine  is  overtired,  and,  save  my  page, 
There's  not  a  man  to  back  me.    But  I'll  hie 
To  Kyle,  and  raise  my  vassals  to  your  aid. 

Phi.  'Twill  be  when  the  rats, 
That  on  these  tidings  fly  this  house  of  ours, 
Come  back  to  pay  their  rents. — (Apart.) 

Auch.  Courage,  cousin — 
Thou  goest  not  hence  ill  mounted  for  thy  need : 
Full  forty  coursers  feed  in  my  wide  stalls, 
The  best  of  them  is  yours  to  speed  your  journey. 

Phi.  Stand  not  on  ceremony,  good  our  cousin, 
When  safety  signs,  to  shorten  courtesy. 

Gif.  (to  Auch.)  Farewell  then,  cousin,  for  my 
tarrying  here 
Were  ruin  to  myself,  small  aid  to  you ; 
Yet  loving  well  your  name  and  family, 
I'd  fain 

Phi.  Be  gone  ? — that  is  our  object,  too — 
Kinsman,  adieu. 

[Exit  Giffoed.     Philip  calls  after  him. 
You  yeoman  of  the  stable, 
Give  Master  Gifford  there  my  fleetest  steed, 
Yon  cut-tail'd  roan  that  trembles  at  a  spear. — 

[Trampling  of  the  horse  heard  going  off. 
Hark !  he  departs.  How  swift  the  dastard  rides, 
To  shun  the  neighborhood  of  jeopardy ! 

[He  lays  aside  the  appearance  of  levity 
which  he  has  hitherto  worn,  and  says 
very  seriously, 

And  now,  my  father — 

Auch.  And  now,  my  son — thou'st  ta'en  a  peril- 
ous game 
Into  thine  hands,  rejecting  elder  counsel, — 
How  dost  thou  mean  to  play  it  ? 

Phi.  Sir,  good  gamesters  play  not 
Till  they  review  the  cards  which  fate  has  dealt  them, 
Computing  thus  the  chances  of  the  game ; 
And  woefully  they  seem  to  weigh  against  us. 

Auch.  Exile's  a  passing  ill,  and  may  be  borne ; 

And  when  Dunbar  and  all  his  myrmidons 

Are  eastward  turn'd,  we'll  seize  our  own  again. 
101  ~ 


Phi.  Would  that  were  all  the  risk  we  had  to 
stand  to ! 
But  more  and  worse, — a  doom  of  treason,  forfeiture, 
Death  to  ourselves,  dishonor  to  our  house, 
Is  what  the  stern  Justiciary  menaces  ; 
And,  fatally  for  us,  he  hath  the  means 
To  make  his  threatenings  good. 

Auch.  It  cannot  be.     I  tell  thee,  there's  no  fnreo 
In  Scottish  law  to  raze  a  house  like  mine 
Coeval  with  the  time  the  Lords  of  Galloway 
Submitted  them  unto  the  Scottish  sceptre, 
Renouncing  rights  of  Tanistry  and  Brehon. 
Some  dreams  they  liave  of  evidence ;  some  sus- 
picion. 
But  old  Montgomery  knows  my  purpose  well, 
And  long  before  their  mandate  reach  the  camp 
To  crave  the  presence  of  this  mighty  witness, 
He  will  be  fitted  with  an  answer  to  it. 

Phi.  Father,  what  we  call  great,  is  often  ruin'<* 
By  means  so  ludicrously  disproportion'd, 
They  make  me  think  upon  the  gunner's  linstock, 
Which,  yielding  forth  a  light  about  the  size 
And  semblance  of  the  glow-worm,  yet  applied 
To  powder,  blew  a  palace  into  atoms, 
Sent  a  young  King — a  young  Queen's  mate  at 

least — 
Into  the  air,  as  high  as  e'er  flew  night-hawk, 
And  made  such  wild  work  in  the  realm  of  Scotland, 
As  they  can  tell  who  heard, — and  you  were  one 
Who  saw,  perhaps,  the  night-flight  which  began  it. 
Auch.  If  thou  hast  naught  to  epeak  but  drunken 
folly, 
I  cannot  listen  longer. 

Phi.  I  will  speak  brief  and  sudden. — There  is 
one 
Whose  tongue  to  us  has  the  same  perilous  force 
Which  Bothwell's  powder  had  to  Kirk  of  Field ; 
One  whose  least  tones,  and  those  but  peasant  ac 

cents, 
Could  rend  the  roof  from  off  our  fathers'  castle, 
Level  its  tallest  turret  with  its  base ; 
And  he  that  doth  possess  this  wondrous  power 
Sleeps  this  same  night  not  five  miies  distant  from 
us. 
Auch.  (who  had  looked  on  Philip  with  much  ap- 
pearance   of  astonishment   and  doubt,   ex- 
claims,) JYhen  thou  art  mad  indeed  ! — Ha  ! 
ha !  I'm  glad  on't. 
I'd  purchase  an  escape  from  what  I  dread, 
Even  by  the  phrensy  of  my  only  son  I 

Phi.  I  thank  you,  but  agree  not  to  the  bargain. 
You  rest  on  what  yon  civet  cat  has  said : 
Yon  silken  doublet,  stuff 'd  with  rotten  straw, 
Told  you  but  half  the  truth,  and  knew  no  more. 
But  my  good  vagrants  had  a  perfect  tale : 
They  told  me,  little  judging  the  importance, 
That  Quentin  Blane  had   been  discharged  with 
them. 


802 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


They  told  me,  that  a  quarrel  happ'd  at  landing, 
And  that  the  youngster  and  an  ancient  sergeant 
Had  left  their  company,  and  taken  refuge 
In  Chapeldonan,  where  our  ranger  dwells  ;* 
They  saw  him  scale  the  cliff  on  which  it  stands, 
Ere  they  were  out  of  sight ;  the  old  man  with  him. 
And  therefore  laugh  no  more  at  me  as  mad  ; 
But  laugh,  if  thou  hast  list  for  merriment, 
To  think  he  stands  on  the  (same  land  with  us, 
Whose  absence  thou  wouldst  deem  were  cheaply 

purchased 
With  thy  soul's  ransom  and  thy  body's  danger. 

Auch.  'Tis  then  a  fatal  truth !  Thou  art  no  yelper, 
To  open  rashly  on  so  wild  a  scent ; 
Thou'rt  the  young  bloodhound,  wluch  careers  and 

springs, 
Frolics  and  fawns,  as  if  the  friend  of  man, 
But  seizes  on  his  victim  like  a  tiger. 

Phi.  No  matter  what  I  am — I'm  as  you  bred  me ; 
So  let  that  pass  till  there  be  time  to  mend  me, 
And  let  us  speak  like  men,  and  to  the  purpose. 
This  object  of  our  fear  and  of  our  dread, 
Since  such  our  pride  must  own  him,  sleeps  to-night 
Within  our  power : — to-morrow  in  Dunbar's, 
.And  we  are  then  his  victims.2 

Auch.  He  is  in  ours  to-night.8 

Phi.  He  is.     I'll  answer  that  MacLellan's  trusty. 

Auch.  Yet  he  replied  to  you  to-day  full  rudely. 

.Piii.  Yes !  the  poor  knave  has  got  a  handsome 
wife, 
An£  is  gone  mad  with  jealousy. 

Auch.  Fool ! — When  we  need  the  utmost  faith, 
allegiance, 
Obedience,  and  attachment  in  our  vassals, 
Thy  wild  intrigues  pour  gall  into  their  hearts, 
And  turn  their  love  to  hatred ! 

Phi.  Most  reverend  sire,  you   talk  of  ancient 
morals, 
Preach'd   on   by  Knox,   and   practised   by  Glen- 

.  cairn  ;4 
Respectable,  indeed,  but  somewhat  musty 
'In  these,  our  modern  nostrils.     In  our  days, 
If  a  young  baron  chance  to  leave  his  vassal 
The  sole  possessor  of  a  handsome  wife, 
'Tis  sign  he  loves  his  follower ;  and,  if  not, 
He  lovea-vhis  follower's  wife,  which  often  proves 
The  surer  bond  of  patronage.     Take  either  case  : 
!  Favor  flows  in  of  course,  and  vassals  rise. 

1  MS. — *'  In  the  old  tower  where  Niel  MacLellan  dwells. 
And  therefore  laugh  no  more,"  &c. 

^|  *MS. — 4i  And  we  are  then  in  his  power." 
8  MS. — "  He's  in  our  power  to-night." 
4  Alexander,,  fifth  Earl  of  Glencairn,  for  distinction  called 
'  The  Good  Earl,"  was  among  the  first  of  the  peers  of  Scot- 
and  who  concurred  in  the  Reformation,  in  aid  of  which  he 
acted  a  conspieuous  part,  in  the  employment  both  of  his 
■word  and  pen.  :  In  a  remonstrance  with  the  Queen  Regent, 
he  told  her,  that  'i  if  she  violated  the  engagements  which  she 


Auch.  Philip,  this  is  infamous, 
And,  what  is  worse,  impolitic.     Take  example : 
Break  not  God's  laws  or  man's  for  each  temptation 
That  youth  and  blood  suggest.     I  am  a  man — 
A  weak  and  erring  man ; — full  well  thou  know'st 
That  I  may  hardly  term  myself  a  pattern 
Even  to  my  son ; — yet  thus  far  will  I  say, 
I  never  swerved  from  my  integrity, 
Save  at  the  voice  of  strong  necessity, 
Or  such  o'erpowering  view  of  high  advantage 
As  wise  men  liken  to  necessity, 
In  strength  and  force  compulsive.     No  one  saw  me 
Exchange  my  reputation  for  my  pleasure, 
Or  do  the  Devil's  work  without  his  wages. 
I  practised  prudence,  and  paid  tax  to  virtue, 
By  following  her  behests,  save  where  strong  reason 
Compell'd  a  deviation.     Then,  if  preachers 
At  times  look'd  sour,  or  elders  shook  their  heads. 
They  could  not  term  my  walk  irregular  ; 
For  I  stood  up  still  for  the  worthy  cause, 
A  pillar,  though  a  flaw'd  one,  of  the  altar, 
Kept  a  strict  walk,  and  led  three  hundred  horse. 

Phi.  Ah,  these  three    hundred    horse  in  sucli 
rough  times 
Were  better  commendation  to  a  party 
Than  all  your  efforts  at  hypocrisy, 
Betray'd  so  oft  by  avarice  and  ambition, 
And  dragg'd  to  open  shame.     But,  righteous  father, 
When  sire  and  son  unite  in  mutual  crime, 
And  join  their  efforts  to  the  same  enormity, 
It  is  no  time  to  measure  other's  faults, 
Or  fix  the  amount  of  each.     Most  moral  father, 
Think  if  it  be  a  moment  now  to  weigh 
The  vices  of  the  Heir  of  Auchindrane, 
Or  take  precaution  that  the  ancient  house 
Shall  have  another  heir  than  the  sly  courtier 
That's  gaping  for  the  forfeiture. 

Auch.  We'll  disappoint  liim,  Philip, — 
We'll  disappoint  him  yet.     It  is  a  folly, 
A  wilful  cheat,  to  cast  our  eyes  behind, 
When  time,  and  the  fast  flitting  opportunity, 
Call  loudly,  nay,  compel  us  to  look  forward : 
Why  are  we  not  already  at  MacLellan's, 
Since  there  the  victim  sleeps  ? 

Phi.  Nay,  soft,  I  pray  thee 

I  had  not  made  your  piety  my  confessor, 
Nor  enter'd  in  debate  on  these  sage  councils, 
Wluch  you're  more  like  to  give  than  I  to  profit  bj 

had  come  under  to  her  subjects,  they  would  consider  them 
selves  as  absolved  from  their  allegiance  to  her."  He  wag 
author  of  a  satirical  poem  against  the  Roman  Catholics,  en* 
titled  "The  Hermit  of  Allareit"  (Loretto). — See  Sibbald's 
Chronicle  of  Scottish  Poetry. — He  assisted  the  Reformers 
with  his  sword,  when  they  took  arms  at  Perth,  in  1559  ;  had 
a  principal  command  in  the  army  embodied  against  Queen 
Mary,  in  June,  1567 ;  and  demolished  the  altar,  broke  the 
images,  tore  down  the  pictures,  &c,  in  the  Chapel-royal  of 
Holyrood-house,  after  the  Queen  was  conducted  to  Lochieven 
He  died  in  1574. 


AUCHINDRANE ;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGED  i 


Could  I  have  used  the  time  more  usefully  • 
But  first  an  interval  must  pass  between 
The  fate  of  Quentin  and  the  little  artifice 
That  shall  detach  him  from  liis  comrade, 
The  stout  old  soldier  that  I  told  you  of. 

Auch.  How  work  a  point  so  difficult — so  danger- 
ous ? 

Phi.  'Tis  cared  for.    Mark,  my  father,  the  con- 
venience 
Arising  from  mean  company.    My  agents 
Are  at  my  hand,  like  a  good  workman's  tools, 
And  if  I  mean  a  mischief,  ten  to  one 
That  they  anticipate  the  deed  and  guilt. 
Well  knowing  this,  when  first  the  vagrant's  tattle 
Gave  me  the  hint  that  Quentin  was  so  near  us, 
Instant  I  sent  MacLellan,  with  strong  charges 
To  stop  him  for  the  night,  and  bring  me  word, 
Like  an  accomplish'd  spy,  how  all  things  stood, 
Lulling  the  enemy  into  security. 

Auch.  There  was  a  prudent  general ! 

Phi.  MacLellan  went  and  came  within  the  hour. 
The  jealous  bee,  which  buzzes  in  his  nightcap, 
Had  humm'd  to  him,  this  fellow,  Quentin  Blane, 
Had  been  in  schoolboy  days  an  humble  lover 
Of  his  own  pretty  wife 

Auch.  Most  fortunate ! 

The  knave  will  be  more  prompt  to  serve  our  pur- 
pose. 

Phi.  No  doubt  on't.    'Mid  the  tidings  he  brought 
back 
Was  one  of  some  importance.     The  old  man 
Is  flush  of  dollars  ;  this  I  caused  him  tell 
Among  his  comrades,  who  became  as  eager 
To  have  him  in  then  company,  as  e'er 
They  had  been  wild  to  part  with  him.     And  in 

brief  space, 
A  letter's  framed  by  an  old  hand  amongst  them, 
Familiar  with  such  feats.     It  bore  the  name 
And  character  of  old  Montgomery,  [tance, 

Whom  he  might  well  suppose  at  no  great  dis- 
Commanding  his  old  Sergeant  Hildebrand, 
By  all  the  ties  of  late  authority, 
Conjuring  him  by  ancient  soldiership, 
To  hasten  to  his  mansion  instantly, 
On  business  of  high  import,  with  a  charge 
To  come  alone 

Auch.  Well,  he  sets  out,  I  doubt  it  not, — what 
follows  ? 

Phi.  I  am  not  curious  into  others'  practices, — 
So  far  I'm  an  economist  in  guilt, 
As  you  my  sire  advise.     But  on  the  road 
To  old  Montgomery's  he  meets  his  comrades, 
They  nourish  grudge  against  him  and  his  dollars, 
And  things  may  hap,  which  counsel,  learn'd  in  law, 
Call  Robbery  and  Murder.     Should  he  five, 
He  has  seen  naught  that  we  would  hide  from  him. 

Auch.  Who  carries  the  forged  letter   to   the 
veteran  % 


Phi.  Why,  Mel  MacLellan,  who,  return'd  again 
To  his  own  tower,  as  if  to  pass  the  night  there. 
They  pass'd  on  him,  or  tried  to  pass,  a  story, 
As  if  they  wish'd  the  sergeant's  company, 
Without  the  young  comptroller's — that  is  Quer> 

tin's, 
And  he  became  an  agent  of  their  plot, 
That  he  might  better  carry  on  our  own. 

Auch.  There's  life  in  it — yes,  there  is  life  in't 
And  we  will  have  a  mounted  party  ready 
To  scour  the  moors  in  quest  of  the  banditti 
That  kill'd  the  poor  old  man — they  shall  die  h> 

stantly. 
Dunbar  shall  see  us  use  sharp  justice  here, 
As  well  as  he  in  Teviotdale.     You  are  sure 
You  gave  no  hint  nor  impulse  to  their  purpose  ? 

Phi.  It  needed  not.     The  whole  pack  oped  at 
once 
Upon  the  scent  of  dollars. — But  time  comes 
When  I  must  seek  the  tower,  and  act  with  Mel 
What  farther's  to  be  done. 

Auch.  Alone  with  him  thou  goest  not.  He  bears 
grudge— 
Thou  art  my  only  son,  and  on  a  night 
When  such  wild  passions  are  so  free  abroad, 
When  such  wild  deeds  are  doing,  'tis  but  natural 
I  guarantee  thy  safety. — I'll  ride  with  thee. 

Phi.  E'en  as  you  will,  my  lord.     But,  pardon 
me, — 
If  you  will  come,  let  us  not  have  a  word 
Of  conscience,  and  of  pity,  and  forgiveness ; 
Fine  words  to-morrow,  out  of  place  to-night. 
Take  counsel  then,  leave  all  this  work  to  me ; 
Call  up  your  household,  make  fit  preparation, 
In  love  and  peace,  to  welcome  this  Earl  Justiciar 
As  one  that's  free  of  guilt.     Go,  deck  the  castle 
As  for  8$  honor'd  guest.     Hallow  the  chapel 
(If  they  have  power  to  hallow  it)  with  thy  prayers 
Let  me  ride  forth  alone,  and  ere  the  sun 
Comes  o'er  the  eastern  hill,  thou  shalt  accost  him  ; 
"  Now  do  thy  worst,  thou  oft-returning  spy, 
Here's  naught  thou  canst  discover." 

Auch.  Yet  goest  thou  not  alone  with  that  Mac- 
Lellan ! 
He  deems  thou  bearest  will  to  injure  him,  - 
And  seek'st  occasion  suiting  to  such  will. 
Philip,  thou  art  irreverent,  fierce,  ill-nurtured, 
Stain'd  with  low  vices,  which  disgust  a  father : 
Yet  ridest  thou  not  alone  with  yonder  man, — 
Come  weal,  come  woe,  myself  will  go  with  thee. 
\JSi  :it,  and  calls  to  horse  behind  the  scene 

Phi.  (alone.)  Now  would  I  give  my  fleetest  horse 
to  know 
What  sudden  thought  roused  this  paternal  care, 
And  if  'tis  on  his  own  account  or  mine : 
'Tis  true,  he  hath  the  deepest  share  in  all 
That's  likely  now  to  hap,  or  which  has  happen'cL 
Yet  strong  through  Nature's  universal  reign, 


804 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  link  which  binds  the  parent  to  the  offspring : 
The  she-wolf  knows  it,  and  the  tigress  owns  it. 
So  that  dark  man,  who,  shunning  what  is  vicious, 
Ne'er  turn'd  aside  from  an  atrocity, 
Hath  still  some  care  left  for  his  helpless  offspring. 
Therefore  'tis  meet,  though  wayward,  light,  and 

stubborn, 
That  I  should  do  for  him  all  that  a  son 
Can  do  for  sire — and  his  dark  wisdom  join'd 
To  influence  my  bold  courses,  'twill  be  hard 
To  break  our  mutual  purpose. — Horses  there  ! 

[Exit. 


ACT  in.— SCENE  I. 

It  is  moonlight  The  scene  is  the  Beach  beneath  the 
Tower  which  was  exhibited  in  the  first  scene, — 
the  Vessel  is  gone  from  her  anchorage.  Auch- 
indrane  and  Philip,  as  if  dismounted  from  their 
horses,  come  forward  cautiously. 

Phi.  The  nags  are  safely  stow'd.    Their  noise 
might  scare  him ; 
Let  them  be  safe,  and  ready  when  we  need  them, 
The  business  is  but  short.     We'll  call  MacLellan, 
To  wake  him,  and  in  quiet  bring  him  forth, 
Tf  he  be  so  disposed,  for  here  are  wafers 
Enough  to  drown,  and  sand  enough  to  cover  him. 
But  if  he  hesitate,  or  fear  to  meet  us, 
By  heaven,  I'll  deal  on  him  in  Chapeldonan 
With  my  own  hand  ! — 

Auch.  Too  furious  boy ! — alarm  or  noise  undoes 
us, 
Our  practice  must  be  silent  as  'tis  sudden. 
Bethink  thee  that  conviction  of  this  slaughter 
Confirms  the  very  worst  of  accusations 
Our  foes  can  bring  against  us.     Wherefore  should 

we, 
Who  by  our  birth  and  fortune  mate  with  nobles, 
And  are  allied  with  them,  take  this  lad's  life, — 
His  peasant  life, — unless  to  quash  his  evidence, 
Taking  such  pains  to  rid  him  from  the  world, 
Who  would,  if  spared,  have  fix'd  a  crime  upon  us  ? 

Phi.  Well,  I  do  own  me  one  of  those  wise  folks, 
Who  think  that  when  a  deed  of  fate  is  plann'd, 
The  execution  cannot  be  too  rapid. 
But  do  we  still  keep  purpose  ?     Is't  determined 
He  sails  for  Ireland — and  without  a  wherry  ? 
Salt  water  is  his  passport — is  it  not  so  ? 

Aucn.  I  would  it  could  be  otherwise. 
Might  he  not  go  there  while  in  life  and  limb, 
And  breathe  his  span  out  in  another  air  ? 
Many  seek  Ulster  never  to  return — 
Why  might  this  wretched  youth  not  harbor  there  ? 

Phi.  With  all  my  heart.     It  is  small  honor  to  me 


To  be  the  agent  in  a  work  like  this. — 

Yet  this  poor  caitiff,  having  thrust  himself 

Into  the  secrets  of  a  noble  house, 

And  twined  himself  so  closely  with  our  safety, 

That  we  must  perish,  or  that  he  must  die, 

I'll  hesitate  as  little  on  the  action, 

As  I  would  do  to  slay  the  animal 

Whose  flesh  supplies  my  dinner.    'Tis  as  harmless! 

That  deer  or  steer,  as  is  this  Quentin  Blane, 

And  not  more  necessary  is  its  death 

To  our  accommodation— so  we  slay  it 

Without  a  moment's  pause  or  hesitation. 

Auch.  'Tis  not,  my  son,  the  feeling  call'd  re- 
morse, 
That  now  lies  tugging  at  this  heart  of  mine, 
Engendering  thoughts  that  stop  the  lifted  hand. 
Have  I  not  heard  John  Knox  pour  forth  his  thun- 
ders 
Against  the  oppressor  and  the  man  of  blood, 
In  accents  of  a  minister  of  vengeance  ? 
Were  not  his  fiery  eyeballs  turn'd  on  me, 
As  if  he  said  expressly,  "  Thou'rt  the  man  ?" 
Yet  did  my  solid  purpose,  as  I  listen'd, 
Remain  unshaken  as  that  massive  rock. 

Phi.    Well,   then,  I'll   understand  'tis  not  re- 
morse,— 
As  'tis  a  foible  little  known  to  thee, — 
That  interrupts  thy  purpose.     What,  then,  is  it  ? 
Is't  scorn,  or  is't  compassion  ?    One  thing's  certain, 
Either  the  feeling  must  have  free  indulgence, 
Or  fully  be  subjected  to  your  reason — 
There  is  no  room  for  these  same  treacherous  courses 
Which  men  call  moderate  measures. 
We  must  confide  in  Quentin,  or  must  slay  him 

Auch.  In  Ireland  he  might  live  afar  from  us. 

Phi.  Among  Queen  Mary's  faithful  partisans, 
Your  ancient  enemies,  the  haughty  Hamiltons, 
The  stern  MacDonnells,  the  resentful  Graemes — 
With  these  around  him,  and  with  Cassilis'  death 
Exasperating  them  against  you,  think,  my  father, 
What  chance  of  Quentin's  silence. 

Auch.  Too  true — too  true.    He  is  a  silly  youth, 
too, 
Who  had  not  wit  to  shift  for  his  own  living — 
A  bashful  lover,  whom  his  rivals  laugh'd  at — 
Of  pliant  temper,  which  companions  play'd  on — 
A  moonlight  waker,  and  a  noontide  dreamer — 
A  torturer  of  phrases  into  sonnets, — 
Whom   all   might  lead   that  chose  to  praise  his 
rhymes. 

Phi.  I  marvel  that  your  memory  has  room 
To  hold  so  much  on  such  a  worthless  subject. 

Auch.  Base  in  himself,  and  yet  so  strangely  link'd 
With  me  and  with  my  fortunes,  that  I've  studied 
To  read  him  through  and  through,  as  I  would  read 
Some  paltry  rhyme  of  vulgar  prophecy, 
Said  to  contain  the  fortunes  of  my  house ; 
And,  let  me  speak  him  truly — He  is  grateful, 


AU^nuNUxiANK;   OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


805 


Kind,  tractable,  obedient — a  child 

Might  lead  him  by  a  thread— He  shall  not  die  ! 

Phi.  Indeed ! — then  have  we  had  our  midnight 
ride 
To  wondrous  little  purpose. 

Acrcn  By  the  blue  heaven, 

Thou  shalt  not  murder  him,  cold  selfish  sensualist ! 
Yon  pure  vault  speaks  it — yonder  summer  moon, 
With  its  ten  million  sparklers,  cries,  Forbear ! 
The  deep/  earth   sighs  it  forth — Thou  shalt  not 

murder ! — 
Thou  shalt  not  mar  the  image  of  thy  Maker ! 
Thou  shalt  not  from  thy  brother  take  the  life, 
The  precious  gift  which  God  alone  can  give  ! — 

Phi.  Here  is  a  worthy  guerdon  now,  for  stuffing 
His  memory  with  old  saws  and  holy  sayings ! 
They  come  upon  him  in  the  very  crisis, 
And  when  his  resolution  should  be  firmest, 
They  shake  it  like  a  palsy — Let  it  be, 
He'll  end  at  last  by  yielding  to  temptation, 
Consenting  to  the  thing  which  must  be  done, 
With  more  remorse  the  more  he  hesitates. — 

[To  his  Father,  who  has  stood  fixed  after 
his  last  speech. 
Well,  sir,  'tis  fitting  you  resolve  at  last, 
How  the  young  clerk  shall  be  disposed  upon ; 
Unless  you  would  ride  home  to  Auchindrane, 
And  bid  them  rear  the  Maiden  in  the  court-yard, 
rhat  when  Dunbar  comes,  he  have  naught  to  do 
3ut  bid  us  kii=s  the  cushion  and  tne  headsman. 

Auca  It  is  too  true — There  is  no  safety  for  us, 
Consistent  with  the  unhappy  wretch's  life  ! 
In  Ireland  he  is  sure  to  find  my  enemies. 
Arran  I've  proved — the  Netherlands  I've  tried, 
But  wilds  and  Wars  return  him  on  my  hands. 

Phi.  Yet  fear  not,  father,  we'll  make  surer  work ; 
The  land  has  caves,  the  sea  has  whirlpools, 
Where  that  which  they  suck  in  returns  no  more. 

Auch.  I  will  know  naught  of  it,  hard-hearted  boy ! 

Phi.  Hard-hearted  !    Why — my  heart  is  soft  as 
yours ; 
But  then  they  must  not  feel  remorse  at  once, 
We  can't  afford  such  wasteful  tenderness : 
I  can  mouth  forth  remorse  as  well  as  you. 
Be  executioner,  and  111  be  chaplain, 
And  say  as  mild  and  moving  things  as  you  can ; 
But  one  of  us  must  keep  his  steely  temper. 

Auch.  Do  thou  the  deed — I  cannot  look  on  it. 

Phi.  So  be  it — walk  with  me — MacLellan  brings 
him. 
The  boat  lies  moor'd  within  that  reach  of  rock, 
And  'twill  require  our  greatest  strength  combined 
To  launch  it  from  the  beach.    Meantime,  MacLellan 
Brings  our  man  hither. — See  the  twinkling  fight 
That  glances  in  the  tower. 

Auch.  Let  us  withdraw — for  should  he  spy  us 
suddenly, 
He  may  suspect  us,  and  alarm  the  family. 


Phi.  Fear  not,  MacLellan  has  his  trust  and  con- 
fidence, 
Bought  with  a  few  sweet  words  and  welcomes 
home. 
Auch.  But  think  you  that  the  Ranger  may  be 

trusted  ? 
Phi.   I'll  answer  for  him, — Let's  go  float  the 
shallop. 

[They  go  off,  and  as  they  leave  the  Stage, 

MacLellan  is  seen  descending  from  the 

Tower  with  Quentin.  The  former  bears  a 

dark  lantern.  They  come  upon  the  Stage. 

Mac  {showing  the  light.)   So — bravely  done — 

that's  the  last  ledge  of  rocks, 

And  we  are  on  the  sands. — I  have  broke  your 

slumbers 
Somewhat  untimely. 

Que.  Do  not  tliink  so,  friend. 

These  six  years  past  I  have  been  used  to  stir 
When  the  reveille  rung ;  and  that,  believe  me, 
Chooses  the  hours  for  rousing  me  at  random, 
And,  having  given  its  summons,  yields  no  license 
To  indulge  a  second  slumber.     Nay,  more,  I'll  tell 

thee, 
That,  like  a  pleased  child,  I  was  e'en  too  happy 
For  sound  repose. 

Mac  The  greater  fool  were  you. 

Men  should  enjoy  the  moments  given  to  slumber ; 
For  who  can  tell  how  soon  may  be  the  waking, 
Or  where  we  shall  have  leave  to  sleep  again  ? 
Que.  The  God  of  Slumber  comes  not  at  com- 
mand. 
Last  night  the  blood  danced  merry  through  my 

veins : 
Instead  of  finding  this  our  land  of  Carrick 
The  dreary  waste  my  fears  had  apprehended, 
I  saw  thy  wife,  MacLellan,  and  thy  daughter, 
And  had  a  brother's  welcome  ; — saw  thee,  too, 
Renew'd  my  early  friendship  with  you  both, 
And  felt  once  more  that  I  had  friends  and  country 
So  keen  the  joy  that  tingled  through  my  system, 
Join'd  with  the  searching  powers  of  yonder  wine, 
That  I  am  glad  to  leave  my  feverish  lair, 
Although  my  hostess  smooth'd  my. couch  herself 
To  cool  my  brow  upon  this  moonlight  beach, 
Gaze  on  the  moonlight  dancing  on  the  waves. 
Such  scenes  are  wont  to  soothe  me  into  melancholy  , 
But  such  the  hurry  of  my  spirits  now, 
That  every  thing  I  look  on  makes  me  laugh. 
Mac  I've  seen  but  few  so  gamesome,  Mastel 
Quentin, 
Being  roused  from  sleep  so  suddenly  as  you  were, 
Que.  Why,  there's  the  jest  on't.     Your  old  ca* 
tie's  haunted. 
In  vain  the  host — in  vain  the  lovely  hostess, 
In  kind  addition  to  all  means  of  rest, 
Add  their  best  wishes  for  our  sound  repose, 
When  some  hobgoblin  brings  a  pressing  message 


806 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Montgomery  presently  must  see  his  sergeant, 
And  up  gets  Hildebrand,  and  off  he  trudges. 
I  can't  but  laugh  to  think  upon  the  grin 
With  which  he  doff  d  the  kerchief  he  had  twisted 
Around  his  brows,  and  put  his  morion  on — 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha! 

Mac.  I'm  glad  to  see  you  merry,  Quentin. 

Que.  Why,  faith,  my  spirits  are  but  transitory, 
And  you  may  live  with  me  a  month  or  more, 
And  never  see  me  smile.     Then  some  such  trifle 
As  yonder  little  maid  of  yours  would  laugh  at, 
Will  serve  me  for  a  theme  of  merriment — 
Even  now,  I  scarce  can  keep  my  gravity ; 
We  were  so  snugly  settled  in  our  quarters, 
With  full  intent  to  let  the  sun  be  high 
Ere  we  should  leave  our  beds — and  first  the  one 
And  then  the  other's  summon'd  briefly  forth, 
To  the  old  tune,  "  Black  Bandsmen,  up  and  march !" 

Mac.  Well !  you  shall  sleep  anon — rely  upon  it — 
And  make  up  time  misspent.    Meantime,  methinks, 
You  are  so  merry  on  your  broken  slumbers, 
You  ask'd  not  why  I  call'd  you. 

Que.  I  can  guess, 

You  lack  my  aid  to  search  the  weir  for  seals, 
You  lack  my  company  to  stalk  a  deer. 
Think  you  I  have  forgot  your  silvan  tasks, 
Which  oft  you  have  permitted  me  to  share, 
Till  days  that  we  were  rivals  ? 

Mao.  You  have  memory 

Of  that  too  ?— 

Que.  Like  the  memory  of  a  dream, 

Delusion  far  too  exquisite  to  last. 

Mac.  You  guess  not  then  for  what  Lcall  you  forth. 
It  was  to  meet  a  friend — 

Que.  What  friend  ?     Thyself  excepted, 
The  good  old  man  who's  gone  to  see  Montgomery, 
And  one  to  whom  I  once  gave  dearer  title, 
I  know  not  in  wide  Scotland  man  or  woman 
Whom  I  could  name  a  friend. 

Mac                                          Thou  art  mistaken. 
There  is  a  Baron,  and  a  powerful  one 

Que.  There  flies  my  fit  of  mirth.    You  have  a 
grave 
And  alter'd  man  before  you. 

Mac  Compose  yourself,  there  is  no  cause  for 
fear, — 
He  will  and  must  speak  with  you. 

Que,  Spare  me  the  meeting,  Niel,  I  cannot  see 
him. 
Say,  I'm  just  landed  on  my  native  earth ; 
Say,  that  I  will  not  cumber  it  a  day ; 
Say,  that  my  wretched  thread  of  poor  existence 
Shall  be  drawn  out  in  solitude  and  exile, 
Where  never  memory  of  so  mean  a  thing 
Again  shall  cross  his  path — but  do  not  ask  me 
To  see  or  speak  again  with  that  dark  man  1 

Mac   Your  fears  are  now  as  foolish   as  your 
mu-th — 


WTiat  should  the  powerful  Knight  of  Auchindrane 
In  common  have  with  such  a  man  as  thou  ? 

Que.  No  matter  what — Enough,  I  will  not  see 

him. 
Mac  He  is  thy  master,  and  he  claims  obedience. 
Que.  My  master?    Ay,  my  task-master — Ever 
since 
I  could  write  man,  Ins  hand  hath  been  upon  me ; 
No  step  I've  made  but  cumber'd  with  his  chain, 
And  I  am  weary  on't — I  will  not  see  him. 

Mac  You  must  and  shall — there  is  no  remedy. 
Que.  Take  heed  that  you  compel  me  not  to  find 
one. 
I've  seen  the  wars  since  we  had  strife  together ; 
To  put  my  late  experience  to  the  test 
Were  something  dangerous — Ha,  I'm  betray'd  ! 

[  While  the  latter  part  of  this  dialogue  is 
passing,  Auchindrane  and  Philip  en- 
ter  on  the  Stage  from  behind,  and  sud- 
denly present  themselves. 
Auch.  What  says  the  runagate  ? 
Que.  {laying  aside  all  appearance  of  resistance.) 
Nothing,  you  are  my  fate ; 
And  in  a  shape  more  fearfully  resistless, 
My  evil  angel  could  not  stand  before  me. 

Auch.  And  so  you  scruple,  slave,  at  my  com- 
mand, 
To  meet  me  when  I  deign  to  ask  thy  presence  ? 
Que.  No,  sir ;  I  had  forgot — I  am  your  bond 
slave ; 
But  sure  a  passing  thought  of  independence, 
For  which  I've  seen  whole  nations  doing  battle, 
Was  not,  in  one  who  has  so  long  enjoy'd  it, 
A  crime  beyond  forgiveness. 

Auch.  We  shall  see : 

Thou  wert  my  vassal,  born  upon  my  land, 
Bred  by  my  bounty — It  concern'd  me  highly, 
Thou  know'st  it  did — and  yet  against  my  charge 
Again  I  find  thy  worthlessness  in  Scotland. 

Que.  Alas !  the  wealthy  and  the  powerful  know 
not 
How  very  dear  to  those  who  have  least  share  in't, 
Is  that  sweet  word  of  country  !     The  poor  exile 
Feels,  in  each  action  of  the  varied  day, 
His  doom  of  banishment.     The  very  air 
Cools  not  his  brow  as  in  his  native  land  ; 
The  scene  is  strange,  the  food  is  loathly  to  him ; 
The  language,  nay,  the  music  jars  his  ear.1 
Why  should  I,  guiltless  of  the  slightest  crime, 
Suffer  a  punishment  which,  sparing  life, 
Deprives  that  life  of  all  which  men  hold  dear  ? 

Auch.  Hear  ye  the  serf  I  bred,  begin  to  reckon 
Upon  his  rights  and  pleasure  !     Wrho  am  I — 
Thou  abject,  who  am  I,  whose  will  thou  thwartest  ? 
Phi.  Well  spoke,  my  pious  sire.     There  goes  re- 
morse ! 

1  MS. — "  The  strains  of  foreign  music  jar  his  ear." 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


807 


Let  once  thy  precious  pride  take  fire,  and  then, 
MacLellan,  you  and  I  may  have  small  trouble. 
Que.  Your  words  are  deadly,  and  your  power 
resistless ; 
Fm  in  your  hands — but,  surely,  less  than  life 
May  give  you  the  security  you  seek, 
Without  commission  of  a  mortal  crime. 

Auch.  Who  is't  would  deign  to  think  upon  thy 
life? 
T  but  require  of  thee  to  speed  to  Ireland, 
Where  thou  may'st  sojourn  for  some  little  space, 
Having  due  means  of  living  dealt  to  thee. 
And  when  it  suits  the  changes  of  the  times, 
Permission  to  return. 

Que.  N:ble  my  lord, 

I  am  too  weak  to  combat  with  your  pleasure  ; 
Yet,  0,  for  mercy's  sake,  and  for  the  sake 
Of  that  dear  land  which  is  our  common  mother, 
Let  me  not  part  in  darkness  from  my  country  ! 
Pass  but  an  hour  or  two,  and  every  cape, 
Headland,  and  bay,  shall  gleam  with  new-born 

light, 
And  I'll  take  boat  as  gayly  as  the  bird 
That  soars  to  meet  the  morning. 
Grant  me  but  this — to  show  no  darker  thoughts 
Are  on  your  heart  than  those  your  speech  ex- 
presses ! 
Phi.  A  modest  favor,  friend,  is  this  you  ask  1 
Are  we  to  pace  the  beach  like  watermen, 
Waiting  youi  worship's  pleasure  to  take  boat  ? 
No,  by  my  faith !  you  go  upon  the  instant. 
The  boat  lies  ready,  and  the  ship  receives  you 
Near  to  the  point  of  Turnberry. — Come,  we  wait 

you; 
Bestir  you ! 

Que.  I  obey. — Then  farewell,  Scotland, 

And  Heaven  forgive  my  sins,  and  grant  that  mercy, 
Which  mortal  man  deserves  not ! 

Auch.  (speaks  aside  to  his  Son.)  What  signal 
Shall  let  me  know  'tis  done  ? 

Phi.  When  the  light  is  quench'd, 

Your  fears  for  Quentin  Blane  are  at  an  end. — 
(To  Que.)  Come,  comrade,  come,  we  must  begin 
our  voyage. 
Que.  But  when,  0  when  to  end  it ! 

[Retgoes  off  reluctantly  with  Philip  and 
MacLellan.  Auchindrane  stands  look- 
ing after  thenn.  The  moon  becomes  over- 
clouded, and  the  Stage  dark.  Auchin- 
drane, who  has  gazed  fixedly  and  eagerly 
after  those  who  have  left  the  Stage,  be- 
comes animated,  and  speaks. 
Auch.  It  is  no  fallacy  !— The  night  is  dark, 
The  moon  haa  sunk  before  the  deepening  clouds ; 

i  MS. ■  •  my  antipathy, 

Strong  source  of  inward  hate,  arose  within  me, 
Seeing  its  object  was  within  my  reach, 
And  scarcely  could  forbear." 


I  cannot  on  the  muiky  beach  distinguish 

The  shallop  from  the  rocks  which  lie  beside  it ; 

I  cannot  see  tall  Philip's  floating  plume, 

Nor  trace  the  sullen  brow  of  Niel  MacLellan  ; 

Yet  still  that  caitiff's  visage  is  before  me, 

With  chattering  teeth,  mazed  look,  and  bristling 

hair, 
As  he  stood  here  this  moment ! — Have  I  changed 
My  human  eyes  for  those  of  some  night  prowler, 
The  wolf's,  the  tiger-cat's,  or  the  hoarse  bird's 
That  spies  its  prey  at  midnight  ?     I  can  see  him — 
Yes,  I  can  see  him,  seeing  no  one  else, — 
And  well  it  is  I  do  so.     In  his  absence, 
Strange  thoughts  of  pity  mingled  with  my  purpose, 
And  moved  remorse  within  me — But  they  vanish'd 
Whene'er  he  stood  a  living  man  before  me ; 
Then  my  antipathy  awaked  within  me, 
Seeing  its  object  close  within  my  reach, 
Till  I  could  scarce  forbear  him.1 — How  they  linger  I 
The  boat's  not  yet  to  sea ! — I  ask  myself, 
What  has  the  poor  wretch  done  to  wake  my  ha 

tred — 
Docile,  obedient,  and  in  sufferance  patient  ? — 
As  well  demand  what  evil  has  the  hare 
Done  to  the  hound  that  courses  her  in  sport. 
Instinct  infallible  supplies  the  reason — 
And  that  must  plead  my  cause. — The  vision's  gone ! 
Their  boat  now  walks  the  waves  ;  a  single  gleam, 
Now  seen,  now  lost,  is  all  that  marks  her  course  ; 
That  soon  shall  vanish  too — then  all  is  over  1 — 
Would  it  were  o'er,  for  in  this  moment  lies 
The  agony  of  ages  !2 — Now,  'tis  gone — 
And  all  is  acted ! — no — she  breasts  again 
The  opposing  wave,  and  bears  the  tiny  sparkle 
Upon  her  crest — 

[A  faint  cry  heard  as  from  seaward 
Ah  !  there  was  fatal  evidence, 
All's  over  now,  indeed ! — The  light  is  quench'd — 
And  Quentin,  source  of  all  my  fear,  exists  not. — 
The  morning  tide  shall  sweep  his  corpse  to  sea, 
And  hide  all  memory  of  this  stern  night's  work. 

[He  walks  in  a  slow  and  deeply  meditative 
manner  towards  the  side  of  the  Stage, 
and  suddenly  meets  Marion,  tJie  wife  oj 
MacLellan,  who  has  descended  from 
the  Castle. 
Now,  how  to  meet  Dunbar — Heaven  guard  my 

senses ! 
Stand !  who  goes  there  ? — Do  spirits  walk  the  earth 
Ere  yet  they've  left  the  body  ! 

Mar.  Is  it  you, 

My  lord,  on  this  wild  beach  at  such  an  hour  ! 

Auch.  It  is  MacLellan's  wife,  in  search  of  him, 
Or  of  her  lover — of  the  murderer, 

2 "  In  that  moment,  o'er  his  soul 

Winters  of  memory  seem'd  to  roll." 

Byron—  The  Qiaour 


S08 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Or  of  the  murder'd  man. — Go  to,  Dame  Marion, 
Men  have  their  hunting-gear  to  give  an  eye  to, 
Their  snares  and  trackings  for  their  game.    But 

women 
(Should  shun  the  night  air.     A  young  wife  also, 
Still  more  a  handsome  one,  should  keep  her  pillow 
Till  the  sun  gives  example  for  her  wakening. 
Come,  dame,  go  back — back  to  your  bed  again. 
Mar.  Hear  me,  my  lord  1  there  have  been  sights 

and  sounds 
That  terrified  my  child  and  me — Groans,  screams, 
As  if  of  dying  seamen,  came  from  ocean — 
A  corpse-light  danced  upon  the  crested  waves 
For  several  minutes'  space,  then  sunk  at  once. 
When  we  retired  to  rest  we  had  two  guests, 
Besides  my  husband  Mel — I'll  tell  your  lordship 

Who  the  men  were 

Auch.  Pshaw,  woman,  can  you  tliink 

That  I  have  any  interest  in  your  gossips  ? 
Please  your  own  husband,  and  that  you  may  please 

him, 
Get  thee  to  bed,  and  shut  up  doors,  good  dame. 
W*ere  I  MacLellan,  I  should  scarce  be  satisfied 
To  find  thee  wandering  here  in  mist  and  moonlight; 
When  silence  should  be  in  thy  habitation, 
And  sleep  upon  thy  pillow. 

Mar.  Good  my  lord, 

This  is  a  holyday. — By  an  ancient  custom 
Our  children  seek  the  shore  at  break  of  day 
And  gather  shells,  and  dance,  and  play,  and  sport 

them 
In  honor  of  the  Ocean.     Old  men  say 
The  custom  is  derived  from  heathen  times.     Our 

Isabel 
Is  mistress  of  the  feast,  and  you  may  think 
She  is  awake  already,  and  impatient 
To  be  the  first  shall  stand  upon  the  beach, 
And  bid  the  sun  good-morrow. 

Auch.  Ay,  indeed  1 

Linger  such  dregs  of  heathendom  among  you  ? 
And  hath  Knox  preach'd,  and  Wishart  died,  in 

vain  ? 
Take  notice,  I  forbid  these  sinful  practices, 
And  will  not  have  my  followers  mingle  in  them. 
Mar.  If  such  your  honor's  pleasure,  I  must  go 
And  lock  the  door  on  Isabel ;  she  is  wilful, 
And  voice  of  mine  will  have  small  force  to  keep  her 
From  the  amusement  she  so  long  has  dream'd  of. 
But  I  must  tell  your  honor,  the  old  people, 
That  were  survivors  of  the  former  race, 
Prophesied  evil  if  this  day  should  pass 
Without  due  homage  to  the  mighty  Ocean. 

Auch.  Folly  and  Papistry — Perhaps  the  ocean 
Hath  had  his  morning  sacrifice  already  ; 
Or  can  you  think  the  dreadful  element, 
Whose  frown  is  death,  whose  roar  the  dirge  of 

navies, 
Will  miss  the  idle  pageant  you  prepare  for  ? 


Tve  business  for  you,  too — the  dawn  advances— 
I'd  have  thee  lock  thy  little  child  in  safety, 
And  get  to  Auchindrane  before  the  sun  rise  • 
Tell  them  to  get  a  royal  banquet  ready, 
As  if  a  king  were  coming  there  to  feast  him. 
*Mar.  I  will  obey  your  pleasure.     But  my  hus- 
band  

Auch.  I  wait  him  on  the  beach,  and  bring  him  ic 
To  share  the  banquet. 

Mar.  But  he  has  a  friend, 

Whom  it  would  ill  become  him  to  intrude 
Upon  your  hospitality. 

Auch.  Fear  not ;  his  friend  shall  be  made  wel- 
come too, 
Should  he  return  with  Niel. 

Mar.  He  must — he  will  return — he  has  no  op 

tion. 
Auch.    (Apart.)   Thus  rashly  do  we   deem   of 
others'  destiny — 
He  has  indeed  no  option — but  he  comes  not. 
Begone  on  thy  commission — I  go  this  way 
To  meet  thy  husband. 

[Marion  goes  to  her  Tower,  and  after  en. 
tering  it,  is  seen  to  come  out,  lock  the 
door,  and  leave  the  Stage,  as  if  to  execute 
Auchindrane's  commission.      He,  ap- 
parently going  off  in  a  different  direc 
tion,  has  watched  her  from  the  side  oj 
the  Stage,  and  on  her  departure  speaks. 
Auch.  Fare  thee  well,  fond  woman, 
Most  dangerous  of  spies — thou  prying,  prating, 
Spying,  and  telling  woman !  I've  cut  short 
Thy  dangerous  testimony — hated  word  1 
What  other  evidence  have  we  cut  short, 
And  by  what  fated  means,  this  dreary  morning  ! — 
Bright  lances  here  and  helmets  ? — I  must  shift 
To  join  the  others.  [Exit. 

Enter  from  the  other  side  the  Sergeant,  accompa- 
nied with  an  Officer  and  two  Pikemen. 

Ser.  'Twas  in  good  time  you  came ;  a  minute 
later 
The  knaves  had  ta'en  my  dollars  and  my  life. 

Off.  You  fought  most  stoutly.     Two  of  them 
were  down 
Ere  we  came  to  your  aid.  % 

Ser.  Gramercy,  halberd ! 

And  well  it  happens,  since  your  leader  seeks 
This  Quentin  Blane,  that  you  have  fall'n  on  me ; 
None  else  can  surely  tell  you  where  he  hides, 
Being  in  some  fear,  and  bent  to  quit  this  province. 

Off.  'Twill  do  our  Earl  good  service.     He  haa 
sent 
Dispatches  into  Holland  for  this  Quentin. 

Ser.  I  left  him  two  hours  since  in  yonder  towei 
Under  the  guard  of  one  who  smoothly  spoke, 
Although  he  look'd  but  roughly — I  will  chide  him 
For  bidding  me  go  forth  with  yonder  traitor. 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


SOB 


Off.  Assure  yourself  'twas  a  concerted  strata- 
gem. 
Montgomery's  been  at  Holyrood  for  months, 
And  can  have  sent  no  letter — 'twas  a  plan 
On  you  and  on  your  dollars,  and  a  base  one, 
To  which  tliis  Ranger  was  most  likely  privy ; 
Such  men  as  he  hang  on  our  fiercer  barons, 
The  ready  agents  of  their  lawless  will ; 
Bo)  s  of  the  belt,  who  aid  their  master's  pleasures, 
And  in  his  moods  ne'er  scruple  his  injunctions. 
But  haste,  for  now  we  must  unkennel  Quentin ; 
I've  strictest  charge  concerning  him. 

Ser.  Go  up,  then,  to  the  tower. 
You've  younger  limbs  than  mine — there  shall  you 

find  him 
Lounging  and  snoring,  like  a  lazy  cur 
Before  a  stable  door  ;  it  is  his  practice. 

[The  Officer  goes  up  to  the  Tower,  and 
after  knocking  without  receiving  an 
answer,  turns  the  key  which  Marion 
had  left  in  the  lock,  and  enters  ;  Isabel, 
dressed  as  if  for  her  dance,  runs  out 
and  descends  to  the  Stage  ;  the  Officer 
follows. 
Off.  There's  no  one  in  the  house,  this  little 
maid 

Excepted 

Isa.  And  for  me,  I'm  there  no  longer, 

And  will  not  be  again  for  three  hours  good : 
I'm  gone  to  join  my  playmates  on  the  sands. 
Off.  {detaining  her.)  You  shall,  when  you  have 
told  to  me  distinctly 
Where  are  the  guests  who  slept  up  there  last  night. 
Isa.  Why,  there  is  the  old  man,  he  stands  beside 

you, 

The  merry  old  man,  with  the  glistening  hair ; 
He  left  the  tower  at  midnight,  for  my  father 
Brought  liim  a  letter. 

Ser.  In  ill  hour  I  left  you, 

I  wish  to  Heaven  that  I  had  stay'd  with  you ; 
There  is  a  nameless  horror  that  comes  o'er  me. — 
Speak,  pretty  maiden,  tell  us  what  chanced  next, 
And  thou  shalt  have  thy  freedom. 

Isa.  After  you  went  last  night,  my  father 
Grew  moody,  and  refused  to  doff  Ins  clothes, 
Or  go  to  bed,  as  sometimes  he  will  do 
When  there  is  aught  to  chafe  him.     Until  past 

midnight, 
He  wander'd  to  and  fro,  then  call'd  the  stranger, 
The  gay  young  man,  that  sung  such  merry  songs, 
Yet  ever  look'd  most  sadly  whilst  he  sung  them, 
And  forth  they  went  together. 

Off.  And  you've  seen 

Or  heard  naught  of  them  since  ? 

Isa,  Seen  surely  nothing,  and  I  cannot  think 

That  they  have  lot  or  share  in  what  I  heard. 

I  L  jard  my  mother  praying,  for  the  corpse-lights 

Wt  re  dancing  on  the  waves ;  and  at  one  o'clock, 
102 


Just  as  the  Abbey  steeple  toll'd  the  knelh 
There  was  a  heavy  plunge  upon  the  waters, 
And  some  one  cried  aloud  for  mercy ! — mercy 
It  was  the  water-spirit,  sure,  which  promised 
Mercy  to  boat  and  fisherman,  if  we 
Perform'd  to-day's  rites  duly.     Let  me  go— 
I  am  to  lead  the  ring. 

Off.  (to  Ser.)  Detain  her  not.     She  cannot  tell 

us  more ; 
To  give  her  liberty  is  the  sure  way 
To  lure  her  parents  homeward. — Strahan,  take  two 

men, 
And  should  the  father  or  the  mother  come, 
Arrest  them  both,  or  either.  Auchindrane 
May  come  upon  the  beach ;  arrest  him  also, 
But  do  not  state  a  cause.  I'll  back  again, 
And  take  directions  from  my  Lord  Dunbar. 
Keep  you  upon  the  beach,  and  have  an  eye 
To  all  that  passes  there. 

[Exeunt  separately. 


SCENE  1L 

Scene  changes  to  a  remote  and  rocky  part  of  tm 
Sea-beach. 

Enter  Auchindrane,  meeting  Philip. 

Auch.  The  devil's  brought  his  legions  to  tnur 
beach, 
That  wont  to  be  so  lonely ;  morions,  lances, 
Show  in  the    morning   beam  as  thick    as    glow 

worms 
At  summer  midnight. 

Phi.  I'm  right  glad  to  see  then*, 

Be  they  whoe'er  they  may,  so  they  are  mortal  ■ 
For  I've  contended  with  a  lifeless  foe, 
And  I  have  lost  the  battle.     I  would  give 
A  thousand  crowns  to  hear  a  mortal  steel 
Ring  on  a  mortal  harness. 

Auch.  How  now  ! — Art  mad,  or  hast  thou  done 
the  turn — 
The  turn  we  came  for,  and  must  live  or  die  by « 

Phi.  'Tis  done,  if  man  can  do  it ;  but  I  doubt 
If  this  unhappy  wretch  have  Heaven's  permission 
To  die  by  mortal  hands. 

Auch.  Where  is  he  ? — where's  MacLellan  ? 

Phi.  In  the  deep- 

Both  in  the  deep,  and  what's  immortal  of  them 
Gone  to  the  judgment-seat,  where  we  must  meet 
them. 

Auch.  MacLellan  dead,  and  Quentin  too  ? — So 
be  it 
To  all  that  menace  ill  to  Aucliindrane, 
Or  have  the  power  to  injure  him ! — Thy  word* 
Are  full  of  comfort,  but  thine  eye  and  look 


810 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Have  in  this  pallid  gloom  a  ghastliness, 
Which  contradicts  the  tidings  of  thy  tongue.1 

Phi.  Hear  me,  old  man. — There  is  a  heaven 
above  us. 
As  you  have  heard  old  Knox  and  Wishart  preach, 
Though  little  to  your  boot.     The  dreaded  witness 
la  slain,  and  silent.     But  his  misused  body 
Comes  right  ashore,  as  if  to  cry  for  vengeance ; 
It  rides  the  waters  like  a  living  thing,2 
Erect,  as  if  he  trode  the  waves  which  bear  him. 

Aucn.  Thou  speakest  phrensy,  when  sense  is 
most  required. 

Phi.  Hear  me  yet  more  ! — I  say  I  did  the  deed 
With  all  the  coolness  of  a  practised  hunter 
"When  dealing  with  a  stag.     I  struck  him  over- 
board, 
And  with  MacLellan's  aid  I  held  his  head 
Under  the  waters,  while  the  Ranger  tied 
The  weights  we  had  provided  to  his  feet. 
We  cast  him  loose  when  life  and  body  parted, 
And  bid  him  speed  for  Ireland.     But  even  then, 
As  in  defiance  of  the  words  we  spoke, 
The  body  rose  upright  behind  our  stern, 
One  half  in  ocean,  and  one  half  in  air, 
And  tided  after  as  in  chase  of  us.8 

Auch.  It  was  enchantment! — Did  you  strike  at 
it? 

Phi.  Once  and  again.    But  blows  avail'd  no  more 
Than  on  a  wreath  of  smoke,  where  they  may  break 
The  column  for  a  moment,  which  unites 
And  is  entire  again.     Thus  the  dead  body 
Sunk  down  before  my  oar,  but  rose  unharm'd, 
And  dogg'd  us  closer  still,  as  in  defiance. 

Auch.  'Twas  Hell's  own  work ! 

Phi.  MacLellan  then  grew  restive 

And  desperate  in  his  fear,  blasphemed  aloud, 
Cursing  us  both  as  authors  of  his  ruin. 
Myself  was  wellnigh  frantic  while  pursued 
By  this  dead  shape,  upon  whose  ghastly  features 
The  changeful  moonbeam  spread  a  grisly  light ; 
And,  baited  thus,  I  took  the  nearest  way4 
To  ensure  lus  silence,  and  to  quell  his  noise ; 

i "  This  man's  brow,  like  to  a  title  leaf, 

Foretells  the  nature  of  a  tragic  volume  ; 

Thou  tremblest ;  and  the  whiteness  in  thy  cheek 

Is  apter  than  thy  tongue  to  tell  thy  errand." 

2d  King  Henry  IV. 

2 "  Walks  the  waters  like  a  thing  of  life." 

Byron — The  Corsair. 

s  This  passage  was  probably  suggested  by  a  striking  one  in 
Southey's  Life  of  Nelson,  touching  the  corpse  of  the  Neapoli- 
tan Prince  Caraccioli,  executed  on  board  the  Foudroyant,  then 
the  great  British  Admiral's  flag-ship,  in  the  bay  of  Naples,  in 
1799.  The  circumstances  of  Caraccioli 's  trial  and  death  form, 
it  is  almost  needless  to  observe,  the  most  unpleasant  chapter  in 
Lord  Nelson's  history  : — 

"The  body,"  says  Southey,  "was  carried  out  to  a  con- 
siderable distance  and  sunk  in  the  bay,  with  three  double- 
Ueaded  shot,  weighing  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  tied  to 


I  used  my  dagger,  and  I  flung  him  overlywd, 
And  half  expected  Ins  dead  carcass  also    < 
Would  join  the  chase — but  he  sunk  down  at  once. 

Auch.  He  had  enough  of  mortal  sin  about  him, 
To  sink  an  argosy. 

Phi.  But  now  resolve  you  what  defence  to  make, 
If  Quentin's  body  shall  be  recognized ; 
For  'tis  ashore  already ;  and  he  bears 
Marks  of  my  handiwork ;  so  does  MacLellan. 

Auch.  The    concourse    thickens    still  —  Away, 
away  ! 
We  must  avoid  the  multitude. 

[They  rush  out 


SCENE  III. 

Scene  changes  to  another  part  of  the  Beach.  Chil- 
dren are  seen  dancing,  and  Villagers  looking  on. 
Isabel  seems  to  take  the  tnanageinent  of  th« 
Dance. 

Vil.  Wom.  How  well  she  queens  it,  the  brave 

little  maiden ! 
Vil.  Ay,  they  all  queen    it    from  their  very 
cradle, 
These  willing  slaves  of  haughty  Auchindrane. 
But  now  I  hear  the  old  man's  reign  is  ended  ; — 
'Tis  well — he  has  been  tyrant  long  enough. 

Second  Yil.  Finlay,  speak  low,  you  interrupt 

the  sports. 
Third  Vil.  Look  out  to  sea — There's  something 
coming  yonder, 
Bound  for  the  beach,  will  scare  us  from  our  mirth. 
Fourth  Vil.  Pshaw,  it  is  buA,  a  sea-gull  on  the 
wing, 
Between  the  wave  and  sky. 

Third  Vil.  Thou  art  a  fool, 

Standing  on  solid  land — 'tis  a  dead  body. 

Second  Vil.  And  if  it  be,  he  bears  him  like  a 
live  one, 


its  legs.  Between  two  or  three  weeks  afterwards,  when  th« 
King  (of  Naples)  was  on  board  the  Foudroyant,  a  Neapolitan 
fisherman  came  to  the  ship,  and  solemnly  declared,  that 
Caraccioli  had  risen  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  was  com- 
ing as  fast  as  he  could  to  Naples,  swimming  half  out  of  the 
water.  Such  an  account  was  listened  to  like  a  tale  of  idle 
credulity.  The  day  being  fair,  Nelson,  to  please  the  King, 
stood  out  to  sea  ;  but  the  ship  had  not  proceeded  far  before  a 
body  was  distinctly  seen,  upright  in  the  water,  and  approach- 
ing them.  It  was  recognized,  indeed,  to  be  the  corpse  of 
Caraccioli,  which  had  risen  and  floated,  while  the  greai 
weights  attached  to  the  legs  kept  the  body  in  a  position  like 
that  of  a  living  man.  A  fact  so  extraordinary  astonished  the 
King,  and  perhaps  excited  some  feelings  of  superstitious  fear 
akin  to  regret.  He  gave  permission  for  the  body  to  be  taken  on 
shore,  and  receive  Christian  burial." — Life  of  Nelnon,  chap, 
vi. 
4  MS  — "  And,  baited  by  mv  slava  I  used  mv  dagger  " 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


611 


Not  prone  and  weltering  like  a  drowned  corpse, 
But  bolt  erect,  as  if  he  trode  the  waters, 
And  used  them  as  his  path. 

Fourth  Vil.  It  is  a  merman, 

And  nothing  of  this  earth,  alive  or  dead. 

[By  degrees   all   the  Dancers   break  off 
from  their  sport,  and  stand  gazing  to 
seaward,   while   an   object,   imperfectly 
seen,  drifts  towards  the  Beach,  and  at 
length  arrives  among  the  rocks  which 
border  the  tide. 
Third  Vil.  Perhaps  it  is  some  wretch  who  needs 
assistance ; 
Jasper,  make  in  and  see. 

Second  Vil.  Not  I,  my  friend ; 

E'en  take  the  risk  yourself,  you'd  put  on  others. 

[Hildebrand  has  entered,  and  heard  the 
two  last  words. 
Ser.  What,  are  you  men  ? 
Fear  ye  to  look  on  what  you  must  be  one  day? 
I,  who  have  seen  a  thousand  dead  and  dying 
Within  a  flight-shot  square,  will  teach  you  how  in 

war 
We  look  upon  the  corpse  when  life  has  left  it. 

[He  goes  to  the  back  scene,  and  seems  at- 
tempting to   turn  the  body,  which  has 
come  ashore  with  its  face  downwards. 
Will  none  of  you  come  aid  to  turn  the  body  ? 
Isa.  You're  cowards  all. — I'll  help  thee,  good  old 
man. 

[She  goes  to  aid  the  Sergeant  with  the 
body,  and  presently  gives   a  cry,  and 
faints.      Hildebrand   comes  forward. 
All  crowd  round  him ;  he  speaks  with 
an  expression  of  horror. 
Ser.  Tis  Quentin  Blane  !  Poor  youth,  his  gloomy 
bodings 
Have  been  the  prologue  to  an  act  of  darkness ; 
His  feet  are  manacled,  his  bosom  statb'd, 
And  he  is  foully  murder'd.     The  proud  Knight " 
And  his  dark  Ranger  must  have  done  this  deed, 
For  which  no  common  ruffian  could  have  motive. 
A  Pea.  Caution  were  best,  old  man — Thou  art 
a  stranger, 
The  Knight  is  great  and  powerful. 

Ser.  Let  it  be  so. 

Call'd  on  by  Heaven  to  stand  forth  an  avenger, 
I.  will  not  blench  for  fear  of  mortal  man. 
Have  I  not  seen  that  when  that  innocent 

1  MS. — "  His  unblooded  wounds,"  &c. 

2  "The  poet,  in  his  play  of  Auchindrane,  displayed  real 
tragic  power,  and  soothed  all  those  who  cried  out  before  f>r  a 
more  direct  story,  and  less  of  the  retrospective.  Several  o '  the 
icenes  as  s  conceived  and  executed  with  all  the  powers  of  the 


Had  placed  her  hands  upon  the  murder'd  body, 
His  gaping  wounds,1  that  erst  were  soak'd  with 

brine, 
Burst  forth  with  blood  as  ruddy  as  the  cloud 
Which  now  the  sun  doth  rise  on  ? 
Pea.  What  of  that  ? 

Ser.  Nothing  that  can  affect  the  innocent  child. 
But  murder's  guilt  attaching  to  her  father, 
Since  the  blood  musters  in  the  victim's  veins 
At  the  approach  of  what  holds  lease  from  liim 
Of  all  that  parents  can  transmit  to  children. 
And  here  comes  one  to  whom  I'll  vouch  the  cir- 
cumstance. 

The  Earl  of  Dunbar  enters  with  Soldiers  and  oth- 
ers, having  Auchindrane  and  Philip  prisoners. 
Dun.  Fetter  the  young  ruffian  and  his  trait'rous 
father  1 

[They  are  made  secure. 

Auch.  'Twas  a  lord  spoke  it — I  have  known  a 

knight, 

Sir  George  of  Home,  who  had  not  dared  to  say  so. 

Dun.  'Tis  Heaven,  not  I,  decides  upon  your  guilt 

A  harmless  youth  is  traced  within  your  power, 

Sleeps  in  your  Ranger's  house — his  friend  at  mid  - 

night 
Is  spirited  away.     Then  lights  are  seen, 
And  groans  are  heard,  and  corpses  come  ashore 
Mangled  with  daggers,  while  (to  Philip)  your  dag 

ger  wears 
The  sanguine  livery  of  recent  slaughter : 
Here,  too,  the  body  of  a  murder'd  victim 
(Whom  none  but  you  had  interest  to  remove) 
Bleeds  on  the  child's  approach,  because  the  daughter 
Of  one  the  abettor  of  the  wicked  deed. 
All  tliis,  and  other  proofs  corroborative, 
Call  on  us  briefly  to  pronounce  the  doom 
We  have  in  charge  to  utter. 

Auch.  If  my  house  perish,  Heaven's  will  be  done  1 
I  wish  not  to  survive  it ;  but,  0  Pliilip, 
Would  one  could  pay  the  ransom  for  us  both ! 

Phi.  Father,  'tis  fitter  that  we  both  should  die, 
Leaving  no  heir  behind. — The  piety 
Of  a  bless'd  saint,  the  morals  of  an  anchorite, 
Could  not  atone  thy  dark  hypocrisy, 
Or  the  wild  profligacy  I  have  practised. 
Ruin'd  our  house,  and  shatter'd  be  our  towers. 
And  with  them  end  the  curse  our  sins  have  mer- 
ited 1» 

best  parts  of '  Waverley.'  The  verse,  too,  is  more  rough,  natu- 
ral, and  nervous,  than  that  of  '  Halidon  Hill  ;'  but,  noble  as 
the  effort  was,  it  was  eclipsed  so  much  by  his  splendid  «"mau- 
ces,  that  the  public  still  complained  that  b*»  »">'J  -ot  done  hit 
best,  and  that  his  genius  was  not  dramatic." — Allan  Cun- 
ningham. —JWienaum,  14th  Dec.  1833. 


812 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Stye  §ou0£  of  Ikzytri 

A   TRAGEDY. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

This  attempt  at  dramatic  composition  was  exe- 
cuted nearly  thirty  years  since,  when  the  magnifi- 
cent works  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  were  for  the 
first  time  made  known  to  the  British  public,  and 
received,  as  many  now  alive  must  remember,  with 
universal  enthusiasm.  What  we  admire  we  usually 
attempt  to  imitate ;  and  the  author,  not  trusting 
to  his  own  efforts,  borrowed  the  substance  of  the 
story  and  a  part  of  the  diction  from  a  dramatic 
romance  called  "  Der  Heilige  Vehme"  (the  Secret 
Tribunal),  which  fills  the  sixth  volume  of  the  "  Sa- 
gen  der  Vorzeit"  (Tales  of  Antiquity),  by  Beit 
Weber.  The  drama  must  be  termed  rather  a  rifa- 
cimento  of  the  original  than  a  translation,  since  the 
whole  is  compressed,  and  the  incidents  and  dia- 
logue occasionally  much  varied.  The  imitator  is 
ignorant  of  the  real  name  of  his  ingenious  contem- 
porary, and  has  been  informed  that  of  Beit  Weber 
is  fictitious.1 

The  late  Mr.  John  Kemble  at  one  time  had  some 
desire  to  bring  out  the  play  at  Drury-Lane,  then 
adorned  by  himself  and  his  matchless  sister,  who 
were  to  have  supported  the  characters  of  the  un- 
happy son  and  mother :  but  great  objections  ap- 
peared to  this  proposal.  There  was  danger  that 
the  main-spring  of  the  story, — the  binding  engage- 
ments formed  by  members  of  the  secret  tribunal, — 
might  not  be  sufficiently  felt  by  an  English  audi- 
ence, to  whom  the  nature  of  that  singularly  mys- 
terious institution  «was  unknown  from  early  associ- 
ation. There  was  also,  according  to  Mr.  Kemble's 
experienced  opinion,  too  much  blood,  too  much  of 
the  dire  catastrophe  of  Tom  Thumb,  when  all  die 
on  the  stage.  It  was,  besides,  esteemed  perilous  to 
place  the  fifth  act  and  the  parade  and  show  of  the 
secret  conclave,  at  the  mercy  of  underlings  and 
ecene-shifters,  who,  by  a  ridiculous  motion,  gesture, 
or  accent,  might  turn  what  should  be  grave  into 
farce. 

The  author,  or  rather  the  translator,  willingly 
ncquiesced  in  this  reasoning,  and  never  afterwards 

1  George  Wachter,  who  published  various  works  under  the 
pseudonym  of  Veit  Weber,  was  born  in  1763,  and  died  in  1837. 
— Ed. 


made  any  attempt  to  gain  the  honor  of  the  buskin 
The  German  taste  also,  caricatured  by  a  number 
of  imitators  who,  incapable  of  copying  the  sublim- 
ity of  the  great  masters  of  the  school,  supplied  ita 
place  by  extravagance  and  bombast,  fell  into  dis- 
repute, and  received  a  coup  de  grace  from  the  joint 
efforts  of  the  late  lamented  Mr.  Canning  and  Mr. 
Frere.  The  effect  of  their  singularly  happy  piece 
of  ridicule  called  "  The  Rovers,"  a  mock  play  which 
appeared  in  the  Anti-Jacobin,  was,  that  the  Ger- 
man school,  with  its  beauties  and  its  defects,  passed 
completely  out  of  fashion,  and  the  following  scenes 
were  consigned  to  neglect  and  obscurity.  Very 
lately,  however,  the  writer  chanced  to  look  them 
over  with  feelings  very  different  from  those  of  the 
adventurous  period  of  his  literary  life  during  which 
they  had  been  written,  and  yet  with  such  as  per- 
haps a  reformed  libertine  might  regard  the  ille- 
gitimate production  of  an  early  amour.  There  ia 
something  to  be  ashamed  of,  certainly  ;  but,  after 
all,  paternal  vanity  whispers  that  the  child  has  a 
resemblance  to  the  father. 

To  this  it  need  only  be  added,  that  there  are  in 
existence  so  many  manuscript  copies  of  the  follow- 
ing play,  thai  if  it  should  not  find  its  way  to  the 
public  sooner,  it  is  certain  to  do  so  when  the  author 
can  no  niore  have  any  opportunity  of  correcting 
the  'press,  and  consequently  at  greater  disadvantage 
than  at  present.  Being  of  too  small  a  size  or  con- 
fcequence  for  a  separate  publication,  the  piece  is 
aent  as  a  contribution  to  the  Keepsake,  where  its 
demerits  may  be  hidden  amid  the  beauties  of  more 
valuable  articles.8 

Abbots*  ord,  1st  April,  1829. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


MEN. 

Rudiger,  Baron  of  Aspen,  an  old  German  warrior 
George  of  Aspen, 
Henry  of  Aspen, 


*  v  sons  to  Rudiger. 
:n,    ) 


a  See  Life  ef  Scott,  vol 
ii,208. 


ii.  pages  18,  20,  72;    iii.  2  J 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


813 


Roderic,  Count  of  Malting  en,  chief  of  a  department 
of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  and  the  hereditary  ene- 
my of  the  family  of  Aspen. 

William,  Baron  of  Wolf  stein,  ally  of  Count  Rod- 
eric. 

Bertram  of  Ebersdorf,  brother  to  the  former  hus- 
band of  the  Baroness  of  Aspen,  disguised  as  a 
minstrel. 

Duke  of  Bavaria. 

Wickerd,  )  followers  0fthe  Home  0f  Aspen, 

Reynold,  y  J  : 

Conrad,  Page  of  Honor  to  Henry  of  Aspen, 

Martin,  Squire  to  George  of  Aspen. 

Hugo,  Squire  to  Count  Roderic. 

Peter,  an  ancient  domestic  of  Rudiger. 

Father  Ludovio,  Chaplain  to  Rudiger. 

WOMEX 

Isabella,  formerly  married  to  A:  nolf  of  Ebersdorf , 

now  wife  of  Rudiger. 
Gertrude,  Isabella's  niece,  betrothed  to  Henry. 

Soldiers,  Judges  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal, 
&c.  &c. 

Hcene. —  The  ^astle  of  Ebersdorf  in  Bavaria,  the 
ruins  of  (Jriefenhaus,  and  the  adjacent  country. 


3il)e  §oti0£  of  2Upm. 


ACT  L— SCENE  L 

An  ancient  Gothic  chamber  in  the  Castle  of  Ebers- 
dorf. Spears,  crossbows,  and  arms,  with  the  horns 
of  buffaloes  and  of  deer,  are  hung  round  the  wall. 
An  antique  buffet  with  beakers  and  stone  bottles. 

Rudiger,  Baron  of  Aspen,  and  his  lady,  Isabella, 
are  discovered  sitting  at  a  large  oaken  table. 

Rud.  A  plague  upon  that  roan  horse  !  Had  he 
not  stumbled  with  me  at  the  ford  after  our  last 
skirmish,  I  had  been  now  with  my  sons.  And 
yonder  the  boys  are,  hardly  three  miles  off,  bat- 
tling with  Count  Roderic,  and  their  father  must 
lie  here  like  a  worm-eaten  manuscript  in  a  convent 
library  1  Out  upon  it !  Out  upon  it !  Is  it  not  hard 
that  a  warrior,  who  has  travelled  so  many  leagues 
to  display  the  cross  on  the  walls  of  Zion,  should  be 
now  unable  to  lift  a  spear  before  his  own  castle 
gate  1 

Isa.  Dear  husband,  your  anxiety  retards  your 
recovery. 

Rud.  May  be  so ;  but  not  less  than  your  silence 
and  melancholy !    Here  have  I  sate  this  month, 


and  more,  since  that  cursed  fall !  Neither  hunting 
nor  feasting,  nor  lance-breaking  for  me  !  And  mv 
sons — George  enters  cpld  and  reserved,  as  if  he 
had  the  weight  of  the  empire  on  his  shoulders,  ut 
ters  by  syllables  a  cold  "  Howvis  it  with  you  ?"  and 
shuts  himself  up  for  days  in  his  solitary  chamber — 
Henry,  my  cheerful  Henry — 

Isa.  Surely,  he  at  least — 

Rud.  Even  he  forsakes  me,  and  skips  up  the 
tower  staircase  like  lightning  to  join -your  fair 
ward,  Gertrude,  on  the  battlements.  I  cannot 
blame  him ;  for,  by  my  knightly  faith,  were  I  in 
his  place,  I  think  even  these  bruised  bones  woulc 
hardly  keep  me  from  her  side.  Still,  however, 
here  I  must  sit  alone. 

Isa.  Not  alone,  dear  husband.  Heaven  knows 
what  I  would  do  to  soften  your  confinement. 

Rud.  Tell  me  not  of  that,  lady.  When  I  first 
knew  thee,  Isabella,  the  fair  maid  of  Arnlieim  was 
the  joy  of  her  companions,  and  breathed  life  where- 
ever  she  came.  Thy  father  married  thee  to  Arnolj 
of  Ebersdorf — not  much  with  thy  will,  'tis  true — ■ 
(she  hides  her  face.)  Nay — forgive  me,  Isabella — ■ 
but  that  is  over — he  died,  and  the  ties  between  us. 
which  thy  marriage  had  broken,  were  renewed — 
but  the  sunshine  of  my  Isabella's  light  heart  re 
turned  no  more. 

Isa.  (weeping.)  Beloved  Rudiger,  you  search  my 
very  soul !  Why  will  you  recall  past  times — days 
of  spring  that  can  never  return  ?  Do  I  not  love 
thee  more  than  ever  wife  loved  husband  ? 

Rud.  (stretches  out  his  arms — she  embraces  him.) 
And  therefore  art  thou  ever  my  beloved  Isabella, 
But  still,  is  it  not  true  ?  Has  not  thy  cheerfulness 
vanished  since  thou  hast  become  Lady  of  Aspen  ? 
Dost  thou  repent  of  thy  love  to  Rudiger  ? 

Is.  Alas !  no !  never !  never  I 

Rud.  Then  why  dost  thou  herd  with  monks  and 
priests,  and  leave  thy  old  knight  alone,  when,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  stormy  life,  he  has  rested  for 
weeks  within  the  walls  of  his  castle  ?  Hast  thou 
committed  a  crime  from  which  Rudiger's  love 
cannot  absolve  thee  ? 

Isa.  0  many  1  many  ! 

Rud.  Then  be  this  kiss  thy  penance.  And  tell 
me,  Isabella,  hast  thou  not  founded  a  convent,  and 
endowed  it  with  the  best  of  thy  late  husb^ncis 
lands  ?  Ay,  and  with  a  vineyard  winch  I  conic 
have  prized  as  well  as  the  sleek  monks.  Dost 
thou  not  daily  distribute  alms  to  twenty  pilgrim*  I 
Dost  thou  not  cause  ten  masses  to  be  sung  each 
night  for  the  repose  of  thy  late  husband's  soul  ? 

Isa.  It  will  not  know  repose. 

Rud.  Well,  well — God's  peace  be  with  Arnoli 
of  Ebersdorf;  the  mention  of  him  makes  thee  ever 
sad,  though  so  many  years  have  passed  since  his 
death. 

Isa.  But  at  present,  dear  husband,  have  I  noi 


814 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  most  just  cause  for  anxiety  ?  Are  not  Henry 
and  George,  our  beloved  sons,  at  this  very  moment 
perhaps  engaged  in  doubtful  contest  with  our  he- 
reditary foe,  Count  Roderic  of  Maltingen  ? 

Run.  Now,  there  lies  the  difference :  you  sorrow 
that  they  are  in  danger,  I  that  I  cannot  share  it 
with  them. — Hark  !  I  hear  horses'  feet  on  the 
drawbridge.     Go  to  the  window,  Isabella. 

I.sa.  (at  the  window.)  It  is  Wickerd,  your  squire. 

Rud.  Then  shall  we  have  tidings  of  George  and 
Henry.  (Enter  Wickerd.)  How  now,  Wickerd  ? 
Have  you  come  to  blows  yet  ? 

Wic.  Not  yet,  noble  sir. 

Rud.  Not  yet  ? — shame  on  the  boys'  dallying — 
what  wait  they  for  ? 

Wic.  The  foe  is  strongly  posted,  sir  knight,  upon 
the  Wolfshill,  near  the  ruins  of  Griefenhaus ;  there- 
fore your  noble  son,  George  of  Aspen,  greets  you 
well,  and  requests  twenty  more  men-at-arms,  and, 
after  they  have  joined  him,  he  hopes,  with  the  aid 
of  St.  Theodore,  to  send  you  news  of  victory. 

Rud.  (attempts  to  rise  hastily.)  Saddle  my  black 
barb ;  I  will  head  them  myself.  (Sits  down.)  A 
murrain  on  that  stumbling  roan !  I  had  forgot  my 
dislocated  bones.  Call  Reynold,  Wickerd,  and  bid 
him  take  all  whom  he  can  spare  from  defence  of 
the  castle — (Wickerd  is  going) and  ho !  Wick- 
erd, carry  with  you  my  black  barb,  and  bid  George 
charge  upon  him.  (Exit  Wickerd.)  Now  see, 
Isabella,  if  I  disregard  the  boy's  safety ;  I  send 
him  the  best  horse  ever  knight  bestrode.  When 
we  lay  before  Ascalon,  indeed,  I  had  a  bright  bay 
Persian — Thou  dost  not  heed  me. 

Isa.  Forgive  me,  dear  husband ;  are  not  our 
sons  in  danger  ?  Will  not  our  sins  be  visited  upon 
them  ?     Is  not  their  present  situation 

Run.  Situation  ?  I  know  it  well :  as  fair  a  field 
for  open  fight  as  I  ever  hunted  over :  see  here — 
(makes  lines  o?i  the  table) — here  is  the  ancient  cas- 
tle of  Griefenhaus  in  ruins,  here  the  Wolfshill ;  and 
here  the  marsh  on  the  right. 

Isa.  The  marsh  of  Griefenhaus ! 

Rud.  Yes ;  by  that  the  boys  must  pass. 

Isa.  Pass  there  !  (Apart.)  Avenging  Heaven  ! 
Ivy  hand  is  upon  us  !  [Exit  hastily. 

Rud.  Whither  now  ?  Whither  now  ?  She  is 
gone.  Thus  it  goes.  Peter !  Peter  I  (Enter  Pe- 
ter.) Help  me  to  the  gallery,  that  I  may  see 
them  on  horseback.  [Exit,  leaning  on  Peter. 


SCENE  II. 

The  inner  court  of  the  Castle  of  Ebersdorf;  a  quad- 
rangle, surrounded  with  Gothic  buildings  ;  troop- 
ers, followers  of  Rudiger,  pass  and  repass  in 
haste,  as  if  preparing  for  an  excursion. 


Wickerd  comes  forward. 
Wio.  What,  ho !     Reynold !  Reynold  ! — By  our 
Lady,  the  spirit  of  the  Seven  Sleepers  is  upon 
him — So  ho !  not  mounted  yet !     Reynold  I 

Enter  Reynold. 

Ret.  Here  !  here  !  A  devil  choke  thy  bawling ! 
think'st  thou  old  Reynold  is  not  as  ready  for  a  skir- 
mish as  thou  ? 

Wic.  Nay,  nay:  I  did  but  jest;  but,  by  my  sooth, 
it  were  a  shame  should  our  youngsters  have  yoked 
with  Count  Roderic  before  we  graybeards  come. 

Rey.  Heaven  forefend  1  Our  troopers  are  but 
saddling  their  horses ;  five  minutes  more,  and  we 
are  in  our  stirrups,  and  then  let  Count  Roderic  sit 
fast. 

Wic.  A  plague  on  him !  he  has  ever  lain  hard 
on  the  skirts  of  our  noble  master. 

Rey.  Especially  since  he  was  refused  the  hand 
of  our  lady's  niece,  the  pretty  Lady  Gertrude. 

Wic.  Ay,  marry !  would  nothing  less  serve  the 
fox  of  Maltingen  than  the  lovely  lamb  of  our  young 
Baron  Henry !  By  my  sooth,  Reynold,  when  I 
look  upon  these  two  lovers,  they  make  me  full 
twenty  years  younger ;  and  when  I  meet  the  man 
that  would  divide  them — I  say  nothing — but  let 
him  look  to  it. 

Rey.  And  how  fare  our  young  lords  ? 

Wic.  Each  well  in  his  humor. — Baron  George 
stern  and  cold,  according  to  his  wont,  and  his 
brother  as  cheerful  as  ever. 

Rey.  Well ! — Baron  Henry  for  me. 

Wic.  Yet  George  saved  thy  life. 

Rey.  True — with  as  much  indifference  as  if  he 
had  been  snatching  a  chestnut  out  of  the  fire. 
Now  Baron  Henry  wept  for  my  danger  and  my 
wounds.  Therefore  George  shall  ever  command 
my  life,  but  Henry  my  love. 

Wic.  Nay,  Baron  George  shows  his  gloomy  spirit 
even  by  the  choice  of  a  favorite. 

Rey.  Ay — Martin,  formerly  the  squire  of  Arnolf 
of  Ebersdorf,  his  mother's  first  husband. — I  marvel 
he  could  not  have  fitted  himself  with  an  attendant 
from  among  the  faithful  followers  of  his  worthy 
father,  whom  Arnolf  and  his  adherents  used  to 
hate  as  the  Devil  hates  holy  water.  But  Martin 
is  a  good  soldier,  and  has  stood  toughly  by  George 
in  many  a  hard  brunt. 

Wic.  The  knave  is  sturdy  enough,  but  so  sulky 
withal — I  have  seen,  brother  Reynold,  that  when 
Martin  showed  his  moody  visage  at  the  banquet, 
our  noble  mistress  has  dropped  the  wine  she  was 
raising  to  her  lips,  and  exchanged  her  smiles  for  a 
ghastly  frown,  as  if  sorrow  went  by  sympathy,  as 
kissing  goes  by  favor. 

Rey.  His  appearance  reminds  her  of  her  first 
husband,  and  thou  hast  well  seen  that  makes  hei 
ever  sad. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


815 


Wrc.  Dost  thou  marvel  at  that  ?  She  was  mar- 
ried to  Arnolf  by  a  species  of  force,  and  they  say 
that  before  his  death  he  compelled  her  to  swear 
never  to  espouse  Rudiger.  The  priests  will  not 
absolve  her  for  the  breach  of  that  vow,  and  there- 
fore she  is  troubled  in  mind.  For,  d'ye  mark  me, 
Revnold [Bugle  sounds. 

Rey.  A  truce  to  your  preaching !  To  horse  ! 
and  a  blessing  on  our  arms ! 

Wic.  St.  George  grant  it !  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III. 

The  gallery  of  the  Castle,  terminating  in  a  large 
balcony  commanding  a  distant  prospect. —  Voices, 
bugle-horns,  kettle-drums,  trampling  of  'horses,  <uc, 
are  heard  without. 

Ktn>iGER,  leaning  on  Peter,  looks  from  the  balcony. 
Gertrude  and  Isabella  are  near  him. 

Rud.  There  they  go  at  length — look,  Isabella ! 
look,  my  pretty  Gertrude — these  are  the  iron- 
handed  warriors  who  shall  tell  Roderic  what  it 
will  cost  him  to  force  thee  from  my  protection — 
{Flourish  without  —  Rudiger  stretches  his  arms 
from  the  balcony.)  Go,  my  children,  and  God's 
blessing  with  you.  L.Qok  at  my  black  barb,  Ger- 
trude. That  horse  shall  let  daylight  in  through  a 
phalanx,  were  it  twenty  pikes  deep.  Shame  on  it 
that  I  cannot  mount  him !  Seest  thou  how  fierce 
old  Reynold  looks  ? 

Ger.  I  can  hardly  know  my  friends  in  their  armor. 
[The  bugles  and  kettle-drums  are  heard 
as  at  a  greater  distance. 

Rud.  Now  I  could  tell  every  one  of  their  names, 
even  at  this  distance ;  ay,  and  were  they  covered, 
as  I  have  seen  them,  with  dust  and  blood.  He  on 
the  dapple-gray  is  Wickerd — a  hardy  fellow,  but 
somewhat  given  to  prating.  That  is  young  Con- 
rad who  gallops  so  fast,  page  to  thy  Henry,  my  girl. 
[Bugles,  &c,  at  a  greater  distance  still. 

Ger.  Heaven  guard  them.  Alas  !  the  voice  of 
war  that  calls  the  blood  into  your  cheeks  chills  and 
freezes  mine. 

Run.  Say  not  so.  It  is  glorious,  my  girl,  glori- 
ous !  See  how  their  armor  glistens  as  they  wind 
mui.d  yon  hill!  how  their  spears  glimmer  amid 
the  long  train  of  dust.  Hark !  you  can  still  hear 
the  faint  notes  of  their  trumpets — {Bugles  very 
faint)— And  Rudiger,  old  Rudiger  with  the  iron 
arm,  as  the  crusaders  used  to  oall  me,  must  remain 
oehind  with  the  priests  and  the  women.  Well ! 
tfell ! — {Sings.) 

"  It  was  a  knight  to  battle  rode, 
And  as  liis  war-horse  he  bestrode." 


Fill  me  a  bowl  of  wine,  Gertrude  ;  and  do  thou, 
Peter,  call  the  minstrel  who  came  hither  last  night. 
— {Sings.) 

"  Off  rode  the  horseman,  dash,  sa,  sa ! 
And  stroked  his  whiskers,  tra,  la,  la." — 

(Peter  goes  out. — Rudiger  sits  down,  and  Gek- 
trude  helps  him  with  wine)  Thanks,  my  love.  It 
tastes  ever  best  from  thy  hand.  Isabella,  here  m 
glory  and  victory  to  our  boys — {Brinks.) — Wilt 
thou  not  pledge  me  ? 

Isa.  To  their  safety,  and  God  grant  it ! — {Brinks.) 

Enter  Bertram  as  a  minstrel,  with  a  boy  bearing 
his  harp. — Also  Peter. 

Rud.  Thy  name,  minstrel  ? 

Ber.  Minhold,  so  please  you. 

Rud.  Art  thou  a  German  ? 

Ber.  Yes,  noble  sir  ;  and  of  this  province. 

Rud.  Sing  me  a  song  of  battle. 

[Bertram  sings  to  the  harp. 

Rud.  Thanks,  minstrel:  well  sung,  and  lustily. 
What  sayest  thou,  Isabella  ? 

Isa.  I  marked  him  not. 

Rud.  Nay,  in  sooth  you  are  too  anxious.  Cheer 
up.  And  thou,  too,  my  lovely  Gertrude  :  in  a  few 
hours,  thy  Henry  shall  return,  and  twine  his  lau- 
rels into  a  garland  for  thy  hair.  He  fights  foi 
thee,  and  he  must  conquer. 

Ger.  Alas  !  must  blood  be  spilled  for  a  silly 
maiden  ? 

Rud.  Surely:  for  what  should  knights  break 
lances  but  for  honor  and  ladies'  love — ha,  minstrel ' 

Ber.  So  please  you— also  to  punish  crimes. 

Rud.  Out  upon  it !  wouldst  have  us  execution 
ers,  minstrel  ?  Such  work  would  disgrace  our 
blades.  We  leave  malefactors  to  the  Secret  Tri- 
bunal. 

Isa.  Merciful  God  !  Thou  hast  spoken  a  word, 
Rudiger,  of  dreadful  import. 

Ger.  They  say  that,  unknown  and  invisible 
themselves,  these  awful  judges  are  ever  present 
with  the  guilty;  that  the  past  and  the  present 
misdeeds,  the  secrets  of  the  confessional,  nay,  the 
very  thoughts  of  the  heart  are  before  them ;  that 
their  doom  is  as  sure  as  that  of  fate,  the  means 
and  executioners  unknown. 

Rud.  They  say  true ;  the  secrets  of  that  asso- 
ciation, and  the  names  of  those  who  compose  it, 
are  as  inscrutable  as  the  grave :  we  only  know 
that  it  has  taken  deep  root,  and  spread  its  branches 
wide.  I  sit  down  each  day  in  my  hall,  nor  know 
I  how  many  of  these  secret  judges  may  surround 
me,  all  bound  by  the  most  solemn  vow  to  avenge 
guilt.  Once,  and  but  once,  a  knight,  at  the  earnest 
request  and  inquiries  of  the  emperor,  hinted  that 
he  belonged  to  the  society :  the  next  morning  h« 


816 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


was  found  slain  in  a  forest :  the  poniard  "was  left  in 
the  wound,  and  bore  this  label — "  Thus  do  the  in- 
visible judges  punish  treachery." 

Ger.  Gracious  !  aunt,  you  grow  pale. 

Isa.  A  slight  indisposition  only. 

Rud.  And  what  of  it  all  ?  We  know  our  hearts 
are  open  to  our  Creator :  shall  we  fear  any  earthly 
inspection  ?  Come  to  the  battlements ;  there  we 
shall  soonest  descry  the  return  of  our  warriors. 

[Exit  Rudiger,  with  Gertrude  and  Peter. 

Isa.  Minstrel,  send  the  chaplain  hither.  {Exit 
Bertram.)  Gracious  Heaven !  the  guileless  inno- 
cence of  my  niece,  the  manly  honesty  of  my  up- 
right-hearted Rudiger,  become  daily  tortures  to 
me.  While  he  was  engaged  in  active  and  stormy 
exploits,  fear  for  his  safety,  joy  when  he  returned 
to  his  castle,  enabled  me  to  disguise  my  inward 
anguish  from  others.  But  from  myself — Judges 
of  blood,  that  lie  concealed  in  noontide  as  in  mid- 
night, who  boast  to  avenge  the  hidden  guilt,  and 
to  penetrate  the  recesses  of  the  human  breast,  how 
blind  is  your  penetration,  how  vain  your  dagger, 
and  your  cord,  compared  to  the  conscience  of  the 
sinner ! 

Enter  Father  Ludovic. 

Lud.  Peace  be  with  you,  lady  ! 

Isa.  It  is  not  with  me :  it  is  thy  office  to  bring  it. 

Lud.  And  the  cause  is  the  absence  of  the  young 
knights  ? 

Isa.  Their  absence  and  their  danger. 

Lud.  Daughter,  thy  hand  has  been  stretched  out 
in  bounty  to  the  sick  and  to  the  needy.  Thou  hast 
not  denied  a  shelter  to  the  weary,  nor  a  tear  to 
the  afflicted.  Trust  in  their  prayers,  and  in  those 
of  the  holy  convent  thou  hast  founded;  perad- 
venture  they  will  bring  back  thy  children  to  thy 
bosom. 

Isa.  Thy  brethren  cannot  pray  for  me  or  mine. 
Their  vow  binds  them  to  pray  night  and  day  for 
another — to  supplicate,  without  ceasing,  the  Eter- 
nal Mercy  for  the  soul  of  one  who — Oh,  only 
Heaven  knows  how  much  he  needs  their  prayer  ! 

Lud.  Unbounded  is  the  mercy  of  Heaven.  The 
soul  of  thy  former  husband 

Isa.  I  charge  thee,  priest,  mention  not  the  word. 
{Apart)  Wretch  that  I  am,  the  meanest  menial  in 
my  train  has  power  to  goad  me  to  madness ! 

Lud.  Hearken  to  me,  daughter;  thy  crime 
against  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf  cannot  bear  in  the  eye 
of  Heaven  so  deep  a  dye  of  guilt. 

Isa.  Repeat  that  once  more ;  say  once  again 
that  it  cannot — cannot  bear  so  deep  a  dye.  Prove 
to  me  that  ages  of  the  bitterest  penance,  that  tears 
of  the  dearest  blood,  can  erase  such  guilt.  Prove 
but  that  to  me,  and  I  will  build  thee  an  abbey 
which  shall  put  to  shame  the  fairest  fane  in  Chris- 
tendom. 

Lud.  Nay,  nay,  daughter,  your  conscience  is  over 


tender.  Supposing  that,  under  dread  of  the  stern 
Arnolf,  you  swore  never  to  marry  your  present 
husband,  still  the  exacting  such  an  oath  was  un- 
lawful, and  the  breach  of  it  venial. 

Isa.  (resuming  her  composure)  Be  it  so,  good 
father ;  I  yield  to  thy  better  reasons.  And  now 
tell  me,  has  thy  pious  care  achieved  the  task  1 
intrusted  to  thee? 

Lud.  Of  superintending  the  erectioi?  of  thy  new 
hospital  for  pilgrims?  I  have,  nob\e  lady;  and 
last  night  the  minstrel  now  in  the  casfie  lodged 
there. 

Isa.  Wherefore  came  he  then  to  the  castle  ? 

Lud.  Reynold  brought  the  commands  of  the 
Baron. 

Isa.  Whence  comes  he.  and  what  is  his  tale  ? 
When  he  sung  before  Rudiger,  I  thought  that  long 
before  I  had  heard  such  tones — seen  such  a  face. 

Lud.  It  is  possible  you  may  have  seen  him,  lady, 
for  he  boasts  to  have  been  known  to  •  Arnolf  of 
Ebersdorf,  and  to  have  lived  formerly  in  this  cas 
tie.  He  inquires  much  after  Martin,  Arnolf 's 
squire. 

Isa.  Go,  Ludovic — go  quick,  good  father,  seek 
him  out,  give  him  this  purse,  and  bid  him  leave 
the  castle,  and  speed  him  on  his  way. 

Lud.  May  I  ask  why,  noble  lady  ? 

Isa.  Thou  art  inquisitive,  priest:  I  honor  the 
servants  of  God,  but  I  foster  not  the  prying  spirit 
of  a  monk.     Begone  ! 

Lud.  But  the  Baron,  lady,  will  expect  a  reason 
why  I  dismiss  his  guest  ? 

Isa.  True,  true  (recollecting  herself) ;  pardon  my 
warmth,  good  father,  I  was  thinking  of  the  cuckoo 
that  grows  too  big  for  the  nest  of  the  sparrow,  and 
strangles  its  foster-mother.  Do  no  such  birds  roost 
in  convent -walls  ? 

Lud.  Lady,  I  understand  you  not. 

Isa.  Well,  then,  say  to  the  Baron,  that  I  have 
dismissed  long  ago  all  the  attendants  of  the  man 
of  whom  thou  hast  spoken,  and  that  I  wish  to  have 
none  of  them  beneath  my  roof. 

Lud.  (inquisitively.)  Except  Martin  ? 

Isa.  (sharply.)  Except  Martin  !  who  saved  the 
life  of  my  son  George  ?     Do  as  I  command  thee. 

[Exit 
Manet  Ludovic. 

Lud.  Ever  the  same — stern  and  peremptory  to 
others  as  rigorous  to  herself;  haughty  even  to  me, 
to  whom,  in  another  mood,  she  has  knelt  for  abso- 
lution, and  whose  knees  she  has  bathed  in  tears. 
I  cannot  fathom  her.  The  unnatural  zeal  with 
which  she  performs  her  dreadful  penances  cannot 
be  religion,  for  shrewdly  I  guess  she  believes  not 
in  their  blessed  efficacy.  Well  for  her  that  she  is 
the  foundress  of  our  convent,  otherwise  we  might 
not  have  erred  in  denouncing  her  as  a  heretic. 

[Exit 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


817 


ACT  IL— SCENE  I. 

A  woodland  prospect. — Through  a  long  avenue,  half 
grown  up  by  brambles,  are  discerned  in  the  back- 
ground the  ruins  of  the  ancient  Castle  of  Grie- 
feuhaus.  The  distant  noise  of  battle  is  heard  du- 
ring this  scene. 

Enter  George  of  Aspen,  armed  with  a  battle-axe 
in  his  hand,  as  from  horseback.  He  supports 
Martin,  and  brings  him  forward. 

Weo.  Lay  thee  down  here,  old  friend.  The  en- 
emy's horsemen  will  hardly  take  their  way  among 
these  brambles,  through  which  I  have  dragged 
thee. 

Mar.  Oh,  do  not  leave  me !  leave  me  not  an 
instant !  My  moments  are  now  but  few,  and  I 
would  profit  by  them. 

Geo.  Martin,  you  forget  yourself  and  me — I  must 
back  to  the  field. 

Mar.  {attempts  to  rise.)  Then  drag  me  back 
thither  also  ;  I  cannot  die  but  in  your  presence — I 
dare  not  be  alone.  Stay,  to  give  peace  to  my 
parting  soul. 

Geo.  I  am  no  priest,  Martin.     ( Going.) 

Mar.  {raising  himself  with  great  pain)  Baron 
George  of  Aspen,  I  saved  thy  life  in  battle :  for 
♦hat  good  deed,  hear  me  but  one  moment. 

Geo.  I  hear  thee,  my  poor  friend.    {Returning) 

Mar.  But  come  close — very  close.  See'st  thou, 
sir  knight — this  wound  I  bore  for  thee — and  this — 
and  this — dost  thou  not  remember  ? 

Geo.  I  do. 

Mar.  I  have  served  thee  since  thou  wast  a 
child  ;  served  thee  faithfully — was  never  from  thy 
side. 

Geo.  Thou  hast. 

Mar.  And  now  I  die  in  thy  service. 

Geo.  Thou  may'st  recover. 

Mar.  I  cannot.  By  my  long  service — by  my 
scars — by  this  mortal  gash,  and  by  the  death  that 
I  am  to  die — oh,  do  not  hate  me  for  what  I  am 
now  to  unfold ! 

Geo.  Be  assured  I  can  never  hate  thee. 

Mar.  Ah,  thou  little  knowest Swear  to  me 

thou  wilt  speak  a  word  of  comfort  to  my  parting 
soul. 

Geo.  {takes  his  hand)  I  swear  I  will.  {Alarm 
and  slwuting)  But  be  brief — thou  knowest  my 
haste. 

Mar.  Hear  me,  then.  I  was  the  squire,  the  be- 
loved and  favorite  attendant,  of  Arnolf  of  Ebers- 
dorf.  Arnolf  was  savage  as  the  mountain  bear. 
He  loved  the  Lady  Isabel,  but  she  requited  not 
his  passion.  She  loved  thy  father ;  but  her  sire, 
old  Arnheim,  was  the  friend  of  Arnolf,  and  she 
was  forced  to  marry  him.     By  midnight,  in  the 


chapel  of  Ebersdorf,  the  ill-omened  rites  were  per- 
formed ;  her  resistance,  her  screams  were  in  vaia 
These  arms  detained  her  at  the  altar  till  the  nup 
tial  benediction  was  pronounced.  Canst  thou  for- 
give me  ? 

Geo.  I  do  forgive  thee.  Thy  obedience  to  thy 
savage  master  has  been  obliterated  by  a  long  train 
of  services  to  his  widow. 

Mar.  Services !  ay,  bloody  services !  for  they 
commenced — do  not  quit  my  hand — they  com- 
menced with  the  murder  of  my  master.  (George 
quits  his  hand,  and  stands  aghast  in  speechless  hor- 
ror) Trample  on  me  !  pursue  me  with  your  dag- 
ger !  I  aided  your  mother  to  poison  her  first  hus- 
band !     I  thank  Heaven,  it  is  said. 

Geo.  My  mother  ?  Sacred  Heaven  !  Martin,  thou 
ravest — the  fever  of  thy  wound  has  distracted 
thee. 

Mar.  No  !  I  am  not  mad !  Would  to  God  I  were ! 
Try  me  !  Yonder  is  the  Wolfshill — yonder  the  old 
castle  of  Griefenhaus — and  yonder  is  the  hemlock 
marsh  {in  a  whisper)  where  I  gathered  the  deadly 
plant  that  drugged  Arnolf 's  cup  of  death.  (George 
traverses  the  stage  in  the  utmost  agitation,  and  some- 
times stands  over  Martin  with  his  hands  clasped  to- 
gether) Oh,  had  you  seen  him  when  the  potion 
took  effect !  Had  you  heard  his  ravings,  and  seen 
the  contortions  of  his  ghastly  visage ! — He  died 
furious  and  impenitent,  as  he  lived ;  and  went — 
where  I  am  shortly  to  go.     You  do  not  speak  ? 

Geo.  {with  exertion)  Miserable  wretch !  how 
can  I? 

Mar.  Can  you  not  forgive  me  ? 

Geo.  May  God  pardon  thee — I  cannot ! 

Mar.  I  saved  thy  life 

Geo.  For  that,  take  my  curse  !  {He  snatches  up 
his  battle-axe,  and  rushes  out  to  the  side  from  which 
the  noise  is  heard.) 

Mar.  Hear  me  1  yet  more — more  horror  !  {At- 
tempts to  rise,  and  falls  heavily.    A  loud  alarm.) 

Enter  Wickerd,  hastily. 

Wic.  In  the  name  of  God.  Martin,  lend  me  thy 
brand ! 

Mar.  Take  it. 

Wio.  Where  is  it  ? 

Mar.  {looks  wildly  at  him)  In  the  chapel  &t 
Ebersdorf,  or  buried  in  the  hemlock  marsh. 

Wic.  The  old  grumbler  is  orazy  with  his  wounds. 
Mariin,  if  thou  hast  a  spark  of  reason  in  thee,  give 
mf  thy  sword.     The  day  goes  sore  against  us. 

Mar.  There  it  lies.  Bury  it  in  the  heart  of  thy 
master  George ;  thou  wilt  do  him  a  good  office — 
the  office  of  a  faithful  servant. 

Enter  Conrad. 
Con.  Away,  Wickerd !   to  horse,  and  pursue  i 
Baron  George  has  turned  the  day ;  he  fights  more 


818 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


like  a  fiend  than  a  man :  he  has  unhorsed  Roderic, 
and  slain  six  of  his  troopers — they  are  in  head- 
long flight — the  hemlock  marsh  is  red  with  their 
gore  !  (Martin  gives  a  deep  groan,  and  faints.) 
Away !  away  1  {They  hurry  off,  as  to  the  pur- 
suit^) 

Enter  Roderic  of  Maltingen,  without  his  helmet, 

his   arms   disordered  and  broken,   holding   the 

truncheon  of  a  spear  in  his  hand ;  with  him, 

Baron  Wolfstein. 

Rod.  A  curse  on  fortune,  and  a  double  curse  upon 
George  of  Aspen !  Never,  never  will  I  forgive 
him  my  disgrace — overthrown  like  a  rotten  trunk 
before  a  whirlwind ! 

Wolf.  Be  comforted,  Count  Roderic ;  it  is  well 
we  have  escaped  being  prisoners.  See  how  the 
troopers  of  Aspen  pour  along  the  plain,  like  the 
billows  of  the  Rhine  !  It  is  good  we  are  shrouded 
by  the  thicket. 

Rod.  Why  took  he  not  my  life,  when  he  robbed 
me  of  my  honor  and  of  my  love  ?  Why  did  his 
spear  not  pierce  my  heart,  when  mine  shivered 
on  his  arms  like  a  frail  bulrush  ?  (Throw  down  the 
broken  spear.)  Bear  witness,  heaven  and  earth,  I 
outlive  this  disgrace  only  to  avenge ! 

Wolf.  Be  comforted;  the  knights  of  Aspen  have 
mot  gained  a  bloodless  victory.  And  see,  there 
'.lies  one  of  George's  followers — {seeing  Martin.) 

Rod.  His  squire  Martin ;  if  he  be  not  dead,  we 
will  secure  him :  he  is  the  depositary  of  the  secrets 
of  his  master.  Arouse  thee,  trusty  follower  of  the 
house  of  Aspen ! 

Mar.  {reviving)  Leave  me  not !  leave  me  not, 
Baron  George  !  my  eyes  are  darkened  with  agony  ! 
I  have  not  yet  told  all. 

Wolf.  The  old  man  takes  you  for  his  master. 

Rod,  What  wouldst  thou  tell  ? 

Mar.  Oh,  I  would  tell  all  the  temptations  by 
which  I  was  urged  to  the  murder  of  Ebersdorf ! 

Rod.  Murder  ! — this  is  worth  marking.  Proceed. 

Mar.  I  loved  a  maiden,  daughter  of  Arnolf's 
steward  ;  my  master  seduced  her — she  became  an 
outcast,  and  died  in  misery — I  vowed  vengeance — 
and  I  did  avenge  her. 

Rod.  Hadst  thou  accomplices  ? 

Mar.  None,,  but  thy  mother. 

Rod.  The  Lady  Isabella ! 

Mar.  Ay :  she  hated  her  husband :  he  knew  her 
iove  to  Rudiger,  and  when  she  heard  that  thy 
father  was  returned  from  Palestine,  her  life  was 
endangered  by  the  transports  of  his  jealousy — 
thus  prepared  for  evil,  the  fiend  tempted  us,  and 
we  fell. 

Rod.  (breaks  into  a  transport.)  Fortune !  thou 
hast  repaid  me  all !  Love  and  vengeance  are  my 
own ! — Wolfstein,  recall  our  followers !  quick,  sound 
thy  bugle — (Wolfstein  sounds.) 


Mar.  {stares  wildly  round.)  That  was  no  not* 
of  Aspen — Count  Roderic  of  Maltingen — Heaven ! 
what  have  I  said  ! 

Rod.  What  thou  canst  not  recall. 

Mar.  Then  is  my  fate  decreed !  'Tis  as  it  should 
be  !  in  this  very  place  was  the  poison  gather'd- 
'tis  retribution ! 

Enter  three  or  four  soldiers  of  Roderic. 

Rod.  Secure  this  wounded  trooper  ;  bind  his 
wounds,  and  guard  him  well:  carry  him  to  the 
ruins  of  Griefenhaus,  and  conceal  him  till  the 
troopers  of  Aspen  have  retired  from  the  pursuit ; 
— look  to  him,  as  you  love  your  lives. 

Mar.  {led  off  by  soldiers.)  Ministers  of  vengeance  ! 
my  hour  is  come  !  [Exeunt. 

Rod.  Hope,  joy,  and  triumph,  once  again  are  ye 
mine !  Welcome  to  my  heart,  long-absent  visit- 
ants !  One  lucky  chance  has  thrown  dominion 
into  the  scale  of  the  house  of  Maltingen,  and  As- 
pen kicks  the  beam. 

Wolf.  I  foresee,  indeed,  dishonor  to  the  family  of 
Aspen,  should  this  wounded  squire  make  good  his 
tale. 

Rod.  And  how  think' st  thou  this  disgrace  will 
fall  on  them  ? 

Wolf.  Surely,  by  the  public  punishment  of  Lady 
Isabella. 

Rod.  And  is  that  all  ? 

Wolf.  What  more  ? 

Rod.  Shortsighted  that  thou  art,  is  not  George 
of  Aspen,  as  well  as  thou,  a  member  of  the  holy 
and  invisible  circle,  over  which  I  preside  ? 

Wolf.  Speak  lower,  for  God's  sake !  these  arc 
things  not  to  be  mentioned  before  the  sun. 

Rod.  True :  but  stands  he  not  bound  by  the 
most  solemn  oath  religion  can  devise,  to  discover 
to  the  tribunal  whatever  concealed  iniquity  shall 
come  to  his  knowledge,  be  the  perpetrator  whom 
he  may — ay,  were  that  perpetrator  his  own  fa- 
ther— or  mother ;  and  can  you  doubt  that  he  has 
heard  Martin's  confession  ? 

Wolf.  True :  but,  blessed  Virgin  !  do  you  think 
he  will  accuse  his  own  mother  before  the  invisible 
judges  ? 

Rod.  If  not,  he  becomes  forsworn,  and,  by  our 
law,  must  die.  Either  way  my  vengeance  is  com- 
plete— perjured  or  parricide,  I  care  not ;  but,  as 
the  one  or  the  other  shall  I  crush  the  haughty 
George  of  Aspen. 

Wolf.  Thy.  vengeance  strikes  deep. 

Rod.  Deep  as  the  wounds  I  have  borne  from 
this  proud  family.  Rudiger  slew  my  father  in  bat- 
tle— George  has  twice  baffled  and  dishonored  my 
arms,  and  Henry  has  stolen  the  heart  of  my  be- 
loved: but  no  longer  can  Gertrude  now  remain 
under  the  care  of  the  murderous  dam  of  this 
brood  of  wolves ;  far  less  can  she  wed  the  «aooth- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


8. IS 


checked  boy,  when  this  scene  of  villary  shall  be 
disclosed.  [Bugle. 

Wolf.  Hark  1  they  sound  a  retreat :  let  us  go 
deeper  into  the  wood. 

Rod.  The  victors  approach !  I  shall  dash  then- 
triumph  !— Issue  the  private  summons  for  convok- 
ing the  members  this  very  evening ;  I  will  direct 
the  other  measures. 

W  ;lf   What  place  ? 

Rod.  The  old  chapel  in  the  ruins  of  Griefenhaus, 
as  usual.  {Exeunt. 


SCENE  II 

Enter  George  of  Aspen-,  as  from  the  pursuit. 

Geo.  {comes  slowly  forward)  How  many  wretches 
have  sunk  under  my  arm  this  day,  to  whom  life 
was  sweet,  though  the  wretched  bondsmen  of 
Count  Roderic  !  And  I — I  who  sought  death  be- 
neath every  lifted  battle-axe,  and  offered  my 
breast  to  every  arrow — I  am  cursed  with  victory 

and  safety.    Here  I  left  the  wretch Martin  ! — 

Martin  ! — what,  ho !  Martin ! Mother  of  God ! 

he  is  gone  !  Should  he  repeat  the  dreadful  tale 
to  any  other Martin ! — He  answers  not.  Per- 
haps he  has  crept  into  the  thicket,  and  died  there 
—were  it  so,  the  horrible  secret  is  only  mine. 

Enter  Henry  of  Aspen,  with  Wickerd,  Reynold, 
and  followers. 

Hen.  Joy  to  thee,  brother !  though,  by  St.  Fran- 
cis, I  would  not  gain  another  field  at  the  price  of 
seeing  thee  fight  with  such  reckless  desperation. 
Thy  safety  is  little  less  than  miraculous. 

Rey.  By'r  Lady,  when  Baron  George  struck,  I 
think  he  must  have  forgot  that  his  foes  were 
God's  creatures.  Such  furious  doings  I  never  saw, 
and  I  have  been  a  trooper  these  forty -two  years 
come  St.  Barnaby 

Geo.  Peace !  saw  any  of  you  Martin  ? 

Wic.  Noble  sir,  I  left  him  here  not  long  since. 

Geo.  Alive  or  dead? 

Wic.  Alive,  noble  sir,  but  sorely  wounded.  I 
think  he  must  be  prisoner,  for  he  could  not  have 
budged  else  from  hence. 

Geo.  Heedless  slave!  Why  didst  thou  leave  him  ? 

Hen.  Dear  brother,  Wickerd  acted  for  the  best : 
he  came  to  our  assistance  and  the  aid  of  his  com- 
panions. 

Geo.  I  tell  thee,  Henry,  Martin's  safety  was  of 
more  importance  than  the  lives  of  any  ten  that 
stand  here. 

Wic.  {muttering)  Here's  much  to  do  about  an 
old  crazy  trencher-shifter. 

Geo.  What  mutterest  thou  ? 

Wic.  Only,  sir  knight,  that  Martin  seemed  out 


of  his  senses  when  I  left  him,  and  has  perhaps 
wandered  into  the  marsh,  and  perished  there. 

Geo.  How — out  of  his  senses  ?  Did  he  speak  to 
thee  ? — {apprehensively.) 

Wic.  Yes,  noble  sir. 

Geo.  Dear  Henry,  step  for  an  instant  to  yor. 
tree — thou  wilt  see  from  thence  if  the  foe  rally 
upon  the  Wolfshill.  (Henry  retires)  And  do  y)U 
stand  back  {to  the  soldiers) 

[He  brings  Wickerd  forward. 

Geo.  {with  marked  apprehension)  "What  did 
Martin  say  to  thee,  Wickerd? — tell  me,  on  thy 
allegiance. 

Wic.  Mere  ravings,  sir  knight — offered  me  his 
sword  to  kill  you. 

Geo.  Said  he  aught  of  killing  any  one  else  ? 

Wic.  No  :  the  pain  of  his  wound  seemed  to  have 
brought  on  a  fever. 

Geo.  {clasps  his  hands  together.)  I  breathe  again 
— I  spy  comfort.  Why  could  I  not  see  as  well  as 
this  fellow,  that  the  wounded  wretch  may  have 
been  distracted  ?  Let  me  at  least  think  so  till 
proof  shall  show  the  truth  {aside)  Wickerd,  think 
not  on  what  I  said — the  heat  of  the  battle  had 
chafed  my  blood.  Thou  hast  wished  for  the  Netb 
er  farm  at  Ebersdorf — it  shall  be  thine 

Wic  Thanks,  my  noble  lord. 

Re-enter  Henry. 

Hen.  No — they  do  not  rally — they  have  had 
enough  of  it — but  Wickerd  and  Conrad  shall  re- 
main, with  twenty  troopers  and  a  score  of  cross- 
bowmen,  and  scour  the  woods  towards  Griefen- 
haus, to  prevent  the  fugitives  from  making  head. 
We  will,  with  the  rest,  to  Ebersdorf.  What  say 
you,  brother  ? 

Geo.  Well  ordered.  Wickerd,  look  thou  searcr 
everywhere  for  Martin :  bring  him  to  me  dead  01 
alive ;  leave  not  a  nook  of  the  wood  unsought. 

Wic  I  warrant  you,  noble  sir,  I  shall  find  him, 
could  he.  clew  himself  up  like  a  dormouse. 

Hen.  I  think  he  must  be  prisoner. 

Geo.  Heaven  forefend !  Take  a  trumpet,  Eus- 
tace {to  an  attendant) ;  ride  to  the  castle  of  Mal- 
tingen,  and  demand  a  parley.  If  Martin  is  prisoner, 
offer  any  ransom :  offer  ten — twenty — all  our  pris- 
oners in  exchange. 

Eus.  It  shall  be  done,  sir  knight. 

Hen.  Ere  we  go,  sound  trumpets — strike  up  the 
song  of  victory. 


Joy  to  the  victors  !  the  sons  of  old  Aspen  I 

Joy  to  the  race  of  the  battle  and  scar ! 
Glory's  proud  garland  triumphantly  grasping ; 
Generous  in  peace,  and  victorious  in  war. 
Honor  acquiring, 
Valor  inspiring, 


820 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Bursting  resistless,  through  foemen  they  go : 

War-axes  wielding, 

broken  ranks  yielding, 
Till  from  the  battle  proud  Rodenc  retiring, 
Fields  in  wild  rout  the  fair  palm  to  his  foe. 

Joy  to  each  warrior,  true  follower  of  Aspen ! 
Joy  to  the  heroes  that  gain'd  the  bold  day ! 
Health  to  our  wounded,  in  agony  gasping ; 
Peace  to  our  brethren  that  fell  in  the  fray  1 
Boldly  this  morning, 
Roderic's  power  scorning, 
"Well  for  their  chieftain  their  blades  did  they 
wield : 
Joy  blest  them  dying, 
As  Maltingen  flying, 
Low  laid  his  banners,  our  conquest  adorning, 
Their  death-clouded  eyeballs  descried  on  the  field ! 

Now  to  our  home,  the  proud  mansion  of  Aspen, 

Bend  we,  gay  victors,  triumphant  away ; 
There  each  fond  damsel,  her  gallant  youth  clasping, 
Shall  wipe  from  his  forehead  the  stains  of  the 
fray. 
Listening  the  prancing 
Of  horses  advancing ; 
E'en  now  on  the  turrets  our  maidens  appear. 
Love  our  hearts  warming, 
Songs  the  night  charming, 
Round  goes  the  grape  in  the  goblet  gay  dancing ; 
Love,  wine,  and  song,  our  blithe  evening   shall 
cheer ! 

Hen.  Now  spread  our  banners,  and  to  Ebersdorf 
in  triumph.  We  carry  relief  to  the  anxious,  joy 
to  the  heart  of  the  aged,  brother  George.     ( Going 

off-) 

Geo.  Or  treble  misery  and  death. 

[Apart,  and  following  slowly. 

The  music  sounds,  and  the  followers  of  Aspen  begin 
to  file  across  the  stage.     The  curtain  falls. 


ACT  m.— SCENE  L 
Castle  of  Ebersdorf. 

Rudiger,  Isabella,  and  Gertrude. 

Rud.  I  prithee,  dear  wife,  be  merry.  It  must 
be  over  by  this  time,  and  happily,  otherwise  the 
bad  news  had  reached  us. 

Isa.  Should  we  not,  then,  have  heard  the  tidings 
of  the  good  ? 

Rud.  Oh  1  these  fly  slower  by  half.  Besides,  I 
wan  ant  all  of  them  engaged  in  the  pursuit.     Oh ! 


not  a  page  would  leave  the  skirts  of  the  fugitives 
till  they  were  fairly  beaten  into  their  holds ;  but 
had  the  boys  lost  the  day,  the  stragglers  had  made 
for  the  castle.  Go  to  the  window,  Gertrude :  seest 
thou  any  thing  ? 

Ger.  I  think  I  see  a  horseman. 

Isa.  A  single  rider  ?  then  I  fear  me  much. 

Ger.  It  is  only  Father  Ludovic. 

Rud.  A  plague  on  thee  !  didst  thou  take  a  fat 
friar  on  a  mule  for  a  trooper  of  the  house  of  Aspen  ? 

Ger.  But  yonder  is  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Rud.  {eagerly.)  Indeed! 

Ger.  It  is  only  the  wine  sledges  going  to  my 
aunt's  convent. 

Rud.  The  devil  confound  the  wine  sledges,  and 
the  mules,  and  the  monks !  Come  from  the  win- 
dow, and  torment  me  no  longer,  thou  seer  of 
strange  sights. 

Ger.  Dear  uncle,  what  can  I  do  to  amuse  you  ? 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  dreamed  this  morning  ? 

Rud.  Nonsense :  but  say  on ;  any  thing  is  better 
than  silence. 

Ger.  I  thought  I  was  in  the  chapel,  and  they 
were  burying  my  aunt  Isabella  alive.  And  who, 
do  you  think,  aunt,  were  the  gravediggers  who 
shovelled  in  the  earth  upon  you?  Even  Baron 
George  and  old  Martin. 

Isa.  {appears  shocked.)  Heaven !  what  an  idea ! 

Ger.  Do  but  think  of  my  terror — and  Minhold 
the  minstrel  played  all  the  while,  to  drown  your 
screams. 

Rud.  And  old  Father  Ludovic  danced  a  sara- 
band, with  the  steeple  of  the  new  convent  upon 
his  thick  skull  by  way  of  mitre.  A  truce  to  this 
nonsense.  Give  us  a  song,  my  love,  and  leave  thy 
dreams  and  visions. 

Ger.  What  shall  I  sing  to  you  ? 

Rud.  Sing  to  me  of  war. 

Ger.  I  cannot  sing  of  battle;  but  I  will  sing 
you  the  Lament  of  Eleanor  of  Toro,  when  her  lover 
was  slain  in  the  wars. 

Isa.  Oh,  no  laments,  Gertrude. 

Rud.  Then  sing  a  song  of  mirth. 

Isa.  Dear  husband,  is  this  a  time  for  mirth  ? 

Rud.  Is  it  neither  a  time  to  sing  of  mirth  nor  oi 
sorrow  ?  Isabella  would  rather  hear  Father  Ludo- 
vic chant  the  "  De  profundis." 

Ger.  Dear  uncle,  be  not  angry.  At  present,  I 
can  only  sing  the  lay  of  pocr  Eleanor.  It  comes 
to  my  heart  at  this  moment  as  if  the  sorrowful 
mourner  had  been  my  own  sister. 

SONG.1 

Sweet  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro, 
Weak  were  the  whispers  that  waved  the  dark 
wood, 

i  Compare  with  "  The  Maid  of  Toro  "  ante,  635. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPExN. 


fZi 


As  a  fair  maiden,  bewilder'd  in  sorrow, 

Sigh'd  to  the  breezes  and  wept  to  the  flood. — 

"  Saints,  from  the  mansion  of  bliss  lowly  bending, 
Virgin,  that  hear'st  tbo  poor  suppliant's  cry, 

Grant  my  petition,  in  anguish  ascending, 
My  Frederick  restore,  or  let  Eleanor  die." 

Distant  and  faint  were  the  sounds  of  the  battle ; 
With  the  breezes  they  rise,  with  the  breezes 
they  fail, 
Till  the  shout,  and  the  groan,  and  the  conflict's 
dread  rattle, 
And  the  chase's  wild  clamor  came  loading  the 
gale. 
Breathless  she  gazed  through  the  woodland  so 
dreary, 
Slowly  approaching,  a  warrior  was  seen ; 
Life's  ebbing  tide  mark'd  his  footsteps  so  weary, 
Cleft  was  his  helmet,  and  woe  was  his  mien. 

"  Save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  our  armies  are  flying ; 
Save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  thy  guardian  is  low ; 
Cold  on  yon  heath  thy  bold  Frederick  is  lying, 
Fast  through  the  woodland  approaches  the  foe." 
[The  voice  of  Gertrude  sinks  by  degrees, 
till  she  bursts  into  tears. 

Rud.  How  now,  Gertrude  ? 

Ger.  Alas !  may  not  the  fate  of  poor  Eleanor  at 
this  moment  be  mine  ? 

Rud.  Never,  my  girl,  never !  {Military  music  is 

heard.)  Hark  !  hark !  to  the  sounds  that  tell  thee  so. 

[All  rise  and  run  to  the  window. 

Rud.  Joy !  joy !  they  come,  and  come  victorious. 
(The  chorus  of  the  war-song  is  heard  without.)  Wel- 
come !  welcome !  once  more  have  my  old  eyes 
seen  the  banners  of  the  house  of  Maltingen  tram- 
pled in  the  dust. — Isabella,  broach  our  oldest  casks : 
wine  is  sweet  after  war. 

Enter  Henry,  followed  by  Reynold  and  troopers. 

Rud.  Joy  to  thee,  my  boy  1  let  me  press  thee  to 
this  old  heart. 

Isa.  Bless  thee,  my  son — (embraces  him) — Oh, 
how  many  hours  of  bitterness  are  compensated  by 
this  embrace  !  Bless  thee,  my  Henry !  where  hast 
thou  left  thy  brother  ? 

Hen.  Hard  at  hand :  by  this  he  is  crossing  the 
drawbridge.  Hast  thou  no  greetings  for  me,  Ger- 
trude ?     (Goes  to  her) 

Ger.  I  joy  not  in  battles. 

Rud.  But  she  had  tears  for  thy  danger. 

Hen.  Thanks,  my  gentle  Gertrude.  See,  I  have 
brought  back  thy  scarf  from  no  inglorious  field. 

Ger.  It  is  bloody  ! — (shocked) 

Rud.  Dost  start  at  that,  my  girl  ?  Were  it  his 
own  blood,  as  it  is  that  of  his  foes,  thou  shouldst 
glory  in  it. — Go,  Reynold,  make  good  cheer  with 
thy  fellows.  [Exit  Reynold  and  Soldiers. 


Enter  George  pensively. 

Geo.  (goes  straight  to  Rudiger.)  Father,  thy 
blessing. 

Rud.  Thou  hast  it,  boy. 

Isa.  (rushes    to   embrace   him — he  avoids   her 
How  ?  art  thou  wounded  ? 

Geo.  No. 

Rud.  Thou  lookest  deadly  pale. 

Geo.  It  is  nothing. 

Isa.  Heaven's  blessing  on  my  gallant  George. 

Geo.  (aside.)  Dares  she  bestow  a  blessing  ?  Oh 
Martin's  tale  was  phrensy ! 

Isa.  Smile  upon  us  for  once,  my  son;  darken 
not  thy  brow  on  this  day  of  gladness — few  are 
our  moments  of  joy — should  not  my  sons  share  in 
them? 

Geo.  (aside.)  She  has  moments  of  joy — it  was 
phrensy  then ! 

Isa.  Gertrude,  my  love,  assist  me  to  disarm  tho 
knight.     (She  loosens  and  takes  off  his  casque.) 

Ger.  There  is  one,  two,  three  hacks,  and  none 
has  pierced  the  steel. 

Rud.  Let  me  see.   Let  me  see.  A  trusty  casque  \ 

Ger.  Else  hadst  thou  gone. 

Isa.  I  will  reward  the  armorer  with  its  weight 
in  gold. 

Geo.  (aside.)  She  must  be  innocent. 

Ger.  And  Henry's  shield  is  hacked,  too !  Let  me 
show  it  to  you,  uncle.  (She  carries  Henry's  shield 
to  Rudiger.) 

Rud.  Do,  my  love ;  and  come  hither,  Henry, 
thou  shalt  tell  me  how  the  day  went. 

[Henry  and  Gertrude  converse  apart  with 
Rudiger  ;  George  comes  forward ;  Isa- 
bella comes  to  him. 

Isa.  Surely,  George,  some  evil  has  befallen 
thee.  Grave  thou  art  ever,  but  so  dreadfully 
gloomy — 

Geo.  Evil,  indeed. — (Aside)    Now  for  the  trial. 

Isa.  Has  your  loss  been  great  ? 

Geo.  No  ! — Yes ! — (Apart)     I  cannot  do  it. 

Isa.  Perhaps  some  friend  lost  ? 

Geo.  It  must  be. — Martin  is  dead. — (He  regards 
her  with  apprehension,  but  steadily,  as  he  pronounces 
these  words.) 

Isa.  (starts,  then  shows  a  ghastly  expression  oj 
joy.)     Dead ! 

Geo.  (almost  overcome  by  his  feelings.)  Guilty  1 
Guilty ! — (apart.) 

Isa.  (without  observing  his  emotion)  Didst  thou 
say  dead? 

Geo.  Did  I — no — I  only  said  mortally  wounded. 

Isa.  Wounded  ?  only  wounded  ?  Where  is  he  f 
Let  me  fly  to  him. — ( Going) 

Geo.  (sternly)  Hold,  lady ! — Speak  not  so  loud ! 
— Thou  canst  not  see  him ! — He  is  a  prisoner. 

Isa.  A  prisoner,  and  wounded  ?  Fly  to  his  de- 
liverance ! — Offer  wealth,  lands,  castles, — all  oul 


822 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


possessions,  for  his  ransom.     Never  shall  I  know 
peace  till  these  walls,  or  till  the  grave  secures  him. 
Geo.  {apart.)  Guilty!     Guilty! 

Enter  Peter. 

Pet.  Hugo,  squire  t®  the  Count  of  Maltingen, 
has  arrived  with  a  message. 

Rud.  I  will  receive  him  in  the  hall. 

[Exit,  leaning  on  Gertrude  and  Henry. 

Isa.  Go,  George — see  after  Martin. 

Geo.  ( firmly.)  No — I  have  a  task  to  perform ; 
and  though  the  earth  should  open  and  devour  me 
alive — I  will  accomplish  it.  But  first — but  first — 
Nature,  take  thy  tribute. — {He  falls  on  his  mother's 
neck,  and  weeps  bitterly.) 

Isa.  George  !  my  son !  for  Heaven's  sake,  what 
dreadful  phrensy ! 

Geo.  {walks  two  turns  across  the  stage  and  com- 
poses himself.)  Listen,  mother — I  knew  a  knight 
in  Hungary,  gallant  in  battle,  hospitable  and  gen- 
erous in  peace.  The  king  gave  him  his  friendship, 
and  the  administration  of  a  province  ;  that  province 
was  infested  by  thieves  and  murderers.  You  mark 
me?— 

Isa.  Most  needfully. 

Geo.  The  knight  was  sworn — bound  by  an  oath 
the  most  dreadful  that  can  be  taken  by  man — to 
deal  among  offenders  even-handed,  stern,  and  im- 
partial justice.     Was  it  not  a  dreadful  vow  ? 

Isa.  {with  an  affectation  of  composure.)  Solemn, 
doubtless,  as  the  oath  of  every  magistrate. 

Geo.  And  inviolable  ? 

Isa.  Surely — inviolable. 

Geo.  Well !  it  happened,  that  when  he  rode  out 
against  the  banditti,  he  made  a  prisoner.  And 
who,  think  you,  that  prisoner  was  ? 

Isa.  I  know  not  {ivith  increasing  terror.) 

Geo.  {trembling,  but  proceeding  rapidly)  His 
own  twin-brother,  who  sucked  the  same  breasts 
with  him,  and  lay  in  the  bosom  of  the  same  moth- 
er; his  brother  whom  he  loved  as  his  own  soul 
— what  should  that  knight  have  done  unto  his 
brother  ? 

Isa.  {almost  speechless.)  Alas !  what  did  he  do  ? 

Geo.  He  did  {turning  his  head  from  her,  and 
with  clasped  hands)  what  I  can  never  do : — he  did 
ins  duty. 

Isa.  My  son!  my  son! — Mercy!  Mercy!  {Clings 
to  him.) 

Geo.  Is  it  then  true  ? 

Isa.  What? 

Geo.  What  Martin  said  ?  (Isabella  hides  her 
face.)    It  is  true ! 

Isa.  {looks  up  with  an  air  of  dignity.)  Hear, 
Framer  of  the  laws  of  nature  !  the  mother  is  judged 
by  tho  child — {Turns  towards  him.)  Yes,  it  is  true 
—true  that,  fearful  of  my  own  life,  I  secured  it  by 
the  mvder  of  my  tyrant.     Mistaken  coward !  I 


little  knew  on  what  terrors  I  ran,  to  avoid  one 
moment's  agony. — Thou  hast  the  secret ! 

Geo.  Knowest  thou  to  whom  thou  hast  told  it ! 

Isa^  To  my  son. 

Geo.  No  !  No !  to  an  executioner ' 

Isa.  Be  it  so — go,  proclaim  my  crime,  and  forget 
not  my  punishment.  Forget  not  that  the  murder- 
ess of  her  husband  has  dragged  out  years  of  hiddeE 
remorse,  to  be  brought  at  last  to  the  scaffold  by 
her  own  cherished  son — thou  art  silent. 

Geo.  The  language  of  Nature  is  no  more !  How 
shall  I  learn  another  ? 

Isa.  Look  upon  me,  George.  Should  the  execu- 
tioner be  abashed  before  the  criminal — look  upon 
me,  my  son.     From  my  soul  do  I  forgive  thee. 

Geo.  Forgive  me  what  ? 

Isa.  What  thou  dost  meditate — be  vengeance 
heavy,  but  let  it  be  secret — add  not  the  death  of  a 
father  to  that  of  the  sinner  !  Oh !  Rudiger !  Rudi- 
ger !  innocent  cause  of  all  my  guilt  and  all  my  woe, 
how  wilt  thou  tear  thy  silver  locks  when  thou  shalt 
hear  her  guilt  whom  thou  hast  so  often  clasped  to 
thy  bosom — hear  her  infamy  proclaimed  by  the 
son  of  thy  fondest  hopes — {weeps.) 

Geo.  {struggling  for  breath.)  Nature  will  have 
utterance :  mother,  dearest  mother,  I  will  save 
you  or  perish  !  {throws  himself  into  her  arms.) 
Thus  fall  my  vows. 

Isa.  Man  thyself!  I  ask  not  safety  from  thee. 
Never  shall  it  be  said,  that  Isabella  of  Aspen 
turned  her  son  from  the  path  of  duty,  though  his 
footsteps  must  pass  over  her  mangled  corpse. 
Man  thyself. 

Geo.  No  !  No !  The  ties  of  Nature  were  knit 
by  God  himself.  Cursed  be  the  stoic  pride  that 
would  rend  them  asunder,  and  call  it.  virtue ! 

Isa.  My  son  1  My  son ! — How  shall  1  oehold  thee 
hereafter  ? 

[Three  knocks  are  heard  upon  the  door  oj 
the  apartment. 

Geo.  Hark !  One — two — three.  Roderic,  thou 
art  speedy !     {Apart) 

Isa.  {opens  the  door.)  A  parchment  stuck  to  the 
door  with  a  poniard !  ( Opens  it)  Heaven  and 
earth ! — a  summons  from  the  invisible  judges ! — 
{Drops  the  parchment) 

Geo.  {reads  with  emotion.)  "  Isabella  of  Aspen, 
accused  of  murder  by  poison,  we  conjure  thee,  by 
the  cord  and  by  the  steel,  to  appear  this  night 
before  the  avengers  of  blood,  who  judge  in  secret 
and  av  3nge  in  secret,  like  the  Deity.  As  thou  art 
innocei-t  or  guilty,  so  be  thy  deliverance." — Mar- 
tin, Martin,  thou,  hast  played  false  1 

Isa.  Alas  !  whither  shall  I  fly  ? 

Geo.  Thou  canst  not  fly;  instant  death  would 
follow  the  attempt ;  a  hundred  thousand  arms 
would  be  raised  against  thy  life ;  every  morse1 
thou   didst   taste,  every  drop  which  thou   didsi 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


825 


drink,  th3  very  breeze  of  heaven  that  fanned  thee, 
would  come  loaded  with  destruction.  One  chance 
jf  safety  is  open: — obey  the  summons. 

Isa.  And  perish. — Yet  why  should  I  still  fear 
death  ?     Be  it  so. 

Geo.  No — I  have  sworn  to  save  you.  I  will  not 
do  the  work  by  halves.  Does  any  one  save  Martin 
Know  of  the  dreadful  deed  ? 

Isa.  None. 

Geo.  Then  go — assert  your  innocence,  and  leave 
the  rest  to  me. 

Isa.  Wretch  that  I  am  I  How  can  I  support  the 
task  you  would  impose  ? 

Geo.  Think  on  my  father.  Live  for  him:  he 
will  need  all  the  comfort  thou  canst  bestow.  Let 
the  thought  that  his  destruction  is  involved  in 
thine,  carry  thee  through  the  dreadful  trial. 

Isa.  Be  it  so. — For  Rudiger  I  have  lived:  for 
him  I  will  continue  to  bear  the  burden  of  exist- 
ence :  but  the  instant  that  my  guilt  comes  to  his 
Knowledge  shall  be  the  last  of  my  life.  Ere  I 
would  bear  from  him  one  glance  of  hatred  or  of 
ecorn,  this  dagger  should  drink  my  blood.  (Puts 
the  poniard  into  her  bosom.) 

Geo.  Fear  not.  He  can  never  know.  No  evi- 
dence shall  appear  against  you. 

Isa.  How  shall  I  obey  the  summons,  and  where 
find  the  terrible  judgment-seat  ? 

Geo.  Leave  that  to  the  judges.  Resolve  but  to 
obey,  and  a  conductor  will  be  found.  Go  to  the 
chapel;  there  pray  for  your  sins  and  for  mine. 
(He  leads  her  out,  and  returns.) — Sins,  indeed  1  I 
break  a  dreadful  vow,  but  I  save  the  life  of  a  pa- 
rent ;  and  the  penance  I  will  do  for  my  perjury 
shall  appal  even  the  judges  of  blood. 

Miter  Reynold. 
Rey.  Sir  knight,  the  messenger  of  Count  Roderic 
desires  to  speak  with  you. 
Geo.  Admit  him. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Hug.  Count  Roderic  of  Maltingen  greets  you. 
He  says  he  will  this  night  hear  the  bat  flutter  and 
the  owlet  scream ;  and  he  bids  me  ask  if  thou  also 
wilt  listen  to  the  music. 

Geo.  I  understand  him.     I  will  be  there. 

Hug.  And  the  Count  says  to  you,  that  he  will 
£iot  ransom  your  wounded  squire,  though  you 
would  down-weigh  his  best  horse  with  gold.  But 
you  may  send  him  a  confessor,  for  the  Count  says 
he  will  need  one. 

Geo.  Is  he  so  near  death  ? 

Hug.  Not  as  it  seems  to  me.  He  is  weak  through 
loss  of  blood ;  but  since  his  wound  was  dressed  he 
can  both  stand  and  walk.  Our  Count  has  a  notable 
halsam,  which  has  recruited  him  much. 

Geo.  Enough— I  will  send   the   priest. — (Exit 

ugo.)    ]  fathom  his  plot.    He  would  add  another 


witness  to  the  tale  of  Martin's  guilt.  But  no  priest 
shall  approach  lum.  Reynold,  thhakest  thou  not 
we  could  send  one  of  the  troopers,  disguised  as  a 
monk,  to  aid  Martin  in  making  his  escape  ? 

Rey.  Noble  sir,  the  followers  of  your  house  are 
so  well  known  to  those  of  Maltingen,  that  I  fear  it 
is  impossible. 

Geo.  Knowest  thou  of  no  stranger  who  might  be 
employed  ?  His  reward  shall  exceed  even  his  hopea. 

Rey.  So  please  you — I  think  the  minstrel  could 
well  execute  such  a  commission :  he  is  shrewd  and 
cunning,  and  can  write  and  read  like  a  priest. 

Geo.  Call  him. — (Exit  Reynold.)  If  this  fails,  I 
must  employ  open  force.  Were  Martin  removed, 
no  tongue  can  assert  the  bloody  truth. 

Enter  Minstrel. 

Geo.  Come  hither,  Minhold.  Hast  thou  courage 
to  undertake  a  dangerous  enterprise  ? 

Ber.  My  life,  sir  knight,  has  been  one  scene  of 
danger  and  of  dread.    I  have  forgotten  how  to  fear. 

Geo.  Thy  speech  is  above  thy  seeming.  Who 
art  thou  ? 

Ber.  An  unfortunate  knight,  obliged  to  shroud 
myself  under  this  disguise. 

Geo.  What  is  the  cause  of  thy  misfortunes  ? 

Ber.  I  slew,  at  a  tournament,  a  prince,  and  waf 
laid  under  the  ban  of  the  empire. 

Geo.  I  have  interest  with  the  emperor.  Swear 
to  perform  what  task  I  shall  impose  on  thee,  and 
I  will  procure  the  recall  of  the  ban. 

Ber.  I  swear. 

Geo.  Then  take  the  disguise  of  a  monk,  and  go 
with  the  follower  of  Count  Roderic,  as  if  to  confess 
my  wounded  squire  Martin.  Give  him  thy  dress, 
and  remain  in  prison  i»  his  stead.  Thy  captivity 
shall  be  short,  and  I  pledge  my  knightly  word  I 
will  labor  to  execute  my  promise,  when  thou  shalt 
have  leisure  to  unfold  thy  history. 

Ber.  I  will  do  as  you  direct.  Is  the  life  of  your 
squire  in  danger  ? 

Geo.  It  is,  unless  thou  canst  accomplish  his  re- 
lease. 

Ber.  I  will  essay  it.  [Exit. 

Geo.  Such  are  the  mean  expedients  to  which 
George  of  Aspen  must  now  resort.  No  longer  can  I 
debate  with  Roderic  in  the  field.  The  depraved — 
the  perjured  knight  must  contend  with  him  only 
in  the  arts  of  dissimulation  and  treachery.  Oh, 
mother !  mother !  the  most  bitter  consequence  vt 
thy  crime  has  been  the  birth  of  thy  first-born ! 
But  I  must  warn  my  brother  of  the  impending 
storm.  Poor  Henry,  how  little  can  thy  gay  tem- 
per anticipate  evil  1  What,  ho  there !  (Enter  an 
Attendant)     Where  is  Baron  Henry  ? 

Att.  Noble  sir,  he  rode  forth,  after  a  slight  re 
freshment,  to  visit  the  party  in  the  field. 

Geo.  Saddle  my  steed ;  I  will  follow  him 


824 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.. 


Att.  So  please  you,  your  noble  father  has  twice 
demanded  your  presence  at  the  banquet. 

Geo.  It  matters  not — say  that  I  have  ridden 
forth  to  the  Wolfshill.     Where  is  thy  lady  ? 

Att.  In  the  chapel,  sir  knight. 

Geo.  'Tis  well — saddle  my  bay-horse — {apart) 
for  the  last  time.  [Exit. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  L 

The  wood  of  Griefenhaus,  with  the  ruins  of  the 
Castle.  A  nearer  view  of  the  Castle  than  in 
Act  Second,  but  still  at  some  distance. 

Enter  Roderic,  Wolfstein,  and  Soldiers,  as  from 
a  reconnoitering  party. 

Wolf.  They  mean  to  improve  their  success,  and 
will  push  their  advantage  far.  We  must  retreat 
betimes,  Count  Roderic. 

Rod.  We  are  safe  here  for  the  present.  They 
make  no  immediate  motion  of  advance.  I  fancy 
neither  George  nor  Henry  are  with  their  party  in 
the  wood. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Hug.  Noble  sir,  how  shall  I  tell  what  has  hap- 
pened ? 

Rod.  What? 

Hug.  Martin  has  escaped. 

Rod.  Villain,  thy  life  shall  pay  it !  {Strikes  at 
Hugo — is  held  by  Wolfstein.) 

Wolf.  Hold,  hold,  Count  Roderic  I  Hugo  may 
be  blameless. 

Rod.  Reckless  slave  !  how  came  he  to  escape  ? 

Hug.  Under  the  disguise  of  a  monk's  habit, 
whom  by  your  orders  we  brought  to  confess  hiin. 

Rod.  Has  he  been  long  gone  ? 

Hug.  An  hour  and  more  since  he  passed  our 
sentinels,  disguised  as  the  chaplain  of  Aspen :  but 
he  walked  so  slowly  and  feebly,  I  think  he  cannot 
yet  have  reached  the  posts  of  the  enemy. 

Rod.  Where  is  the  treacherous  priest  ? 

Hug.  He  waits  his  doom  not  far  from  hence. 

[Exit  Hugo. 

Rod.  Drag  him  hither.  The  miscreant  that 
snatched  the  morsel  of  vengeance  from  the  lion  of 
Maltmgen,  shall  expire  under  torture. 

Re-enter  Hugo,  with  Bertram  and  Attendants. 

Rod.  Villain !  what  tempted  thee,  under  the 
garb  of  a  "minister  of  religion,  to  steal  a  criminal 
from  the  hand  of  justice  ? 

Ber.  I  am  no  villain,  Count  Roderic ;  and  I  only 
aided  the  escape  of  one  wounded  wretch  whom 
thou  didst  mean  to  kill  basely. 

Rod.  Liar  and  slave !  thou  hast  assisted  a  mur- 
derer, upon  whom  justice  had  sacred  claims. 


Ber.  I  warn  thee  again,  Count,  that  I  am  neithe; 
liar  nor  slave.  Shortly  I  hope  to  tell  thee  I  am 
once  more  thy  equal. 

Rod.  Thou  !  Thou ! 

Ber.  Yes !  the  name  of  Bertram  of  Ebersdorf 
was  once  not  unknown  to  thee. 

Rod.  {astonished.)  Thou  Bertram !  the  brother 
of  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf,  first  husband  of  the  Bar- 
oness Isabella  of  Aspen  ? 

Ber.  The  same. 

Rod.  Who,  in  a  quarrel  at  a  tournament,  many 
years  since,  slew  a  blood-relation  of  the  emperor, 
and  was  laid  under  the  ban  ? 

Ber.  The  same. 

Rod.  And  who  has  now,  in  the  disguise  of  a 
priest,  aided  the  escape  of  Martin,  squire  to  George 
of  Aspen  ? 

Ber.  The  same — the  same. 

Rod.  Then,  by  the  holy  cross  of  Cologne,  thou 
hast  set  at  liberty  the  murderer  of  thy  brother 
Arnolf! 

Ber.  How  !     What !    I  understand  thee  not ! 

Rod.  Miserable  plotter  ! — Martin,  by  his  own 
confession,  as  Wolfstein  heard,  avowed  having 
aided  Isabella  in  the  murder  of  her  husband.  I 
had  laid  such  a  plan  of  vengeance  as  should  have 
made  all  Germany  shudder.  And  thou  hast  coun- 
teracted it — thou,  the  brother  of  the  murdered 
Arnolf  ? 

Ber.  Can  this  be  so,  Wolfstein  ? 

Wolf.  I  heard  Martin  confess  the  murder. 

Ber.  Then  am  I  indeed  unfortunate  ! 

Rod.  What,  in  the  name  of  evil,  brought  thee 
here  ? 

Ber.  I  am  the  last  of  my  race.  When  I  was 
outlawed,  as  thou  knowest,  the  lands  of  Ebers- 
dorf, my  rightful  inheritance,  were  declared  for- 
feited, and  the  Emperor  bestowed  them  upon 
Rudiger  when  he  married  Isabella.  I  attempted 
to  defend  my  domain,  but  Rudiger — Hell  thank 
him  for  it — enforced  the  ban  against  me  at  the 
head  of  his  vassals,  and  I  was  constrained  to  fly. 
Since  then  I  have  warred  against  the  Saracens  in 
Spain  and  Palestine. 

Rod.  But  why  didst  thou  return  to  a  land  where 
death  attends  thy  being  discovered  ? 

Ber.  Impatience  urged  me  to  see  once  more  the 
land  of  my  nativity,  and  the  towers  of  Ebersdorf. 
I  came  there  yesterday,  under  the  name  of  the 
minstrel  Minhold. 

Rod.  And  what  prevailed  on  thee  to  undertake 
to  deliver  Martin  ? 

Ber.  George,  though  I  told  not  my  name,  en- 
gaged to  procure  the  recall  of  the  ban ;  besides, 
he  told  me  Martin's  life  was  in  danger,  and  I  ac- 
counted the  old  villain  to  be  the  last  remaining 
follower  of  our  house.  But,  as  God  shall  judge 
•  me,  the  tale  of  horror  thou  hast  mentioned  I  could 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


826 


not  have  even  suspected.  Report  ran,  that  my 
brother  died  of  the  plague. 

Wolf.  Raised  for  the  purpose,  doubtless,  of  pre- 
venting attendance  upon  his  sick-bed,  and  an  in- 
spection of  his  body. 

Ber.  My  vengeance  shall  be  dreadful  as  its 
cause  !  The  usurpers  of  my  inheritance,  the  rob- 
bers of  my  honor,  the  murderers  of  my  brother, 
shall  be  cut  off,  root  and  branch ! 

Rod.  Thou  art,  then,  "welcome  here  ;  especially 
if  thou  art  still  a  true  brother  to  our  invisible 
order. 

Ber,  I  am. 

Rod.  There  is  a  meeting  this  night  on  the  busi- 
ness of  thy  brother's  death.  Some  are  now  come. 
I  must  dispatch  them  in  pursuit  of  Martin. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Hug.  The  foes  advance,  sir  knight. 

Rod.  Back  !  back  to  the  ruins  !  Come  with  us, 
Bertram ;  on  the  road  thou  shalt  hear  the  dread- 
ful history.  [Exeunt. 

From  the  opposite  side  enter  George,  Henry, 
Wickerd,  Conrad,  and  Soldiers. 

Geo.  No  news  of  Martin  yet  ? 

Wic.  None,  sir  knight. 

Geo.  Nor  of  the  minstrel  ? 

Wic.  None. 

Geo.  Then  he  has  betrayed  me,  or  is  prisoner — 
misery  either  way.  Begone,  and  search  the  wood, 
Wickerd.  [Exeunt  Wickerd  and  followers. 

Hen.  Still  this  dreadful  gloom  on  thy  brow, 
brother  ? 

Geo.  Ay !  what  else  ? 

Hen.  Once  thou  thoughtest  me  worthy  of  thy 
friendship. 

Geo.  Henry,  thou  art  young— 

Hen.  Shall  I  therefore  betray  thy  confidence  ? 

Geo.  No  !  but  thou  art  gentle  and  well-na- 
tured. Thy  mind  cannot  even  support  the  burden 
wliich  mine  must  bear,  far  less  wilt  thou  approve 
the  means  I  shall  use  to  throw  it  off. 

Hen.  Try  me. 

Geo.  I  may  not. 

Hen.  Then  thou  dost  no  longer  love  me. 

Geo.  I  love  thee,  and  because  I  love  thee,  I  will 
not  involve  thee  in  my  distress. 

Hen.  I  will  bear  it  with  thee. 

Geo.  Shouldst  thou  share  it,  it  would  be  doubled 
to  me. 

Hen.  Fear  not,  I  will  find  a  remedy. 

Geo.  It  would  cost  (thee  peace  of  mind,  here, 
and  hereafter. 

Hen.  I  take  the  risk. 

Geo.  It  may  not  be,  Henry.     Thou  wouldst  be- 
come the  confidant  of  crimes  past — the  accomplice 
of  otWs  to  come. 
104 


Hen.  Shall  I  guess  ? 

Geo.  I  charge  thee,  no ! 

Hen.  I  must.     Thou  art  one  of  the  secret  judges, 

Geo.  Unhappy  boy !  what  hast  thou  said  ? 

Hen.  Is  it  not  so  ? 

Geo.  Dost  thou  know  what  the  discovery  has 
cost  thee  ? 

Hen.  I  care  not. 

Geo.  He  who  discovers  any  part  of  our  mystery 
must  liimself  become  one  of  our  number. 

Hen.  How  so  ? 

Geo.  If  he  does  not  consent,  his  secrecy  will  be 
speedily  ensured  by  his  death.  To  that  we  are 
sworn — take  thy  choice  ! 

Hen.  Well,  are  you  not  banded  in  secret  to 
punish  those  offenders  whom  the  sword  of  justice 
cannot  reach,  or  who  are  shielded  from  its  stroke 
by  the  buckler  of  power  ? 

Geo.  Such  is  indeed  the  purpose  of  our  frater- 
nity ;  but  the  end  is  pursued  through  paths  dark, 
intricate,  and  slippery  with  blood.  Who  is  he  that 
shall  tread  them  with  safety  ?  Accursed  be  the 
hour  in  which  I  entered  the  labyrinth,  and  doubly 
accursed  that,  in  which  thou  too  must  lose  the 
cheerful  sunshine  of  a  soul  without  a  mystery ! 

Hen.  Yet  for  thy  sake  will  I  be  a  member. 

Geo.  Henry,  thou  didst  rise  this  morning  a  free 
man.  No  one  could  say  to  thee,  "  Why  dost  thou 
so  ?"  Thou  layest  thee  down  to-night  the  veriest 
slave  that  ever  tugged  at  an  oar — the  slave  of 
men  whose  actions  will  appear  to  thee  savage  and 
incomprehensible,  and  whom  thou  must  aid  against 
the  world,  upon  peril  of  thy  throat. 

Hen.  Be  it  so.     I  will  share  your  lot. 

Geo.  Alas,  Henry !  Heaven  forbid !  But  since 
thou  hast  by  a  hasty  word  fettered  thyself,  I  will 
avail  myself  of  thy  bondage.  Mount  thy  fleetest 
steed,  and  hie  thee  this  very  night  to  the  Duke  of 
Bavaria.  He  is  chief  and  paramount  of  our  chap- 
ter. Show  him  this  signet  and  this  letter ;  tell 
him  that  matters  will  be  this  night  discussed  con- 
cerning the  house  of  Aspen.  Bid  him  speed  liim 
to  the  assembly,  for  he  well  knows  the  president 
is  our  deadly  foe.  He  will  admit  thee  a  member 
of  our  holy  body. 

Hen.  Who  is  the  foe  whom  you  dread? 

Geo.  Young  man,  the  first  duty  thou  must  leam 
is  implicit  and  blind  obedience. 

Hen.  Well !  I  shall  soon  return  and  see  thee 
again. 

Geo.  Return,  indeed,  thou  wilt ;  but  for  the  rest 
— well !  that  matters  not. 

Hen.  I  go :  thou  wilt  set  a  watch  here  ? 

Geo.  I  will.  (Henry  going)  Return,  my  tear 
Henry,  let  me  embrace  thee,  shouldst  thou  not 
see  me  again. 

Hen.  Heaven  !  what  mean  you  ? 

Geo.  Nothing.    The  life  of  mortals  is  precari- 


826 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ous ;  and,  should  we  not  meet  again,  take  my 
blessing  and  this  embrace — and  tins — (embraces 
him  warmly.)  And  now  haste  to  the  duke.  {Exit 
Heney.)  Poor  youth,  thou  little  knowest  what 
thou  hast  undertaken.  But  if  Martin  has  escaped, 
and  if  the  duke  arrives,  they  will  not  dare  to  pro- 
ceed without  proof. 

Re-enter  Wickerd  and  followers. 
Wic.  We  have  made  a  follower  of  Malting  en 
prisoner,  Baron  George,  who  reports  that  Martin 
nas  escaped. 

Geo.  Joy !  joy !  such  joy  as  I  can  now  feel ! 
Set  him  free  for  the  good  news — and,  Wickerd, 
keep  a  good  watch  in  this  spot  all  night.  Send 
out  scouts  to  find  Martin,  lest  he  should  not  be 
able  to  reach  Ebersdorf. 
Wic.  I  shall,  noble  sir. 

[The  kettle-drums  and  trumpets  flourish 
as  for  setting  the  watch :  the  scene  closes- 


SCENE  II. 

The  chapel  at  Ebersdorf,  an  ancient  Gothic  building. 

Isabella  is  discovered  rising  from  before  the  altar, 
on  which  burn  two  tapers. 

Isa.  I  cannot  pray.  Terror  and  guilt  have  sti- 
fled devotion.  The  heart  must  be  at  ease — the 
hands  must  be  pure  when  they  are  lifted  to  Heav- 
en. Midnight  is  the  hour  of  summons :  it  is  now 
near.  How  can  I  pray,  when  I  go  resolved  to 
deny  a  crime  which  every  drop  of  my  blood  could 
not  wash  away  !  And  my  son !  Oh  !  he  will  fall 
the  victim  of  my  crime  !  Arnolf!  Arnolf!  thou 
art  dreadfully  avenged  !  [Tap  at  the  door.)  The 
footstep  of  my  dreadful  guide.  {Tap  again)  My 
courage  is  no  more.  (Enter  Ger.tk.ude  by  the  door.) 
Gertrude  !  is  it  only  thou  ?  (embraces  her.) 

Ger.  Dear  aunt,  leave  this  awful  place  ;  it  chills 
my  very  blood.  My  uncle  sent  me  to  call  you  to 
the  hall. 

Isa.  Who  is  in  the  hall  ? 

Ger.  Only  Reynold  and  the  family,  with  whom 
gay  uncle  is  making  merry. 

Isa.  Sawest  thou  no  strange  faces  ? 

Ger.  No  ;  none  but  friends. 

Isa.  Art  thou  sure  of  that  ?     Is  George  there  ? 

Ger.  No,  nor  Henry ;  both  have  ridden  out.  I 
think  they  might  have  staid  one  day  at  least.  But 
come,  aunt,  I  hate  this  place ;  it  reminds  me  of  my 
dream.  See,  yonder  was  the  spot  where  methought 
they  were  burying  you  alive,  below  yon  monu- 
ment (pointing.) 

Isa.  (starting)  The  monument  of  my  first  hus- 


band. Leave  me,  leave  me,  Gertrude.  I  follow  I 
in  a  moment.  (Exit  Gertrude.)  Ay,  there  he 
lies !  forgetful  alike  of  his  crimes  and  injuries  \ 
Insensible,  as  if  this  chapel  had  never  rung  with 
my  shrieks,  or  the  castle  resounded  to  his  parting 
groans  1  When  shall  I  sleep  so  soundly?  (As 
she  gazes  on  the  monument,  a  figure  muffled  in  black 
appears  from  behind  it)  Merciful  God !  is  it  a 
vision,  such  as  has  haunted  my  couch  ?  (It  ap- 
proaches :  she  goes  on  with  mingled  terror  and  res- 
olution) Ghastly  phantom,  art  thou  the  restless 
spirit  of  one  who  died  in  agony,  or  art  thou  the 
mysterious  being  that  must  guide  me  to  the  pres- 
ence of  the  avengers  of  blood  ?  (Figure  bends  its 
head  and  beckons) — To-morrow  !  To-morrow !  I 
cannot  follow  thee  now  1  (Figure  shows  a  dagger 
from  beneath  its  cloak.)  Compulsion  !  I  under- 
stand thee :  I  will  follow.  (She  follows  the  figure 
a  little  way  ;  he  turns  and  wraps  a  black  veil  round 
her  head,  and  takes  her  hand:  then  both  exeunt 
behind  the  monument) 


SCENE  III. 

The  Wood  of  Griefenhaus. — A  watch-fire,  round 
which  sit  Wickerd,  Conrad,  and  others,  in  their 
watch-cloaks. 

Wic.  The  night  is  bitter  cold. 

Con.  Ay,  but  thou  hast  lined  thy  doublet  well 
with  old  Rhenish. 

Wic.  True ;  and  Til  give  you  warrant  for  it. 
(Sings) 

(rhein-wein  lied.) 

What  makes  the  troopers'  frozen  courage  musxev  ¥ 

The  grapes  of  juice  divine. 
Upon  the  Rhine,  upon  the  Rhine  they  cluster : 

Oh,  blessed  be  the  Rhine  ! 

Let  fringe  and  furs,  and  many  a  rabbit  skin,  sus, 

Bedeck  your  Saracen ; 
He'll  freeze  without  what  warms  our  hearts  with 
in,  sirs, 

When  the  night-frost  crusts  the  fen. 

But  on  the  Rhine,  but  on  the  Rhine  they  cluster, 

The  grapes  of  juice  divine, 
That  make  our  troopers'  frozen  courage  muster : 

Oh,  blessed  be  the  Rhine  ! 

Con.  Well  sung,  Wickerd;  thou  wert  ever  s 
jovial  soul. 

Enter  a  trooper  or  ttco  mort. 
Wic.  Hast  thou  made  the  rounds,  Frank  ? 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


821 


Frank.  Yes,  up  to  the  hemlock  marsh.  It  is  a 
stormy  night;  the  moon  shone  on  the  Wolfshill, 
and  on  the  dead  bodies  with  which  to-day's  work 
has  covered  it.  We  heard  the  spirit  of  the  house 
of  Maltingen  wailing  over  the  slaughter  of  its  ad- 
herents :  I  durst  go  no  farther. 

Wic.  Hen-hearted  rascal !  The  spirit  of  some  old 
raven,  who  was  picking  their  bones. 

Con.  Nay,  Wickerd ;  the  churchmen  say  there 
are  such  things. 

Feank.  Ay ;  and  Father  Ludovic  told  us  last 
sermon,  how  the  devil  twisted  the  neck  of  ten 
farmers  at  Kletterbach,  who  refused  to  pay  Pe- 
ter's pence. 

Wic.  Yes,  some  church  devil,  no  doubt. 

Frank.  Nay,  old  Reynold  says,  that  in  passing, 
by  midnight,  near  the  old  chapel  at  our  castle,  he 
saw  it  all  lighted  up,  and  heard  a  chorus  of  voices 
sing  the  funeral  service. 

Another  Soldier.  Father  Ludovic  heard  the 
feme. 

Wic.  Hear  me,  ye  hare-livered  boys !  Can  you 
look  death  in  the  face  in  battle,  and  dread  such 
nursery  bugbears  ?  Old  Reynold  saw  his  vision 
in  the  strength  of  the  grape.  As  for  the  chaplain, 
far  be  it  from  me  to  name  the  spirit  which  visits 
him  ;  but  I  know  what  I  know,  when  I  found  him 
confessing  Bertrand's  pretty  Agnes  in  the  chestnut 
grove. 

Con.  But,  Wickerd,  though  I  have  often  heard 
of  strange  tales  which  I  could  not  credit,  yet  there 
is  one  in  our  family  so  well  attested,  that  I  almost 
believe  it.     Shall  I  tell  it  you  ? 

All  Soldiers.  Do  !  do  tell  it,  gentle  Conrad. 

Wic.  And  I  will  take  t'other  sup  of  Rhenish  to 
fence  against  the  horrors  of  the  tale. 

Con.  It  is  about  my  own  uncle  and  godfather, 
Albert  of  Horsheim. 

Wic.  I  have  seen  him — he  was  a  gallant  war- 
rior. 

Con.  Well !  he  was  long  absent  in  the  Bohe- 
mian wars.  In  an  expedition  he  was  benighted, 
and  came  to  a  lone  house  on  the  edge  of  a  forest : 
he  and  his  followers  knocked  repeatedly  for  en- 
trance in  vain.  They  forced  the  door,  but  found 
no  inhabitants. 

Frank.  And  they  made  good  their  quarters  ? 

Con.  They  did :  and  Albert  retired  to  rest  in  an 
upper  chamber.  Opposite  to  the  bed  on  which  he 
threw  himself  was  a  large  mirror.  At  midnight 
he  was  awaked  by  deep  groans  :  he  cast  his  eyes 
Upon  the  mirror,  and  saw 

Frank.  Sacred  Heaven !  Heard  you  nothing  ? 

Wic.  Ay,  the  wind  among  the  wither'd  leaves. 
Go  on,  Conrad.     Your  uncle  was  a  wise  man. 

Con.  That's  more  than  gray  hairs  can  make 
pther  folks. 

Wic.    Ha!    stripling,   art  thou    so   malapert? 


Though  thou  art  Lord  Henry's  page,  1  «hall  teach 
thee  who  commands  tins  party. 

All  Soldiers.  Peace,  peace,  good  Wickerd :  lot 
Conrad  proceed. 

Con.  Where  was  I  ? 

Frank.  About  the  mirror. 

Con.  True.  My  uncle  beheld  in  the  mirror  the 
reflection  of  a  human  face  distorted  and  covered 
with  blood.  A  voice  pronounced  articulately,  "  It 
is  yet  time."  As  the  words  were  spoken,  my  un- 
cle discerned  in  the  ghastly  visage  the  features  of 
his  own  father. 

Soldier.  Hush  !  By  St.  Francis,  I  heard  a  groan. 
{They  start  up  all  but  Wickerd.) 

Wic  The  croaking  of  a  frog,  who  has  caught 
cold  in  this  bitter  night,  and  sings  rather  more 
hoarsely  than  usual. 

Frank.  Wickerd,  thou  art  surely  no  Christian 
{They  sit  down,  and  close  round  the  fire.) 

Con.  Well — my  uncle  called  up  his  attendants, 
and  they  searched  every  nook  of  the  chamber,  but 
found  nothing.  So  they  covered  the  mirror  with 
a  cloth,  and  Albert  was  left  alone  ;  but  hardly  had 
he  closed  his  eyes  when  the  same  voice  proclaimed, 
"  It  is  now  too  late  ;"  the  covering  was  drawn  aside, 
and  he  saw  the  figure 

Frank.  Merciful  Virgin !  It  comes.  {All  rise.) 

Wic.  Where?  what? 

Con.  See  yon  figure  coming  from  the  thicket ! 

Enter  Martin,  in  the  monk's  dress,  much  disorder- 
ed: his  face  is  very  pale  and  his  steps  slow. 

Wic.  {levelling  his  pike.)  Man  or  devil,  which 
thou  wilt,  thou  shalt  feel  cold  iron,  if  thou  budgest 
a  foot  nearer.  (Martin  stops.)  Who  art  thou  ? 
What  dost  thou  seek  ? 

Mar.  To  warm  myself  at  your  fire.  It  is  deadly 
cold. 

Wic  See  there,  ye  cravens,  your  apparition  is 
a  poor  benighted  monk :  sit  down,  father.  {They 
place  Martin  by  the  fire.)  By  heaven,  it  is  Martin 
— our  Martin !  Martin,  how  fares  it  with  thee  \ 
We  have  sought  thee  this  whole  night. 

Mar.  So  have  many  others  {vacantly.) 

Con.  Yes,  thy  master. 

Mar.  Did  you  see  him  too  ? 

Con.  Whom  ?  Baron  George  ? 

Mar.  No  !  my  first  master,  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf 

Wic  He  raves. 

Mar.  He  passed  me  but  now  in  the  wood,  mount- 
ed upon  his  old  black  steed ;  its  nostrils  breatheal 
smoke  and  flame  ;  neither  tree  nor  rock  stopped 
him.  He  said,  "  Martin,  thou  wilt  return  this  night 
to  my  service !" 

Wic  Wrap  thy  cloak  around  him,  Francis ;  he 
is  distracted  with  cold  and  pain.  Dost  thou  not 
recollect  me,  old  friend  ? 

Mar.  Yes,  you  are  the  butler  at  Ebersdorf:  you 


828 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


have  the  charge  of  the  large  gilded  cup,  embossed 
with  the  figures  of  the  twelve  apostles.  It  was  the 
favorite  goblet  of  my  old  master. 

Con.  By  our  lady,  Martin,  thou  must  be  dis- 
tracted indeed,  to  think  our  master  would  intrust 
Wickerd  with  the  care  of  the  cellar. 

Mar.  I  know  a  face  so  like  the  apostate  Judas 
on  that  cup.  I  have  seen  the  likeness  when  I  gazed 
on  a  mirror. 

Wic.  Try  to  go  to  sleep,  dear  Martin ;  it  will 
relieve  thy  brain.  (Footsteps  are  heard  in  the  wood.) 
To  your  arms.  (They  take  their  arms.) 

Enter  two  Members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  muf- 
fled in  their  cloaks. 
Con.  Stand  !     Who  are  you  ? 
1  Mem.  Travellers  benighted  in  the  wood. 
"Wic.  Are  ye  friends  to  Aspen  or  Maltingen  \ 

1  Mem.  We  enter  not  into  their  quarrel :  we  are 
friends  to  the  right. 

Wic.  Then  are  ye  friends  to  us,  and  welcome  to 
pass  the  night  by  our  fire. 

2  Mem.  Thanks.  (They  approach  the  fire,  and 
regard  Martin  very  earnestly.) 

Cox.  Hear  ye  any  news  abroad  ? 
2  Mem.  None  ;  but  that  oppression  and  villany 
are  rife  and  rank  as  ever. 
Wic.  The  old  complaint. 

1  Mem.  No  !  never  did  former  age  equal  this  in 
wickedness ;  and  yet,  as  if  the  daily  commission  of 
enormities  were  not  enough  to  blot  the  sun,  every 
hour  discovers  crimes  which  have  lain  concealed 
for  years. 

Con.  Pity  the  Holy  Tribunal  should  slumber  in 
its  office. 

2  Mem.  Young  man,  it  slumbers  not.  When 
criminals  are  ripe  for  its  vengeance,  it  falls  like 
the  bolt  of  Heaven. 

Mar.  (attempting  to  rise.)  Let  me  be  gone. 

Con.  (detaining  him.)  Whither  now,  Martin  ? 

Mar.  To  mass. 

1  Mem.  Even  now,  we  heard  a  tale  of  a  villain, 
who,  ungrateful  as  the  frozen  adder,  stung  the  bo- 
som that  had  warmed  him  into  life. 

Mar.  Conrad,  bear  me  off;  I  would  be  away  from 
these  men. 

Coif.  Be  at  ease,  and  strive  to  sleep. 

Mar.  Too  well  I  know — I  shall  never  sleep  again. 

1  Mem.  The  wretch  of  whom  we  speak  became, 
frcm  revenge  and  lust  of  gain,  the  murderer  of  the 
master  whose  bread  he  did  eat. 

Wic.  Out  upon  the  monster  1 

1  Mem.  For  nearly  thirty  years  was  he  permit- 
ted to  cumber  the  ground.  The  miscreant  thought 
his  crime  was  concealed;  but  the  earth  which 
groaned  under  his  footsteps — the  winds  which 
passed  over  his  unhallowed  head — the  stream 
winch  he  polluted  by  his  lips — the  fire  at  which  he 


warmed  his  blood-stained  hand? — every  element 
bore  witness  to  his  guilt. 

Mar.  Conrad,  good  youth — lead  me  from  hence, 
and  I  will  show  thee  where,  thirty  years  since,  I 
deposited  a  mighty  bribe.  [Rises, 

Con.  Be  patient,  good  Martin. 
Wic  And  where  was  the  miscreant  neized  § 

[The  two  Members  suddenly  lay  hands  on 
Martin,  and  draw  their  daggers ;    the 
Soldiers  spring  to  their  arms. 
1  Mem.  On  this  very  spot. 
Wic  Traitors,  unloose  your  hold ! 
1  Mem.  In  the  name  of  the  Invisible  Judges,  I 
charge  ye,  impede  us  not  in  our  duty. 

[All  sink  their  weapons,  and  stand  mo- 
tionless. 
Mar.  Help!  help! 
1  Mem.  Help  him  with  your  prayers ! 

[He  is  dragged  off.     The  scene  shut*. 


ACT  V.— SCENE  I. 

The  subterranean  chapel  of  the  Castle  of  Oriefen- 
haus.  It  seems  deserted,  and  in  decay.  There  are 
four  entrances,  each  defended  by  an  iron  portal. 
At  each  door  stands  a  warder  clothed  in  black, 
and  masked,  armed  tcith  a  naked  sword.  During 
the  whole  scene  they  remain  motionless  on  their 
posts.  In  the  centre  of  the  chapel  is  a  ruinous 
altar,  half  sunk  in  the  ground,  on  which  lie  a 
large  book,  a  dagger,  and  a  coil  of  ropes,  beside 
two  lighted  tapers.  Antique  stone  benches  of  dif- 
ferent heights  around  the  chapel.  In  the  back 
scene  is  seen  a  dilapidated  entrance  into  the  sa- 
cristy, which  is  quite  dark. 
Various  Members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal  enter 
by  the  four  different  doors  of  the  chapel.  Each 
whispers  something  as  he  passes  the  Warder 
which  is  answered  by  an  inclination  of  the  head. 
The  costume  of  the  Members  is  a  long  black  robe 
capable  of  muffling  the  face :  some  wear  it  in  this 
manner ;  others  have  their  faces  uncovered,  un- 
less on  the  entrance  of  a  stranger :  they  place 
themselves  in  profound  silence  upon  the  stone 
benches. 

Enter  Count  Roderic,  dressed  in  a  scarlet  cloak  of 
the  same  form  with  those  of  the  other  Members. 
He  takes  his  place  on  the  most  elevated  bench. 

Rod.  Warders,  secure   the  doors!     (The  doors 

are  barred  with  great  care.)     Herald,  do  thy  duty ! 

[Members  all  rise — Herald  stands  by  the 

altar. 

Her.  Members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  who 

judge  in  secret,  and  avenge  in  secret,  like  the  Deity, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  ASPEN. 


829 


we  your  hearts  free  from  malice,  and  your  hands 
from  blood-guiltiness  ? 

[All  the  Members  incline  their  heads. 

Rod.  God  pardon  our  sins  of  ignorance,  and  pre- 
serve us  from  those  of  presumption. 

[Again  the  Members  solemnly  incline  their 
heads. 

Her.  To  the  east,  and  to  the  west,  and  to  the 
north,  and  to  the  south,,  I  raise  my  voice ;  wherever 
there  is  treason,  wherever  there  is  Hood-guiltiness, 
wherever  there  is  sacrilege,  sorcery,  robbery,  or 
perjury,  there  let  this  curse  alight,  and  pierce  the 
marrow  and  the  bone.  Raise,  then,  your  voices, 
and  say  with  me,  woe  !  woe,  unto  offenders ! 

All.  Woe  !  woe  !  [Members  sit  down. 

Her.  He  who  knoweth  of  an  unpunished  crime, 
let  him  stand  forth  as  bound  by  his  oath  when  his 
hand  was  laid  upon  the  dagger  and  upon  the  cord, 
and  call  to  the  assembly  for  vengeance ! 

Mem.  {rises,  his  face  covered.)  Vengeance !  ven- 
geance !  vengeance ! 

Rod.  Upon  whom  dost  thou  invoke  vengeance  ? 

Accuser.  Upon  a  brother  of  this  order,  who  is 
forsworn,  and  perjured  to  its  laws. 

Rod.  Relate  his  crime. 

Accu.  This  perjured  brother  was  sworn,  upon 
the  steel  and  upon  the  cord,  to  denounce  malefac- 
tors to  the  judgment-seat,  from  the  four  quarters 
of  heaven,  though  it  were  the  spouse  of  his  heart, 
or  the  son  whom  he  loved  as  the  apple  of  his  eye ; 
yet  did  he  conceal  the  guilt  of  one  who  was  dear 
vnto  him ;  he  folded  up  the  crime  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  tribunal ;  he  removed  the  evidence  of 
guilt,  and  withdrew  the  criminal  from  justice. 
"What  does  his  perjury  deserve  ? 

Rod.  Accuser,  come  before  the  altar ;  lay  thy 
hand  upon  the  dagger  and  the  cord,  and  swear  to 
the  truth  of  thy  accusation. 

Accu.  (his  hand  on  the  altar.)     I  swear ! 

Rod.  Wilt  thou  take  upon  thyself  the  penalty 
of  perjury,  should  it  be  found  false  ? 

Accu.  I  will. 

Rod.  Brethren,  what  is  your  sentence  ? 

[The  Members  confer  a  moment  in  whis- 
pers— a  silence. 

Eldest  Mem.  Our  voice  is,  that  the  perjured 
brother  merits  death. 

Rod.  Accuser,  thou  hast  heard  the  voice  of  the 
assembly  ;  name  the  criminal. 

Accu.  George,  Baron  of  Aspen. 

[A  murmur  in  the  assembly. 

A  Mem.  (suddenly  rising)  I  am  ready,  accord- 
ing to  our  holy  laws,  to  swear,  by  the  steel  and 
the  cord,  that  George  of  Aspen  merits  not  this  ac- 
cusation, and  that  it  is  a  foul  calumny. 

Accu.  Rash  man !  gagest  thou  an  oath  so  lightly  ? 

Mem.  I  gage  it  not  lightly.  I  proffer  it  in  the 
?ause  of  innocence  and  virtue. 


Accu.  What  if  George  of  Aspen  should  not  him- 
self deny  the  charge  ? 

Mem.  Then  would  I  never  trust  man  again. 

Accu.  Hear  him,  then,  bear  witness  against  him- 
self (throws  back  his  mantle.) 

Rod.  Baron  George  of  Aspen  1 

Geo.  The  same — prepared  to  do  penance  for  the 
crime  of  which  he  stands  self-accused. 

Rod.  Still,  canst  thou  disclose  the  name  of  the 
criminal  whom  thou  hast  rescued  from  Mstice,  on 
that  condition  alone,  thy  brethren  may  sa\  e  thy 
life. 

Geo.  Thinkest  thou  I  would  betray  for  the  safety 
of  my  life,  a  secret  I  have  preserved  at  the  breach 
of  my  word  ? — No !  I  have  weighed  the  value  of 
my  obligation — I  will  not  discharge  it — but  most 
willingly  will  I  pay  the  penalty  1 

Rod  Retire,  George  of  Aspen,  till  the  assembly 
pronounce  judgment. 

Geo.  Welcome  be  your  sentence — I  am  weary 
of  your  yoke  of  iron.  A  light  beams  on  my  soul. 
Woe  to  those  who  seek  jus+ice  in  the  dark  haunts 
of  mystery  and  of  cruelty .  She  dwells  in  the 
broad  blaze  of  the  sun,  and  Mercy  is  ever  by  her 
side.  Woe  to  those  who  would  advance  the  gen- 
eral weal  by  trampling  upon  the  social  affections ! 
they  aspire  to  be  more  than  men — they  shall  be- 
come worse  than  tigers.  I  go :  better  for  me  your 
altars  should  be  stained  with  my  blood,  than  my 
soul  blackened  with  your  crimes. 

[Exit  George,  by  the  ruinous  door  in  the 
back  scene,  into  the  sacristy. 

Rod.  Brethren,  sworn  upon  the  steel  and  upon 
the  cord,  to  judge  and  to  avenge  in  secret,  without 
favor  and  without  pity,  what  is  your  judgment 
upon  George  of  Aspen,  self-accused  of  perjury,  and 
resistance  to  the  laws  of  our  fraternity  ? 

[Long  and  earnest  murmurs  in  the  as- 
sembly. 

Rod.  Speak  your  doom. 

Eldest  Mem.  George  of  Aspen  has  declared  him 
self  perjured ; — the  penalty  of  perjury  is  death ! 

Rod.  Father  of  the  secret  judges — Eldest  among 
those  who  avenge  in  secret — take  to  thee  the  steel 
and  the  cord ; — let  the  guilty  no  longer  cumber  the 
land. 

Eldest  Mem.  I  am  fourscore  and  eight  years  old. 
My  eyes  are  dim,  and  my  hand  is  feeble ;  30on  £  hall 
I  be  called  before  the  throne  of  my  Cmitor ; — How 
shall  I  stand  there,  stained  with  the  blood  of  such 
a  man? 

Rod.  How  wilt  thou  stand  before  that  thrcne 
loaded  with  the  guilt  of  a  broken  oath  ?  The  blood 
of  the  criminal  be  upon  us  and  ours ! 

Eldest  Mem.  So  be  it,  in  the  name  of  God ! 

[He  takes  the  dagger  from  the  altar,  goes 
slowly  towards  the  back  scene,  and  re- 
luctantly enters  the  sacristy. 


S30 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Eldest  Judge,  {from  behind  the  scene.)  Dost  thou 
forgive  me  ? 

Geo.  {behind.)  I  do  !  {He  is  heard  to  fall  heavily) 
\_Re- enter  the  old  juck/e  from  the  sacristy. 
He  lays  on  the  altar  the  bloody  dagger. 
Rod.  Hast  thou  done  thy  duty  ? 
Eldest  Mem.  I  have.     {He  faints.) 
Rod.  He  swoons.     Remove  him. 

f  He  is  assisted  off  the  stage.     During  this 
four  members  enter  the  sacristy,  and 
bring  out  a  bier  covered  with  a  pall, 
which  they  place  on  the  steps  of  the  altar. 
A  deep  silence. 
Rod  Judges  of  evil,  dooming  in  secret,  and  aveng- 
ing in  secret,  like  the  Deity :  God  keep  your  thoughts 
from  evil,  and  your  hands  from  guilt. 

Ber.  I  raise  my  voice  in  this  assembly,  and  cry, 
Vengeance !  vengeance !  vengeance ! 

Rod.  Enough  has  this  night  been  done — {he  rises 
and  brings  Bertram  forward)  Think  what  thou 
doest — George  has  fallen — it  were  murder  to  slay 
both  mother  and  son. 

Ber.  George  of  Aspen  was  thy  victim — a  sacri- 
fice to  thy  hatred  and  envy.  I  claim  mine,  sacred 
to  justice  and  to  my  murdered  brother.  Resume 
thy  place — thou  canst  not  stop  the  rock  thou  hast 
put  in  motion.  * 

Rod.  {resumes  his  seat.)  Upon  whom  callest  thou 
for  vengeance  ? 

Ber.  Upon  Isabella  of  Aspen. 
Rod.  She  has  been  summoned. 
Herald.  Isabella  of  Aspen,  accused  of  murder 
by  poison,  I  charge  thee  to  appear,  and  stand  upon 
thy  defence. 

[Three  knocks  are  heard  at  one  of  the 
doors — it  is  opened  by  the  warder. 

Enter  Isabella,  the  veil  still  wrapped  around  her 
head,  led  by  her  conductor.  All  the  members 
muffle  their  faces. 

Rod.  Uncover  her  eyes. 

\The  veil  is  removed.    Isabella  looks  wild- 
ly round. 

Rod.  Knowest  thou,  lady,  where  thou  art  ? 

Isa.  I  guess. 

Rod.  Say  thy  guess. 

Isa.  Before  the  Avengers  of  blood. 

Rod.  Knowest  thou  why  thou  art  called  to  their 
presence  ? 

Isa.  No. 

Ror.  Speak,  accuser. 

Ber.  I  impeach  thee,  Isabella  of  Aspen,  before 
this  awful  assembly,  of  having  murdered,  privily 
and  by  poison,  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf,  thy  first  hus- 
band. 

Rod.  Canst  thou  swear  to  the  accusation  ? 

Ber.  {his  hand  on  the  altar.)  I  lay  my  hand  on 
the  steel  and  the  cord,  and  swear. 


Rod,  Isabella  of  Aspen,  thou  hast  heard  thy  ao 
cusation     What  canst  thou  answer  ? 

Isa.  That  the  oath  of  an  accuser  is  no  proof  of 
guilt! 

Rod.  Hast  thou  more  to  say  ? 

Isa.  I  have. 

Rod.  Speak  on. 

Isa.  Judges  invisible  to  the  sun,  and  seen  only 
by  the  stars  of  midnight !  I  stand  before  you,  ac- 
cused of  an  enormous,  daring,  and  premeditated 
crime.  I  was  married  to  Arnolf  when  I  was  only 
eighteen  years  old,  Arnolf  was  wary  and  jealous ; 
ever  suspecting  me  without  a  cause,  unless  it  was 
because  he  had  injured  me.  How  then  should  I 
plan  and  perpetrate  such  a  deed  ?  The  lamb  turna 
not  against  the  wolf,  though  a  prisoner  in  his  den. 

Rod.  Have  you  finished  ? 

Isa.  A  moment.  Years  after  years  have  elapsed 
without  a  whisper  of  this  foul  suspicion.  Arnolf 
left  a  brother !  though  common  fame  had  been 
silent,  natural  affection  would  have  been  heard 
against  me — why  spoke  he  not  my  accusation  ?  Or 
has  my  conduct  justified  this  horrible  charge  ?  No ! 
awful  judges,  I  may  answer,  I  have  founded  clois- 
ters, I  have  endowed  hospitals.  The  goods  that 
Heaven  bestowed  on  me  I  have  not  held  back  from 
the  needy.  I  appeal  to  you,  judges  of  evil,  can 
these  proofs  of  innocence  be  down-weighed  by  the 
assertion  of  an  unknown  and  disguised,  perchance 
a  malignant  accuser  ? 

Ber%  No  longer  will  I  wear  that  disguise  {throws 
back  his  mantle.)     Dost  thou  know  me  now  ? 

Isa.  Yes ;  I  know  thee  for  a  wandering  minstrel, 
relieved  by  the  charity  of  my  husband. 

Ber.  No,  traitress  !  know  me  for  Bertram  oi 
Ebersdorf,  brother  to  him  thou  didst  murder.  Call 
her  accomplice,  Martin.     Ha !  turnest  thou  pale  ? 

Isa.  May  I  have  some  water  ? — {Apart.)  Sacreti 
Heaven !  his  vindictive  look  is  so  like — 

[  Water  is  brought 

A  Mem.  Martin  died  in  the  hands  of  our  brethren. 

Rod.  Dost  thou  know  the  accuser,  lady  ? 

Isa.  {reassuming  fortitude)  Let  not  the  sinking 
of  nature  under  this  dreadful  trial  be  imputed  to 
the  consciousness  of  guilt.  I  do  know  the  accuser 
— know  him  to  be  outlawed  for  homicide,  and  un- 
der the  ban  of  the  empire :  his  testimony  cannot 
be  received. 

Eldest  Judge.  She  says  truly. 

Ber.  {to  Roderic.)  Then  I  call  upon  thee  and 
William  of  Wolfstein  to  bear  witness  to  what  you 
know. 

Rod.  Wolfstein  is  not  in  the  assembly,  and  my 
place  prevents  me  from  being  a  witness. 

Ber.  Then  I  will  call  another :  meanwhile  let 
the  accused  be  removed. 

Rod.  Retire,  lady. 

[Isabella  is  led  to  the  sacristy 


THE  HOUSE  OF  AsPEN. 


831 


Isa.  (in  going  off)  The  ground  is  slippery- 
Heavens  !  it  is  floated  with  blood  ! 

[Exit  into  the  sacristy. 

Ron.  (apart  to  Bertram.)  Whom  dost  thou  mean 
to  call  ?  [Bertram  whispers. 

Ron.  This  goes  beyond  me.  (After  a  moment's 
thought)  But  be  it  so.  Maltingen  shall  behold 
Aspen  humbled  in  the  dust.  (Aloud.)  Brethren, 
the  accuser  calls  for  a  witness  who  remains  with- 
out :  admit  hiin.  [All  muffle  their  faces. 

Enter  Rudiger,  his  eyes  bound  or  covered,  leaning 
upon  two  members  ;  they  place  a  stool  for  him, 
and  unbind  his  eyes. 

Rod.  Knowest  thou  where  thou  art,  and  before 
w.tom  ? 

Rud.  I  know  not,  and  I  care  not.  Two  strangers 
summoned  me  from  my  castle  to  assist,  they  said, 
at  a  great  act  of  justice.  I  ascended  the  litter 
they  brought,  and  I  am  here. 

Rod.  It  regards  the  punishment  of  perjury  and 
the  discovery  of  murder.  Art  thou  willing  to  as- 
sist us  ? 

Run.  Most  willing,  as  is  my  duty. 

Rod.  What  if  the  crime  regard  thy  friend  ? 

Run.  I  will  hold  him  no  longer  so. 

Rod.  What  if  thine  own  blood  ? 

Rud.  I  would  let  it  out  with  my  poniard. 

Rod.  Then  canst  thou  not  blame  us  for  this  deed 
of  justice.  Remove  the  pall.  (The  pall  is  lifted, 
beneath  which  is  discovered  the  body  of  George, 
pale  and  bloody.     Rudiger  staggers  towards  it.) 

Rud.  My  George  !  my  George !  Not  slain  manly 
in  battle,  but  murdered  by  legal  assassins.  Much, 
much  may  I  mourn  thee,  my  beloved  boy;  but 
not  now — not  now:  never  will  I  shed  a  tear  for 
thy  death  till  I  have  cleared  thy  fame. — Hear  me, 
ye  midnight  murderers,  he  was  innocent  (raising 
his  voice) — upright  as  the  truth  itself.  Let  the 
man  who  dares  gainsay  me  lift  that  gage.  If  the 
Almighty  does  not  strengthen  these  frail  limbs,  to 
make  good  a  father's  quarrel,  I  have  a  son  left,  "who 
will  vindicate  the  honor  of  Aspen,  or  lay  his  bloody 
body  beside  his  brother's. 

Rod.  Rash  and  insensate  !  Hear  first  the  cause. 
Haar  the  dishonor  of  thy  house. 

Isa.  (from  the  sacristy.)  Never  shall  he  hear  it 
till  the  author  is  no  more!  (Rudiger  attempts  to 
rush  owards  the  sacristy,  but  is  prevented.  Isabella 
etters  wounded,  and  throws  herself  on  George's 
body .) 

Isa.  Murdered  for  me — for  me !  my  dear,  dear 
sonl 

Rud.  (still  held.)  Cowardly  villains,  let  me  loose  ! 
Maltingen,  this  is  thy  doing  1  Thy  face  thou  wouldst 
disguise,  thy  deeds  thou  canst  not !  I  defy  thee 
to  instant  and  mortal  combat ! 

Isa.  (looking  up.)  Nol   no!    endanger  not  thy 


life !     Myself !    myself !    I   could  not   bear   thou 

shouldst  know Oh  1  (Dies.) 

Run.  Oh !  let  me  go — let  me  but  try  to  stop  het 
blood,  and  I  will  forgive  all. 

Rod.  Drag  him  off  and  detain  him.  The  voice 
of  lamentation  must  not  disturb  the  stern  deliber- 
ation of  justice. 

Run.  Bloodhound  of  Maltingen!  Well  beseems 
thee  thy  base  revenge !  The  marks  of  my  son's 
lance  are  still  on  thy  craven  crest !  Vengeance  on 
the  band  of  ye  ! 

[Rudiger  is  dragged  off  to  the  sacristy. 

Rod.  Brethren,  we  stand  discovered !   What  is 

to  be  done  to  liim  who  shall  descry  our  mystery  ? 

Eldest  Judge.  He  must  become  a  brother  of 

our  order,  or  die ! 

Ron.  This  man  will  never  join  us !  He  cannot 
put  his  hand  into  ours,  which  are  stained  with  the 
blood  of  his  wife  and  son  :  he  must  therefore  die ! 
(Murmurs  in  the  assembly.)  Brethren !  I  wonder  not 
at  your  reluctance  ;  but  the  man  is  powerful,  has 
friends  and  allies  to  buckler  hi.,  -ause.  It  is  over 
with  us,  and  with  our  order,  unless  the  laws  are 
obeyed.  (Fainter  nnirmurs)  Besides,  have  we 
not  sworn  a  deadly  oath  to  execute  these  statutes  ? 
(A  dead  silence)  Take  to  thee  the  steel  and  the 
cord  (to  the  eldest  judge.) 

Eldest  Judge.  He  has  done  no  evil — he  was  the 
companion  of  my  battle — I  will  not ! 

Rod.  (to  another)  Do  thou — and  succeed  to  the 
rank  of  him  who  has  disobeyed.  Remember  your 
oath  !  (Member  takes  the  dagger,  and  goes  irreso- 
lutely forward ;  looks  into  the  sacristy,  and  comes 
back.) 

Mem.  He  has  fainted — fainted  in  anguish  foi  his 
wife  and  his  son ,  the  bloody  ground  is  strewed 
with  his  white  hairs,  torn  by  those  hands  that  have 
fought  for  Christendom.  I  will  not  be  your  butcher. 
—(Throivs  down  the  dagger) 

Ber.  Irresolute  and  perjured  !  the  robber  of  my 
inheritance,  the  author  of  my  exile,  shall  die  ! 

Rod.  Thanks,  Bertram.  Execute  the  doom — 
secure  the  safety  of  the  holy  tribunal ! 

[Bertram  seizes  the  dagger,  and  is  about  to 
rush  into  the  sacristy,  when  three  loud 
knocks  are  heard  at  the  door. 
All.  Hold!  Hold! 

[The  Duke  of  Bavaria,  attended  by  many 
members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  enters, 
dressed  in  a  scarlet  mantle  trimmed  with 
ermine,  and  wearing  a  ducal  crown. — He 
carries  a  rod  in  his  hand. — All  rise. — A 
murmur  among  the  members,  who  whispef 
to  each  other,  "  The  Duke;'  "  The  Chief? 
&c. 
Rod.  The  Duke  of  Bavaria  I  I  am  lost. 
Duke,  (sees  the  bodies.)  I  am  too  late — the  vie 
tims  !.*  e  fallen. 


6S2 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Hen.  (who  enters  with  the  Duke.)  Gracious  Heav- 
en !     0  George ! 

Rud.  (from  the  sacristy.)  Henry — it  is  thy  voice 
—  save  roe !  [Henry  rushes  into  the  sacristy. 

Duke,  lloderic  of  Maltingen,  descend  from  the 
scat  which  thou  hast  dishonored — (Roderic  leaves 
fas  place,  which  the  Duke  occupies.) — Thou  standest 
accused  of  having  perverted  the  laws  of  our  order ; 
for  that,  being  a  mortal  enemy  to  the  house  of 
Aspen,  thou  hast  abused  thy  sacred  authority  to 
pander  to  thy  private  revenge  ;  and  to  this  Wolf- 
stein  has  been  witness. 

Rod.  Chief  among  our  circles,  I  have  but  acted 
according  to  our  laws. 

Dike.  Thou  hast  indeed  observed  the  letter  of 
our  statutes,  and  woe  am  I  that  they  do  warrant 
this  night's  bloody  work !  I  cannot  do  unto  thee 
as  I  would,  but  what  I  can  I  will.  Thou  hast  not 
indeed  transgressed  our  law,  but  thou  hast  wrested 
and  abused  it:  kneel  down,  therefore,  and  place 
thy  hands  betwixt  mine.  (Roderic  kneels  as  di- 
rected.) I  degrade  thee  from  thy  sacred  office 
{spreads  his  hands,  as  pushing  Roderic  from  him.) 
If  after  two  days  thou  darest  to  pollute  Bavarian 
ground  by  thy  footsteps,  be  it  at  the  peril  of  the 
steel  and  the  cord  (Roderic  rises.)  I  dissolve  this 
meeting  {all  rise.)  Judges  and  condemners  of 
others,  God  teach  you  knowledge  of  yourselves  ! 
(All  bend  their  heads — Duke  breaks  his  rod,  and 
tomes  forward.) 


Rod.  Lord  Duke,  thou  hast  charged  me  with 
treachery — thou  art  my  liege  lord — but  who  else 
dares  maintain  the  accusation,  lies  in  his  throat. 

Hen.  (rushing  from  the  sacristy.)  Villain  1  I  ac- 
cept thy  challenge  1 

Rod.  Vain  boy  !  my  lance  shall  chastise  thee  in 
the  lists — there  lies  my  gage. 

Duke.  Henry,  on  thy  allegiance,  touch  it  not. 
(To  Roderic)  Lists  shalt  thou  never  more  enter ; 
lance  shalt  thou  never  more  wield  (draws  his 
sword.)  With  tliis  sword  wast  thou  dubbed  a 
knight ;  with  this  sword  I  dishonor  thee — I  thv 
prince — (strikes  him  slightly  with  the  flat  of  the 
sword) — I  take  from  thee  the  degree  of  knight,  the 
dignity  of  chivalry.  Thou  art  no  longer  a  free 
German  noble  ;  thou  art  honorless  and  rightless ; 
the  funeral  obsequies  shall  be  performed  for  thee 
as  for  one  dead  to  knightly  honor  and  to  fair  fame ; 
thy  spurs  shall  be  hacked  from  thy  heels ;  thy 
arms  baffled  and  reversed  by  the  common  execu- 
tioner. Go,  fraudful  and  dishonored,  hide  thy 
shame  in  a  foreign  land !  (Roderic  shows  a  dumb 
expression  of  rage.)  Lay  hands  on  Bertram  of 
Ebersdorf :  as  I  live,  he  shall  pay  the  forfeiture  of 
his  outlawry.  Henry,  aid  us  to  remove  thy  father 
from  this  charnel-house.  Never  shall  he  know  the 
dreadful  secret.  Be  it  mine  to  soothe  his  sorrows, 
and  to  restore  the  honor  of  the  House  of  Aspen, 

(Curtai*  slowly  falls.) 


TH8   Sffi>. 


■iMwyHVh-ifWi 


INDEX. 


"  Abbot,"  Verses  from  the,  691-2. 

Abereorn,  Marquis  of,  suggestion  of,  re- 
garding a  passage  in  Marmion,  85,  it.  ; 
dedication  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake" 
to,  183. 

Marchioness  of,  105,  n. 

Aberoromby,  Sir  Ralph,  tribute  to  the 
memory  of,  105. 

Achaius,  King  of  Scotland,  169,  n. 

Adam,  Right  Hon.  William,  a  specimen 
of  minstrel  recitation  obtained  from, 
553. 

Addison,  his  criticism  on  Chevy  Chase, 
539,  540. 

Adolphus,  J.  L.,  Esq.  extracts  from  his 
"  Letters  on  the  Author  of  Waverley," 
391,  v.;  516.  n. ;  527,  n. ;  535. 

"AlIRIMAX,"  716. 

Albania,  a  poem,  extract  from,  613. 
Albyn's  Antholosv,  Songs  written  for, 

660,  661.  675,  676. 
Alexander  III.  "  the  last  Scottish  king  of 

the  pure  Celtic  race,"  542. 
Alexandre,     Mons.,     the     ventriloquist, 

"  Lines  addressed  to,"  713. 
"  Alice  Brand,"  213.  254,  n. 
"  Allen-a-Dale,"  323. 
Alvanley,  Lady,  654,  n. 
Ambition,  personification  of,  277. 
"Mncient    Mariner,"    Coleridge's,  559. 

W74. 
*'  Ancient  Gaelic  Melody,"  679. 
Ancram  Moor,  battle  of,  597. 
Anglo-Saxons,  poetry  of,  682. 
Angus,  Archibald,  sixth  Earl  of,  called 

"  Bell-the-Cat,"  130.  143.  171. 
Angus,  seventh  Earl  of,  40.  74.  194.  244. 
**  An  hour  with  thee,"  720. 
"Annual  Review,"  the  critical  notices 

from,  16.  32.  53. 
Anne  of  Geirstein,  Verses  from,  724. 
Anthony  Now  Now,  555. 
"  Antiquary,"  Verses  from  the,  662-5. 
Anxiety,  effect  of,  in  giving  acuteness  to 

the  organs  of  sense,  297.  356. 
Arbuthnot,  Sir  William,  662,  n.  ;  704,  n. 
Aram,  Eugene,  remarkable  case  of,  361. 
Archers,  English,  126. 169.  462.  498.  729. 

730. 
Ardoch,  Roman  camp  at,  263. 
Argentine,  Sir  Giles  de,  422.  465.  500. 
Ariosto,  Translation  from,  674. 
"  Artnin  and  Elvira,"  560. 
Arran,  Earl  of  (1569),  600,  n. 

• Island  of,  448.  489. 

Arthur,  King,  154.  385.  392.  411. 

Arthur's  Seat,  704. 

Artornish  Castle,  469. 

Ascetic  religionists,  249. 

Ascham's  "  Schoolmaster,"  note  from, 

411. 
Ashton,  Lucy,  Song  of,  679. 
"As  Lords  their  laborers'  hire  delay," 

715.     *  7 

"  Asven,  The  House  of,  a  tragedy," 

796.  '        ~      ' 

Atliole,   John  de    Strathbogie,   Earl   of 

(temp.  Rob    [.),  480. 
' David    de    Strathbogie,   Earl    of 

(1335),  222,  b. 
"  At  chindrane,  or  the  Ayrshire  trage- 
dy." 770.  '  ^ 
Vyr,  loyalty  of  the  men  of,  rewarded  by 

Kin<{  Robert  Bruce,  458,  n. 
105 


B. 

Baillie,  Joanna,  letter  to,  on  Rokeby, 
353.  Prologue  to  her  "  Family  Le- 
gend," 639.  Dedication  to  her  of 
"Macduff's  Cross,"  738. 

105.  524,  n.  ;  729,  n. 

Balfour  of  Burley,  epitaph  on,  666. 

"  Ballad,  the  Ancient,  Essay  on 
Imitations  of,"  555. 

"  Ballads,  Imitations  of,"  574. 

from  the  German,"  609. 

—  and    Poems,    ancient,    very 


few  manuscript  records  of  discovered, 

543.  Printed  in  Garlands,  ib. 
Collections  of,  by  Pepys,  543. 

The  Duke  of  Roxburgh,  ib.  An  anony- 
mous editor,  ib.    Milier  and  Chapman, 

544.  James  Watson,  ib.  Allan  Ram- 
say, ib.  Dr.  Percy,  ib.  Evans,  548. 
David  Herd,  549.  Pinkerton,  ib.  Rit- 
son,  ib.  Seott  (the  Border  Minstrelsy), 
550.  Sir  J.  CDalzell,  ib.  Robert 
Jamieson,  ib.  Motherwell,  551.  Fin- 
lay,  ib.  Kinloch,  ib.  C.  K.  Pharpe, 
ib.  Charles  Leslie,  ib.  Peter  Buchan, 
ib.     And  Rev.  C.  H.  Hartshorne,  552. 

Ballantyne,  Mr.  James,  Border  Minstrel- 
sy, the  first  work  printed  by  him,  550. 
570.  Letters  from  Scott  to,  236.  238. 
292.  306.  310.  313.  322.  354.  His  re- 
marks on  John  Kemble's  retirement 
from  the  Edinburgh  stage,  671,  n. 
Constable's  sobriquets  of,  713. 
Mr.  John,  665. 


Bangor,  the  Monks  of,  672. 

"  Bannatyne  Club,  The,"  711. 

Bannatyne,  George,  compiler  of  ancient 

MSS.,  711. 
Bannerman,  Miss  Anne,  her  "Tales  of 

Superstition  and  Chivalry,"  559. 
Bannockburn,  Battle  of,  460 ;  stanza  18 

to  end  of  the  poem.     See  also  notes,  pp. 

495.  501. 
Bavsters,  what,  549,  n. 
Barbauld,  Mrs.,  565. 
"  Bard's   Incantation,  The,"   writ- 
ten under  the  threat  of  invasion,  1804, 

632. 
"  Barefooted  Friar,  The,"  681. 
Barnard  Castle,  296.  306.  356.  360. 
Barrington,  Shute,  Bishop  of  Durham, 

524. 
"Battle  of  Sempach,"  619. 
Beacons,  32.  68. 

Bealach-nam-bo,  Pass  of,  209.  253. 
Beal'  an  Duine,  skirmish  at,  233.  267. 
Beattie,  Mr.,  of  Mickledale,  13. 
Dr.,  lines  from,  on  the  power  of 

fancy,  305,  n. 
Bellenden,  36.  71. 

Sir  James,  599,  n. 

Belrinnes,  Ballad  of,  550. 

Bell-Rock  Lighthouse,  lines  on  visiting, 

645. 
Beltane-tree,  the,  589.  593. 
Ben-an  Mountain,  187. 
Benledi,  185. 
Benvenue,  187. 
Benvoirlich,  184. 
Beresford,  Field-marshal  Lord,  tribute  to, 

282,  283.     His  training  the  Portuguese 

troops,  291. 

642.  

"  Bertram,  Harry,  Nativity  of,"  658. 
Berwick,  North,  135. 


"  Betrothed,  '  Verses  from  the,  715- 
716. 

"  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray,"  remark* 
on  the  ballad  of,  553. 

Bethune,  or  Beaton,  family  of,  57. 

Bigotry,  personification  of,  276. 

Binram's  Corse,  tradition  of,  161. 

Biting  the  thumb,  or  the  glove,  47.  76. 

"Black  Dwarf,"  Mottoes  from  the, 
666. 

Blackford-hill,  122. 

Black-mail,  32.  263. 

Blackwater,  Battle  of,  in  Ireland,  367. 

"  Black  Knight's  Song,  The,"  683. 

Blackwood's  Magazine,  551,  n. ;  critical 
notices  from,  408.  513.  536. 

Blair,  Right  Honorable  Robert,  Lord 
President  of  the  Court  of  Session,  death 
of,  269. 

"  Blondel,  the  Bloody  Vest,"  Song 
of,  717. 

Blood  of  which  party  first  shed,  an  angury 
of  success  in  battle,  212.  254. 

Blood-hound,  or  Sluitk-hound,  59.  1W 
240.  482. 

"  Blue-blanket,"  the,  704,  n. 

"Boat  Song,"  197. 

Bohun,  Sir  Henry  de,  his  enconnter  with 
King  Robert  Bruce,  460.  496. 

"  Bold  Dragoon,  or  the  Plain  of  Badc- 
jos,"  642. 

Bolero,  a  Spanish  dance,  287. 

Bonaparte,  Napoleon,  allusions  to  in 
"The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick,"  277. 
281,  282.  And  in  "  The  Field  of  Wa- 
terloo," 504-511,  passim.  Apostro- 
phe to  the  period  of  his  fall,  455,  456. 
642. 


Bond  of  Alliance,  or  feud  stanching, 
betwixt  the  clans  of  Scott  and  Kerr 
(1529),  57. 

"Bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee,"  Song  to 
the  air  of,  759. 

"Border  Ballad,"  689. 

Borderers,  English,  excommunication  of, 
by  the  Bishop  of  Durham  (1498),  248 
Disorderly  conduct  of  those  who  attend- 
ed the  Protector  Somerset,  74.  Custom 
of  hanging  up  a  glove  in  a  church  as  a 
challenge,  377. 

Scottish,  moss-troopers  after  the 

union  of  the  crowns,  59.  Religion,  60. 
Speed  in  collecting  large  bodies  of  horse, 
68.  Places  of  their  herdsmen's  refuge. 
ib.  March-treason,  72.  Form  of  Oath, 
ib.  Instances  of  the  cruelty  which  oc- 
casionally attended  their  warfare,  69. 
Regulations  in  1648,  73.  Friendly  in- 
tercourse with  the  English,  74.  Foot 
ball  play,  ib  Pursuit  of  marauders 
called  the  hot-trod.  75.  Robbers  quell 
ed  by  K.  James  V.,  247.  Manner  oi 
carrying  on  depredations,  363.  Ta*te 
for  poetry  and  music,  542. 

Borough-moor  of  Edinburgh,  168. 

Both  well,  Adam  Hepburn,  Earl  of  (temp. 
Jac.  IV.).  167. 

— Francis  Stewart,  Earl  of  (temp 

Jac.  VI.),  244. 

James  Hepburn,  Earl  of  (temp 

Mary),  74.  118. 

"  Bothwell  Castle,"  628. 

Bowhill,  52.  n 

Brackenbury  Tower,  314.  362. 

Bracklinn  Cascade,  195.  245 


834 


INDEX. 


Bradford,  Sir  Thomas,  704. 

Branksome  Castle,  18.  54,  ib. 

•  Bridal  of  Trikrmain,"  379.  See 
also  413. 

"  Bridal  Song"  in  Waverley,  647. 

u  Bride  ok  Lammkrmoor,"  Verses 
from  the,  678-9. 

'  Bridge  of  Dee,"  poem  of  the,  552. 

Brigg,  or  Bridge  of  Turk,  185. 

British  Critic,  notices  from  the,  9.  89.  298. 
355.  436,  437.  440  445.  467.  729.  738. 
747. 

"  Brooch  of  Lorn,"  the,  424.  476. 

Brodick  Castle,  Arran,  448.  489. 

Bruce,  King  Robert,  defeats  John  of  Lorn, 
473.  Defeated  by  the  Lord  of  Lorn, 
476.  Crowned  at  Scoon,  476.  Subse- 
quent disasters,  ib.  His  compunction 
tor  violation  of  the  sanctuary  by  the 
slaughter  of  Comyn,  481.  Excommu- 
nicated for  it,  ib.  Observed  omens — 
one  of  a  spider,  ib.  Traced  by  a  blood- 
hound, 482.  Sequel  to  that  adventure 
told  by  Barbour,  484.  Tradition  that 
he  was  at  the  battle  of  Falkirk  inaccu- 
rate, 483.  Crossed  the  Peninsula  of 
Cantyre,  488.     Landing  in  Arran,  443. 

488.  Instance  of   his  humanity,  445. 

489.  His  landing  in  Carrick,  449.  451. 

490.  491.  Defeats  the  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke, 493.  Blockade  of  Stirling  Cas- 
tle, 456.  494.  Affected  by  Leprosy, 
and  founds  the  Monastery  of  King's 
Case,  491-2.  His  arrangements  for  the 
Battle  of  Bannock  burn,  495.  Encoun- 
ter with  Sir  Henry  de  Bohun,  459.  496. 
Battle  of  Bannockburn,  460  to  end  of 
the  poem,  and  495  to  end  of  the  notes. 
Disinterment  of  his  remains  at  Dun- 
fermline, 437,  ft. 

Edward,  brother  of  King  Robert, 

489.  493. 

Nigel,   another    brother    of   the 

King,  489. 

Sir  John,  of  Kinross,  549. 

Mrs.,  of  A  mot,  ib. 

Brunne,  Robert  de,  540.  546. 

Brunswick,  Duke  of,  slain  at  Jena,  104, 
105.  "  Bryce  Snailsfoot's  Advertise- 
ment." 700. 

Brydone,  Patrick,  Esq.,  177. 

Buccaniers,  309.  357.  360.  362.  365. 

Buccleuch,  ancestors  of  the  house  of,  17, 
n.  54,  55,  56.  Romantic  origin  of  the 
name,  76. 

—    Charles,    Duke    of,    95,    n. 

Letters  in  Verse  to,  645.  673. 

—  Harriet,  Duchess  of,  12.  95,  v. 

Death  of,  412.  Tribute  to  her  Memo- 
ry, 466. 

and  Monmouth,  Anne,  Du- 
chess of,  18,  n. 

Bnchan.  Mr.  Peter,  his  Collection  of  Bal- 
lads, 552. 

Buchanan  of  Arnprior,  "  King  of  Kip- 
peu,"  268. 

Burns,  Robert,  his  "  Scots  wha'  hae  wi' 
Wallace  bled,"  497.  Structure  of 
Verse  used  by  him,  543.  The  poet 
most  capable  to  relieve  and  height- 
en the  character  of  ancient  poetry, 
559. 

Bury,  Lady  Charlotte,  introduced  the 
author  to  M.  G.  Lewis,  565,  and  to 
Lady  Anne  Hamilton,  602. 

Byron,  Lord,  Remarks  on  a  conversation 
betwixt  him  and  Captain  Medwin, 
13.  572.  His  Satire  on  Marmion,  81. 
Lines  on  Pitt  and  Fox,  85,  86.  Re- 
semblance between  part  of  Parasina 
and  a  scene  in  Marmion,  101,  ft.  No- 
tice by  him  of  the  imitators  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott,  294.  /;.,  295,  v.  His  imita- 
tion of  a  passage  in  the  Lord  of  the 
Isles,  454,  ft.  Not*  on  Waterloo,  291. 
502  to  507,  passim.  Poem  on  his  moth- 
er's marriage,  552.  Parallel  passages 
from.  203,  n.,  279.  297.  302.  321.  387. 
421.  433.  443.  454.  503.  508. 


C. 

Cadogan,  Colonel,  tribute  to  the  memo- 
ry of,  282. 
"Cadyow  Castle,"  598. 
Cadell,   Mr.  Robert,   his  recollections  of 

"  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  181,  n. 
"  Cairns,"  68. 
Caledonian  Forest  and  wild  cattle,  598. 

600.  602. 
Cambusmore,  185. 
Cameron,  Colonel,  killed  at  Fuentes  de 

Honoro,  290. 
Colonel,  of  Fassiefern,  killed  at 

Quatre-Bras,  509.  665. 

Sir  Ewan  of  Lochiel,  264. 

Cameronians,  604. 

Camp,  a  favorite  dog  of  the  author's,  115. 

Campbell,  Thomas,  169.     "  The  Bard  of 

Hope,"   561.     His   admiration    of  the 

poem  "  Cadyow  Castle,"  602. 

Lady  Charlotte.     See  "  Bury." 

Canna,  island  and  town  of,  440.  486. 
Canning,  Right  Hon.  George,  a  writer  in 

the  Anti-Jacobin,  124,  n.  796. 
Cantyre.  peninsula  of,  488. 
Caraccioli,  Prince,  794,  n. 
"  Carle,  now  the  King's  come,"  Parti., 

702.     Part  ii.,  701}. 
Caroline,  Princess  of  Wales,  105,  n. 
Cartwright,  Dr.,  the  tirst  living  poet  the 

author  recollected  of  having  seen,  560. 
Cassilis,   the  Earl   of  {temp.   Jac.   VI.), 

779.     Bond  by  him  to  ins  brother,  771. 
"Castle  of  the  Seven  Shields," 

ballad  of  the,  527. 
Castilians,    their    skill   in  fighting    with 

darts,  61.  . 

Catiline,  death  of,  506,  n. 
Cave,  Mac-Alister's,  in  Strathaird,  485. 
Caxton,  William.  117. 
Celts,  the,  541.     Their  music  and  poetry, 

541-2.  567-8. 
Chalmers,  George,  his  "  Caledonia,"  163. 

His    edition    of    Sir    David   Lindsay's 

Works,  166.  268. 
Chapel  Perilous.  86.  154. 
Chapman,  Walter,  an  early  Scottish  prin- 
ter.    See  "  Millar  and  Chapman. 
Charles  I.,  King,  364.  369. 
X.    of    France,    in    Edinburgh, 

125,  ii. 
Prince  Edward,  one  of  his  places 

of  retreat,  24'J. 
Charms,  healing.  31.  67. 
Charter-stones,  492 

Chaee,  the  royal,  in  Ettrick  Forest,  160. 
Chastity,  punishment  tor  broken  vowa  of, 

102.  164. 
Chatterton,  Thomas,  558. 
"  Cheviot,"  631. 
"Chew  Chase,"  539,  540. 
"Chiid  of  Elle,  The,"  548. 
Chivalry,  38.  66.  72.  76.  369, 
"  Christ's  Kirk  on  the  Green,"  543. 
Christmas,  137.  173. 

Cid,  the,  in  Spain,  metrical  poems  of,  538. 
"  Claud  Halcro's  Verses,"  695,  696. 

698. 
Claverhouse,  Grahame  of.     See  Dundee. 
Clerk,  Sir  George,  his  tenure  of  Pennv- 

cuik,  606.  703,  n. 
John,  Esq.,  of  Eldin,  author  of  an 

Essay  upon  Naval  Tactics,  604,  n. 

John,  Esq.  (Lord  Eldin),  711,  ». 

William,  Esq.,  573. 

"  Cleveland's  Songs,"  698. 
Coir-nan-Uriskin,  209.  252. 
Coleridge,  S.  T.,  his    "  Ancient   Marin- 
er," 474.  559.     His  "  Christabel,"  13. 

"The  Bridal  of  Triermain,"  an  imita- 
tion of  his  style,  408. 
Colkitto,  470. 
Collins,  his  flights  of  imagination,  383. 

410. 
j  Colman's  "Random  Records,"  753. 
'  Colwulff.  King  of  Northumberland,  100. 

163. 
j  Combat,  single,  38.  66.  72,  73.  132.  172. 

223.  263. 


Comyn,  the  Red,  424.  428.  477.  481. 
Coneybeare's,  Rev.  Mr.,  his  illustration* 

of  Anglo-Saxon  poetry,  554. 
Congreve's  "  Mourning  Bride,"  524. 
Conscience,  296.  299. 
Constable,  Mr.  Archibald,  his  "  bold  and 

liberal  industry,"  14.     Extract  from  a 

letter  of  the  author  to,  714,  n. 
George,    Esq.    (Jonathan    Old- 
buck),  567. 
Contributions    of    Scott    to    "  Min 

strelsy   of    the    Scottish    Boa 

der,"  537-608. 
Coronach  of  the  Highlanders,  206.  251. 
Cornwallis,  Marquis  of,  638. 
"  Count'  Robert  of  Paris,"  Mottoen 

from,  726. 
"  County  Guy,"  Song,  709. 
Cowper,  561. 

Cox,  Captain,  of  Coventry,  549. 
Cranstoun,  family  of,  57.  65. 
George,  Esq.,  consulted  by  the 

author  on  his  attempts  at  composition, 

14.  ». 
Crichton  Castle,  118.  167. 
Critical  Review,  notices  from,  16.  21.  25. 

33.  37.  45.  47.  141.  149.  187.  192.    197. 

239.  270.  272.  297,  298,  299.  311.  3L*. 

318.  354.  381.  383.  420.  429.  4:t9,  440. 

444.  533.  536.  606. 
Cromwell,  Oliver,  his  conduct  at  Marston 

Moor,  314.  357.  359. 
"Crusader's  Return,  The,"  681. 
"  Cumnor  Hall,"  poem  of,  548. 
Cunningham,   Allan,    bis   ballad    poetry, 

559.     Critical  remarks  on  Auchindrane, 

795,  n. 
Cup,  a  drinking  one,  at  Dunevegan,  474. 

"Curch,  the,"  worn  by  Scottish  mat- 
rons, 250. 
"  Cypress  Wreath,  The,"  335. 


Dacre,  families  of,  70. 

Dahomay,  spell  of,  402. 

Dalhousie,  Earl  of,  tribute  to,  645.       fk 

Dalkeith,    Charles,    Earl    of  (afterwards 

Duke    of    Buccleuch),    dedication    of 

"The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel"  to, 

16.     See  Buccleuch. 
Harriet,  Countess  of  (afterward 

Duchess  of  Buccleuch;,  12.     See  also 


Buccleuch. 

Town  and  Castle  of,  607. 

Dalzell,  (now)  Sir  J.  G.,  his  collection  of 
Scottish  poems,  550. 

Sir  William,  his  combat  with  Sir 

Piers  Courtenay,  156. 

"Dance  of  Death,  The,"  654. 

Danes,  the,  invasion  of  Northumberland 
by,  323.  366.  Traces  of  their  religion 
in'  Teesdale,  366. 

Daoine  Shi\  or  "men  of  peace,"  176. 
259,  260. 

David  I.,  King,  founded  Melrose  Abbey, 
60.     A  sore  saint  for  the  crown,  23,  n. 

"  J)  end  bed"  the,  164. 

Death  of  Leith-hall,  poem  of  the,  552. 

Death,  presages  of,  250. 

"Death  Chant."  722. 

"  — - — -  of  Keeldar,  The,"  723. 

Debateable  Land,  the,  77. 

Deloraine,  lands  of,  58. 

"Donald  Caird's  come  again,"  676. 

Donjon,  what.  156. 

"Don  Roderick,  the  Vision  of," 
269. 

"  Doom  of  Devorgoil,"  753. 

Douglas,  the  iiouse  of,  177.  ^Anciem 
sword  belonging  to,  172. 

Archibald,  third  Earl  of,  called 

"Tine-man,"  245.  730. 

"  The  Good  Lord  James"  charg- 
ed to  carry  the  Bruce's  heart  to  the  Holy 
Land,  481.  In  Arran,  490.  Make* 
prisoners  of  Murray  and  Bonkle,  ib 
Often  took  the  Castle  of  Douglas.  493 
His  "  harder"  ib.  At  Bannockburn 
460.  495.  497.  499. 


INDEX. 


83i 


[hmglas,  Wm.,  eighth  Earl  of,  stabbed 

bj  K.  James  II.  in  Stirling  Castie,  225. 

261. 
William,  "the  knight  of  Luldes- 

dale,"  24.  (il. 

Gaivain.  Bishop  of  Dunkeld,  143. 

of  Kilspindie,  affectii.g  story  of, 

205. 
Doun.-'  Castle.  225. 
Dramatic    Pieces.    "  Halidon    Hill" 

7-2:1.     ••Macduff's  Cross,"  748.    "The 

Doom  of  Devorgoii,"  753.     "  Auchin- 

drane,"  784.     "  The  House  of  Aspen,"' 

81 2. 
Drinking   to   excess,   custom   of,    in   the 

Western  Islands,  475. 
Dryburgu  Abbey,  595. 
Dry  den,  his  account  of  his  projected  epic 

poem  of  "The  Round  Table,"  155. 
Duelling,  263,  364. 
Duerga/r  (northern  dwarfs),  259. 
Duff,  Adam,  E«q.,  615,  n. 
Dundas,   Right   Honorable  William,   14, 

n.;   18,  v.;  81. 
Dundee,    Viscount    (Graham    of  Claver- 

house),  33.     His  character,  243. 
Dtinmailraise,  384. 
"  Dunois,  Romance  of,"  G5li. 
Dunolly  Castle,  473. 
Dunstatniage  Castle,  473. 
D'Urfey's  Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy,  557. 
Durham  Cathedral,  521. 
"Dying  Bard,  The,"  634. 
" Gu'sy  Smuggler,  The,"  658. 


Edelfi.ed,  daughter  of  King  Oswy,  99. 
162. 

Edinburgh,  ancient  cross  of,  133-4.  172. 

Old  Town  of,  124.  169. 

Magazine,  the,  critical  notice 

from,  408. 

Review,  the,  critical  extracts 

from,  on  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Min.-trel, 
16,  17,  18,  19.  23.  31.  33.  43.  48,  49,  50, 
51.  53.  On  Marmiou,  85.  92.  101.  104. 
132.  143.  146,  147.  151,  152.  On  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake.  183.  196.  201,  202, 
203."  205.  208.  217.  225.  230.  238,  239. 
On  the  Vision  of  Don  Roderick,  276. 
280.  283-4.  And  on  the  1  ord  of  the 
Isles,  414.  420.  423,  424.  Hi.  461.  465. 
467. 

Edward  I.,  King,  his  vindictive  spirit, 
481.  His  employment  of  the  Welsh  in 
his  Scottisii  wars,  494.  ,-'ets  out  to  de- 
stroy the  Bruce,  438.  486.  His  death, 
486. 

II.    at    Bannockburn,    461.     His 

gallantry.  49ft,     His  flight,  ib. 

ill.,  Motto  on  his  shield,  546. 

"  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  To  the 
Memory  of,"  673. 

Eglistou  Abbey,  307.  360.  Visited  by 
>  cott,  319. 

Eigg,  cave  in  the  Island  of,  the  scene  of 
a  dreadful  act  of  vengeance,  487. 

Eildo.i  Hills,  63. 

"Elfin  Gray,  the,"  translated  from  the 
Danish,  255. 

Ellis,  George,  Esq.,  critical  notices  by,  50, 
v.;  124.153.  Dedication  to  him  of  the 
Fifth  Canto  of  Marmion,  124 

"Elsfeth's  Ballad,"  663. 

Elves,  260.     See  "  Fairies." 

Encarnon-ent,  Scottish  mode  of,  in  1547, 
loV 

Eanoi.  512.  536. 

Epic  Poem,  a  receipt  to  make  an,  380. 

Poetry,  379. 

•Epilogues."      To    The    Appeal,    a 
Tragedy,   675.     Play   of  St.   Ronan's 
Well,  713.     Q.ueen  Marv,  714. 
Epitaphs."— Miss  Seward,  639.     Jon 
o'  ye  Gimell,  663.     Balfour  of  Burlev, 
660.     Mrs.    Erskine,    685.     The   Rev. 
(*eOrge  Scott,  726. 
1   Erl  King,  The,"  626. 
V>iol,  Earl  of',  704. 


Erskine,  Thomas  Lord,  speech  of,  on  hu- 
manity towards  animals,  498. 

William,  Esq.  (Lord  Kinnedder), 

consulted  by  Scott  on  his  attempts  in 
compo-ition,  14.  Dedication  to  the 
Third  Canto  of  IV.armion,  104.  Pas- 
sage in  Rokeby  quoted  by  him  as  de- 
scriptive of  the  Author,  316.  Reputed 
author  of  "  The  Bridal  of  Triermain," 
413.  521. 

Mrs.,  Epitaph  on,  685. 

"  Essay  on  Popular  Poetry,"  537. 

" on  Imitations  of  the  An- 
cient Ballad,"  555. 

Ettrick  Forest,  160. 

Eugene  Aram,  remarkable  case  of,  361. 

Evans,  Mr.  T.,  his  collection  of  Ballads, 
548. 

Mr.  R.  H.,  his  republication  of 

that  Collection,  548. 

"  Eve  of  St.  John,"  594.  Seealso568. 
573. 

Evil  principle,  the,  716. 

Ezekiel,  quotation  from  the  prophecies  of, 
221,  M. 

F. 

Fac-Simile  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Manu- 
script of  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  (for 
page  202),  placed  after  the  Contents. 

Fain,  meaning  of,  322,  n. 

Fairies,  165.  259,  260,  261.  285. 

"Fair  Maid  of  Perth,"  Verses  from 
the,  721-4. 

"  Fair  Rosamond,"  ballad  of,  555. 

Fancy,  power  of,  in  youth,  305.  Lines 
on,  from  Beattie,'i&.,  n. 

"  Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High 
Chief  of  Kintail,"  from  the  Gaelic, 
652. 

" Imitation  of,"  653. 

" to  the  Muse,"  702. 

" Song  of  the,"  339. 

"  Felon  Sow  of  Rokeby,"  hunting  of  the, 
by  the  Friars  of  Kiehmond,  371. 

Ferragus  and  Ascabart,  190.  242. 

Feuds,  55,  56,  57.  784. 

"  Field  of  Waterloo,"  poem  of  the, 
502. 

Fiery  Cross,  the,  201,  202.  248. 

Fmgal's  Cave  at  .-  tkff'a,  440.  487. 

Finlay,  Mr.  John,  his  collection  of  bal- 
lads, 551.  His  imitations  of  the  ballad 
style,  559. 

"  Fire  King,  '  ballad  of  the,  616. 

573. 

Flanders,  manner  of  reaping  in,  511. 

Fletcher,  his  comedy  of  Monsieur  Thom- 
as, 554. 

Flodden,  account  of  the  battle  of,  146. 
178. 

"Flodden  Field,"  an  ancient  English 
poem,  extracts  from,  88,  n. ;  167-8. 
178. 

Florinda,  daughter  of  Count  Julian,  285. 

"Flower  of  Yarrow,"  Marv  Scott,  71. 
161. 

"Flying  Dutchman,  the,"  361. 

"Following"  (feudal  retainers),  128,  n. 

Football,  game  of,  74.  657. 

Forbes,  Sir  William  (author  of  "  The 
Life  of  Beattie"),  tribute  to  his  memo- 
ry, 115,  166. 

son  of  the  preceding,  115,  115,  n. 

"  For  a'  that,  an'  a'  that,"  644. 

Forgeries  of  documents,  170. 

"  Fortune,  Lines  on,"  726. 

"  Fortunes  of  Nigel,"  Mottoes  from 
the,  705-8. 
[  Foster-children,  368. 

|  Fox,  Right  Honorable  Charles  James, 
"  among  those  who  smiled  on  the  ad- 
venturous minstrel,"  14.  Never  ap- 
plied to  by  Scott  regarding  his  appoint- 
ment as  a  Clerk  of  Session,  81.  Trib- 
ute to  his  memory,  85.  His  compliment 
to  the  author  of  "  The  Monk,"  504. 

Franchemont,  superstitious  belief  regard- 
ing the  Castle  of,  139.  176. 


Fraser  [or  Frizel].  Sir  Simon,  ancestor  oi 
the  family  of  Lovat,  fate  of,  480. 

Frederick  II. ,  King  of  Prussia,  under- 
valued the  literature  of  his  country, 
562. 

"Frederick  and  Alice,"  618. 

French  army  in  the  Peninsula,  move- 
ments of  applied  to  in  the  prophecies  ol 
Joel,  289.  Retreat  of,  March,  1811, 
289. 

Frere,  Right  Hon.  J.  H.  A  writer  in  the 
"  Antijacobin,"  124,  a.;  812.  Hi» 
imitations  of  the  ancient  ballad,  558. 

"  Friar  Rush,  116.  166. 

"  From  the  French,"  657. 

Fuentes  tie  Honoro,  action  of,  290. 

Fnllarton  of  Kilmichel,  family  of,  495. 

"Funeral  Hymn,"  683. 

G. 

Gala,  the  river,  415. 

"  Gaelic  Melody,  Ancient,"  689. 

Gait,  John,  Esq.,  epilogue  to  his  tragedy 

of"  The  Appeal,"  675. 
Garlands    (small    ballad    miscellanies), 

543.  555. 
"  Gellatley's,    Davie,"    Songs,   648. 

650.  652. 
Janet,    alleged    witch- 
craft, 650. 
George  IV.,  King,  his  opinion  of  the  au- 
thor's poetry,  238,   //.     Lines   on  his 

Visit  to  Scotland,  702,  703,  704. 
"German  Ballads,  translated  or  imi 

tated,"  609  to  626. 
German  hackbut-men,  70. 
language,  similarity  of  the,  to  the 

Old  English  and  Scottish,  567. 
literature,    introduction    of,   into 

this  country  562.     xViter wards  fell  into 

disrepute,  812. 
"  Ghaist's  Warning,  the,"  translated  from 

the  Danish  Kanipe  Viser,  257. 
Ghost  oi  the  Lady  Bothwellhaugh,  603. 
Gifibrd,  village  and  castle  of,  107.  164. 
Gilbert,  Da  vies,  Esq.,  557,  n. 
Gili-Doir  Magrevoli'eh,  the  conception  of 

249. 
Gil  Morrice,  ballad  of,  571. 
Q: amour,  29.  65. 

"  Glee-Maiden,"  >"ong  of  the,  722. 
Glee-maidens,  231.  206. 
Glencaim     "The   Good   Earl"   of,   601. 

603.  802. 
"  Glencoe,  on  the  Massacre  of,"  642. 
"  Glenfinlas,"  589. 
GleniVuin,  conflict  of,  between  the  Mao* 

gregors  and  the  Colquhoiuis,  246. 
Glengarry.     See  Macdonneil. 
Goblin-Hall,  the.  164. 
Goblin-Page,  Lord  Cranstoun's,  64. 
Goethe,  562.  812. 
Golagrus  and  Gawane,  the  knightly  tala 

of,  544,  n. 
Goldsmith,  Oliver,  his  imitations  of  ballad 

poetry,  559. 
•' Goldthred's  Song,"  692. 
Gordon,    Adam,  gallant    conduct  of,   at 

Homildon  Hiii,  730. 
Colonel,  the  Hon.  Sir  Alexander, 

killed  at  Waterloo,  509. 
Graine,  or  Grahame,  families  of,  77,  243. 

291. 
Graham,     Rev.     Dr.,     Notes    from    bie 

Sketches    of   Perthshire,    185  passim 

263. 

Sir  John  the,  243.  291. 

Sir  Thomas,  Lord  Lynedoch,  291 

"Gray  Brother,  The,"  604. 
Greta  Bridge,  360. 

River.  308.  316.  360,  361.  364. 

"Grey  Mare's    Tail,"    the,  a   cataract 

161. 
Grotto  on   the  estate  of  Strathaird,   de- 
scription of,  485. 
Oids  rds  of  Scotland,  174. 
Gunn,  John,  a  noted  Highland  cateran, 

story  of,  262. 
"  Guy  Mannering,"  Verses  from,  658 


836 


INDEX. 


H. 

Haddington,  Charles,  tenth  Earl  of, 
703. 

Haig  of  Bemerside,  family  of.  578.  588. 

Hailes,  Lord,  474.  491.  495.  711. 

Hairibee,  21. 

"  Hat. bert  Gi.endinning,  To,"  686. 

' 's  Incantation,"  ib. 

Second  Interview,"  687. 

Halidon  Hill,"  a  dramatic  sketch, 
729. 

Halkett,  Mrs.,  of  Wardlaw,  author  of 
"  Hardy knut.e,"  549. 

Hall,  Captain  Basil,  509,  n 

Sir  James,  61.509,  n. 

Hamilton,  family  of,  598. 

Alexander,  Duke  of,  703. 

Right  Hon.  Lady  Anne,  600. 

of  Bothwellhaugh,  account  of 

his  assassination  of  the  Regent  Murray 
599. 

Lord  Claud,  603. 

Robert,  Esq.,  advocate,  645,  n. 

Sir    Thomas,    Lord    Advocate 

(temp.  Jac.  VL),  789. 

Right  Hon.  W.  G.  (Single- 
speech  Hamilton),  395,  n. 

Hardyknute,  ballad  of,  544.  549.  558. 
The  first  poem  the  author  learnt,  558,  it. 

"  Harlaw,  tJie  Battle  of,"  an  ancient  bal- 
lad, 544. 

'Harold  the  Dauntless,"  512. 

" Harfager,  fcong  of,"  695. 

"Harp,  Song  of  the,"  WX1 . 

"  Hattkraiok,  Dirk,  Song  of,"  659. 

Hawks,  76. 

Hawthoruden,  605.  607,  n. 

Hayley,  William,  Esq.,  561. 

Hay  man,  Mrs.,  105,  n. 

"  Health  to  Lord  Melville,"  637. 

"Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,"  Verses 
from  the,  677-079. 

Heath-burning,  252. 

Heber,  Richard,  Esq.,  dedication  of  the 
sixth  canto  oi  Marmion  to,  138. 

Hebridean  chiefs,  fortresses  of,  474. 

"  Hellvellyn,"  633. 

Henry  VI.,  King  of  England,  at  Edin- 
burgh, 169. 

Hepburn,  family  of,  74.     See  Bothwell. 

Heraldry,  72.  157.  166. 

Herd,  Mr.  David,  his  collection  of  Scot- 
tish songs,  549   711. 

Herder's  popular  ballads,  or  Volkslieder, 
571. 

Heriot  or  Htrezeld,  35,  n. 

Heron,  William,  of  Ford,  and  his  lady, 
129.  157.  170. 

of  Gilinerton,  004. 

"Hero's  Targe,"  a  rock  in  Glenfinlas, 
211.  254. 

Highlanders,  Scottish,  their  hospitality, 
243.  Music,  196.243.245.  The  Bard, 
a  family  officer.  243.  Epithets  of  their 
chiefs,  245.  Boat-songs,  246.  Hardi- 
hood, 247.  Henchman,  ib.  Tutelar 
spirits,  250.  Brogue  or  shoe,  ib.  Cor- 
onach, 206.  251.  Respect  paid  to  their 
chiefs,  252.  Oaths,  ib.  Body  guards 
and  domestic  officers  of  the  duel's, 
253.  Cookery,  261.  Crcaghs  or  fo- 
rays, 262.  Trust-worthiness,  ib.  Tar- 
gets and  Broadswords,  264.  Modes  of 
inquiring  into  futurity,  253.  Ancient 
custom  respecting  marriage,  479. 

Hogg,  Mr.  James,  "  The  Ettrick  Shep- 
herd," his  "Mountain  Bard,"  161. 
164.  His  story  of  the  "  Deai'  Bell," 
ib.  "Pilgrims  of  the  Sun,"  467,  n. 
"Poetic  Mirror,"  413.  His  ballad 
poetry,  559. 

Holy  Island,  or  Lindisfarne,  161. 

Home,  family  of,  74. 

Lord  Chamberlain  to  James  IV., 

his  conduct  at  Fiodden,  179. 

Homer,  89.  n. ;  380.  537,  538,  539. 

Homildon-hill,  battle  of,  729. 

Horsemanship,  170. 

Horses,  shrieking  of.  in  agony   462.  498. 


Hostelrie.     See  Inn. 
Hotspur.     See  Percy. 
Hot-trod,  the,  pursuit  of  Border  Marau- 
ders, 75. 
"House  of  Aspen,  The,"  a  tragedy, 

812. 
Howard,   Lord  William,   "Belted  Will 

Howard,"  70. 
Howell  ap  Rys,  a  Welsh  chieftain,  377. 
Howison  of  Braehead,  his  adventure  with 

James  V.,  268. 
"  Houlat,  the  Buke  of  the,"  542,  *. 
Hunting,  184,  185,   186.  240.  365.  600. 

613. 

aerial,  superstition  of,  613. 

"  Hon  ting-maw,     93. 

"  Hunting  Song,"  638. 

"  Huntsman,  Lay  of  the  Imprisoned," 

236. 
Huntly,   Marquis  of,  the   last  Duke  of 

Gordon,  704. 
"  Hvmn  for  the  Dead."  52. 

''■ Funeral,"  683. 

" Rebecca's,"  682. 

" to  the  Virgin,"  210. 

I. 

"  I  asked  of  my  Harp,"  Song,  715. 

Hay,  Island  of  470. 

Inch-Cailliach  (the  Isle  of  Nuns),  251. 

Indians,  the  North  American,  362. 

Inn,  or  Hostelrie,  Scottish  accommoda- 
tions of  an,  in  the  16ih  century,  164. 

Iol  of  the  heathen  Danes,  173. 

Irish,  the  ancient  Tanittry,  'MM.  Dress, 
ib.  Bards,  374.  Chiefs  required  to  as- 
sist Edward  I.  in  his  Scottish  wars,  494. 

Isles,  Western,  of  Scotland,  470.  474  to 
476.  4K5. 

"  Ivanhoe,"  Verses  from,  681-684. 

J. 

Jacobitism,  the  last,  contests  of,  recited 
in  ballads,  557. 

Janus  I.,  King  of  Scotland,  his  "Christ 
Kirk  on  the  Green."  543.  His  educa- 
tion and  poetry,  546. 

III.,  rebellion  against,  168.  In- 
ventory of  his  treasure  and  jewels,  492. 

IV.     His    person   ami   dress,    128. 

Penance  of,  168.  His  belt,  170.  Ap- 
parition to,  at  Linlithgow,  168.  Death 
of,  at  Fiodden,  179. 

V.  in  minority,  244.     Quells  the 

Border  robbers,  247.  His  progress  to 
the  Isles,  ib.  Why  called  "King  of 
the  Commons,"  265.  His  attachment 
to  archery,  ib.  Adventures  in  disguise, 
267. 

VI. ,    his    conduct   respecting   the 

Mures  of  Auehindrane,  788. 

Jamieson,  Rev.  Dr.  John,  his  edition  of 
"  Wallace  and  Bruce,"  414.  500,  ». 

Mr.   Robert,   his   collection  of 

ballads.  551.  588. 

Jeifrey,  Francis,  now  Lord,  his  success 
professionally  and  in  literature,  10.  14. 
Extracts  from  his  Criticisms  on  Scott's 
poetry.     See  Edinburgh  Review. 

"Jock  of  Hazeldean,"  660. 

Joel,  application  of  a  passage  from  the 
Prophecies  of,  289. 

Johnson,  Dr.,  his  ridicule  of  the  ballad 
style,  560.  Rejections  on  visiting  lona, 
441,  n. 

Jongleurs,  or  Jujrglers,  266. 

Julian,  Count,  285.  287. 

"Juvenile  Lines  from  Virgil,"  627. 

" onaThuiv'^rStorm," 

ib. 

" on  the  Setting  Sun," 


ib. 


Keith,  Sir  Alexander,  705. 

Kelpy,  a  river  spirit,  250. 

"  Kemble,  John  Philip,  his  Farewell 
Address  on  taking  leave  of  the  Edin- 
burgh   stage,"   671.     His    opinion   of 


"The  House  of  Aspen"  in  relation  t« 

the  stage,  812. 
Kendal,  a  contemporary  of  Thomas  tin 

Rhymer,  546. 
"  Ke.mlworth,"  Verses  from,  692-4. 
Speech  of  the  Porter  at, 

693. 
Kennedy,  Sir  Gilbert,  of  Barganie,  785. 

Sir  Thomas,  of  Cullayne,  784 

Ker  or  Carr,  family  of,  57. 

Kerrs  and  Scotts,  feuds  of  the,  ib. 

"  Kmmpe  Viser,    the,"    a   collection   frf 

*    heroic  songs,  255. 

King's  Case,  well  and  monastery  of,  421. 

Kinloch,  Mr.  G.  R.,  his  collection  of  bs* 

lads,  551. 
Kirkwall,  church  and  castle  of,  78. 
"  Kittle  JVine  Steps,"  the,  310,  /». 
Knighthood,  72. 

L. 

"  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  180. 

Laidlaw,  Mr.  William,  621,  n. 

Laing,  Mr.  David,  his  Select  Remains  of 
the  Ancient  Popular  Poetry  of  Scot- 
land, 543,  ii. 

Lancey,  Sir  William  de,  killed  at  Water- 
loo, 508.  K. 

Largs,  Battle  of,  165. 

"Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  9. 

" Poor  Louise,"  721. 

" the  Imprisoned  Hunts- 
man," 236. 

Learmont,  Thomas,  see  "Thomas  of  Er- 
celdoune." 

"  Legend  of  Montrose,"  Verses  from 
the,  681. 

Lennel  house,  seat  of  Patrick  Brydone, 
Esq.,  177. 

Lennox,  district  of  the.  246. 

"Lenore,"  Blirger's,  566. 

Leprosy.  491. 

Leslie,  Charles,  a  ballad-singer,  551. 

Leslv,  General  David,  at  tiie  battle  of 
Marston  Moor,  358. 

"Letters  in  Verse"  to  the  Duke  of 
Buccleuch,  645,  646. 

" "  to  J.  G.  Lock- 
hart,  Esq.,  on  the  composition  of  Mai- 
da's  Epitaph,  712. 

Leven,  Earl  of,  357,  358. 

Lewis,  M.  G.,  some  particulars  respect- 
ing him,  563.  His"  Monk,"  564.  Hi- 
poetry,  ib.  His  "Tales  of  Wonder," 
569.  His  correspondence  with  the  au- 
thor, 572. 

Ley  den,  Dr.  John,  his  "  Spectre  Ship," 
362.  Ballad  poetry,  559.  A  Contrib- 
utor to  Lewis's  "Tales  of  Wonder," 
569.  I'is  Ballad  of"  The  Cloud  King," 
573.     His  death,  138,  *. ;  441.  487. 

Lham-dearg,  the  Spirit  of  Glenmore,  165. 
250. 

Lichfield  Cathedral  formed  in  the  civil 
war,  179. 

Lindesay,  Sir  David,  of  the  Mount,  117. 
Edition  of  his  works  by  Mr.  George 
Chalmers,  167. 

Lord  of  the  Wvres,  603. 


Lindisfarne,  or  Holy  Island,  161. 

"Links  on  Fortune,"  726. 

" to  Sir  Cuthbert   Sharp," 

721. 

" on  Captain  Wogan,"  651. 

•' When   with   Poetry  dealing,' 

719. 

" See  Juvenile." 

Linlithgow  Palace,  description  of,  119,  n. 
Littlecote  Hall,  story  of  a  murder  com 

mitted  in,  375. 
Llywarch  Den,   a  translation   from   th« 

heroc  elegies  of,  374. 
Loch  Coriskin,  432,  433.  483,  484. 
Lochard.  description  of.  185. 
"  Lochinvar,"  Lady  Heron's  sonj,   129. 
Loch  Katrine,  181,  n. ;  187. 
Loch  of  the  Lowes,  96.  161. 
Loch  Ranza,  441.  488. 
Loch  Skene,  96.  161. 


I  Lockhart,  J.  G.,  Esq.,  Letter  in  Verse 
to,  on  the  Composition  of  Maida's  Epi- 
taph," 712. 

■'Lockhart's  Life  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,"  Notes  Explanatory  and  Criti- 
cal from,  14,  15.  17,  18.  46.  50.  53.  81, 
82.  85  105.  153.  180,  181,  182,  183.  270. 
282  284.  311).  353.  355.  381.  408,  409. 
412.  468.  511).  512.  597.  602.  606.  621. 
626,  627,  628.  631.  637.  639.  645.  665. 
672.  721.  726. 

"Lord  Henry  and  Fair  Catherine,"  bal- 
lad of,  557. 

"  Loud  of  the  Isles,"  412. 
'Lord  of  the  Isles,"  470.     Controversy 
regarding  the  representation  of  the,  471. 

Lorn,  the  House  of,  473. 

Love,  power  of,  19.  The  gift  of  heaven, 
42. 

"Licky  MacLeary's  Tavern,"  Scene 
in.  649. 

"  L;-(  y  Ashton's  Song,"  678. 

Lynedoch,  Lord.  291. 

"  Lyuical  and  Miscellaneous  Pie- 
ces,*' in  the  order  of  their  composition 
or  publication,  627-728. 

Lyrical  Pieces.     See  Songs. 
Lyclph's  Tale,"  385. 

M. 
Macdonald,  Ranald,  Esq.,  of  StafTa, 

"  Lines  Addressed  to,"  645. 
Maecionell,  the  late  Colonel  Ronaldson, 

of  Glengarry,  704. 
Macdouaids   suffocated    in    the    Cave  of 

Eigg,  487. 
MacDougal,  of  Lorn,  family  of,  473.  476. 
"MacDuff's  Cuoss,"  748. 
MacDulf,  law  of  the  clan,  ib. 
Macal lister's  cave  in  Strathaird,  descrip- 
tion of,  485. 
MacGregor,  Kob  Roy,  254.  662,  n. 
"MacGregor's  Gathering,"  661. 
"MacIvor's,  Flora,  Song,"  650. 
"MacLean,    War    ;  ong,    of    Lach- 

lan,"  High  Chief  of,  653. 
MacLellau,  tutor  of  Bomby,  beheaded  by 

the  Earl  of  Angus,  177." 
Maclvay,  Mr.  Charles,  of  the  Edinburgh 

Theatre,  713. 
MacKenzie,   Colin,    Esq.,    of  Portmore, 
115,  n. 

Henry,   Esq.,   his   Essay   on 

German  literature,  562. 

the  Hon.  Mrs.  Stewart,  654,  n. 

—  High  Chief  of  Kintail,"  Fare- 
well to,"  652.     Imitation  of,  653. 
Mackintosh.  Sir  James,  his  Opinion  of  the 
Lay  of  the  Last      instivl,  24,  n.  ;  46, 
w.  ;  and  Lady  of  the  Lake,  183,  n. 
"  Mackrimmon's  Lament,"  675. 
MacLeod  of  MacLeod,  family  of,  428, 

7i. ;  675. 
MacLeod,  Laird  of,  his  Cruel  Revenge  on 

the  Macdouaids  of  Eigg,  487. 
MacNeil  of  Buna,  family  of,  474. 
MacPherson,  James,  publisher  of  Ossian's 

Poems,  549.  568. 
"Madge    Wildfire's    Songs,"   677- 

678. 
"  Maggie  Lauder,"  song  of,  554. 
Magic,  62,  passim,  66.  75.  165.  176.  309, 

7i. ;  361    364. 
"Maid  of  Neidpath,  The,"  636. 
"Maid  of  Toro.  The,"  635. 
Mania,  Battle  of,  510. 
Maida's  Epitaph,  Letter  on  the  Compo- 
sition of,  712 
"Major  Bellenden's  Song,"  666. 
Maitland  MSB.,  549. 

■ Sir  Richard,  of  Lethington,  16th 

century,  poem  by,  158. 
Makers  (of  poetry),  the,  538,  539. 
Malefactors,  infatuation  of,  311.  361. 
Mallet,  David,  his  imitations  of  ballad 

poetry,  560. 
Mammon,  784. 

March,  "Black  Agnes,"  Countess  of, 
577. 


March-treason,  37.  72. 

"Marmion;    a    Tale    of    Flodden- 

Field,"  80. 
Marmion,  family  of,  156. 

Robert  de,  173. 

Marriott,  Rev.  John,  dedication  to  him  of 

the  Second  Canto  of  Marmion,  94. 
Marston-Moor,  Battle  of,  357-359. 
Martin,  Rev.  John,  minister  of  Mertoun, 

106,  n. 
Dr    John,  his  description  of  the 

Western  Highlands,  249. 
Mary,  Uueen  of  Scots  (Epilogue),  714. 
"  Massacre  ofGlencoe,"  on  the,  642. 
Mamma,  Marshal,  289,  290,  ib. 
Maurice,  Abbot  of  Inchanray,  497. 
Mauthe-Doog,  the,  Isle  of  Man,  79. 
Mayburgh,  mound  at,  385.  411. 
Mazers,  drinking*cups,  492. 
Medwyn's,  Captain,  remarks  on  his  Con- 
versations of  Lord  Byron,  15.  572,  573. 
Melbourne,  Lord,  572. 
Melrose  Abbey,  22,  23.  60,  61. 

battle  of.  56s»  / 

Melville,  Henry,  Lord  Vise,  "  Health 

to,"  a  song  on  his  acquittal  in  1806, 

637.     Death  of,  in  1811,  269. 

Robert,  Lord,  704. 

"  Men  of  Peace."     See  Daoine  Shi. 
Merlin,  271.  285.  580,  581.  588. 
"Meumaids  and  Mermen,"  Song  of 

the,  695. 
Mickle,  W.  J.,  his  imitations  of  ballad 

poetry,  548.  554.  559. 
Milan,   artists  of,   their   skill   in   armory, 

156. 
Millar  and   Chapman,    their  Miscellany, 

the  earliest  surviving  specimen  of  the 

Scottish  press,  544. 
Millar,  Colonel,  of  the  Guards,  509. 
Mingarry  Castle,  470. 
Minstrels,  order  and  office  of,  545.  555. 

"  MlNS TKEI.SY  OK  THE  SCOTTISH  BOR- 
DER," Scott's  Contributions  to,  viz., 
Introductory  Remarks  on  Popular  Po- 
etry, 537.  Appendix  to,  553.  Essay 
on  Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad, 
555.  Appendix  to.  571.  Imitations 
of  the  Ancient  Ballad,  574-608. 

Miuto  Crags,  59. 

"  Monastery,"  Verses  from  the,  685- 
690. 

Pdonk,  Lewis's  Romance  of  the,  564. 

"Monks  of  Bangor's  March,"  672. 

Monmouth,  Duke  of,  18,  a. 

Montague,  dedication  of  Marmion  to,  83. 
His  collection  of  ballads  destroyed  by 
fire,  544. 

Monthly  Review,  critical  notices  from, 
on  the  Lay,  16.  Marmion,  84.  94.  96. 
102.  145.  151,  152.  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,  221 .  The  Vision  of  Don  Roder- 
ick, 272.  275.  277.  Rokeby,  305,  306. 
312.  314.  332.  335.  346.  350.  354.  The 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  424.  438.  440.  455. 
461.  463.  467.  The  Field  of  Waterloo, 
506  ;  and  on  Halidon  Hill,  744.  747. 

Montrose,  James,  first  Marquis  of,  243. 

Moors,  the  invasion  of  Spain  by,  285. 

Moore,  Sir  Joint,  omission  of  his  name  in 
the  poem  of  "  Don  Roderick,"  the  au- 
thor censured  for,  284.  290. 

Moore,  Thomas,  Esq.,  his  imitations  of 
the  ballad  style,  559: 

Morritt,  J.  B.  S.,  Esq.,  letter  to,  on  the 
death  of  Lord  Melville  and  President 
Blair,  270.  On  the  Vision  of  Don  Rod- 
erick, 284.  Dedication  to  him  of  Roke- 
by, 296.  Letter  on  Rokeby,  319. 
"  Morte  Arthur,"  romance  of  the,  ex- 
tract from  regarding  the  "  Chapell  Per- 
ilous," 154. 

Mortham  Castle,  description  of,  362. 

Morton,  Earl  of,  Regent,  244.  601. 

Moss-troopers.  59.     See  Borderers. 

Motherwell,  William,  his  collection  of 
ballads,  551. 

Mottoes,  "  sooner  make  than  find  them," 
665. 


"  Mottoes  from  the  Waverley  Novels, 

663  passim  72ft. 
Mull,  the  Sound  of,  470. 
Mummers,  English,  174. 
Murder,  superstition  formerly  resorted  ta 

for  the  discovery  of,  773. 
Mure,  John  of  Auehindrane,  784.     Hii 

son  James,  787. 
Murray,  Thomas,  Randolph,  Earl  of,  at 

Bannockbum,  460.  494,  495,  VM\,  497. 

the  Regent,  death  of,  599. 

Mr.    William,    manager    of    I.V8 

Theatre-Royal,  Edinburgh   714. 
"My  Aunt  Margaret's   Mirror,' 

Mottoes  from,  721. 
Mysteries,  ancient,  174 

N. 

Neal  Naighvallach,  an  Irish  Kijjg  ol 
the  fourth  or  fifth  century,  369. 

"  Neck  Verse,"  the,  21. 

Necromancy,  57,  58.  75. 

Nelson,  Lord,  tribute  to  the  memory  of, 
84.  112.  "  Unpleasant  chapter  in  his 
history,"  794,  n. 

Newark  Castle,  on  the  Yarrow,  17. 

Nicholas,  Grand-Duke  (now  Emperor)  of 
Russia,  "Verses  sung  after  a  din- 
ner given  to  him  at  Edinburgh,"  662. 

"No,  John,  I  will  not  own  the  book," 
652. 

"Noble  Moringer,  The,"  621 

"  Nora's  Vow,"  661. 

Norham  Castle,  155. 

"Norman  Horse-Shoe,  The,"  634. 

" The  Forester's  Song,"  678. 

"  Norna's  Songs  and  Incanta. 
tions,"  696-700. 

North  Lerwick,  135. 

O. 

"  Old  Mortality,"  Verses  from,  666. 

Oman,  Mr.,  703. 

O'Neale,  family  of,  367. 

"On  Ettrick   Forest's  Mountains 

Dun,"  701. 
"  On  the  Massacre  of  Glencoe," 

642. 
Orelia,  the  courser  of  Don  Roderick,  275. 

287. 
Orleans,  Duke  of,  his  poetical  exercises  in 

English,  546. 
"  Orphan  Maid,  The,"  680. 
Otterbourne,  Battle  of,  61.  142. 
Ovid,  10.  784. 


I  Padua,  a  school  of  necromancy,  20.  57. 
;  Page,  the  order  of  the,  in  chivalry,  369. 
Paisley,  601. 
"Palmer,  The,"  635. 
Palmers,  159. 

"Pardoner's    Advertisement,    The,' 
691. 
|  Park,   Thomas,   his  edition   of  Ritson'i 
Collection  of  Songs,  550. 
Passion,    the    ruling,    105.     Lines    from 

Pope  on,  105,  a. 
Peden,  Alexander,  604. 
Peel-town,  Castle  of,  Isle  of  Man,  79. 
Penance  vaults,  164. 
j  Penrith,  "  Round  table"  of,  385.  410. 
|  Pepys,  Secretary,  1  is  collection  of  ballads 
543'. 
^epper,  Father,  567. 

Percy,  Bishop,  his  copy  of  'Cne)r> 
Chace,"  540.  "Rettques  of  Ancieri 
Poetry,"  545.  Imitations  of  the  an 
cient  ballad,"  559. 

i  Henry,  at  Homildon  Hill,  729. 

Thomas,  his  defence  of  the  bishoL 

•  against  Ritson's  criticism,  548. 
"Peveril    of    the   Peak,"   Mottoes 

from,  707-709. 
"Pharos  Loquitur,"  645. 
Philipson,  Major  Robert,  called  "  Robic 

the  Devil, "*378. 
Pibroch,  the,  245. 
"Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu,  '  660. 


838 


INDEX. 


Pic'on,  Sir  Thomas.  508. 

Piets,  the,  a  Celtic  race,  541. 

Pilgrims,  159. 

Pinkerton,  John,  his  collection  of  ballads, 
540.  711.     List  of  Scottish  poets,  549. 

"  Pirate,"'  Verses  from  the,  694-701. 

Pisistratus,  Homer's  Works  collected  by, 
538 

Pitcain     Robert,  Esq.,  editor  of  "  Crim- 
inal   Trials   of    Scotland,"    789.     Ex- 
tracts from  his  work,  785,  786.  789. 
Pitt  Club  of  Scotland,  Songs  writ- 
ten for  the,"  644,  645. 

Pitt,  Right  Hon.  William,  638.  "  Among 
those  who  smiled  on  the  adventurous 
minstrel,"  14.  Procured  for  Scott  the 
Office  of  Clerk  of  Session,  80,  81.  Trib- 
utes to  his  memory.  84.  152.  Hisgrave 
beside  that  of  Mr.  Fox,  85,  86. 

Plotcock.  summons  of,  preceding  the  bat- 
tie  of  Flodden,  134.  173.  655. 
'Poacher,  The,"  640. 

''  Poetry,  Popular,  Introductory  Re- 
marks on,"  537.  Continuation  of  the 
subject  under  the  title  of  "Essay  on 
the  Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad," 
555. 

•  Poetry,  Romantic,  Remarks  on," 
379. 

■ State  of  the  art  of,  at  the  end 

of  the  18th  century,  501. 

Poniatowski,  Count,  507. 

Ponsouby.  Sir  William,  508. 

Pope,  lines  from,  on  the  ruling  passion, 
105,  ». 

Priam.  115. 

Pringle,  the  late  Alexander,  Esq.,  of 
Whytbank,  95,  n. 

"  Prophecy,  The,"  679. 

Pri/ne,  "  to  sound  the,"  600.  602. 

Pye,  Henry  James,  Esq.,  507. 


Quarterly   Review,  critical    notices 

from,  on  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,   195. 

206.  223.     Don  Rod e rick ,  272.  276.  278. 

283.     Rokebv,  296.  300.  350.  352.  354. 

Bridal  of  Triermain,  383.  385.  387,  388. 

392.  408.     And  Lord  of  the  Isles,  414. 

422.  429.  433.  437.  446.  466.  468. 
•'Q.UENT1N   Durward,"   Verses  from, 

709-10; 

R. 

Rae,  Right  Hon.  Sir  William,  115. 
Ramsay,   Sir   Alexander,    Of  Dalhonsie, 

cruel  murder  of,  61. 
A!l:in,  structure  of  stanza  used 

by  him,  543.     As   a   ballad   collector, 

544.     His    "Tea-Table    Miscellany," 

73   544.     And  "  Vision,"  549. 
Captain,  at  the  action  of  Fuen 

tes  de  Honoro,  290. 
Randolph,  Thomas.     See  Murray. 
Rattling  Roaring  Willie,  the  Border  min 

strel,  73. 
Ravensheoch  Castle,  50.  78. 
Ravensworth  Castle,  223. 
"  Rebecca's  Hymn,"  682. 
"  Receipt  to  make  an  epic  poem,"  380. 
"Red  Cross  Knight,  The,"   by  Mickle, 

548. 
Rede,  Percy,  359. 

"  Reduauntlet,"  Verses  from,  715. 
"  Reiver's  Wedding,  The,"  631. 
Repentance,  tower  of,  753. 
"Resolve,  The,"  639. 
Rere-Cross,  on  Stanmoie,  365. 
"  Return  to  Ulster,  The,"  659. 
Riddell,  family  of,  60. 
Risingham,  359. 
Ritson,  Joseph,  his  criticism  of  Percy's 

"Reliques,"   545.     His    collection   of 

songs,  549.  711.     "  Robin  Hood,"  550. 
Robert  the  Bruce.     See  Bruce. 
Robertson,  Rev.  Principal,  his  account  of 

the  death  of  the  Regent  Murray,  599. 
Rob  Roy"  death-bed  anecdote  of,  235,  n. 

See  Macgregor. 


"  Rob  Roy,"  Verses  from,  673. 
Robin  Hood,  226.  265.  538.  544.  550. 
Rogers,    Samuel,    Esq.,    "the    Bard   of 

Memory,"  561. 
Roderick,  Gothic  King  of  Spain,  defeat- 
ed anil  killed   by  the  Moors,  285.  287. 

His  enchanted  cavern,  286.  289.     See 

Don  Roderick. 
"  Rokeby,"  292. 
Rokebv  Castle,  307.  360.  370. 

family  of,  360.  370. 

Felon  Sow  of.  371. 

Roman  antiquities  at  Greta  Bridge,  3C0. 

camj),  at  Ardoeh,  263. 

"  Romance  of  Dunois,"  656. 
Romance  literature,  birth  of,  169. 
Romilly,  Sir  Samuel,  his  opinion  of  the 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  23p,  n. 
Rose,  William  Stewart,  Esq.,  dedication 

to,  of  the  First  Canto  of  Marmion,  83. 
Roslin,  78.  607. 
Ross,  John,  Earl  of,  his  treaty  with  King 

Edward  IV.,  469. 
William,   Earl5if,  deed   containing 

his  submission  to  King  Robert  Bruce, 

496. 

Sir  Walter,  489. 

"Round  Table,"  154.410. 
Ro.xburghe  Club,  the,  712. 

-  John,  Duke  of,  543,  568. 
Rum,  Island  of,  487. 
Russell,    Major-General    Sir  James,    of 

Ashestiel,  80. 
Rutherford,  Miss  Christian,  aunt  of  Sir 

Walter  Scott.  180.  626. 
of  Hunthill,  family  of,  76. 


S. 
St.  Clair,  family  of,  78. 
"  Saint  Cloud,"  654. 
Saint  John,  Vale  of,  411. 
St.  Mtiry's  Lake,  160. 
"  St.  Ronan's  Well,"  Mottoes  from,  I 

710. 
"St.  Swithin's  Chair."  649. 
Saints.     Ft.  Bride  of  Douglas,  79.     Chad,! 

151.    179.     Columba,   593.     Cuthbert, 

161,  162.  164.  Dunstan,  243.  Fillan, 
159.   593.     George,  510.     Hilda,    100.  i 

162.  Modan,243.    Mungo.20.    Oran,  ! 
593.     Re-rulus    (Scottice   Rule),    159. 
Rosalia,  158.    Serle,  225.    Trimon,798. 

"Sale  Room,"  the,  an  Edinburgh  peri- 
odical. 667,  n. ;  671,  n. 

Sallust.  Extract  from,  on  the  Death  of 
Catiline,  506.  n. 

Sangreal,  the.  154. 

Saxons,  the  Anglo,  their  language,  542. 
54S.  554  :  and  poetry.  682. 

"  Saxon  War-Song,  682. 

Scalds,  antique  poetrv  of  the,  682. 

Scales-tarn.  Luke  of. "386. 

Schiller,  562,  563.  812. 

Schiitrum,  signification  of,  497,  n. 

Scots  Magazine,  the,  extracts  from,  104. 
536.  594. 

Scots  Greys,  704. 

Scott  of  Buccleuch.     Pee  Buceleuch. 

of  Harden,  family  of,  71.  161.  174. 

Hugh,  Esq.,  of  Harden,  now  Lord 

Polwarth,  174.  566,  n. ;  568.  n.  His 
lady.  566,  n.  ;  567.  Inscription  for  the 
monument  of  the  Rev.  John  Scott, 
their  son,  726. 

John,  Esq.,  of  Gala,  415,  n. 

Sir  John,  of  Thirlestane,  70. 

Mary,  "the  Flower  of  Yarrow," 

35.  71.  161. 

Sir  Michael,  24.  62,  63. 

Miss  Sophia,  the  author's  daugh- 
ter, 621,  a, 

Robert,   of  Sandyknows,  the  au- 
thor's grandfather,  106. 

Walter,   Lessadden,   the  author's  | 

great-grandsire,  138.  174. 

Major  Sir  Walter,  the  author's  eld- 
est son,  657. 

and  Kerr,  feuds  of  the  families  of, 

57. 


Sea-fire,  phenomenon  so  called,  474. 
Seaforth.  the  last  Ear!  of,  653,  re. 
Seal,  its  taste  for  music,  416.  470. 
"Search  after  Happiness,  the;  or 

the    Quest    of    Sultaun    Solimaut.," 

667. 
Seatoun,  Christopher,  fate  of,  480. 
Second-sight,  account  of  the,  241.  593. 
"  Secret  Tribunal  Rhymes,"  724. 
"  Selectors  of  the  slain,"  78. 
"Sempach,  Battle  of,"  619. 
Serendib,  667. 
"  Setting  Sun,"  Juvenile  Lines  on  too, 

627. 
Seven  Spears  of  Wedderbum,  40. 
Shields,  the  Castle  of  the,  ballau 

of,  527. 
Seward,   Miss   Anna,   criticisms  by,   28, 

n.;  33,  n. ;  50,  n.     Letter  to,  50,  n. 

Epitaph  designed  for  her  monument, 

639. 
Seymour,  Lord  Webb.  375. 
Shakspeare,  his  description  of  a  populai 

song,  556. 
Shane-Dymas,  an  Irish  chieftain  in  the 

reign  of  Elizabeth,  369. 
"  Sharpe.  S*ir  Cnthbert.  Lines  to."  721. 
Sharpe,  Charles   K.,   Esq.,  of  Ho.ldam, 

541,  v.;  551,  *.,•  753. 
Shaw,  Mr.  James,  notice  of  a  list  of  Sir 

Walter  Scott's   publications   prepared 

by  him,  567. 
Sheale,  Richard,  the  author  or  transcriber 

of  "  Chevy  Chase,"  540.  554. 
"Shepherd's  Tale,  The,"  628. 
Sheridan,  Thomas,  Esq.,  365. 
Shorcswood,  the  priest  of,  159. 
Sibbald,  Mr.  James,  711. 
Siddons,  Mrs.  Henry,  Epilogues  written 

for,  675.  714. 
Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  his  opinion  of  the  bal- 
lad of  "Chevy  Chase,"  539,  n. ;  540. 

556. 
Sinclair,  Right  Hon.  Sir  John,  705. 
"  Sir  Charles    Baudwin,"    Chatterton's 

ballad  of,  558. 
"Sir  Caulin,"  548. 
"  Sir  Eger,  Sir  Grime,  and  Sir  Greysteil," 

romances  of,  541. 
"  Sir    Martyn,"    a    forgotten    poem    of 

Mickle,  extract  from,  554. 
"Sir  Patrick  Spens,"  old  Scottish  song 

of,  571. 
"Sir  Tristrem,"    metrical    romance    of 

"  Thomas  the  Rymer,"  542.  558.  583. 
Skene,  James,  Esq.,  of  Rubislaw,  dedi- 
cation to,  of  the  Fourth  Canto  of  Mar- 
mion, 113. 
Skirving,  Mr.,  author  of  a  Ballad  on  the 

Battle  of  Prestonpans,  557. 
Sky,  Island  of,  description  of  its  scenery, 

432.  483. 
Smailholm  Tower,  description  of,  594. 
"  Smith,  Miss,  Lines  written  for," 

671. 
Smith,  Fir  Sidney,  Tribute  to,  105. 
Smythe,  Professor  at  Cambridge,  573. 
Snakes  and  Serpents,  78. 
Snood,  worn  by  Scottish  maidens,  203. 

250. 
Snow,  description  of  a  man  perishing  ia, 

114.  166. 
Snowdoun  (Stirling),  238.  268. 
"Soldier,  Wake — Song,"  715. 
Soltier,  Sir  John,  71. 
Somerled,  Lord  of  the  Isles,  417.  470. 
Somerville,  John,   15lh  Lord,   415,  n. , 

701,  7i. 
Lord  (temp.  Jac.  III.),  anec* 

dote  of,  712,  n. 
Songs— 

Admire  not  that  I  gain'd  the  prize,  758. 

A  Hawick  gill  of  mountain  dew,  703. 

Ah  !  County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh, 
709. 

Ah,   poor  Louise!  the  live-long  day 
721. 

Alian-a-Dale  has  no  fagot  for  burning 
323. 


INDEX. 


839 


FONGS. 

AH  joy  was  bereft  me  the  day  that  you 
left  me,  636. 

An  hour  with  thee  !  .when  earliest  day, 
720. 

And  did  you  not  hear  of  a  mirth  befell, 
647. 

And  whither  would  you  lead  me  then ! 
MO. 

Anna-Maria,  love,  up  is  the  sun,  683. 

Assist  me,  ye  friends  of  old  books  and 
old  wine,  710. 

Ave  Maria!  maiden  mild  !  210. 

A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid,  322. 

A  weary  month  lias  wander'd  o'er,  653. 

Birds  of  omen  dark  and  foul,  (579. 

Canny  moment,  lucky  fit,  658. 

Dark  Ahriman,  whom  Irak  still,  717. 

Dinas  Emlinn,  lament ;  for  the  moment 
is  nigh,  634. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again,  676. 

Dust  unto  dust,  684. 

Enchantress,  farewell,  who  so  oft  has 
decoy'd  me,  702. 

False  love,  and  hast  thou  play'd  me 
this?  648. 

Farewell  to  MacKenneth,  great  Earl  of 
the  North,  652. 

Farewell,  merry  maidens,  to  song  and 
to  laugh,  697. 

Farewell  te  Northmaven,  695. 

Fathoms  deep  beneath  the  wave,  695. 

Follow  me,  follow  me,  652. 

From  the  Brown  crest  of  Newark  its 
summons  extending,  657. 

Gin  by  pailfuls,  wine  in  rivers,  659. 

Glowing  with  love,  on  fire  for  fame,  656. 

God  protect  brave  Alexander,  662. 

Go  sit  old  Cheviot's  crest  below,  631. 

Hail  to  the  chief  who  in  triumph  ad- 
vances, 197. 

Hail  to  thy  cold  and  clouded  beam,  305. 

Hawk  and  osprey  scream'd  for  joy,  522. 

Hear  what  Highland  Nora  said,  661. 

He  i3  gone  ok  the  mountain,  206. 

Hie  away,  hie  away,  649. 

High  deeds  achiev'd  of  knightly  fame, 
681. 

Hither  we  come,  791. 

Hurra,  hurra,  our  watch  is  done,  403. 

I  asked  of  my  harp,  "Who  hath  in- 
jured thy  cords?"  716. 

i  climb'd  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty 
Helvellyn,  633. 

IK  fares  the  bark  with  tackle  riven,  523. 

I'll  give  thee,  good   fellow,  a  twelve 
month  or  twain,  681. 

It  chanced  that  Cupid  on  a  season,  657. 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king,  365. 

It  was  an  English  ladye  bright,  48. 

It  was  Dunois  the  young  and  brave, 
was  bound  for  Palestine,  656. 

I  was  a  wild  and  wayward  boy,  337. 

Joy  to  the  victors  I  the  sons  of  old  As- 
pen, 819. 

Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming, 
678. 

Lord  William  was  born  in  gilded  bow- 
er, 518. 

Love  wakes  and  weeps,  698. 

MacLeod's  wizard  flag  from  the  gray 
castle  sallies,  675. 

March,  march,  Ettrick  and  Teviotdale, 
689. 

Measurers  of  good  and  evil,  724. 

Merry  it  is  in  the  good  green  wood,  213. 

Merrily   swim    we,    the    moon    shines 
bright,  685. 

My  hawk  is  tired  of  perch  and  hood, 
230. 

My  wayward  fate  I  needs  must  plain, 

639. 
Not  faster  yonder  rowers'  might,  193. 

O,  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair,  319. 
O,  dread  was  the  time,  and  more  dread- 
ful the  omen,  644. 

Of  all  the  birds  on  bush  and  tree,  692. 
Oh  !  say  not,  my  love,  with  that  mor- 
tified air.  642. 


Songs. 

O,  hush  thee,  my  babie,  thy  sire  was  a 

knight,  658. 
O,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me,  335. 
O  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay  !  50. 
O,  lovers'  eyes  are  sharp  to  see,  636. 
.0,  low  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake 

of  Toro,  635. 
O,  Maid  of  Isla,  from  the  cliff,  702. 
Once  again,  but  how  changed  since  my 

wand'rings  began,  659. 
On   Ettrick  Forest's    mountains  dun, 

701. 
On  Hallow-Mass  Eve,  ere  you  boune 

ye  to  rest,  649. 
O,  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  show,  I 

635. 
O,  Robin  Hood  was  a  bowman  good, 

765. 
O,   tell   me,  harper,  wherefore  flow  ? 

643. 
Our  vicar  still  preaches  that  Peter  and  j 

Poule,  230. 
O,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the 

w.st.  129. 
Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu,  660. 
Q.uake  to  your  foundations  deep,  406.    | 
Rash  adventurer,  bear  thee  back,  402.    | 
Red  glows  the  forge  in  Striguil's  bounds, 

635. 
Saufen  bier,  und  brante-wein,  639. 
She  may  be  fair,  he  sang,  but  yet,  523. 
Since  here  we  are  set  in  array  round  ; 

the  table,  637. 
Soft  spread  the  southern  summer  night,  ! 

654. 
Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er,  191. 
Soldier,   wake — the    day    is    peeping,  | 

715. 
So  sung  the  old  bard  in  the  grief  of  his  ; 

heart,  653. 
Stern  eagle  of  the  far  northwest,  694.      j 
Summer-eve  is  gone  and  past,  334. 
Sweet  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of 

Toro,  820. 
Take  these  flowers,  which,  purple  wav- 
ing, 628. 
That  day  of  wrath,  that  dreadful  day, 

52. 
The  Baptist's  fair  morrow  beheld  gal- 
lant feats,  718. 
The  Druid  Urien  had  daughters  seven, 

527. 
The  Forest  of  Glenmore  is  drear,  632. 
The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed, 

208. 
The  herring  loves  the  merry  moonlight, 

663. 
The  last  of  our  steers  on  the  board  has 

been  spread,  725. 
The  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins 

ring,  679. 
The  moon's  on  the  lake,  and  the  mist's 

on  the  brae,  621. 
The  news  has  flown   frae   mouth   to 

mouth,  702. 
The  sound  of  Rokebv's  woods  I  hear,  i 

339. 
The  sun  is  rising  dimly  red,  695. 
The  sun  upon  the  lake  is  low,  754. 
The  sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hill,  672. 
The   violet  in  her  greenwood    bower, 

628. 
There    came    three    merry   men   from 

south,  west,  and  north,  683. 
There  is  mist  on  the   mountain,  and  ' 

night  on  the  vale,  651. 
They  t  id  me  sleep,  they  bid  me  pray, 

216. 
Though    right    be    aft  put  down  by 

strength,  044. 
To  horse  !  to  horse  !  the  standard  flies, 

607. 
To  the  Lords  of  Convention  'twas  Cla- 

ver'se  who  spoke,  772. 
'Twas   All-soul's    eve,   and    Surrey's 

heart  beat  high,  48. 
'Twas  a  Marechal  of  France,  and  he 

fain  would  honor  gain,  642. 


Songs. 

'Twas  near  the  fair  city  of  Benevent 
717. 

Twist  ye,  twine  ye  !  even  so,  658. 

Viewless  essence,  thin  and  bare,  722. 

Wake,  maid  of  Lorn,  415. 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay,  638. 

Wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay  ?  658. 

We  love  the  shrill  trumpet,  we  love  the 
drum's  rattle,  756. 

What  makes  the  troopers'  frozen  cov* 
age  muster  ?  826. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance,  655. 

When  Israel  of  the  Lord  beloved,  682. 

Whence  the  brooch  of  burning  gold 
424. 

When  friends  are  met  o'er  merry  cheer, 
773. 

When  the  heathen  trumpet's  clang,  672 

When  the  tempest's  at  the  loudest,  763 

Whet  the  bright  steel,  682. 

While  the  dawn  on  the  mountain  waa 
misty  and  gray,  338. 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest  ?  108. 

Why  sit'st  thou  by  that  ruin'd  hall  ? 
662. 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie  ?  660. 

Yes,  thou  mayst  sigh,  722. 

Young  men  will  love  thee  more  fair  and 
more  fast,  650. 
Sonthey,   Dr.   Robert,    Letter  from,   on 

Marmion.  153,  n.     Lines  from  his  Rod- 
erick contrasted  with  some  of  Scott's, 

273,  n. ;  275,  n. ;  280.     And  Pilgrim- 
age to  Waterloo,  5u£,  ». ;  passim  509, 

n.     His  Imitations  of  Ballad  Poetry, 

559.   569.     Extract  from  his  Life  oi 

Nelson,  810. 
Spain,  Defence  of,  under  the  Invasion  of 

Bonaparte,  287. 

Invasion  of,  by  the  Moors,  285. 

War  with,  in  1625-6,  364. 

"  Speates  and  Raxes,"  Story  of,  712. 

Spells,  66. 

Spencer,  Earl,  81. 

Spenser,    Edmund,    124.   307.      Extract 

from  his  "  Faerie  Queene,"  283. 
Spirits,  intermediate  class  of,  58. 165. 250 

251.  361.  603. 
"  Spirit's  Blasted  Tree,"  Legend  of  the 

174-176. 
Staffa,  Cave  of,  441-2.  487.     - 
Stanhope,  Lady  Hester,  14,  to. 
Stewart,  Professor  Dugald,  560.  566. 
Stirling  Castle,  225.  264.- 
Stoddart,  Sir  John,  13. 
Strafford,  Earl  of,  261. 
Strathmore,   Earl   of,   killed   at   Sheriff 

muir,  746,  n. 
Strathbogie.     See  Athole. 
Stuart,  i^ir  William,  of  Ochiltree,  murder 

of,  in  1588,  244. 
Strutt,  Joseph,  his  Romance  of  Q.ueen- 

hoo-hall,  265. 
"  Sub-Prior,  To  the,"  685. 
Sultaun  Solimaun,  667. 
Superstitions,    Popular,    165.   787.      See 

also  "  Fairies,"  "  Ghosts,"  "  Spirits.' 
Surrey,  Earl  of  (beheaded  in  1546),  77. 
Surtees,  Robert,  Esq.,  524,  to. 
Sutherland,  Duchess  of,  705. 
Swinton,  Sir  John,  730.     Arms  of  the 

family  of,  732. 
Swiss  Guards,  Massacre  of  the,  in  1792, 

608. 
Swords,  enchanted,  245. 
Sympathy,  cure  of  a  wound  by,  67. 

T. 

Taghairm,  a  Highland  mode  of  augurj 

253,  254. 
"  Tales  of  Wonder,  Lewis's,"  569. 
"  Talisman,"  Verses  from  the,  716-19. 
Tanistry,  Irish  custom  of,  367.  801. 
Tantallan  Castle,  136.  172. 
Taylor,    William,    Esq.,    his   version  Ol 

"Lenore,"  566. 
Tecbir,  The,  the  War-cry  of  the  Sara 

cens,  274.  286. 


640 


INDEA. 


Tees,  the  River,  323. 

Teith,  the  River,  185. 

"  Tempest,  Song  of  the,"  694. 

Terry,  the  late  Mr.  Daniel,  comedian, 
658,  n. ;  753. 

Theatre,  the,  547. 

Themis,  10. 

Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  or  "  The  Rhym- 
er," account  of  him,  574.  His  Prophe- 
cies, 575.  577.     Legend  of,  631. 

541,  542.  546. 

"Thomas  the  Rhymer,"  a  Ballad  in 
Three  Parts,  574. 

Thomson,  Mr.  D.,  of  Galashiels,  676,  n. 

Thomson,  Thomas,  Esq.,  Deputy-Regis- 
ter, 492. 

"Thunder  Storm,"  Juvenile  lines  on 
a,  627. 

Tickell,  Mr.,  his  Ballad  Poetry,  557.560. 

"  Time,"  662. 

Time,  202. 

and  tide,  354. 

TinckeU.  the,  234,  n.  ;  568. 

"  To  a  Lady,  with  flowers  from  a  Ro- 
man wall,"  628. 

Town  Eclogue,  35,  n. 

Train,  Mr.  Joseph,  his  assistance  in  col- 
lecting information  for  the  author,  491. 
Note  from  (1840),  458. 

Tribunal,  the  Secret,  or  Invisible,  of  Ger- 
many, 812. 

Triermain.     See  "  Bridal  of  Triermain." 

family  of,  410. 

Trosachs,  the,  186. 

"Troubadour,  The,"  656. 

Trouveurs,  or  Troubadours,  538. 

Tunes,  attachment  to,  on  death-beds,  267. 

Tunstall,  Sir  Brian,  slain  atFlodden,  178. 

Turn  berry  Castle,  491. 

Turner,  J.  M.  W.,  R.A.,  433,  n. 

"  Tweed  River,  On,"  685. 

Twenge,  Sir  Marmaduke,  at  Bannock- 
burn,  499. 

Twisel  Bridge,  145.  177. 
'  Twist  ye,  twine  ye,"  658. 
Two  Drovers,"  Mottoes  from  the, 
721. 


Tynemonth  Priory,  164. 

Tytler,  A.  F.  (Lord  Woodhouselee),  his 
Collections  of  Ballads,  552.  His  ver- 
sion of  "The  Robbers,"  563. 

P.  F.,  Esq.,  his  "  History  of  Scot- 
land," 541,  n. 

U. 

Uam-Var,  mountain,  184,  185.  240. 
Unthank,  chapel  at,  65. 
Urislt,  a  Highland  satyr,  252. 

V. 

Vai  oyriur,  or  "  Selectors  of  the  Slain," 

78. 
Valor,  personification  of,  276. 
Vaughan,  Right  Hon.  R.  C,  288. 
Vaux,  family  of,  410. 
Venetian  General,  anecdote  of  a,  746,  n. 
Vengeance,  feudal,  a  dreadful   tale   of, 

487. 
Vennachar,  Loch,  185. 
"  Violet,  The,"  628. 
Virgil,  his  magical  practices,  63. 75.     His 

iEneid  translated  by  Gawain  Douglas, 

Bishop  of  Dunkeld,  143. 
"Virgil,"  Juvenile  Lines  from,  627. 
"  Vision,  The,"  a  poem,  549. 

W. 

Wales,  Caroline,  Princess  of,  105,  n. 

Wallace,  Sir  William,  trial  and  execution 
of,  479. 

Walton,  Sir  John,  defeated  by  "  the  good 
Lord  James  of  Douglas,"  493. 

"Wandering  Willie,"  636. 

War,  personification  of,  from  Childe  Har- 
old, 279,  n.     Apostrophe  to,  443. 

"  War-Song  of  the  Edinburgh  Light 
Dragoons,"  607. 

" of  Lachlan,  high  Chief  of 

MacLean,"  653. 

" Saxon,"  682. 

Warbeck,  Perkin,  story  of,  158. 

Waterloo,  Battle  of,  290.  502-511. 

Watson,  James,  his  collection  of  ancient 
poetry,  544. 


"  Waverley,"  Verses  from,  647-652. 

" Lines  by  author  of,"  652. 

Lines  of,  "  Late  when  mc 

autumn  evening  fell,"  648. 
Wellington,  Duke  of,  280,  261,  282.  289. 

291.     "The  Field  of  Waterloo,"  50d 

passim ;  642.  644,  645. 
Duchess    of,    dedication    of 

"The  Field  of  \ Waterloo"  to.  502. 
"When  with  poetry  dealing,"  719. 
Whistling  to  raise  a  tempest,  361. 
Whitby  Abbey,  161. 
"  White  Lady  of  Avenel,"  Songs  of 

the,  685-689. 
Whitmore,  John,  Esq.,  &c,  dedication 

of  the  Vision  of  Don  Roderick  to,  270 
"Wild  Huntsman,  The,"  613. 
Wilkes,  John,  Esq.,  182. 
"  William  and  Helen,"  609. 
Willich,  Dr.,  teacher  of  German,  563. 
"  Will  Jones,"  Lewis's  ballad  of,  572. 
Wilson,  Professor,  551,  n. 
Wine,  presents  of,  170. 
Witchcraft,  309,  n. ;  364. 
"  Wogan,  Captain,  Lines  on,"  651 
Wolfian  hypothesis,  537,  n. 
Woman,  apostrophe  to,  149. 
Woodhouselee,  Lord.    See  Tytler,  A.  F. 

Esq. 
"Woodstock,"  Verses  from,  720-721. 
Wordsworth,  William,  Esq.,  his  poem  on 

Yarrow,  47,  ft, ;  52,  n.     Letter  from, 

on  Marmion,  153,  n.     Eulogium  on  the 

Zaragozans,    288.     Imitations    of   the 

ballad  style,  559. 
Wrestling,  prize  at,  266. 
Wynken  de  Worde,  117. 


Xeres,  account  of  the  Battle  of,  287. 


Zaharack,  race  of,  402. 
Zaragoza,  account  of  the  Siege  of,  288. 
Zernebock,  520. 

"Zetland     Fishkrsikn,     Sons     c 
thk."  697. 


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